“Oh, don’t go!” Ellen said to Hooper. The words came out much stronger than she had intended. Instead of a pleasant request, they sounded a shrill plea. She was embarrassed, and she added quickly, “I mean, the night is young. It’s only ten.”
“I know,” said Hooper. “But if the weather’s any good tomorrow, I want to get up early and get into the water.
Besides, I have a car and I can drop Daisy off on my way home.”
Daisy said, “That would be fun.” Her voice, as usual, was without tone or color, suggesting nothing.
“The Meadows can drop her,” Ellen said.
“True,” said Hooper, “but I really should go so I can get up early. But thanks for the thought.”
They said their good-bys at the front door — perfunctory compliments, redundant thanks. Hooper was the last to leave, and when he extended his hand to Ellen, she took it in both of hers and said, “Thank you so much for my shark tooth.”
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“And thank you for being so nice to the children. They were fascinated to meet you.”
“So was I. It was a little weird, though. I must have been about Sean’s age when I knew you before. You haven’t changed much at all.”
“Well, you’ve certainly changed.”
“I hope so. I’d hate to be nine all of my life.”
“We’ll see you again before you go?”
“Count on it.”
“Wonderful.” She released his hand. He said a quick good night to Brody and walked to his car.
Ellen waited at the door until the last of the cars had pulled out of the driveway, then she turned off the outside light. Without a word, she began to pick up the glasses, coffee cups, and ashtrays from the living room.
Brody carried a stack of dessert dishes into the kitchen, set them on the sink, and said, “Well, that was all right.” He meant nothing by the remark, and sought nothing more than rote agreement.
“No thanks to you,” said Ellen.
“What?”
“You were awful.”
“I was?” He was genuinely surprised at the ferocity of her attack. “I know I got a little queasy there for a minute, but I didn’t think—”
“All evening, from start to finish, you were awful.”
“That’s a lot of crap!”
“You’ll wake the children.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’m not going to let you stand there and work out your own hang-ups by telling me I’m a shit.”
Ellen smiled bitterly. “You see? There you go again.”
“Where do I go again? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Just like that. You don’t want to talk about it. Look… okay, I was wrong about the goddam meat. I shouldn’t have blown my stack. I’m sorry. Now…”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”
Brody was ready for a fight, but he backed off, sober enough to realize that his only weapons were cruelty and innuendo, and that Ellen was close to tears. And tears, whether shed in orgasm or in anger, disconcerted him. So he said only, “Well, I’m sorry about that.” He walked out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs.
In the bedroom, as he was undressing, the thought occurred to him that the cause of all the unpleasantness, the source of the whole mess, was a fish: a mindless beast that he had never seen. The ludicrousness of the thought made him smile.
He crawled into bed and, almost simultaneous with the touch of his head to the pillow, fell into a dreamless sleep.
A boy and his date sat drinking beer at one end of the long mahogany bar in the Randy Bear. The boy was eighteen, the son of the pharmacist at the Amity Pharmacy.
“You’ll have to tell him sometime,” said the girl.
“I know. And when I do, he’s gonna go bullshit.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“You know what he’ll say? It must have been my fault. I must have done something, or else they would have kept me and canned somebody else.”
“But they fired a lot of kids.”
“They kept a lot, too.”
“How did they decide who to keep?”
“They didn’t say. They just said they weren’t getting enough guests to justify a big staff, so they were letting some of us go. Boy, my old man is gonna go right through the roof.”
“Can’t he call them? He must know somebody there. I mean, if he says you really need the money for college…”
“He wouldn’t do it. That’d be begging.” The boy finished his beer. “There’s only one thing I can do. Deal.”
“Oh, Michael, don’t do that. It’s too dangerous. You could go to jail.”
“That’s quite a choice, isn’t it?” the boy said acidly. “College or jail.”
“What would you tell your father?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m selling belts.”
EIGHT
Brody awoke with a start, jolted by a signal that told him something was wrong. He threw his arm across the bed to touch Ellen. She wasn’t there. He sat and saw her sitting in the chair by the window. Rain splashed against the windowpanes, and he heard the wind whipping through the trees.
“Lousy day, huh?” he said. She didn’t answer, continuing to stare fixedly at the drops sliding down the glass. “How come you’re up so early?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Brody yawned. “I sure didn’t have any trouble.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Oh boy. Are we starting in again?”
Ellen shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.” She seemed subdued, sad.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever you say.” Brody got out of bed and went into the bathroom.
When he had shaved and dressed, he went down to the kitchen. The boys were finishing their breakfast, and Ellen was frying an egg for him. “What are you guys gonna do on this crummy day?” he said.
“Clean lawnmowers,” said Billy, who worked during the summer for a local gardener. “Boy, do I hate rainy days.”
“And what about you two?” Brody said to Martin and Sean.
“Martin’s going to the Boys’ Club,” said Ellen, “and Sean’s spending the day at the Santos’s.”
“And you?”
“I’ve got a full day at the hospital. Which reminds me: I won’t be home for lunch. Can you get something downtown?”
“Sure. I didn’t know you worked a full day Wednesdays.”
“I don’t, usually. But one of the other girls is sick, and I said I’d fill in.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be back by suppertime.”
“Fine.”
“Do you think you could drop Sean and Martin off on your way to work? I want to do a little shopping on my way to the hospital.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll pick them up on my way home.”
Brody and the two younger children left first. Then Billy, wrapped from head to foot in foul-weather gear, bicycled off to work.
Ellen looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was a few minutes to eight. Too early? Maybe. But better to catch him now, before he went off somewhere and the chance was lost. She held her right hand out in front of her and tried to steady the fingers, but they quivered uncontrollably. She smiled at her nervousness and whispered to herself, “Some swinger you’d make.” She went upstairs to the bedroom, sat on the bed, and picked up the green phone book. She found the number for the Abelard Arms Inn, put her hand on the phone, hesitated for a moment, then picked up the receiver and dialed the number.
“Abelard Arms.”
“Mr. Hooper’s room, please. Matt Hooper.”
“Just a minute, please. Hooper. Here it is. Four-oh-five. I’ll ring it for you.”