She says slowly, “Yes, that’s true.”
One side of his mouth curls up.
She says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you well enough then.”
“Nobody likes to be used. Don’t you know that yet?”
“She’s fifteen months old and defenseless, Charlie. That’s what I know. I never set out to hurt you. I didn’t tell you any lies that mattered.”
“Leaving out the undigestible parts isn’t the same thing as telling lies?”
“Haven’t you ever rationalized something? I haven’t done you any harm. And you’ve been paid. I expect you to keep your part of the agreement.”
He glances toward the radio shack with its tall loran pylon; the kid is in there behind glass reading a comic book. Charlie turns a full circle on his heels, scowling at the trees. “The last couple of days-I thought we were getting to know each other. Now I think you were just sinking the hook. One good fuck and I’d follow you anywhere-that the idea?”
“No. That’s not the idea. It wasn’t any part of my plans.”
Charlie opens the pilot’s door and reaches into the cabin, prodding the yoke and then the pedals, watching the movements of control surfaces at wing and tail.
He says: “I’m vain enough to want to believe that. Let’s say I buy it. Let’s say I buy everything you’re telling me the same way I bought the horseshit you sold me before.” He isn’t talking loudly but his voice makes her wince.
He says, “Let’s say it’s all true this time. What it comes down to, you want to take the kid out of that house and there’s a pretty good chance you could get yourself killed, these guys being that kind of people.”
“You won’t be in danger, Charlie. I’m not asking you to-”
“You’re missing the point, luscious one. I’m pretty good at worrying about my own hide. What bothers me is worrying about yours.”
“Thank you.”
“Wasn’t fishing for gratitude. The thing is, you know-what happens if you die or something? How do I explain that to myself?”
“I’d be doing it with you or without you. Put your conscience away, all right? I can’t afford it. What time have you got?”
He looks at his watch. “Ten-forty.”
She confirms it against her own watch. “My feet are freezing. Are my boots in the Jeep?”
“Back seat.”
“Are you ready to go?”
“Airplane is. Not so sure about you and me.”
“Come on, Charlie, I can’t fight with you all day.”
“Go on. Dry your feet off. Put your boots on. I’ve got to pay Dennis the Menace for the gas.”
By the time he comes back from the shack she’s in the Jeep tugging her boots on. She feels it sway when Charlie puts his weight on the open door sill. He leans in, scraping his head on the top of the doorway, and levels upon her at close range a grave stare.
“Tell me about the landing field.”
She’s showed it to him on the map; he marked it. She says, “It’s about a mile and a half from the house. On government land, I think. They put down the strip a year ago last spring.”
“If it’s a grass runway we’ll need a long throw to get off the ground. It’ll be pretty wet. Happen to know the length of the strip?”
“It’s about three quarters of a mile, I think. In any case it isn’t just grass. They laid down some sort of metal webbing. It came on big flat trucks in rolls.”
He’s astonished. “Marsden matting? That stuff costs a fortune. They used to use it to build temporary fighter strips during the war.”
“I don’t know what it’s called. I know they’ve landed bigger planes than this there-even in the snow.”
“If they spent that kind of money on the strip … I take it we’re talking about smuggling now. What is it-cocaine?”
“I don’t know. More likely heroin, wouldn’t it be? I really don’t know much about it. I suppose I made it a point not to know anything. I know the airplanes don’t always bring things in. Sometimes it goes the other way. Sometimes he sends suitcases full of cash out.”
“Out to where? Switzerland? The Bahamas?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He’s still watching her, head ducked under the door frame. He says, “I guess I believe you. How often do they use the runway?”
“Two or three times a month. That was last year, of course. I don’t know about now.”
“Just my luck to run right into one of their shipments.”
But then he smiles in an odd way. “I seem to have decided to go through with this bullshit. Just for God’s sake don’t ask me why.”
She knows why; he probably does too. It’s because he has an image of himself as a man who keeps his word, protects women and children, takes heroic risks.
She says: “You’re a romantic, Charlie.”
“I am?”
“You’ll be there at one o’clock exactly.”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“You know that if you change your mind-”
“I’ll be there.” His paw locks around the back of her neck and pulls her forward: his kiss is hard on her lips.
Then he draws back and before he turns away he makes a silly face at her. “Jesus H. Christ. A fucking Mafia gun moll.”
46
Driving the Jeep through town she is thinking: maybe there is some way Charlie and I can include each other in our futures.
She still can taste his mouth. Preoccupied, she nearly rear-ends a little car when it stops abruptly. Its bald driver begins to jockey it into a parallel parking space. Irritated, she leans on the horn when she pulls out to get past. Then she misses the light and bucks to an awkward stop and feels a flush across her face when in the mirror she sees a police car right behind her.
It follows her several blocks and she clenches the wheel until her knuckles turn white but finally the police car turns off behind her and she drives on out of town at a sedate speed, waiting for the tremor in all her fibers to dwindle.
Look, it could have been worse. Suppose you’d run the red light? You could be spending the next half hour explaining things to a justice of the peace.
Quit jumping at shadows. You need to have your wits about you this morning.
The road forks and narrows; it’s a darker day here in the trees. Climbing into the soft hills she feels a chill bite in the air. Strong scent of pine sap here.
Charlie …
No. One thing at a time. Ellen comes first.
She watches the mirror anxiously but there’s nothing behind her. Never mind that; they’ll be chasing soon enough.
The Jeep runs easily along turnings she knows by heart, carrying her across a range of wooded hills and down the length of a valley-a slow country road that undulates beside the stream. Birch forest here-in twenty minutes there’ll be pines as the road takes her higher.
The air is emphatically clean, washed by yesterday’s rain. Sunlight dapples the water and throws striking shadows across the white tree trunks that march beside the road. The day is aflutter with dragonflies; a chirruping of cicadas is loud enough to be heard over the grinding whine of the Jeep’s heavy-duty transmission. Fields of merry goldenrod climb the slopes beyond the stream.
Got to think clearly now. All the things that may go wrong-the things she didn’t mention to Charlie. What if there are new dogs? What if the locks or the burglar alarm have been changed? What if they’ve moved the nursery to some other room? What if Ellen isn’t here at all?
What if it’s like the last time and it goes crucially wrong? What if this time you don’t get away at all?
What if they know you’re coming and they’re waiting for you?
Last time in a strange way it was easier than this because she hadn’t been through it before and she hadn’t really thought about all the things that could go wrong. The advantage presented itself; she acted on the spur of the moment. The decision itself had been premeditated but the timing of it was not-she was taken utterly by surprise by her own action.
She’d known for months that she had to rescue the baby: that they had to leave Bert and go in search of sanity.