"What were you interested in then?"
"My sister Jo was an archaeology major; she turned me on to old bones. After she graduated, she went to Nepal to climb around and explore. I flew there to be with her and we hung out together in Katmandu- place called Freak Street, Telegraph Avenue transplanted to the Himalayas." He shook his head and looked at the flower. "I was with her when she died."
"What happened?" I said.
"We were hiking. She was experienced, very athletic. This was just a stroll for her. But she put her foot down and something gave way and she fell over a hundred feet. I was way behind. She passed right by me as she went down, landed on a ledge full of sharp rocks." He touched his eyes and pressed down on the lids. Then his hands flew to his lapels.
A door opened on the upstairs landing, and Lucy came down the stairs.
"Morning," she said, looking at Ken. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's great." He smiled and buttoned his jacket. "I should be back around six. Don't worry about your car, I'll have it brought over." A wave, and he was gone.
"Looks like you're being well taken care of," I said.
"He's a sweet guy." She looked at the living room. "Not too shabby for a hideout, huh? Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thanks."
"Would you like to talk outside? It's nice in here, but I find it a little gloomy."
The backyard was generous, with a pork-chop-shaped swimming pool and waterfall spa. A brick patio running along the rear of the house contained a table and chairs and potted plants that needed watering. The neighboring properties were blocked from view by tall honeysuckle hedges and billowing mounds of plumbago.
We sat. Lucy crossed her legs and looked up at the sky. Her eyes were tired, and she seemed to be fighting tears.
"What is it?" I said.
"I can't stop thinking about Puck."
After a second's debate, I said, "He called your- called Lowell two days ago to tell him you were in the hospital. He obviously cares about you, but something's keeping him out of town."
Her legs uncrossed and her head shot forward. "Why would he call him-how do you know this?"
"Lowell phoned me, wanting to talk about you. I told him I couldn't without your permission."
"That's crazy. Why would Puck call him?"
"He knew you were at Woodbridge."
"He must have found out some- absurd. I don't understand any of this."
"I got the impression Puck had been in contact with him."
She stared at me, then lowered her head, as if ashamed.
"He told me Puck had a drug problem," I said. "I didn't assume it was true, but Milo checked it out."
Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingernails scraped the glass top of the table, and my short hairs rose.
"Damn him. He had no right- why did Milo have to do that?"
"For your sake. And Puck's. We couldn't understand why he couldn't come back to see you, figured he might be in some kind of trouble. How long's he been addicted?"
"He- I don't know, exactly. He started smoking grass in prep school. By the time he started Tufts he was already into… the bad stuff. He had to drop out in his junior year because a campus policeman caught him shooting up in a dorm room. After that he didn't care and just hit the streets. The police kept picking him up for vagrancy, and the system kept spitting him back. He tried to get help- student health, free clinics, private doctors. Nothing worked. It's a disease."
Her fingers ran down the glass again, but silently.
"Even with all his problems," she said softly, "he was good to me- he cares about me. That's what scares me. He must be in trouble. It would have to be something serious for him not to be here."
"He's been telling everyone it was business."
She gave a miserable look. Covered her face. Exposed it. "Yes, he sold. Once in a while. Only to get his own stash. I know it's wrong, and I'm sure in some part of his brain he does too. But he felt he had no choice. He was broke, and he wouldn't give him more than pennies. I tried to help him, but most of the time he wouldn't take anything from me- not unless he was hurting really bad. He's the one who suffers… the way he lives- a hole over a hairdresser's."
She looked out at the landscaped yard.
"It's not like he sold to little kids or anything like that. Just to junkies, and they'd have to get it one way or the other… It's the heroin. All this talk about crack, and heroin goes on eating people up."
She began to cry.
I patted her shoulder.
"So many times I offered to have him come live with me. To try another program. He said he was beyond hope and didn't want to drag me down. Didn't want treatment- he liked junk, it was his lover, he'd never give it up. But still he was always there for me. If I called him to talk about something, he'd always listen. Even if he was stoned, he'd try. Sitting there, pretending to be normal- he'd be here now if he wasn't in some kind of major trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
She squeezed her hands together. "The people he hung out with."
"Who are they?"
"That's the thing, I don't know. He made a point about shielding me. Whenever I came over, he rushed around, cleaning up, putting his kit away. Lately, he didn't even want me over at his place- too depressing, he said. So we had coffee in restaurants. He'd come in looking half dead, trying so hard to act okay. I know he sounds like just another stupid junkie, but he really is a wonderful brother."
I nodded, thinking of Puck's dinner date with Ken, how an addict might have viewed the sudden appearance of a wealthy half brother. Yet he hadn't shown up.
"Milo's not going to call the police in Taos or anything like that, is he? I don't want to put him in any more danger."
"No," I said. "Milo's main concern is you."
"Yes, I can't believe all he's done. You, too. And now Ken."
She wiped her eyes.
"I must bring it out in people, like a wounded bird. Puck told me that, once. That he'd always seen me as wounded. I didn't like that. I wanted him to perceive me as strong."
"You are strong."
She spread her fingers on the glass. Looked through the tabletop, studying the pattern of the bricks. "Milo told me, you know. About being gay. It shocked me… Now I understand the position you were in. I really put you in the middle. I'm sorry."
"It was one of those things that couldn't be helped."
She shook her head. "I'd never have suspected it. A big, burly guy like that- that's stupid, of course, but still, it was the last thing I'd have guessed. It must be so hard for him. The job."
"How did finding out affect you?"
"What do you mean?"
"How do you feel about his being gay?"
"How do I feel about it? Well… I'm certainly glad I know the truth now."
She looked away.
"Anything else?" I said.
"I guess- on a selfish level- I guess I'm disappointed."
She shook her head.
"Maybe it was just a stupid crush, but it sure- I mean, the feelings are still there. How can you kill feelings, right?"
I nodded.
She stood and walked up and down the patio.
"He and I both do this," she said. "Pace when we're nervous. We found out when we were at the hotel. All of a sudden, we started doing it simultaneously; it was a riot."
She looked at me. "You know how I feel? Cheated. But I'll get over it. And I'm still grateful to have him as a friend. Don't worry about me, I may look wounded but it's an illusion. All done with mirrors." Smile.
She sat down. "Now let's talk about the Great Man. What does he want, all of a sudden? What's his game?"