He got to his office a little late this fine fall morning. There were already sixteen people waiting to see him. Sixteen people... and one dog and one cat. You could bring animals — hell, he’d always come out and pet them and talk a little baby talk to them — as long as they didn’t bite, bark, or leave tiny brown nuggets on any of the furnishings.
Sixteen people. But that was just the beginning. By eleven o’clock, more than twenty people were waiting for him.
Other men might sink under such an onslaught. Not our boy. There was nothing he liked more than helping people, than getting on the phone and kicking some bureaucrat’s ass around the block because he had failed to help this fine citizen who was sitting across from the Senator at this very moment.
What it was the gratitude he saw in their eyes. It was almost as good as coming. Almost.
Tears made him feel especially good. The weary sobs of the widow he’d helped get fuel oil for the brutal winter. The silent tears of the grateful teenager he’d helped get an abortion. The misty eyes of the factory worker he’d helped get a new job.
He fed on tears. Tears told him he was doing his job, tears told him he was special man indeed.
Tears were his reward.
“Helen on line two.”
“Thanks, Evelyn.”
This was between constituent visits.
Had to take a pit stop every once in a while.
Wander down the hall and empty the bladder, which was getting increasingly tough to do given his prostate problems.
Then refill the old coffee cup.
And then just sit in the executive chair and stare out of the window at the fiery autumn hills where he and Helen used to play. Every once in a while, he’d remember the time he and Helen... Well, they hadn’t actually come close to doing it... But they had been necking pretty heavily. And groping each other pretty eagerly.
The funny thing was, even after all those years, he felt a real stirring of desire every time he thought about that long-ago time.
The even funnier thing was... when he looked at Helen today? Well, when he looked at her today, he couldn’t even imagine kissing her. Let alone groping her.
But when he looked back in his mind’s eye... saw that day under the shadowed overhang of that small cave... it still got him hot.
And then for the first time in his life, he realized what might explain his desire for teenage girls: was he constantly trying to recreate that day with Helen... when they’d been fifteen (him) and fourteen (her) respectively?
He wondered if his sister still thought of that day from time to time.
He picked up the receiver. “Hi.”
“Hi. You hear the news?”
“Guess not.”
“Some hunters found the body.”
“When?”
“Hour or so ago, I guess.”
“So the police are out there?”
“Yes.”
“Any word,” he said, “on Richie?”
“Not yet.”
“Matter of time, probably.”
“Right. Everything’s going just fine.”
“You saved me, Helen. You really did. I just went all to pieces and you saved me.”
“We’re in this together.”
He checked his watch. “I’d better get going, Helen. There’re a lot of people waiting to see me.”
She said, after a pause, “You’ve got your appointment tomorrow morning.”
“Right.”
She knew he hated to talk about it, think about it... why was she always bringing it up? Didn’t she know the anxiety it caused him? And didn’t she know that anxiety meant stress and stress meant a weakened immune system response?
It was almost as if she wanted him to get all wrought up and scared.
“I’m sure everything’ll be fine.”
“I’d just as soon not talk about it.”
“I don’t know what you’re worried about. You know the doctors say that everything is moving along just fine.”
“You never know when they’re telling the truth.”
His heart rate had increased.
She really must take pleasure in this. It was like some kind of torture.
But then he felt guilty.
After all his sister had done for him, and he had thoughts about her like this?
“Maybe you should join that support group, David.”
“No thanks.”
There was a cancer support group meeting twice weekly — nights — at the hospital.
That was the last thing he wanted to do: sit around in a room and listen to terrified people trying to rationalize the fact that they were desperately ill.
It would only serve to remind him of how scared he was, how hopeless he sometimes felt.
Thinking this, he smiled bitterly.
He was always helping people. Now he found himself in a position where he needed help.
He wished he had his own version of Senator Cummings to go to.
“Thanks, Helen. For everything.”
“My pleasure,” she said. Then, “Now you don’t sit around and worry about your medical appointment tomorrow. I’m sure that everything’s going to be just fine.”
But of course, soon as she said it, he did start worrying.
Started worrying a lot.
What if he walked in there tomorrow and the oncologist said, “I’m afraid we’ve got a little bad news here, Senator.”
But that wasn’t his only problem, obviously. Twice this morning he’d found himself wanting to pick up the phone and tell Chief Hadley about Darcy. He just didn’t know if he could handle all this stress — his medical problems and now the death of Darcy. He hoped he could hold on while Helen fixed everything.
Eleven
1
“So you didn’t see Darcy after you left the tavern?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.”
“And you came straight home?”
Richie said, “Yes.”
Sam looked at Amy. Then back at Richie. “What route did you take home?”
“Amberson Avenue.”
“What time was this?”
“Probably nine-fifteen or so.”
“Probably?”
Richie sighed. “I wasn’t paying a hell of a lot of attention to the time.”
“Then what were you paying a hell of a lot of attention to?”
“My driving.”
“I see.” Then, “I want to establish one thing here, Amy.”
“All right,” she said.
She had been sitting in a chair at the wobbly kitchen table. Sam sat in front of her, in another chair. Richie sat on the bed. He looked terrible. She wanted to go over and sit next to him and put her arm around him. Comfort him the way she’d comforted him so many times before.
“I want to establish that Richie doesn’t have any idea what route he took home last night. He was too drunk to remember this morning.”
Amy said, “Is that true, Richie?”
He looked angrily at Sam. “He’s showing off, Amy. He wants to show you what a badass he is.”
Sam sighed. “Amy, I’ve been through this with him. First he told me he took the route out by the old bridge. Now he tells me he took Amberson Avenue. He doesn’t know. He was too drunk to know.”
He had turned around in his chair, facing her.
“Amy, I can’t really ask him questions with you here.”