He knew his loss was heavy even if he didn’t feel its weight, and he ought to tell someone. Of course he should, it was his privilege as one bereaved. Bereaved. He thought of his friends and wondered who to tell, intimates who would gather around in your hour of need. He could not think of anyone who would want to gather around, yet someone should be notified. Who? Probably his sister and brother. Of course his sister and brother. He was glad he remembered his sister. He was not so sure about his brother. But when he thought what to tell her, he didn’t want to break the news, he did not want to deal with her shock, he did not want to listen to it.
Thinking about grief made him remember the wrapped cocoons, which was which, and the memory released his tears a second time.
He said, “Would it be possible for someone to call my sister and tell her? Give her my number so she can call back.”
The look on George’s face could not understand why if Tony wanted his sister to call him, he couldn’t call her himself. But it was only his face, and he said, “I guess so, sure.” He took the numbers which Tony had written on a slip from his notebook.
He began to wonder if he had made a mistake. The possibility that, distraught as he was and expecting the worst, he had not taken sufficient care in identifying them, had jumped to his conclusion too quickly. He realized he had looked only once. Long enough only to see what he had expected to see. The possibility of error grew like a fountain. Try it on George. “I’m afraid I’m not absolutely sure of my identification.”
It took George a moment to understand. “Yeah?” Annoyed. Tony was embarrassed. “You’ll have to look again in the morgue, anyway,” George said.
At the motel before leaving, George said, “You want to cancel that call to your sister?”
“What for?”
“Until you’re sure?”
Though he already knew this was a futile hope, the slightest possibility he had made a mistake, that his sister might be given false news he would later have to retract, paralyzed him. He didn’t know what to say. The policeman waited.
“No. Yes. No.”
“Which?”
Wait, then yield.
“Go ahead and notify her.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
In the afternoon he fell asleep on the motel bed in his clothes. Later a man from the police office took him to the morgue to identify the bodies again. Bodies. They were in a cold room with white tiles on the walls. Each on a separate table. The man pulled back a sheet to disclose the head. They were either wax busts, gray and green, or his dear ones, Laura depicted in an ironic angry smile and Helen in a pout that could have been playful but was not. No doubt about it.
They took him back to the station, where he had a talk with Bobby Andes. “News,” he said. “Report from Topping, someone else harassed on the Interstate last night just like you.”
“Same guys, probably.”
“Got a license plate.” Tony Hastings looked at him. “Unfortunately, it’s stolen from a car that had been junked.” Suddenly Tony Hastings realized that Bobby Andes wanted to catch the three guys. For him that would be the logical next step.
He apologized. “If you don’t mind, we’d like your fingerprints too,” he said.
“Mine?”
“No offense. We found some prints on the trunk of your car, which was sticking out of the water.”
He was pleased with that. He asked Tony to go over his story again. The highway harassing, the stopping and the flat tire, the separation of the family, the drive into the woods, the walk out, the whole thing. Bobby Andes was sympathetic, he kept shaking his head, and his sympathy grew angry as they talked. “The rotten bastards,” he said. “The filthy sons of bitches.”
He threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. “Your whole goddamn family. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Tony Hastings didn’t have to imagine it. He was grateful for Bobby Andes’s sympathy, though it surprised him, and he didn’t know what to make of the anger.
“Beasts,” Bobby Andes said.
He said, “I had a wife and kid, she divorced me. That makes no difference.” He took his hands and made a neck-twisting motion. His face was mottled. “We’ll get em,” he said. “Count on me.” His hands went snap!
I appreciate your interest, Tony thought, but what good will it do?
Bobby Andes became businesslike. “I’d like you to stay till tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “We’ve got a warrant to check out the trailer, and we’re going over your car for evidence. We might need you.”
“Okay.”
“We’ll put out a call for witnesses on TV. Might fetch your old deaf man in the pickup.”
“What could he do?
“Witness. Who knows what he seen, if he’s not too scared. You all right for tonight?”
“I think so.”
“You got a place to eat?”
“Motel, probably.”
“You like Italian food? Try Julio’s.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh yes. Hawk wants to know what arrangements you want. Disposal. Funeral. You know.”
You know. Tony Hastings did not know. Funeral.
“Do I have to manage that?”
“Take your time, no rush.”
“I don’t know any funeral people.”
“You could have it done here, then ship them out. I can recommend you somebody.”
Ship them out.
He took a taxi to Julio’s and ate an Italian dinner alone, preceded by a drink. The drink reminded him of loneliness, and the dinner was good, which made it worse. He bought magazines to get through the evening and went back to the motel.
He got a call from Paula, his sister. She was upset. “Oh Tony. How awful.” When he heard her say how awful, some old habit wanted to say, “It’s not that bad.” Catching himself, he said nothing. She invited him to come at once and stay at the Cape. He said he had to take care of the arrangements first. The arrangements. She said she would come for the funeral. Then he must come back to the Cape with her. Funeral. He was grateful. She asked how he intended to get home. He said he would drive, as soon as he got his car back. Funeral.
“Drive at a time like this? Do you think that’s safe?”
He wondered about that. He said, “I’m all right. You don’t have to worry about me.”
She wished he wouldn’t drive that long trip all by himself. She had an idea. She’d send Merton, send him tomorrow to keep you company on your trip back. She’d do it herself if it weren’t for whatever it was.
No, he didn’t want Merton. He didn’t want anybody. He was all right, he could drive by himself. She mustn’t worry.
Well if you’re sure, she said. She would see him at the funeral. She would fly there and pick him up and they could fly back to the Cape together. Funeral. She promised to call his brother Alex in Chicago, as well as someone in Cincinnati to tell whoever needed to be notified. So I’ll see you Thursday, she said. Notified. He spent the rest of the evening in the motel reading magazines, and when it was time to sleep, he slept.