couldn’t see the taillight. The Chevy was moving without headlights along the back row of cars. It could pick up the edge of the graveled drive there and angle right out onto the county road that ran past the stables. I couldn’t see the driver.
We kept pace with it by trotting to the county road.
Not until it got to the clearing between driveway and road did I see the taillight. It was raw yellow, two small naked bulbs. No red plastic covering.
I don’t think the driver saw us. All of a sudden the car fishtailed through the gravel and shot onto the county road. It was doing 30 by then and 50 by the time it disappeared behind the trees.
“You get the license number?”
“I did.” She gave it to me.
“Illinois.”
“Yeah. Good work.”
“Thanks. Now what?”
“Need to check out the number.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I noticed you said we.”
She laughed. “I thought I was being sneaky.”
Then: “I want to help you on this, McCain.
Susan was my friend.”
“I’ll call my buddy when we get back to my place.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“If it’s all right with you.”
“It’s fine by me.”
We were silent on the drive back, listening to the Saturday Night Top Ten countdown on the radio. I think we both knew it was going to happen tonight. Though I still felt as if I were taking advantage of her, I decided she was right. I wasn’t coercing her in any way. She knew I was in love with Pamela. I’d
been honest with her, and that’s all I could do. She sat very close to me and it felt good, felt right somehow. I was relaxed with her in a way I could never be with Pamela.
The lights were off downstairs. Mrs.
Goldman was still out on her date. I would get a full report later. I’d become her father in all this. From now on I’d be shaking hands and approving her dates before I let her go out with them. Or was that being too strict in this modern age?
We went upstairs. I got the lights on and the heat turned up. Frost was on the grass.
She used the bathroom first. Did some more fixing up. Was lovelier than ever.
The buddy I’d referred to was a Chicago police commander who’d picked up his law degree at Iowa. He spent three years working for a Chicago law firm and found himself bored. He became a cop. We kept in vague touch.
I’d never asked him for a favor before. He was married with two kids. I assumed he’d be home. Most married couples don’t go out much, even on Saturday nights.
While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and slapping on more Old Spice, the phone rang.
Mary answered it and started talking. Asking questions. I couldn’t get a lot of the exact words but I sure got the exact tone. Urgent.
Scared.
She knocked on the door. “McCain?”
I opened the door. “What’s up?”
“That was my mom. My dad’s taken a turn for the worse. I really need to get home.”
“Sure. Are they taking him to the hospital?”
“The doctor’s coming to the house.”
Even at night the houses in the Knoll look pretty rough. The Travers house was one of the best kept, thanks to Mary.
As I pulled up to the drive, I said, “I’ll say prayers for him.”
She looked surprised. “You still say prayers?”
“Sure.”
“You still go to mass?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged. “Rarely.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s what I
figured.” She looked anxiously at the lighted living room window. “I need to get in there.”
“I know.”
She turned back to me. Lovely.
Terrified of what might be going on with her father.
“I would’ve done it tonight, McCain.”
“Me too.”
“I want it to happen.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The drive back home was kind of
melancholy. The suddenly cold weather gave all the houses an air of being battened down.
Snug and cozy. Leaves tore from branches in the wind and crawled like small colorful monsters across the
We kept pace with it by trotting to the county road.
Not until it got to the clearing between driveway and road did I see the taillight. It was raw yellow, two small naked bulbs. No red plastic covering.
I don’t think the driver saw us. All of a sudden the car fishtailed through the gravel and shot onto the county road. It was doing 30 by then and 50 by the time it disappeared behind the trees.
“You get the license number?”
“I did.” She gave it to me.
“Illinois.”
“Yeah. Good work.”
“Thanks. Now what?”
“Need to check out the number.”
“And how do we do that?”
“I noticed you said we.”
She laughed. “I thought I was being sneaky.”
Then: “I want to help you on this, McCain.
Susan was my friend.”
“I’ll call my buddy when we get back to my place.”
“Is that where we’re going?”
“If it’s all right with you.”
“It’s fine by me.”
We were silent on the drive back, listening to the Saturday Night Top Ten countdown on the radio. I think we both knew it was going to happen tonight. Though I still felt as if I were taking advantage of her, I decided she was right. I wasn’t coercing her in any way. She knew I was in love with Pamela. I’d
been honest with her, and that’s all I could do. She sat very close to me and it felt good, felt right somehow. I was relaxed with her in a way I could never be with Pamela.
The lights were off downstairs. Mrs.
Goldman was still out on her date. I would get a full report later. I’d become her father in all this. From now on I’d be shaking hands and approving her dates before I let her go out with them. Or was that being too strict in this modern age?
We went upstairs. I got the lights on and the heat turned up. Frost was on the grass.
She used the bathroom first. Did some more fixing up. Was lovelier than ever.
The buddy I’d referred to was a Chicago police commander who’d picked up his law degree at Iowa. He spent three years working for a Chicago law firm and found himself bored. He became a cop. We kept in vague touch.
I’d never asked him for a favor before. He was married with two kids. I assumed he’d be home. Most married couples don’t go out much, even on Saturday nights.
While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth and slapping on more Old Spice, the phone rang.
Mary answered it and started talking. Asking questions. I couldn’t get a lot of the exact words but I sure got the exact tone. Urgent.
Scared.
She knocked on the door. “McCain?”
I opened the door. “What’s up?”
“That was my mom. My dad’s taken a turn for the worse. I really need to get home.”
“Sure. Are they taking him to the hospital?”
“The doctor’s coming to the house.”
Even at night the houses in the Knoll look pretty rough. The Travers house was one of the best kept, thanks to Mary.
As I pulled up to the drive, I said, “I’ll say prayers for him.”
She looked surprised. “You still say prayers?”
“Sure.”
“You still go to mass?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s that mean?”
I shrugged. “Rarely.”
She smiled sadly. “That’s what I
figured.” She looked anxiously at the lighted living room window. “I need to get in there.”
“I know.”
She turned back to me. Lovely.
Terrified of what might be going on with her father.
“I would’ve done it tonight, McCain.”
“Me too.”
“I want it to happen.” She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The drive back home was kind of
melancholy. The suddenly cold weather gave all the houses an air of being battened down.
Snug and cozy. Leaves tore from branches in the wind and crawled like small colorful monsters across the
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