awful, like blowing up the house with Aunt Flo and Uncle Billy and Catherine and Boo and me all inside. I want it to rain, a big storm with thunder that knocks you off your feet, and I want to stand outside in it and let the wind tear at my clothes and let the rain pound my face and let the thunder knock me back in time, back to yesterday before the Queen of Bohemia and I set out on our stupid quest.
But it doesn't rain, even though it threatens to, and I don't do anything horrible . As hard as I try, I can't make myself go back in time to change things. It doesn't seem fair that I can't do that. It's something God should let you do, even if you only get to do it once in your whole lifetime.
Boo rolls over, wanting me to scratch his belly. It doesn't seem to bother him that Alice is gone. Maybe he hasn't figured it out yet. He doesn't know that she's gone and she's never coming back. I wonder how long it'll take for that idea to sink in, if it can get through that thick skull of his.
Losing Alice hurts so much, I think it might be better to be like Boo or like the missing boy, Martin Dale, who was slow in the head. Right now I'd like to be so stupid that I don't know anything at all.
* * *
People have started coming to the house.
Most of them bring food, which is good because Aunt Flo has stopped cooking. Uncle Billy accepts the casserole dish or cold cuts or the cake or pie, and Aunt Flo doesn't come to the door. She stays in the bedroom. I guess Catherine got over being mad at Sammy because she's spending all her time with him. I find out that he's the sheriff's son.
"Dad's takin' it hard," he says, "real hard. He's been sheriff forever. Nothin' like this ever happened before. It's like he's let everybody down. The whole town."
Sammy knows all about the search and how they're not finding anything, not a single clue as to where Alice might be. They keep going over the same old ground. They're calling it off. Volunteers have dwindled and the search was about to fizzle out on its own if the FBI hadn't called it to a halt.
The FBI men come to talk to me. One of them is named Pete. He seems annoyed all the time, like he'd rather be anywhere but Meddersville. He's short and dark-haired and he's always picking things off his suit coat, things I can't even see, things I'm not even sure are there.
The other agent's name is Wallace. He's the one who questions me. I sit in a chair and Wallace sits across from me . He tries to pretend that we're having a normal conversation, as if kids and grownups ever sat like this and talked about anything important. Pete paces back and forth and keeps raising his eyes to the ceiling whenever I mention Mrs. Nichols. Pete's getting on Wallace's nerves. Finally Wallace tells him to go outside and have a smoke, and he does.
Wallace doesn't believe anything I said about Mrs. Nichols being a witch, but he agrees to go take a look if I'll go with him. The sheriff objects.
"Ruth's put up with enough from us," the sheriff says. "She's had your people and cops from three counties in and out of her place for the past four days."
"Won't hurt to take another look, with the boy," Wallace says. "Just for the report, to show we've touched all the bases."
The sheriff doesn't like it but he relents. He says he'll take us there. He wants me to ride with him. I shoot a look at Wallace and he says maybe it would be better if I rode with him and Pete in the FBI car. The sheriff isn't happy. I'm starting to think he's never happy.
So I get in the FBI car and we drive out to the nursing home, following the sheriff.
Pete makes comments, like how a dog could take a nap in the middle of Main Street on a Saturday afternoon, or how he'd kill for a real cup of coffee and not the watered-down stuff they drink out here. Wallace steers with one hand on the wheel. His left elbow sticks out the open window, he rests his arm on the door like Uncle Billy does. Pete asks him why he doesn't roll up the window and turn on
But it doesn't rain, even though it threatens to, and I don't do anything horrible . As hard as I try, I can't make myself go back in time to change things. It doesn't seem fair that I can't do that. It's something God should let you do, even if you only get to do it once in your whole lifetime.
Boo rolls over, wanting me to scratch his belly. It doesn't seem to bother him that Alice is gone. Maybe he hasn't figured it out yet. He doesn't know that she's gone and she's never coming back. I wonder how long it'll take for that idea to sink in, if it can get through that thick skull of his.
Losing Alice hurts so much, I think it might be better to be like Boo or like the missing boy, Martin Dale, who was slow in the head. Right now I'd like to be so stupid that I don't know anything at all.
* * *
People have started coming to the house.
Most of them bring food, which is good because Aunt Flo has stopped cooking. Uncle Billy accepts the casserole dish or cold cuts or the cake or pie, and Aunt Flo doesn't come to the door. She stays in the bedroom. I guess Catherine got over being mad at Sammy because she's spending all her time with him. I find out that he's the sheriff's son.
"Dad's takin' it hard," he says, "real hard. He's been sheriff forever. Nothin' like this ever happened before. It's like he's let everybody down. The whole town."
Sammy knows all about the search and how they're not finding anything, not a single clue as to where Alice might be. They keep going over the same old ground. They're calling it off. Volunteers have dwindled and the search was about to fizzle out on its own if the FBI hadn't called it to a halt.
The FBI men come to talk to me. One of them is named Pete. He seems annoyed all the time, like he'd rather be anywhere but Meddersville. He's short and dark-haired and he's always picking things off his suit coat, things I can't even see, things I'm not even sure are there.
The other agent's name is Wallace. He's the one who questions me. I sit in a chair and Wallace sits across from me . He tries to pretend that we're having a normal conversation, as if kids and grownups ever sat like this and talked about anything important. Pete paces back and forth and keeps raising his eyes to the ceiling whenever I mention Mrs. Nichols. Pete's getting on Wallace's nerves. Finally Wallace tells him to go outside and have a smoke, and he does.
Wallace doesn't believe anything I said about Mrs. Nichols being a witch, but he agrees to go take a look if I'll go with him. The sheriff objects.
"Ruth's put up with enough from us," the sheriff says. "She's had your people and cops from three counties in and out of her place for the past four days."
"Won't hurt to take another look, with the boy," Wallace says. "Just for the report, to show we've touched all the bases."
The sheriff doesn't like it but he relents. He says he'll take us there. He wants me to ride with him. I shoot a look at Wallace and he says maybe it would be better if I rode with him and Pete in the FBI car. The sheriff isn't happy. I'm starting to think he's never happy.
So I get in the FBI car and we drive out to the nursing home, following the sheriff.
Pete makes comments, like how a dog could take a nap in the middle of Main Street on a Saturday afternoon, or how he'd kill for a real cup of coffee and not the watered-down stuff they drink out here. Wallace steers with one hand on the wheel. His left elbow sticks out the open window, he rests his arm on the door like Uncle Billy does. Pete asks him why he doesn't roll up the window and turn on
Similar Books
