The Animals: A Novel (24 page)

But he’s Bill’s friend, Jude said. So he’s not a stranger.

He’s a stranger to you. Maybe he just said he was Bill’s friend.

Right, Jude said, although his tone implied that he did not feel this particular maxim applied to the situation at hand.

Bill said nothing now, could think of nothing to say. He could feel Grace looking at him but his eyes were outside in the forest where it rolled toward them out of the night, the headlights rendering everything before them flat and colorless.

He seemed really nice, Jude said. And he knew about the animals and he said he knew your mom from a way long time ago.

He said he knew Bill’s mom?

Yeah, aren’t you guys listening?

The car bumped onto the bridge that spanned the Kootenai. All beyond its walls rode blank empty space.

What else did he say? Bill said, not turning his gaze from the black window.

He didn’t say anything, really, Jude said. Just to tell you hi.

Jimmy’s mom let you talk to this man? Grace said. There was an edge in her voice.

She talked to him a little too. Why are you mad?

I’m not mad, honey, she said. Just no more talking to strangers, OK?

OK.

I mean really. I’m serious. No talking to strangers.

The boy was silent now, watching out the window between them on the bench seat. He reached his hand into Bill’s and squeezed it, something Bill could not recall him doing ever before, and Bill looked down at him there, this boy, and smiled at him, all the while his heart twisting in his chest. He wanted the truck to stop so that he could flee somehow into the empty space outside the glass.

Somewhere out there was the river with its loops and turns. The boy’s hand warm in his own. That black snowy river: he did not know if it ever reached the sea.

WHEN THEY
reached Grace’s house, the boy would hardly leave his side, hovering next to him in the kitchen and then sitting so close to him on the sofa that he was nearly in Bill’s lap.
The Jeff Foxworthy Show
was on television and Bill laughed when Grace and Jude laughed.

When the program was over, Grace stood and disappeared into the bathroom and Bill turned toward the boy. Listen, pal, he said. We’re gonna have to do that thing later.

No, Jude said, his head shaking from side to side. You said after Fall Festival. You promised.

Shhh. It’s still a surprise. I don’t want her to find out.

Why can’t we do it tonight?

I have to talk to your mom about something first.

What?

Something important, that’s all.

Something else?

Yeah, something else.

When will we do it then?

I don’t know. I’ll have to figure that out after I talk to her.

But you’re not gonna do it without me, right? Don’t do it without me, OK?

I won’t.

Grace had returned, sitting on the other side of her son on the sofa, her arm draped around behind the boy so that her fingertips rested on Bill’s shoulder. On the television, the actor Brian Dennehy stood in front of a dark house telling the viewer to take a pill called Zantac 75. What are you boys talking about? she said.

Nothing, Jude said quickly.

Sounds fishy, Grace said.

Just talking about homework and stuff, Jude said.

Homework and stuff, huh? She leaned over and kissed his head. Time for shower and bed, little man.

He was staring at her now. At her and at Jude. How beautiful they both were. How lucky he had been to have them in his life at all.

Can’t I stay up just a little while longer?

Show’s over and it’s already past your bedtime, she said.

OK, Jude said, his voice falling.

The boy disappeared into the hall with his mother and after a time Bill clicked off the television and wandered out into the kitchen. The black-covered paperback of
The Tibetan Book of the Dead
rested on
the counter and he lifted it and stood flipping through its pages until he found the image he had looked at before. The Great Mandala of the Peaceful Deities. It made no more sense to him this time than it had the first.

Catching up on your research? Grace said, coming into the room from the hall.

The book was still in his hand. He closed it and returned it to the counter now. It doesn’t make any sense.

Just ways to get through.

Through what?

Through to the other side.

The other side of what?

Of anything. I don’t know. I’ve only read like fifty pages. It’s pretty far out. Lamas and rituals and stuff like that.

Just don’t start making altars or burning incense or anything, all right?

I’m just trying to get far enough into it so that I can tell Fran I read it.

Fran’s that important?

She shrugged. Isn’t everyone?

No, he said.

She looked up at him. I was the one who put down her dog. It just seemed like her whole soul kind of leaked out of her when that animal died. She doesn’t need me to read the book. She just needs to be able to talk to someone.

You’re the best person I know, Bill said.

She smiled at him. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. She went to the kitchen counter and lifted a manila envelope from its surface. He had dropped it off at the veterinary office a few days earlier: a sheaf of forms from Idaho Fish and Game, some of which seemed impossible to complete. You wanna talk about this tonight?

Not tonight, he said.

It’s not just gonna go away.

He looked at her, saying nothing, only staring into her wide, beautiful eyes. He felt as if his body had filled with snow, as if dry and frozen powder shifted and blew and swirled everywhere through him. I just can’t do it tonight, he said.

OK, she said. I know it’s hard.

He nodded. That’s one word for it.

Maybe I can come up this week and you and me and Bess can all talk it out.

He nodded again. Think Jude’s still awake in there?

If you hurry.

He entered the boy’s room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him in the softly lit darkness.

What? the boy said.

Look, pal, about that guy. He’s not really a friend of mine, all right?

What do you mean?

He’s someone you should keep away from.

But he knows about the animals. And he knows your mom.

I know.

How does he?

I knew him a long time ago.

How long?

We can talk about that some other time, Bill said. Point is, if you see him again, I need to know about it.

OK.

I’m serious.

I know. The boy looked for a moment like he might cry.

You don’t have to be scared. Just don’t talk to him again. And if you see him and he tries to talk to you, just walk away. And tell me. Tell me if you see him somewhere, OK?

OK, Jude said. His eyes were tearing up.

Bill leaned in close and kissed his forehead. You don’t have to be afraid, he said. I’ll take care of it. I just wanted you to know because you’re a big boy and you should know what’s happening.

OK, Jude said.

I love you, pal, Bill said.

I love you too, pal, Jude said.

Bear hug?

The boy threw his arms around him and Bill squeezed him hard against his chest.

He swung the door partially closed, said good night one last time, and then clicked off the hall light and returned to the front of the house. Grace was seated on the sofa, a blanket pulled around her, watching television.

I need to talk to you about something, he said.

She did not turn toward him at first, instead laughing quietly at something on the screen.
Murphy Brown.
Candice Bergen turning to look at her co-anchor before deadpanning a joke about his toupee.

Grace, he said.

His hands went into his pockets and he could feel the velvet box that contained the engagement ring there and the thought of it made him crumble as if everything inside him had become a tower of ash.

Baby, what’s wrong? she said.

She was up now and he did not even know that his eyes had filled with tears until her arms came around him and he stood there watching the television warp and wobble, the laugh track rising in volume now, a scattering of applause mixed in with that curved wave of laughter.

What’s wrong? she said again.

I need to talk to you about something.

She pulled back and looked at him. You didn’t cheat on me, did you?

What? he said. No. And despite of everything he smiled. Why would I do that?

Well, then it can’t be that bad, she said.

He stood there looking at her and again the tears came.

What is it, baby? she said. What’s wrong?

Ah god, Grace, he said. It was all he could think of to say. Ah god.

10

THE PAIN WAS A WHITE LINE. HIS EYES WERE CLENCHED
against it but still it came, running up the length of his arm and radiating into the cold flat light of the apartment bathroom. Susan was kneeling over him, her face throbbing with his pulse, and for a moment he could not remember where he was. Then it came back. Behind her, Rick stood in the open doorway. At Susan’s feet and knees: a pile of unspooled toilet paper. Try to keep still or I’m gonna mess it up, she said.

I’m trying, he said, and with it that white line seemed to burn through the center of him. Fuck, he said through his teeth.

That motherfucker, Rick said from the doorway. I’ll kick his fucking ass.

That’s not helping, Susan said.

You can’t just break a man’s finger, he said. You can’t do that.

Rick, Nat said weakly.

What, buddy? What do you need?

A drink.

Sure, man, he said. Anything you want.

Something strong.

You got it, Rick said, already disappearing from the doorway.

It was silent then, Susan wrapping his broken finger in toilet paper, leaning over him so that the neck of her T-shirt hung low before his eyes.

You’re staring down my shirt, she said.

He might have been embarrassed, would have been under normal circumstances, but there was too much pain and all he could do was grit his teeth as she brought the toilet paper up around the break again. He just reached out and broke it, he said.

I know.

There was nothing I could do. It was so fast. And he could see it all again in his mind. He had expected to be beaten, expected the cocaine rush to hold him steady while they punched at his body, at his face, but then Johnny had said simply, Hold up your hand, and Nat had looked at his own hand for a moment, as if expecting to see something there, and Mike had reached out and grasped his index finger and, in one quick movement, broke it sideways. For a brief instant he had stood with his hand out before him, that single finger askew, the tiny bone broken just after the knuckle. Even in his memory it seemed impossible.

Next time you miss a payment and I’ll break your arm or your leg, Mike told him. After that I bust in your skull.

Are we clear? Johnny had said.

And Nat had only been able to say one word: Fuck. Mike had been holding his arm but he released it now and Nat fell to his knees on the cold hard asphalt.

Good, Johnny had said. So we’re all clear. Let’s give it a week and we’ll try this again.

He had come stumbling into the casino after that and had been lucky only in that Rick and Susan were just turning out of the coffee shop and saw him there near the door. He told them only that he could not go to the hospital, that there was no money for it, that there was no money for anything.

Now he knelt beside the toilet, leaning back against its curved shape, sweat dripping down into his face.

You have to stop moving, Susan said.

I’m sorry. He stared at her, her face so close to him, inches away now as she worked on the hand he clutched to his chest. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her. He would have given anything to do it.

And then Rick was in the doorway again, holding a plastic tumbler that rattled with ice. Here you go, buddy, he said.

He handed down the cup and Nat took it in his free hand and might have drained it all in one ongoing gulp but his throat seized at the vodka and he gave himself up to paroxysms of choking and coughing.

Susan had her arm around him, her hand patting his back. Shhh, shhh, she whispered to him. Slow down. Slow down. You’ll be all right.

What happened out there? Rick said.

I don’t know, he said, his breath a wheeze. They didn’t even give me a chance to talk. They just took me out to the parking lot and broke it. Saying the words made his eyes tear up, not at the pain but at the sense of helplessness he had felt in that moment, and in the knowledge that he had had the money to make the payment, had held it in his hands only an hour and a half before. What a fool you are. What a goddamn fool.

Fucking assholes, Rick said.

Nat brought the tumbler to his mouth again and gulped at it. This time it went down easy, the liquid so cold that it seemed to burst all through his chest, and when he lowered the tumbler, panting, there was nothing left in it but ice.

I still think you have the flu or something, Susan said.