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  She wishes she could come up with a laugh of irony, have it last past the beep for her message, but she can't. "Rozmer, this is Del, Del Merrick. Wayne Smith was just here looking for Mark. I feel certain Mark is using again … Please help me."

  25 : Reap

  GOING TO HAVE to sell it all: everything. Pay Smithy and get on the bus. Before the car comes to the crest, he turns off the headlights, slows down to a crawl. Best scenario: she's at Richard's. Get the car loaded without an inquisition. Without having to say, If I don't come up with the money, the dealer's going to break my arms. Or worse. Not chicken-shit local Smithy, the low man on the pole; no, a guy from the city. All business. Steering wheel's greasy. Sweat, jitters coming on. One thing: got enough in reserve to ward off being sick midway through the drama.

  The house is dark. Only one vehicle hunched at the end of the drive. He cuts the engine, coasts. Just ahead: Tess's truck. Only Tess's truck. Bad as he is, karma-gods letting him off a little longer. Tess? He owes her money too. She's going to trail him, saying shit he does not want to hear, but he can deal with her. Main thing: his mother is at Richard's, he's not going to have to head into her stricken look when he starts loading his drums.

  No cigarettes. He extracts a handful of butts from the ashtray, rips a few apart, then sifts the bits of tobacco down the center of an E-Z Wider. Nasty. Just like old times. He leaves the car door ajar. Cold. Couldn't pass the "what day is it?" test tonight, but winter's definitely coming on. First things first: get his works from the barn. So dark that for a few seconds there's nothing but black where the barn ought to be. As long as he's got gravel under his feet, he's okay. Finally the barn rises up square and solid right where it's supposed to be. Have to fuck around finding the right key by feel. The gods extracting payment one drop of blood at a time. He tries the knob and the shop door opens. Someone's been here. Drum-room's locked, but he can't feel if his spy-detector paper is still there. Been so fogged in lately, maybe he didn't remember to stick it in place last time he was here.

  Best not risk the lights. Hard to know what alert-level Tess is on. He pats along the window ledge until he finds the candle, the box of matches. His shadow rises up huge and menacing on the wall. He slides his fingers down behind the piano strings, careful not to set them thrumming. Relief: the bag is still where he left it. Through the cloth, he can feel it's all there: the bulge of syringes, his cooker, a Bic, and even a vial of Clorox. But going to have to dumpster it all before he gets on the bus. He doesn't lock either door. Fuck it. No evidence left and all the tools with resale value long gone. His bass, all his CDs gone as well.

  Without even a click, he leans into the car, stows the works far back under the front seat. The house is still dark, silent. Where are the dogs? All hell's bound to erupt soon. He unlocks the trunk, surveys the space; that, and the back seat, and half the front. Going to be a major squeeze to get it all in. Trick will be not to look too strung out when he negotiates the sales. The computer? Where to take that? Someplace where they'll believe it's his. The computer. Shit, really crossing the line on that one.

  With his thumb pressed down on the handle, he pushes into the front door. The bolt's in place. Of course. Have to go around to the side. Queenie's got to be in with Tess and Luke must have gone with his mom to Richard's. A bad sign that some shit has already gone down because Richard would only be up for that due to extreme conditions. Chances are good Smithy's been calling, even been here pumping out scary vibes: his mother finally putting it all together.

  He eases the side door open and steps into the hall. Not a sound from Tess's room. He closes the door between the big room and the hall, lets the handle down to soften the sound. Answering machine's a steady blink of red. No one in the world he wants to talk to. Do the bass drum first. Then, there it is: The Note. Taped to Mr. Coffee. Taped shut. M-A-R-K. He unfolds it under the light, scans for the one word he hopes is not there:

  Wayne Smith was here today. This, along with a whole series of other things this last month or so, can only mean one thing. You and I had an agreement. As you said, if you broke that, the whole world would change for all of us. I called Rozmer…

  Rozmer. He crushes the paper into a tight ball. One thirty. Too late to try to do any damage control. Main thing: have to take care of this business. Load up, park somewhere until morning, sell the stuff, pay Smithy, leave the car where she can pick it up, get on a bus.

  Back and forth. Back and forth. The back seat's packed to the ceiling, the trunk's jammed. Only the computer left. Each time he steps into the living room, he expects Tess to be standing there, ready to go at it. Each time it's a relief when she isn't. Especially now that he's about to heist the computer. Yeah, heist. He begins to unhook all the connections. A thousand cords to untangle. All the "original packing" is under the table. Be worth more if he used that, but no way would it go in the car then. Monitor box wouldn't even fit through the passenger door. He slides one of the plastic bags from the boxes down over the monitor. Put that in first. Just as he starts for the door, he hears something. He freezes and waits. Waits. Heart at full volume. The hall door does not open. No headlights appear on the road. He stands there feeling caught even when he hasn't been, feels the full weight of the monitor. He sets it back on the table. Not the fucking computer. May mean he can't get any farther than Albany, but stealing the computer, no, he's not going to do that.

  He throws his backpack in front, shoves the rear door hard to get it to close on the amplifier. That's it. His jaw muscles have gone into clinch, the bones in his hips ache. Sure signs. He takes the bag from under the seat: wrap himself in a little warmth before he finds a pull-in to wait for things to open up in the morning. But he's got to take it easy, ration out the last of his supply. His supply not quite as much as he hoped. He goes back up the stone walk: Aaron's walk. Only the glow of the stove light. Why hasn't Tess burst out of her room onto the scene? No way is she in there snug in her bed, sleeping. Not her usual in-your-face M.O. Maybe she's going to sit this one out.

  A glass of water, the bag tucked under his arm, he turns off the light and makes his way up the loft-ladder. He sets up by the window, then pulls his frayed army belt out of the loops of his pants and retrieves the baggie through the hole in his pocket. Definitely less heroin left than he imagined. He twists off the needle cap and examines his left arm—right one's done for, several hard red lumps heating up to abscess. Have the thrill of lancing them in a lurching bus toilet in the back of a speeding Greyhound. Junkie entertainment. He finds a vein, ties off, places one end of the belt in his teeth. He pours a little water in the spoon. His hand is shaking. He sifts in enough to get him there, watches the brown granules dissolve, then the spoon over the candle. Such a fucking ritual. Last rites.

  The hall door opens. Steady, you mother, steady.

  "Mark…" Tess and Queenie move through the darkness below. The big ceiling light goes on. No way she can see him this far back in the loft unless she climbs the ladder.

  He sinks the needle in, depresses the pump, feels the cold enter the vein, retracts a little blood, then pumps that back.

  "Mark, answer me."

  In a few more seconds it's going to hit him, wrap him up and take him there.

  "Mark, I know you're here." Her feet on the ladder.

  "Don't come up."

  She stops. Only Queenie's pant.

  He closes the baggie, presses it through the hole in his jacket pocket, unties his belt, scoops the works into the bag. Heat rushes through him. Saliva gone.

  "Mark, what's going on?" Her voice blooms blue from below. "Your mother called me at Hoop's, said Smithy'd been here looking for you. Smithy, Jesus Christ, that scumbag. Are you completely crazy or what?"

  His skin's hot. He's going to be able to do it all. He slides the works, his belt into his pocket and goes to the top of the ladder.

  Tess watches him descend. He laughs. "Shit, you're high." She turns. "Where is everything? Your drums? Jesus, Mark, you owe those evil peo
ple money."

  He goes down. There's the car. Get in the car, turn the key, back out. He hears her behind him. He closes the car door, but there she is in the lights, her mouth still going. He stuffs the works under the seat, puts the car in reverse. The rear window's blocked with crap. He turns on the lawn. Tess disappears. The cherry tree, the barn, the sound of the brook, Aaron's cabin up on the hill: it all disappears. He turns onto the highway. Follow the yellow lines until he gets to where he has to go next.

  Who is he going to miss? Luke. And that is fucking all.

  A thud slams him against the steering wheel, the screech of metal. Breaking glass. Trees upside down. He turns over and over, held by the belt. The car skids on its side, smashes against something, wedges him between the door and the amp. Stops. The windows gone. The smell of gas. He releases the belt. His hand is bleeding. He pulls himself through the opening, rolls onto the road, crawls, runs. Hissing, then a boom. Another boom. Flames light the sky. Flames as high as the trees. Gone. Everything gone.

  He went on the nod. That's what happened: he went on the nod.

  Sirens, the flash of red lights heading his way. He wipes his hand on his sweatshirt and pulls the baggie out, sifts what's left along the shoulder, rips the plastic, gives the tatters to the hot wind.

  26 : Fugue This

  THE ROOM IS BLACK dark. Del feels her way to the bed. She listens to Richard gargling in the bathroom, the ping of the raised seat against the back of the toilet. She pulls her nightgown off and crawls in between the sheets. She'd rather stay clothed, shielded from it all. But … but there's no sense in adding to the tension. Her body's one big knot already: no response from Mark about her note, no word from Rozmer. And Richard? Instead of being a comfort, his silence is just one more goddamned thing.

  The bathroom door opens. She moves a little closer to the edge and works on breathing that sounds like sleep. Richard slides in, pushes his legs over to her side, brushes her ankle with his foot. Even though he doesn't move, she can feel him getting closer. Warmer, warmer, and any second he's going to send out an exploratory tentacle. In and out, she keeps her breath slumberous. In all their years together, though she's feigned sleep occasionally and he's not intruded, she has never rebuffed an outright paw on her hip. He turns and nuzzles her neck. Make it better or make it worse. She presses her shoulder against his chest. His arm crosses over, his hand caresses her belly. And really could it not end with this tender contact? To just lie nested into each other? But no: there's the throb of him against her rear. His hand cups her breast. She turns toward him, cradles the warm sack of his balls in her palm.

  ***

  Richard is rationing out their vitamins. The raisins, just the right number, are plumping up in the boiling water. She dumps in a cup of old-fashioned oatmeal and lowers the heat to medium. If she can just keep going through the motions, maybe she won't lose her mind. Let the phone ring. Let it be Rozmer. Her stomach is fisted: dread, fear, anger. Richard smiles at her standing there at the stove, stirring. Well, at least there's that. Thank you for that. Plus here's Luke, settled on his mat, no complaints from Richard. Thank you for that as well.

  After breakfast she is going to go in there and put her underwear in her suitcase, her pencils in her pencil box, the journals and photos in a duffel, the memory studies in her portfolio—though truly this memory project she's planned is the last thing she wants to do now. What she wants is to draw a blank, slip her mind, write it off. An Amnesiac series. She plops the oatmeal into two bowls and sets one in front of Richard. He pats her bottom as she passes.

  "Much obliged," he says, and smiles at her again.

  She sits across from him. He does not read the paper. "You know what?" she says.

  "What?"

  "I'm going."

  "Good. Best thing you could do all around—for yourself and ultimately for Mark. Get out of the way."

  She's going to pack everything and march it to the car. No matter what, no matter how crazy it gets, day after tomorrow, she's going to Owl Lake for one month and she is not giving any of them her number. Except for Richard and even him only the emergency number. Anyway he'll be in the wilds of Colorado, an elk in his crosshairs. And then? Well, then, if she has to, in order to never have to live with Mark again, she can rent out the house to some orderly retired couple. A long, long lease. She can move in with Richard. Do not, do not mention this until you see how it all unfolds.

  The phone. "Oh, Jesus," she says, "here it is." Her stomach hurts. She goes into the bedroom, closes the door, breathes and picks up the receiver.

  "I got home too late to return your call last night."

  Rozmer. "I'm glad it's you. Have you heard from Mark? I know he's going to be very angry that I called you."

  "I think you should sit down. Mark's okay, but he totaled your car sometime about four this morning. No one was hurt. No property damage. No tickets issued."

  "My god. What happened?"

  "He told the troopers a deer ran in front of him and he overreacted. On the way to buy cigarettes. Rolled the car a few times." She does sit down.

  "They gave him a breathalyzer. No alcohol. But no question he was high. All the signs. Tess says he drove off high. First he called her to come and get him; then she called me. By the time I got there, a wrecker from over in Stanton had picked up the car. I said, You're high. He denied it." She's going to have to hear it all. "He wouldn't let me look at his arms." Close-ups, the sound track running. The whole movie. A movie she'd never go see. "I suggested he take a piss test today according to his contract. He said, Fuck the contract." She sees she's drawn a black dot in the center of the telephone pad and it's getting bigger and bigger, blacker and blacker. "I said, What about your mother's rules? His response: I don't care about her rules."

  She brings each corner of the sheet to the center and flattens it, careful not to get any carbon on her hands. "I'm telling you this to help you do what you have to do."

  What does she have to do? She's got to get out of the loop: follow through on the terms of the agreement, stop being his rep-payee.

  "Consequences," Rozmer says.

  "I know. I know I have to tell him to move, but where will he go? I feel I have to give him a little time to find a place to stay."

  "I'd give him no time at all. 'You have to leave today and if you don't, I'll call the sheriff.'"

  "I don't know if I can do that."

  "Do you want me to go with you?"

  ***

  Rozmer will meet her at the gravel bank at one. Tess is staying with the Daweses for now, until she finds out if she can go on living at the stone house. Rozmer said he'll see if Tess wants to go along, get some of her stuff. After all, Tess cares about Mark too. She rehearses what she's supposed to say. It doesn't feel like anything she would ever say. Not a part she would get if she had to audition. Maybe that's the key: where Mark's concerned, she should do the opposite of what feels right.

  Richard passes by the window carrying a propane tank for his travel trailer. She's going to have to tell him about the car. His response: Never should have loaned it in the first place. Just set Mark up for trouble. Or silence.

  1. Get Richard's advice on the insurance.

  2. Wrecker: plates & registration.

  3. S.S. ofc. Stop rep-payee.

  4. Leave notes for Dr. Taylor and Ben Jacobs. No details.

  5. Call sheriff's dept. to get procedure.

  9:00. Four hours to get as much of this accomplished as possible. Present Mark with "already done," otherwise she'll be easy prey for his manipulation. She runs water in the oatmeal pot and puts on her jacket. Luke leaps with joy. "You aren't going," she tells him.

  Richard is under the trailer, only his boots sticking out. She bends down a little. "I have to talk to you for a minute."

  "Go ahead," he says. "I can hear you."

  She moves closer to where his ear might be, bends down farther, but sees only his midsection stretched out on one of those padded boards on wh
eels. "Mark wasn't hurt, but he totaled the car last night. No tickets issued. A wrecker took it away. What's the best way to handle it with Allstate?"

  A long pause. "Tell Allstate you're taking the car off the road." He rolls out and looks up at her. He taps her shoe with the index finger that's not greasy. "Only that and nothing more. Drop the plates off at Motor V. Cost you a dollar." Again he disappears. There's the ratchet, ratchet of a wrench.

  ***

  Just as Del crests the hill on Cobb's Road, the orange flash of their grandfather maple, still in full leaf, far below across the field, the brook, and then the blue-gray of the stone house roof. She slows. Lots of smoke coming from the chimney. Mark must be there and up and about enough to be stoking a good fire.

  12:45. She's made the calls, written the notes, signed off as payee. Too late to stop the October payment, but she can return that to Social Security as soon as it gets deposited in the representative-payee account tomorrow. Only Motor V left once she picks up the license plates and registration at Stanton Wrecking. The sheriff's department does not come and remove wayward children unless they're holed up with a gun, doing something considered a harm to themselves or others. She has to go to the town justice—Hoop Dawes—if she wants to evict Mark, and it's a long involved process. But this doesn't mean she can't use the sheriff as a threat in her speech if Rozmer thinks it's needed.

  She passes the Cobb farmhouse, rented out since Lee's mother's death. Two years ago this October. Then there's the left onto the highway and a quick turn into the gravel bank. No one around at B & R Roto-Rooter & Excavating. She pulls the car behind the huge pile of gravel that cascades onto her right-of-way. She makes herself look up the hill. Just one corner of Aaron's cabin is visible through the hemlocks. Aaron. Eight years in April. Maybe in the calm of Owl Lake, Mark behind her, she can finally turn toward that. Read his blue notebook, the words he wrote only a few days before he died.