Page 25 of Martha Calhoun

“I know.”

“What do you want?” I had a sudden, frantic thought that he didn’t know Sissy was dead, and I’d have to give him the tragic news.

He stepped farther out from the shadow of the tree. He had on dark pants and a dark work shirt. “Why don’t you come down?” he hissed. “I’ve got some beer.” He waved his hand, and I saw the glint of a bottle.

“No.”

“Awww, come on. I’ll show you some fun—show you how it is with a man.”

I pulled sharply back from the window, afraid for an instant that his filthy hands could reach up to the second story and touch me. So he knew, too. Probably everyone knew.

He came forward, up to the side of the house, directly under the window. “Pssst,” he hissed. “Hey! Martha.” He was getting clumsy at keeping his voice down. The Vernons’ bedroom was at the other end of the house, but someone was sure to hear him. From my angle on the bed, I could see the top of his head moving. He seemed to be working at something. Scratching noises came from below. Was he trying to climb up the wall?

As quietly as possible, I unlocked the screen and leaned out. The night air felt cool. Elro was standing right below me.

“Please go away,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “I heard you were lookin’ for action, and I figured, hey, I got plenty of action right here.” He made a vague gesture with his hand and then snorted, holding in a laugh. He swigged the beer again.

“Please,” I begged.

Cocking his head, he studied me for a few seconds. “You know, I always did think you were kinda cute—ever since sixth grade. I like big girls.”

“Please.”

With his empty hand, he reached in his pocket. “Look, I got money,” he said, thrusting a fist of crumpled bills toward me. “I’m workin’ the night shift at the KTD this summer.” Standing with his arm upstretched, he swayed slightly, obviously drunk. He was hardly even trying to keep his voice down now. “Look!” he insisted, angrily. All there was to see was the tightly squeezed money. “Look!” he repeated, angrier and louder. “Look!”

I felt dizzy and had to grab the top of the windowsill. Out of the daze, a memory floated back. On a summer’s night like this, years ago, an angry man was in Bunny’s yard, yelling at the house, howling at a window, threatening, cajoling, always calling for Bunny. Inside, we were huddled together on a sofa, and I was scared—scared of the man, but scared, too, that Bunny didn’t hate it as much as I wanted her to.

A light flicked on over in the Porters’ house. Elro saw it and with two quick steps slipped behind the tree. I pulled back inside, then pressed against the edge of the window to look out. The light came from Grandma Porter’s room. I watched her old, shapeless body roll out of bed and pad slowly out the bedroom door. A minute or so later, she padded back and came to the window, staring at the yard. She had a ghostly shape and a ghostly color. Her gray-white hair, released from its daytime bun, was surprisingly long, and it fluffed down over her neck. She was wearing a pale nightgown that hung loosely from her shoulders, exposing her big, fleshy arms. The darkness all around made her seem even closer. She turned her head slightly as she scanned the yard. Was she the only one who had heard us? After several minutes, she climbed back into her bed and turned out the light.

The yard now seemed even blacker. I searched the form of the oak’s trunk for a bulge that would be Elro, but saw nothing. Maybe he’d managed to slip away. I stayed at the window a while longer, not really thinking, not really knowing what to think. The cool air felt good on my face and carried a fresh, grassy night smell. I breathed deep. My gaze was lost somewhere in the branches of the oak. I concentrated on the sound of the KTD, letting the comforting hum fill my head.

“Hey!” said Elro again. He’d stepped back under the window.

“I’ll tell the Vernons,” I whispered. “They’ll call the police.”

“Come on,” he said, ignoring my warning. He was swaying, and his words were more slurred. “I got my dad’s pickup.” He swung his arm wildly toward the street. “We’ll go to Wisconsin. You can escape.”

“Shut up! Go away!” I drew back and relatched the screen.

Elro stumbled to the tree, staring all the time at the window. When his back was against the trunk, he slid down, collapsing in an awkward clump at the base. He took another drink of beer and examined the bottle. Then he slapped his forehead with his open palm. He looked unhappy enough to cry.

I pulled the curtains closed and lay back on the bed. Much later, about three, I heard the sound of an engine starting up on Oak Street. A vehicle drove away.

EIGHT

The telephone jangled me awake early the next morning. I sat up and looked out the window. Elro was gone, and he’d taken his empty beer bottles. All traces of his visit had disappeared. The sky was overcast and drizzly, but the small backyard seemed so empty and safe in the daylight that it was hard to believe he had ever been there at all.

I assumed the call was from Mrs. O’Brien. Yesterday she’d announced we would go swimming this morning, but, given the weather, she was no doubt postponing the outing. Lying back in bed, I waited for Mrs. Vernon to come upstairs with the news. She didn’t, though, and soon there was another call and then another. The phone was on a table in the hall downstairs. From Sissy’s room, I couldn’t make out what was being said, but I could hear the urgency in Mrs. Vernon’s voice and then in her husband’s as the two of them responded to the callers. There was an urgency, too, in the Vernons’ footsteps as husband and wife moved about the house in their morning routine.

I stayed in bed until just before eight, when I heard Mr. Vernon bang the screen door shut on his way to work. Then I washed, got dressed, and went downstairs. Mrs. Vernon was sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a cup of tea with one of her tiny, silver spoons. She brightened when she saw me and hopped up to start breakfast, but it was easy to see that something was wrong. Worry was weighing down her shoulders, slowing her actions as she moved around the kitchen. A few minutes later, after she had set a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me, she explained. “There’s talk they’re going to shut down the KTD. The company that owns it lost some contracts. There were men here yesterday making arrangements. There’s a story in today’s Exponent.”

“I might have seen those men,” I said, thinking of the pair in the Buffalo. “That’s terrible,” I added quickly. “Terrible news.”

“I don’t know how this town will survive,” she went on. “Four hundred people work in that factory. Think of all those people out

of work.”

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