Bad Radio (15 page)

I stroked her back and murmured the same familiar reassurances that we all do at times like this, knowing that the words didn’t matter. It was the act of compassion that was important. She let go and sniffed and wiped her eyes when she was done. “You need a tissue?”

She shook her head. “No, I used your shirt.” She barked out a little laugh.

“Bad dream?”

She nodded. “I’m fine, really. Just embarrassed. I haven’t had a nightmare since I was little. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“That’s okay, I read somewhere that we old people don’t sleep much anyway.”

“I wasn’t me, Abe. In the dream, I mean. I was getting ready for work and I was a waitress or something, because I could see myself in the mirror and I was wearing a uniform and an apron. I kept trying to put my makeup on, but I couldn’t because my hands were shaking too much. I remembered trying to hurry and at the same time not wanting to leave the bathroom because it was the only place I was left alone. But I couldn’t stay too long or he would come in to get me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, the man. So I gave up on the makeup and just washed my face. I looked terrible. There were black circles under my eyes, and my head hurt from not sleeping and from being scared all the time. It seemed like I had been scared forever. I came out of the bathroom, and he was standing in the hall like usual, waiting to take me to work.

“He had to drive me, because I wasn’t allowed to have the keys any more. I wasn’t allowed to be alone and I wasn’t allowed to drive. He made me cook, but all the knives were gone, except for the one he carried. He cut anything that needed to be cut. We went out to the car and started driving, and that’s when you woke me up.”

“Well, it’s over now. The things you’ve been through in the last couple of days? I’m surprised you only had a nightmare. Anybody else would have lost it by now. You’re a tough nut.”

“It was so weird. It didn’t feel like any dream I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to describe how real it was. I know everyone has dreams that seem real at the time, but this was way beyond that. Oh, and one other thing. The man in the dream, his skin was never still, like there were tiny wires moving underneath it all the time. He was a bag.”

“It doesn’t surprise me. If anything was going to give me bad dreams, it would be them.”

“Did my grandfather ever have dreams like this? Maybe this is part of that thing that we have.”

“Not that I know of. He knew when something was close, and he could get a fix on it, but that’s all.”

“Maybe he just didn’t tell you.”

I shrugged. “I guess. But I slept ten feet away from him for almost a year, and as far as I know he slept like a baby the whole time. Besides, we would tell each other anything that crossed our minds when we marched. Most days were long and boring, especially in the beginning. We talked about dreams, plans, made-up stories, you name it. He never made a secret of his gift, so I don’t know why he would hide something like this. Why, do you think this is more than a dream?”

“I don’t know. It sure felt real.”

“Well, at this point, I don’t think we can rule anything out. You ready to go back to sleep?”

“No, but I can try.” I snapped off the light and started to get up, but she pulled me back down. “Stay. Please.”

“Sure.” I swung my legs into the bed and propped myself up against the headboard. She lay down next to me, and after a few minutes, I heard her breathing even out as she fell asleep. I put one arm around her and waited for the dawn, content.

15

A
nne was asleep when I slipped out of bed and dressed. She had dozed fitfully for hours after our talk, but now, sleeping in the light, she was at peace. I doubted that this episode happening on her first night spent in the same room with the altar piece was a coincidence. I was re-packing my duffel and thinking about having to do some laundry when she woke up.

“Hey. Did you sleep?” She seemed a little embarrassed as she said it.

“Sure. Any more nightmares?”

“Not that I remember. But the one I did have is going to stay with me for a while.” She rubbed her upper arms with both hands. “Give me a few minutes to get ready, and we can go.” She snagged one of her bags and disappeared into the bathroom.

While she was gone, I went to the hotel lobby and got directions to the address Henry had given me. By the time I got back, Anne was ready to go, as promised.

Frank Eaton’s widow, Georgia, turned out to live in a tiny tract house in Brentwood. We made small talk on the way, sipping donut shop coffee and staring out the windows. Brentwood was a pleasant part of town, old enough to have history and well kept enough to show that people were proud to live there.

Groups of white and powder-blue wooden houses with peaked roofs sat in the center of tiny manicured lawns one after another, separated by ancient sprawling strip malls and low brownstone office buildings. It was the kind of place where only the cars had a sense of the present day about them.

We parked on a side street and peered at the small black address numbers on each house until we found it. There was a tiny porch of white painted wood tacked on to an otherwise unrelentingly square building.

It was mid-morning on a workday, and the street was quiet except for the faint barking of a dog inside the house next door. I rang the bell. After a few moments a pleasant, albeit wavering, voice came out of the speaker grill by the door. “Yes? May I help you?”

“Mrs. Eaton? I’d like to talk to you about your late husband Frank, if you have a moment. May I come in?”

“Oh, my. Frank? Is this about his pension? I get it until I die, that’s what they said.”

“No, ma’am. It’s not about his pension. May we talk for a few minutes?”

“What about? Who are you?”

“My name is Abraham Griffin. I’m named for my grandfather, who knew your late husband.” The lie rolled off my tongue effortlessly, but I couldn’t help but glance at Anne as I said it. She gave me a little nod, like she was absolving me.

The door buzzed and opened, revealing Georgia Eaton in a pink sweater and house slippers, looking like everyone’s great aunt. The smell of baking cookies and cinnamon washed over us.

“Why, if you aren’t the spitting image of your grandfather! I knew him very well, you know. Him and your grandmother both. Come in, come in!”

She ushered us through a small living room, and into an even smaller kitchen. Anne and I were seated around a tiny table that could just fit four if they were very friendly. There was a window over the sink that was draped with lace curtains that let in the light, but still provided privacy. The refrigerator and stove were ancient, with the art deco rounded corners and oversized handles that characterized appliances in the fifties. The plastic countertops were off-white with little gold stars sprinkled across them.

The cinnamon smell was coming from a couple of small candles in the center of the table. The combined smell of the candles and the baking was strong in the small kitchen, but not offensively so. I glanced at Anne and touched my nose, and she shook her head. I hoped that meant that we beat the bags here. “Thanks for inviting us in, Mrs. Eaton.” I gave her my best smile.

“Well of course. I was just about to make some coffee, would you care for some?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She busied herself at the stove and talked over her shoulder. “Your grandfather and my Frank were great friends. How is he, by the way?”

“He passed on a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, dear. He was a good man. I saw him at Frank’s funeral. But that was a long time ago. You’re just as handsome as he was. Sugar?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Would you care for some sugar in your coffee?”

“Oh, no thank you. Black is fine.”

She ferried cups one at a time to the table, setting them down carefully before returning with another. At last she sat down with her own cup and blinked at me with rheumy eyes. “So, what brings you here?”

“Did Frank ever talk about the war?”

“Oh, yes. All the time. I swear that man had a story for every occasion. He had quite a few about your grandfather, as I recall. Would you like to hear one?”

“Well, I don’t know that we have time …”

Anne interrupted me with a smile. “We’d love to, Mrs. Eaton.”

Georgia leaned forward conspiratorially over her coffee cup. “The first thing you need to know is that during the war, none of those boys were married. They were young, and they were away from home. Now, before they went off to Achnacarry in Scotland to become Army Rangers, they were all fresh out of boot camp and waiting for orders to go overseas. They had been trained at Camp Gruber, and not too far away was Star Lake.”

I stifled a groan. This would have been one of Frank’s favorite stories, the bastard.

“It so happened that one night, the boys arranged to meet some young women at the lake. You’ll notice I did not say ‘ladies.’ This would have been your grandfather Abe, my Frank, Shadroe, and Don.”

“Not Patrick?” asked Anne.

“This was before Achnacarry, dear, so the boys hadn’t yet met Patrick or Henry. No, it was just the four of them. That night, they snuck out of camp and went down to the lake. It was about three or four miles away, and they didn’t have a car, but being strong young soldiers, a four-mile run wasn’t going to get in the way of the evening that they had planned.

“So, they went to the lake, and sure enough, the girls were there waiting for them. They walked around the lake a bit, away from the road for more privacy. The girls had brought blankets and wine, you can imagine what for, and pretty soon each couple was moving off into the trees.

“Well, the way Frank tells it, he and his girl had decided to have their wine and watch the moon, unlike everyone else, and while they were engaged in this innocent pastime, they heard a commotion from the trees. He didn’t think much of it, until he heard Abe start screaming and yelling in terror.

“Just then, Abe’s date ran past them with her clothes clutched to her chest, making straight for the girls’ car. Frank ran back into the trees and found Abe, stark naked, up in a tree. Down below were two black bears, angry as can be.” Georgia laughed and fanned herself with one hand.

Anne laughed out loud with her. “That must have been some sight.”

“Oh, that’s not the half of it. The boys started yelling about bears, and the girls all jumped in their car and took off. Abe couldn’t get down because the bears wouldn’t leave, and the others were too scared to get close to them. So Frank, Shadroe, and Don had to run all the way back to camp to get help. Shadroe and Don were immediately confined to the barracks, but the MP’s took Frank with them back to the lake to show them where to find Abe.

“When they got back, they found Abe, still up in the tree, still naked. They scared the bears off with their guns and got him down. On the way back to the base, Abe tried to explain how he came to be treed by bears while naked, and the senior MP stopped him. He said, ‘Son, I don’t know what you had planned for tonight, but maybe next time you should bring the bears flowers first.’“

Laughter rang out in the kitchen, mine included. God, I missed those boys. “You know that Frank sent … my grandfather a birthday card every year, and every year it had a bear on it.”

She smiled and nodded. “Oh, yes, I used to help him pick them out.”

“He kept them all, every one.” I realized as I said it that those cards were all gone now, lost in the fire. It hurt. “He didn’t hang on to much else, just letters from his friends, and some souvenirs from the war. Did Frank keep any of that stuff?”

“I gave most of it away, after he died. I kept a few little things to remember him by. Are you looking for something in particular? I have his old medals, and the letters he sent to me from overseas, but that’s all. I’m going to get some more coffee, would you like some?” She got up from her seat and went to the counter with her cup.

“No thank you, I’m fine. We’re looking for something he brought back from Europe, a piece of metal.”

She put her cup down on the counter with a sharp click, but she didn’t turn around to face us. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall anything like that. I wish I could help you. I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be, so I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’m going to lie down for a while. Thank you for stopping by.”