The Lost (45 page)

So life wasn’t so bad in Rahway Prison. Only thing bothered him was, he wasn’t one hundred percent these days. Goddamn flu or something. Probably caught it on the yard, but the fucker wouldn’t go away. The doc’s antibiotics just weren’t making it. Jumma felt tired lot of the time, a little sick to the stomach, had the shits off and on, night sweats, swollen glands—both sides of his neck—the whole fucking thing. He could tell he was losing some weight too.

The bitch said he was worried. Didn’t want to catch the flu.

Fuck him. He caught it, he caught it.

And then three days ago he gets these funny little bumps, notices them in the shower, bluish purple, one on his left thigh just above his knee, the other right next to his left nipple. Didn’t hurt or nothing but having them there, man, they bothered him. Marred his otherwise perfect beauty. The bitch hadn’t noticed the spots yet. The bitch was too busy riding his dick.

The bitch was always faced in the other direction.

He wondered if these funny little bumps of his had anything to do with the goddamn flu, popped a bennie and a tetracycline and figured he’d ask the doctor.

It was late April of 1970 before Ed Anderson was able to get what he wanted for the house and begin the process of packing, going through the attic and basement and garage, through all the memorabilia of his years with Evelyn, a sometimes painful process but necessary because the house in Tom’s River was much smaller, with no basement and besides, these were the times for such activities, the sorting out of the important from the merely nostalgic, the strong true memories from the frailer ones.

In the attic he found her high-school diploma and all her report cards stacked and bound with twine, read them through for what was probably the first time as far as he could remember and was unsurprised to find her a fine student, much better than he’d ever been, all
A
’s and
B
’ s, with not a
C
in sight. He read them and threw them away. In the same box he found her birth certificate and their marriage license and these he kept. He found her favorite bookmark, a two-inch-wide length of ribbon, crimson edged with gold. He resolved to use it himself from now on. Each time he opened a book he’d have a little glimpse of Evelyn.

On the day before he was to leave, the first Thursday in May, he was around back in the garden planting it one last time. The new owners, he had a feeling, would appreciate the flowers. Zinnia, petunia, pansy, larkspur, Sweet William. He was slightly late with the pansies but that had happened before and they did just fine. He was down on his hands and knees in the rich-smelling earth beside the garage when he heard a car pull in and saw it was Charlie Schilling.

Over here
he said, and Schilling walked around to him and laughed and shook his head.

“You’re relentless,” Schilling said.

“Yeah. You should talk.”

And it was a measure of the degree to which the man had healed the past few months that Schilling didn’t flinch at that one.

“I got to wish you weren’t doing this, Ed.”

“What? Gardening?”

“Moving, asshole. What am I gonna do Happy Hour at Panik’s joint without your ugly mug in there?”

“Just what you’re doing now. Coke with a wedge of lime.”

He leaned into the dirt, patting it gently the way Evelyn had taught him.

The cat whose name was Gimp now approached from behind the garage, the cat still listing to the right as the vet had said she probably always would from here on in and attempted to take a bite of larkspur.

“Don’t even think it,” Anderson said and spritzed her lightly with the watering can.

The cat raced for the safety of open lawn and sat back on her haunches and watched him.

“Be honest with me. It’s Bill and June Richmond, right?”

“Sure, partly it is. Town this size, I keep tripping over them. Bill especially. I’m never especially happy when I do. I don’t need the reminder. Neither does he. But you know what, Charlie?”

“What?”

He sat back and brushed off his hands on his khakis.

“It’s not the Richmonds. Hell, it’s not even that the whole town knows about what happened. I think Sally really taught me not to worry too much about that kind of thing. Fact is, I’m just a goddamn dinosaur. This town’s just growing too fast for me. Too many tourists every summer and too much building to accommodate them going on all year ’round. Tom’s River’s just a quiet little place. A little deep-sea fishing, not much else. The place I’ve got, Gimp won’t even have to worry about traffic. Will ya, babe? So I won’t have to worry about Gimp.”

At the sound of her name the cat walked over stepping gingerly into the turned earth. Anderson reached over and picked her up and stroked her back and scratched her head and the thick ruff of fur at her neck and Schilling could hear the cat’s loud purr stir the open air even from where he was standing. The cat had quite a motor.

“Me and Gimp, we’re a couple of survivors. But we like our peace and quiet. My cousin’s happy down the shore. I think I will be too. How about you, old buddy? You figure yourself for a survivor?”

Schilling looked at him, then nodded.

“Yeah, I think so, Ed. I think that I must be.”

“Good,” he said. “You come visit us then. You’d like the fishing.”

The cat’s eyes blinked and shut.

Ed and Charlie talked awhile and Ed continued stroking.