Bill Pronzini - Schemers

He had not touched her except to take her arm when they went up or down stairs, or to help her on and off with her coat. And yet a closeness had developed between them, a slow-developing bond of trust. Different by far from his relationships with the other two women in his life, the caretaker role he’d had to assume with half-crazy, alcoholic Andrea, the fire and passion and soul-deep love he’d shared with Colleen. If it ever moved to another level with Bryn… all right. Now, what they had was enough. They’d never discussed it, but he thought she felt the same way.

Most people would find their relationship odd, he supposed. If he’d had to explain it to somebody else, he couldn’t have found the right words. The closest he could come was that before they met, they’d been like a couple of turtles hiding in their shells. Hers fashioned by the stroke and a shit of a husband who couldn’t deal with her affliction and losing custody of her nine-year-old son to his father; his made from the loss of Colleen and the six months death watch he’d had to endure while the cancer ate at her from within. Now the turtles’ heads were out, only partway but still out. A couple of lonely, damaged creatures, blinking in the light, finding understanding and acceptance in each other and taking solace from it.

He drove them down through Pacifica, over Devil’s Slide, to Half Moon Bay. Nice night, clear, the stars cold and nail-head bright in a black sky. Bryn had very little to say, focused inward. He didn’t try to make conversation. The silences between them were comfortable now.

At one of the stoplights in Half Moon Bay he said, “Go on a little farther, or head back?”

“A little farther.”

She didn’t speak again until they were approaching the beach at San Gregorio. Then, “I saw my doctor today.”

“What did he say?”

“No change. He’s honest, he doesn’t give out false hope. It’s almost certain now that I’ll have the paralysis for the rest of my life.”

“He could still be wrong.”

“He’s not wrong. Sometimes…”

When she didn’t go on right away, Runyon glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead, back stiff, knees together, hands cupped together in her lap-the sitting posture of a young girl.

“Sometimes,” she said finally, “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I know the feeling.” Mourning Colleen in the allconsuming way he had, Joshua lost to him, work his only sanctuary… he’d been close to the edge himself, closer than he’d let himself believe. “But you won’t let it happen.”

“Won’t I? I still have nights when I just want to… give up.”

“I know how that is, too.”

“No, I mean…”

“I know what you mean.”

“Did you ever feel that way? After your wife died?”

“Yes.”

“Ever… you know, come close to ending it all?”

“A couple of times.”

“How close?”

“Close enough.” He wouldn’t give her the details-metallic taste of the. 357 Magnum muzzle in his mouth, finger tight on the trigger, sweat pouring off him, the sudden fevered shaking that once made him drop the gun into his lap. No, that was a piece of his own private hell he’d never share with anyone.

“What stopped you?” she asked.

“I wanted to live more than I wanted to die.”

“I… I’m not sure I feel the same way.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s not necessarily true. I think I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” he said. “Cowards go through with it, leave the mess for somebody else to clean up.”

“I wouldn’t do it that way, the bloody way.”

“There’re other kinds of messes. The people you leave behind. You wouldn’t do that to your son, would you? Leave him that kind of legacy?”

She made a soft, anguished sound. “Oh, God. Bobby.”

“No,” he said, “you wouldn’t.”

“I miss him,” she said, “I miss him so much. Two weekends a month

… it’s so damn unfair.”

Her visitation privileges, she meant. The ex-husband was a lawyer, the self-righteous, conniving type. He’d not only found a self-serving excuse to abandon Bryn when he learned her paralysis was likely to be permanent, he’d sued for custody of the boy and convinced a sympathetic judge to rule in his favor. He had another woman now; Bryn thought he might’ve had her even before the stroke. The plan was for the boy to have a stepmother sometime this summer.

Runyon had met Robert Jr. once, on one of Bryn’s weekends with him last month. Nice kid, nine years old; smart, shy, liked computers and video games and football. No question that he loved his mother, but he seemed a little uneasy around her. Wouldn’t look at her directly, as if the covered half of her face frightened him or made him nervous.

Runyon said, “You’ll have more time with him as he gets older.”

“Will I? You didn’t have any time with your son.”

“Different situation. My first wife was a vindictive alcoholic-I think I told you that. She poisoned Joshua against me. After twenty years, there’s no antidote. Don’t let your ex do that to Bobby.”

“He hasn’t. I don’t think he will. Robert can be a prick, but he cares about Bobby. And doesn’t care enough about me to hurt me any more than he already has.”

“What about the new woman he’s with?”

“I’ve never met her and I’m not sure I want to.”

“Know much about her?”

“No, except that she sells real estate. She’s been good to Bobby-he likes her.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes.”

“Have you talked to Bobby about the paralysis?”

“Mother to son? Yes, as much as you can to a nine-year-old about a thing like that.”

“Let him see your face, without the scarf?”

Nothing for a few seconds. Then, “No.”

“Might help him understand better.”

“It would be cruel to subject him to that. He’s just a child.”

“Afraid of his reaction?”

“I don’t… What do you mean?”

“That he won’t be able to deal with it. Pull away from you.”

“You’ve seen my face,” she said. “Half a Halloween mask.”

Runyon had seen it only once, the first time their lives intersected, when he’d chased away a couple of smart-ass kids after one of them yanked off her scarf in a Safeway parking lot. Dim light, but it hadn’t seemed so bad to him. He said, “Eye of the beholder. It didn’t scare me away.”

“You’re an adult.”

“And you’re Bobby’s mother. He needs you.”

“And he can have me,” she said bitterly, “two weekends every month.”

“I only saw you together once, but you were tentative around him.”

“What the hell does that mean? Tentative?”

“No hugs, no kisses. You didn’t even touch him.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. That’s not true.”

“It’s true, Bryn. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“You’re a fine one to dispense parental advice. How many times did you hug your son when he was growing up?”

“I didn’t have a choice. You do.”

“That’s enough! I don’t like being told how to deal with my son!”

He’d pushed it too hard, made her angry. A fine one to dispense parental advice.

“All right,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“I was out of line. I won’t do it again.”

“Better not if you want to keep this friendship.”

Quiet again until they were approaching Devil’s Slide on the way back. But she’d been thinking about his perceptions, weighing them; she broke the silence by saying, “Jake? About what you said earlier…”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Just being honest-I know. You were right, I don’t touch Bobby. I’m afraid to touch him, afraid he’ll draw away from me. He’s all I have left. I couldn’t stand to lose him, too.”