Robert Tanenbaum - Absolute rage

"Well, I can appreciate that," said Marlene. "I'm a kind of feudal person myself. Odd for a lawyer, but there it is. Dieu et mon droit, et cetera, and Sicilian plots and revenges."

Poole turned his head to look at her. "Are you? And your husband, is he feudal, too?"

"No, he's extremely rabbinical when it comes to justice. Never ever personal, which is why he's so good at what he does. The methodical, perfectionist approach. I tend to drive him crazy."

"That sounds dull for you."

"Mm. But sometimes I crave dullness. It's like roughage in the diet, bran flakes, no fun but necessary for the organism. There's such a thing as excessively interesting."

"What would be interesting is if you rolled over here and gave me a big kiss," said Poole.

"Is that in the nature of a proposition, counselor?"

"It is. Or maybe more in the nature of tapping on the gauges to see if there's steam. I can't remember the last time I was (a) alone with a desirable woman on a soft summer's night, and (b) conscious. It gives me goose pimples."

"I'm sorry I can't help you there, Poole, although I confess to feeling flattered, slut that I am. And also let me say that while I have come real close in twenty-odd years of marriage, I have not yet slipped over the edge into infidelity."

"That's hard to believe. And you from the evil big city, too."

"It's hard for me to believe. And it looks like I will slide gracefully into the unattractive years with my honor intact. Maybe that's the upside of being a medieval-type person."

"Honor," Poole echoed, his voice sad and hollow. He lay back on the lounge and stared upward. "There's the Summer Triangle. Altair, Vega, and Deneb. Since you're not going to slake my lust, why don't you fix me a little drink."

"I think it's coffee time," said Marlene as she rolled out of the hammock. "By the way, who's Commissioner Jakes?"

"Duane P. Jakes. One of our fine county commissioners of a few years back. He had this thing about the space program. He thought it was making holes in the sky and changing the weather. Well, no harm in that. Duane was about average among our county fathers with respect to smarts, but the problem was he conceived the notion that the daily prop flight from Charleston to Knoxville was sent by NASA to spy on him. I mean, it stood to reason-the thing flew over his spread every day at about the same time, just when he was out feeding his hogs. So he started shooting at it with his rifle. The amazing thing is he actually hit it, so Omar and another deputy paid him a visit to get him to cut it out. Basically, it was a case of taking a rifle away from a loony old man, but Omar aggravated it into a real shoot-out. The deputy got shot, Duane got shot, and the town came in for the kind of publicity it would rather not have. I thought it wise to mention it in the present situation."

"It was, too." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before she left.

Dan was still on the phone when she walked in, and laughing. This was unusual enough to make her stop and stare. He saw this and brought himself under control.

"Here's your mom." He handed Marlene the phone. "It's Lucy." He vanished.

"I didn't know you were such a comedian," Marlene said.

"We were doing accents of weird people we know in Cambridge," said her daughter.

"For this you called in the middle of the night? Is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's dandy. We sold all the pups, and I got the Toyota running. Why I called is, I want to go on a road trip with the boys."

"To where?"

"Oh, I don't know, just around. I thought I'd take them on the car ferry to Bridgeport and see Tran and then maybe up to Boston, take them to the Children's Museum and Science Museum. I have a couple of things to do there anyway."

"How long would you be gone?"

"Oh, three, four days. They're antsy and it would do them good."

"And you love to drive."

"That, too. The car runs great. With the new tires it came in under a grand. I charged it to the farm."

"No problem. But, Lucy? When you get to driving, make sure your wheels don't turn southward. I don't want you and the boys down here. The situation is still too fluid. Did Dan tell you what went down just now?"

"Yeah. It sounds like something out of Deliverance. Do you think they'll try again?"

"Not in the same way. They're stupid, but not that stupid. You know your father is going to be playing Mighty Mouse in this cartoon?"

"Yeah, he told me. Are you going to come back when he gets there?"

"I don't know," said Marlene a little sharply. "It depends on the situation. Look, call me from Tran's or Boston or if you have any problems. Keep in touch. Meanwhile I have to go. I have to drive this guy back to his place."

"Okay, take care, Mom, and could you put Dan back on the phone?"

"Planning the wedding? I'd like to be involved."

"Mo-m."

"Okay, okay, here he is."

He had been hovering, and when Marlene handed him the cordless, he took it back to his bedroom. No, I will not hang around and listen in, she thought virtuously, and went off to pour the coffee.

"So," Dan said, "you checked in. Everything is approved?"

"Oh, yeah. I get a pretty loose rein. From her. My dad worries a lot more."

"Strange. It's funny. Mom always drummed it into us to let them know our plans, like if we weren't coming home for supper, or staying over. The other day, I drove out to Huntington to see a guy I went to school with and they asked me to stay for dinner and I said sure, let me call and tell them I won't be home. I had the phone in my hand, dialing."

Lucy had nothing to say to this that she thought would be tolerated by the other, so she stayed mum. He went on, "Could I ask you something dumb?"

"Sure. I'm an expert on dumb."

"Do you, um, believe in ghosts?"

"No."

"No? Why not? You believe in all that other supernatural cr-stuff."

"Because the spirits of the dead leave this world and other stuff happens to them. Also, it's insulting for you to imagine that, because I'm religious, I'm generally credulous or superstitious. It's like thinking that rocket scientists ought to believe in flying saucers."

"I didn't mean that," he said quickly, with genuine contrition. "Sorry, really I didn't mean… it's just… I mean weird stuff has been happening. Like calling home. I have this feeling that I'll call and Mom will pick up. It sends chills down my spine. But, okay, night before last, it's late, I'm reading in bed, totally absorbed, and all of a sudden I felt this weird feeling, like being light-headed, like when you stand up too fast? And I just knew that Lizzie was in the room with me. She used to like to be with me while I worked, or read. She had some games she liked to play on my machine. And I knew that if I had turned around, she'd be there in her quilted bathrobe, sitting in my chair. I mean the sweat was popping out on my face. And just then the hard drive kicked in, and my heart practically stopped, it was like she was there playing a game. I was just getting ready to turn and look when it went away. I mean the feeling. God, I can't believe I'm telling this to anyone! Did you ever, ah, have one like that?"

"Oh, sure, all the time. That's not ghosts, though. It's what we call the communion of saints. It's part of the Apostles' Creed as a matter of fact. I used to have long conversations with St. Teresa of Avila."

"You're kidding."

"Uh-uh, no lie. Starting from when I was about eight. For a while, I thought everyone could. I could see her and hear her and smell her, even."

"What did she smell like?"

"Onions. And roses."

"You spoke to her in English?"

"Of course not. In sixteenth-century Castilian Spanish, lisping all over the place."

"Oh, right, you can do that whole language bit. So, what are you telling me. Lizzie is some kind of saint?"