Peter Abrahams - Bullet Point

Wyatt jumped out of bed, opened the window, smelled her. She smelled great. Greer climbed in. There was lots of moonlight, enough to see she still looked tired and drawn, and also wasn’t wearing the eyebrow ring.

“What are you doing?” he said, his voice low.

“Had to say I’m sorry,” she said. “The kind of thing you do in person.”

Had she been crying? Wyatt thought he saw a tear track on her cheek. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said.

“You? What did you do?”

He’d doubted her, doubted his first intimate love; yes, these feelings he had for her had to be a form of love, might as well face that. “You had nothing to do with the fire,” he said. “I should have known.”

She gave him a long look. “You’re the best,” she said. Then she put her arms around him and kissed him on the mouth.

Soon they were in bed. She got on top of him, sat up, her head thrown back in the moonlight, maybe making a little too much noise, but Wyatt didn’t care. The money got pushed out from under the pillow, scattering everywhere.

After, she slumped down on him, her damp hair against his chest; and was still in that position when the door burst open. The lights flashed on, and there was Aunt Hildy.

No one, except maybe Dub, was at their best in the next few minutes. Aunt Hildy used the word whore once or twice, Greer fired back a bad word of her own, Wyatt shouted at both of them to stop shouting, and finally Dub appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up in strange clumps and rubbing his eyes. “Something wrong?” he said.

Wyatt and Greer left together, not through the window but out the front door, which slammed behind them. Wyatt, already packed, took his things.

Wyatt spent the rest of the night at Greer’s. When he woke up, lying on his back, she was on her side, watching him. “You look so great when you’re sleeping,” she said. “I’ve never been this happy in my whole life.”

“You look pretty good yourself,” Wyatt said. And she did. The pallor, the circles under her eyes, the drawn expression: all gone. Her skin glowed, her eyes shone, the whites pure white, no hint of yellow, not a blood vessel showing. And again, no eyebrow ring, just the tiny hole, the surrounding skin healthy and unbruised. He considered asking why she wasn’t wearing the eyebrow ring, couldn’t come up with a cool approach. Did it even matter?

“No,” she said. “My face is all wrong. But thanks anyway.”

“Wrong? What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything,” she said. She pushed her face this way and that. “Here. Here. Here.” Had he ever seen anything more beautiful? And right next to him, so close.

Some time later, while he was in a fuzzy state between sleeping and waking, Greer’s lips brushed his ear, and she spoke. “Know what we should do today?”

Wyatt opened his eyes. She was smiling; and had been up to brush her teeth-he smelled mint. What they were going to have to do today was say good-bye. No going back to Aunt Hildy’s, and besides, his mom expected him. “Well,” he said, starting off in a way he knew was pretty lame, “the thing is I have nowhere to stay now, and-”

“Huh? You’re staying here. I assumed that. You’re a high school student, duly enrolled at Bridger High. Don’t you want to make something of yourself? Am I missing something?”

Maybe he was the one doing the missing. Hadn’t the situation changed? Yes, he’d decided to return to East Canton, but that was with Greer out of the picture. Now she was back.

“You’re being a gentleman, right?” she said. “One of those guys with manners, too polite to ask? Don’t have to be polite with me, pal. You can stay here, no thank-you notes necessary.”

He laughed.

“That’s settled,” Greer said. “Now here’s the plan. I think we should go see Morrie Wertz.”

“Who’s Morrie Wertz?”

“I looked him up. It’s a matter of public record.”

“What is?”

“Morrie Wertz was your-was Sonny Racine’s lawyer. It turns out he’s one of the oldsters. You know-at Hillside Breeze.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Hillside Breeze-my other job, the old folks’ home, where I read for fifteen bucks an hour. It turns out that Morrie Wertz has been in there the whole time, kind of like fate.”

“Fate?”

“Waiting to happen. I haven’t run across him yet-just about all the ones I read to are women. That’s mostly what’s in there. Men die younger. The crazy thing is a lot of these old biddies still want a guy, and any of the guys who’s not drooling-and maybe even if he is-has his pick.”

“But,” said Wyatt, “how come you know all this?”

“I’ve got eyes.”

“I meant about him being the lawyer, and in the old folks’ home.”

“Take a guess.”

“Your dad told you.”

“Bzzz,” Greer said. “You win the prize. Claim it at any time. First, you’ve got to move your butt.” She ripped off the covers.

“Hey!”

“Can’t be late for school.”

“School?”

“It’s a school day. Accusations of screwing up your academic life-I’m taking them off the table.”

Wyatt drove to school, calling his mom on the way. “Mom? The thing is the school here’s a lot better, and all this changing back and-”

“Wyatt? Where are you?” In the background he heard Cammy asking for more sugar.

“In Silver City. I-”

“When are you leaving? The weather’s supposed to turn nasty this afternoon.”

“That’s what I’m calling about, Mom. I’ve decided to stay a bit longer.”

“But we’ve been through this. Rusty left last night. I called the office at the high school and told them you’d be back tomorrow.”

“Sorry.”

“Wyatt? What’s going on?”

“I just think it’s best for now.”

“I don’t understand. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“I’ll call later. Everything’s all right. Bye, Mom.”

Wyatt parked in the student lot at Bridger High, got one of the last spaces. He grabbed his books and hurried to the door, was almost there when his phone rang. He checked the number: home.

“Wyatt?” his mom said. “I just had a very disturbing conversation with Hildy.”

“Look, Mom, I can’t-”

“It’s not clear to me that she’d even let you come back to stay there, if half of what she says is true. What were you thinking?”

Through the big glass door, a teacher was tapping his watch and motioning Wyatt to come inside. “C’mon, Mom. I’ve got, you know, a girlfriend. So what?”

“So what? You were a guest in Hildy’s house. And from what I hear about this girlfriend-” His mom swallowed whatever was next. At the same time, the door opened and the teacher came out.

“Don’t want to have to write you up,” the teacher was saying, “but if you’re not inside this building in-”

Wyatt missed the time element, because his mom was speaking again. “I want you home today,” she said.

“No,” Wyatt said.

“No?” said the teacher. “You’re telling me no?”

“Mom? I’ll call you later.”

“But-”

Wyatt shut off his phone, went inside.

“Who,” said Ms. Grenville, “do you think is the smartest person in the play?”

“Shakespeare,” said the funny guy at the back.

“We can’t really say Shakespeare is in the play, now can we?”

“He made up all the others, so he has to be the smartest. I read his IQ was 203.”

“Where did you read that?”

“I didn’t read it, exactly. Omar texted me.”

“Who’s Omar?”

“This kid in India. Don’t know his last name.”

Ms. Grenville sat down, a bit heavily, as though her legs had gotten weak. She adjusted her neckerchief. Anna raised her hand. Ms. Grenville looked relieved. “Yes?”