David Gates - Preston Falls

"Oh right," Roger says.

PRESTON FALLS

"Well, whoever," says Willis. "The point is, you don't just lash out and hit. You understand? Now, if somebody hits you, that's a different story. It's perfectly okay to stick up for yourself and defend yourself. But you don't be the one who starts stuff and picks on other kids. Any more than you want them to pick on you." Hey, give this man a white robe, sandals and the little children at his feet. "Do you understand?"

Willis waits for a nod. He hears a door close upstairs. "Yo. I asked you if you understood."

Roger nods. More a twitch of the head, actually.

"Good. Because I don't ever want to hear of this happening again." So now we're the father in the thunderclouds. He downs the rest of his orange juice like a shot of red-eye. "Okay? Enough said?"

He's rinsing out their glasses and trying to plan what to say to Mel about the divorce thing, when the phone rings. Roger gets it — he'd never admit it, but he's still proud of answering the phone — and says, "Yeah, he's here." He thrusts the phone toward Willis with a rigid arm. "Mom wants to talk to you."

Willis wipes his hands on his jeans and takes the phone.

"I saw the truck in front of the house," she says. "How long did you plan on staying?"

"What — ^where are you?"

"At a phone booth."

"Oh. So in other words—" Roger's sitting right here. In other words, she drove by the house, saw he was there and went to a phone booth?

"Could you just give me a rough idea?" she says. "Like were you going to spend the night?"

"Not if it's, you know, inconvenient," he says.

"I'm not trying to kick you out. It's just that if you were planning on going back up tonight, it might be less awkward if I waited tiU after you left."

"Interesting," he says. "Yeah, o-kay. Got it. Fine."

"You're deliberately misunderstanding me."

"Well, I doubt that.'' Willis looks at Roger; he's reading the Cheerios box. "Just give me, I don't know, five? Too long?"

"Crap. I shouldn't have done this."

"Hey. Not a problem." In fact, he almost fell asleep driving down here. "There was one thing I wanted to bring up, but we can talk about it later."

I S I

"What's that?" Jean says.

"We'U talk about it."

"Oh," she says. "So Roger's right there?"

"Youbetcha."

"This really sucks," she says, and hangs up.

"Love you," he tells the dial tone, loud enough for Roger to hear.

He puts the phone back in the cradle. "Listen, bud," he says to Roger. "Mommy needs me to do something for her right away, so you may not see me for a while, okay? But we'll be talking on the phone. Would you do me a big favor and explain to Mel when she comes down?" No way he's going to try to sell her this sudden-errand bullshit.

"I don't get what I'm supposed to say."

"Just tell her that I'll be calling, okay? And no more hitting feebs. Unless they hit you first." He gives Roger's upper arm a gentle right hook and heads for the door. Rathbone gets up to follow him. "No, you stay,' Willis says. Rathbone sits and looks down at the floor.

At the corner of Stebbins and Crofts he pulls over and waits to flag her down. Now it's completely dark. After fifteen minutes he guesses she must have come the other way, on Bonner. He gives it another five, then turns around in somebody's driveway and cruises back past the house. Son of a bitch: there's the Cherokee. Well, what would he have said anyway? Told her to tell Mel to tell Roger their marriage isn't fucked?

He hangs a left on Bonner, goes out to Route 9 and up to the Dunkin' Donuts, where he orders four coffees to go. But when he gets back in the truck, it hits him that he absolutely can't make it all the way back to Preston Falls. Even with a cup of coffee for each hour. Shit, how did this day start out? Waking up in What's-his-name's barn — can that be possible? And what happened yesterday? Oh, who the fuck knows. There's a motel a couple of miles north on the right-hand side, or there used to be. He could be in a bed within ten minutes. Which might be well worth the fifty bucks or whatever. Because this really isn't making it.

Yep, the Birlstone Motel. Birlstone: what ho. VACANCY. TV. WEEKLY RATES AVAILABLE. There's definitely a sweet taint of self-pity in this, putting up in some shithole motel right in Chesterton. But he did legitimately get disinvited from his own house, did he not? So who can say a word?

The cleaning woman pounds on the door at like eleven in the morning, so he must've slept fourteen hours. More. Too much, probably. Or still not enough. Since he slept in his clothes, all he has to do is put on his boots, grab up the room key and the Dunkin' Donuts bag, and he's out of there before they can charge him for an extra day He gulps his first cup of cold coffee sitting in the truck outside the motel office. His second while crossing over the Tappan Zee.

Twenty miles south of Preston Falls, he stops at the used-book store where they've got that lawn boy out front, with the Nixon mask. He's hoping he might find Barnaby Rudge, the only one he's missing, and which is probably a piece of shit; but if you're doing a Dickens thing, you might as well do a fucking Dickens thing. Place is run by a blatant old pedophile with a white beard gone yellow around the mouth. Once, years ago, Willis brought Roger in and the son of a bitch tried to get Roger to sit on his knee. When they got back outside, Roger asked if the man was one of Santa's helpers.

No Barnaby Rudge, but while he's looking for Junkie, which he remembers as being better than any of the later shit, he finds an old copy of Pilgrim's Progress, its cover showing a hippie-haired cavalier and an armored knight, both in water up to their asses. The Slough of Despond, probably. Or no, probably that river you have to cross over, the River of Whatever-the-fuck. He flips through the yellow-brown pages and finds an illustration captioned "Atheist": a feather-hatted fop beckoning someone to follow, unaware he's at the edge of an abyss (you see a bird flying in the distance) and about to put his slender walking stick down into empty air. Willis doesn't remember Atheist but assumes he must be a fucking atheist. What's great about Pilgrim's Progress is, everything's just exactly what it is.

"I'm going to take this off your hands," says Willis, bringing it up to the counter.

"Ah," says the bearded man. "Now, that" He taps his index finger on it. "That came out of a very wealthy home in Saratoga Springs. The House Beautiful."

"God, that's right," says Willis, getting out his wallet. "This is actually where that comes from, isn't it? The House Beautiful."

"Ah, well, you understand," says the bearded man. "But how many others? Fewer and fewer. The House Beautiful. Vanity Fair. The Slough of Despond." He even pronounces it slew. "We're seeing the return of the Dark Ages, my friend."

Willis is convinced. That is, it seems as convincing as anything else.

When he gets back to the house, the machine's blinking. Jean. Please call. Yeah, fine. He starts coffee. He decides to bag the rest of Edwin Drood, so he hunts up good old Sherlock Holmes and reads "The Man with the Twisted Lip" and then, despite the coffee, falls asleep somewhere in "The Adventure of the Creeping Man." When he wakes up it's dark and therefore too late to call Jean: she'll be home, where the kids can overhear. What day is this anyway? Thursday? Friday? How could you quickly find out? Because on Saturday he has to do that thing.

He decides it can't be Saturday and reads the entire fucking "Hound of the Baskervilles." That takes care of a couple of hours. Then he steps outside and has another little go at the stars. Comes back in and reads Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Tries to read The Picture of Dorian Gray. Yeah, maybe in some other life. Reads "A Study in Scarlet," skipping the Mormon shit. Then starts the Mormon shit. Falls asleep. Wakes up at first light and starts worrying he'll get busted and his house and everything will be seized because of zero tolerance. Jesus, the house in Chesterton too. Tries to read "The Valley of Fear," but his heart's racing and he's short of breath. Is this the heart attack?