Howard Norman - Devotion

William opened his eyes. “Let him in,” he said.

“I’m right here already,” Toby said, brushing past David. Toby sat on the end of the bed. “Fuck me, I’m sorry, Mr. Field. Oh, sorry about my language, too.”

“Toby, what got into you?”

William switched on the bedside lamp. David got a good clear look at the criminal. Toby Knox was about five feet ten; the word “gaunt” might come first to mind, but that finally best applied to his face, because his arms were solid, biceps stretching the short sleeves of the Hawaiian shirt, with its big blooming white hibiscus on a turquoise background, tucked in. Faded blue jeans, thick belt with a longhorn steer’s head on the buckle. His black hair, almost laughably to David’s mind, was swept back in a classic “duck’s ass.” Toby also sported a wisp of a mustache and goatee — halfhearted attempts, more negligence than purpose. He had handsome features. Three times in quick succession, a twitch at the edge of his mouth betrayed his nervousness. He stared at the floor.

“Look at you, Tobias,” William said. “The time you spent in London with your cousin last year turned you into a thug of some sort. You used to have a nice look about you. Do you still even admit you’re from Parrsboro? You turned into James Dean. The American movie star who always whined and complained, life’s such a bad deal.”

“I’m apologizing to you, Mr. Field. Before they take me to jail.”

“You like the idea of being dragged off in handcuffs, don’t you?” William sighed. “What’s playing at the drive-in these days?”

Toby’s entire countenance shifted with this change in subject; he straightened right up. “We’ve got a movie called Straight Time ,” he said. “It was playing in Halifax some months ago, then it ended up on the drive-in circuit. Since the Starlight’s the only drive-in in Nova Scotia, we got it.”

“What’s it about?” William said.

“Basically, it’s about a guy who can’t stop robbing jewelry stores. He can’t seem to help himself. Or, it’s more like he helps himself to things he shouldn’t, I guess.”

“Daring daylight robberies?”

“Both night and day, I think. I can’t tell you the whole plot, Mr. Field, beginning to end, because I’m occupied at the concession. I miss a lot of the movie.”

“Is that where you got your big idea, Toby, from this movie? The big idea to break into my house?”

“Don’t know.”

“Difficult to feel inspired from your own resources these days? Your most exciting ideas coming from the movies?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Field,” Toby said, looking off at the wall.

“I want to see this movie,” William said. “If you take me to see it — tonight — now — get me in free of charge, I’ll pretend this botched little robbery of yours never took place. Except you’ll have to pay for the window you broke.”

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Field.”

“Oh, don’t I love a solemn pact,” William said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. He looked at the bedside clock. “It’s eight twenty-five. We have to factor in the drive to Truro. What time’s the movie start?”

“There’s coming attractions and such,” Toby said. “The movie’s supposed to start at nine, but it’s usually late. I don’t run the projector, though.”

“I take it you weren’t on concession duty tonight.”

“Look, Mr. Field. I’m in over my head with some debts, you know? I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was going to grab what I could, try to pawn it down in Halifax.”

“Didn’t you hear my opera? Didn’t you figure me to be home?”

“I thought the record might drown out hearing me. I was only going to take a few items. I didn’t even know what. I didn’t think it through, Mr. Field. I was just driving by.”

“Lame,” David said.

“Would you prefer he’d thought about it ahead of time, David?” William said. “Premeditated robbery of the house of someone’s known him since he was born?”

“That’s not what I meant,” David said.

“Give me five minutes to get ready,” William said. “I need to get out of this goddamned house, Toby, so I guess I should thank you for the opportunity.”

David and Toby went out onto the porch. There was a vast quilt of moonlight-diffused clouds, no stars. “Use ‘Tobias,’ all right?” Toby said.

“What?”

“In your report to the Tecoskys. Naomi said every month you send a report to Izzy and Stefania. Saying how everything is. Saying how the swans are doing. What the tree surgeon did, things like that. So I’m asking, when you tell them about my breaking in, refer to me as Tobias, not Toby. They know me as Tobias.”

“You fucking idiot.”

“I don’t care if you tell Izzy and Stefania. I’m just asking you to use Tobias.”

William appeared on the porch. He wore threadbare brown corduroy trousers, a blue work shirt, bedroom slippers. “Since I’ll stay in the car, I’ve got slippers on,” he said. “Let’s go, Toby. I’ll sit in back. You’re my chauffeur. That car has ashtrays in back, doesn’t it?”

“Including on the pull-down armrest in the middle.”

“I’m not allowed to smoke. It’ll feel good just sitting there in the company of all those ashtrays, though.”

“I’ve got French cigarettes I bought in London,” Toby said.

“Don’t show them to me.”

They walked to the Buick. David called from the porch, “Toby, I don’t have to write the Tecoskys — I can telephone them directly. They have telephones over there.”

William stopped and beckoned David over. When David stood a few steps away, William said, “The crisis is over. We’re going to the moving pictures. The swans are on your watch. I noticed they’re still on the pond.” William slowly crouched into the back seat and shut the door. Toby got in behind the wheel, revved the engine, let the idle even out, mist swirling in the headlight beams. He gunned it in reverse all the way to the road.

WHEN THE BUICK’S lights disappeared, David went into the main house to assess the damage. As he passed the kitchen the telephone rang, always a startling thing in an empty house. David stood there through five rings. He felt like the thief. The answering machine recorded Maggie’s voice: “Hey, Pop, it’s me. Where are you? I’m in my apartment. I had a day. Things at work are fine, but I went to the doctor this morning. Guess what? My official due date is November nine. I finally couldn’t stand it and had them tell me, so I’m telling you — you’ve got a granddaughter on her way. And no, don’t you tell David, please. When I want to tell him, I will myself. Call me, okay? I want to know you got this news. It’s not even nine o’clock but I’m going to bed. Me, the night owl. Love you. Bye-bye.”

David thought, Never mind the due date — no one told me Maggie was pregnant to begin with! He went to the guesthouse, circled November 9 on the calendar, sat drinking coffee, thinking back to the night he and Maggie had last slept together, February 10.

Though it seemed impossible, the fact was, between the accident in London and February 10 of this year, he and Maggie had not met each other’s eyes, let alone had any sort of conversation. Nor since February 10, for that matter. From his kitchen window, David occasionally glimpsed her driving up to or away from the estate, or strolling with William to the pond and back. Now and then he’d impulsively telephoned Maggie’s office, and her assistant, Carol Emery, would say, “They’re in France,” or “They’re in New York,” or even “They’re in town,” but he had the distinct feeling she’d been instructed to keep such information to a minimum.