Anne Tyler - Searching for Caleb

"Ah," said Mr. Everjohn. When he opened his mouth like that, his face became impossibly long and his cheeks sank in.

"Anyway, she left before Caleb did," said the grandfather.

"Now where was it she went to?"

You could have heard a pin drop.

"Washington," said the grandfather.

"Oh yes."

"She got a job. But she died."

"What kind of job?"

"There's not much point in going into this," the grandfather said.

"I got to know anyway, Mr. Peck."

"Uh, she laundered money."

"Money."

"She worked for the U.S. Treasury. She washed old bills."

Mr. Everjohn's deep, bruised-looking eyes searched mournfully around the room.

"It's perfectly possible," Duncan told him. "They used to wash them and coat them with rosin. For crispness. In the past they weren't so quick to throw things away. They had a machine that-"

"I see," said Mr. Everjohn. "Cause of death?"

"Boardinghouse fire," said Grandfather Peck.

"She live in a boardinghouse?"

"Her parents wouldn't let her stay with them, you see. In those days women were expected to be better behaved. They tried to make her come back to Baltimore. Her father wrote and told me."

"Now. You sure she really died."

"They buried her, didn't they?"

"I was thinking maybe that was where your brother went to: Washington.

Maybe the two of them. You ever consider that?"

Lucy had. But Grandfather Peck was merely impatient. "If he were such a scoundrel, why would I be looking for him?" he asked.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Everjohn, and he seemed perfectly satisfied. He slipped the notebook and pencil back into his pocket. "Well, I think I got something here to start on."

"We certainly appreciate your making a housecall, Mr. Eyerjohn," Two said.

"Why, that's all right."

"I never expected to take so much of your time, but of course I am fully prepared to-"

"Think nothing of it," Mr. Everjohn said. "To be honest, this town don't keep a man very busy." He felt beneath his chair for his hat and then rose, unfolding foot by foot. With a hat on he looked more like Lincoln than ever. The crown was even slightly squared, the brim oddly curved.

"There's so little call for us, me and my partner have to shadow each other's wives for practice," he said.

"Really," said Two.

"Women's lives are right dull, I've found. My partner's wife goes to one store for toothpaste and another for mouthwash, just to get herself two outings."

"Well, I know you have to be getting back," said Two.

"Now my wife takes lessons. She will sign up for anything. You wouldn't believe the places Joe has got to follow her to."

"May I expect your bill on a monthly basis?"

"Pet grooming. Exotic dance. Kung-fu. Stretch-'n-Sew."

"Oh, Eli!" cried Justine, making one of her shocking leaps to a first-name friendship. "Won't you take your wife a piece of birthday cake?"

"She's on this diet," Mr. Everjohn said gloomily. "She goes to Weight Watchers and Slenderella, and every Thursday from two to four she's got her this class in low-carbohydrate food preparation." He shook Justine's hand too hard. "I'll keep in touch," he told her.

"Well, drop in any time. Grandfather will want to hear."

"And thank you again for your patience," Two said.

But the minute Mr. Everjohn was out the door, Two collapsed in his chair.

"I knew we should have used a Baltimore man," he told Lucy.

"Well, there, dear."

"I must have the names of twenty good detectives back home. But no, Marcus said it had to be a Caro Mill fellow. That way Father could handle things, he said. Otherwise we'd be the ones to-"

"Well, I thought he was very nice," Justine said, returning from the front door.

"If you children would live in a civilized area, Justine-"

"Caro Mill is civilized."

Two turned to Duncan, who was playing with what looked to be an auto part over by the window. "You need to come back to Baltimore, boy," he said.

"What's stopping you? Jobs? You know there's lots to do in a law office that wouldn't take a degree. Your cousins could fix you up. Quick mind like yours, there's lots to-"

"Thanks anyway," Duncan said.

"Do Justine good. See there? She's looking a little tired."

Lucy glanced over at her. Why, she was. It was true. Now that she was not running or laughing or talking too much, her face seemed strained and pale. Blame Meg, that's who. Children! She shifted her gaze to Duncan, an aging little boy. Secretly her favorite son, and she had always imagined what a fine man he would be once he was grown and mellowed. But that had never happened. He was preserved forever as he had been at ten, reckless and inconsiderate, not kind at all, not ever willing to make allowance for other people's weaknesses. He had needed a good strong wife to settle him down and round his sharp edges, but he hadn't got one. Only Justine.

Was Justine the way she was deliberately? Had she just flat out decided one day that she would refuse to take responsibility, that Duncan could go caroming straight to hell taking wife and daughter along before she would say a word? Something made Lucy speak up suddenly, when she hadn't even known she was going to. "Oh," she said, "if only poor dear Caroline could have been with us today!"

The look Duncan gave her was as cold and hard as glass, but Lucy felt her little triumph warming all her bones when she saw how still Justine grew.

By the time they were back in the car it was very nearly twilight. Even so, Lucy took the preaddressed envelope out of her purse and unfolded a sheet of stationery and wrote, as Two had taught her to:

Dear Justine, June 6, 1973 Thank you so much for the lovely time! As always you made a perfectly charming hostess, and the War Cake was delicious. We shall remember our visit with a great deal of pleasure.

Love, Aunt Lucy

She placed the note in the envelope and sealed it, "Whenever you notice a mailbox, Two . . ." she said, but then she trailed off, bleakly tapping the letter against her purse. Two moved his lips as he drove. In back, Laura May and Sarah sat side by side beneath veiled brown hats and looked out the windows at their separate views.

12

Now Justine and her grandfather had no place to go. At first they hardly noticed; they traveled less during the summer months anyway. But as June dragged on, hot and humid, and then July took over, Justine grew unhappier. She didn't have enough to do with herself. There was some troubled feeling gnawing at the back of her mind. Uneasiness drove her into quarreling with Duncan, snapping at her grandfather, telling skimpy, half-hearted fortunes for her clients. She spoke with an unplaceable foreign accent for days at a time. She insulted Dorcas. The cat moved out of the house and into the crawlspace behind the rose bushes. Her grandfather sat on the porch, unusually still, with his face slack and vacant.

"Look, Grandfather," Justine said, "isn't there someone you would like to look up? How about that man in Delaware? Maybe he's remembered something new."

"It wouldn't be any use," her grandfather said.

"Well, I don't see why not."

"That detective fellow didn't even take his name down. Took hardly any of those names. Seemed to think they would serve no purpose whatsoever."

"Oh, what does he know," Justine said.

She had begun to resent Eli's odd, probing questions and the mysterious silence that followed all answers. After each of his visits she felt tampered with. He had a way of arriving when no one was home and settling himself to wait on the front porch. When she and her grandfather returned he would loom up, tall and black as a raven, with his squared-off hat centered over his chest. "Eli!" she always cried, but her heart grew thick, as if preparing against invasion. And her grandfather, who made a point of remembering every passing name, said, "Mr.-ah," and stood scowling down at his shoes like a forgetful schoolboy. But Eli was humble and awkward, and he began by discussing something harmless-his shadowing practice, his wife's calligraphy lessons. After all, he was in no hurry.