Max Collins - Midnight Haul

“Yet the wives and husbands and children are affected,” Judy said, nodding.

“Skin rashes for the kids,” Crane said, “miscarriages for mom, loss of sex drive for dad, fun for the whole family.”

“It really does sound like Love Canal,” Judy said. “Same kinds of things were reported there, only the reason for it all became obvious, when corroded waste drums started to break up through the ground in backyards. Did you know one backyard swimming pool popped up right out of its foundation? Floating in chemical shit. And people had pools of this stuff, oozing, bubbling up in their basements.”

“Thanks for waiting till after dinner to get into this,” Roger said, pale.

“The government moved a lot of people out of Love Canal,” Judy went on, “but some had to stay behind. Out of less than 200 homes, bordering on the condemned area, there were twenty-some birth defects, thirty-some miscarriages, forty-some cases of respiratory disease. I don’t know the exact figures, of course, but you get the idea.”

Roger pointed a thumb at her and said, “She doesn’t know the exact figures, of course.”

“I do know that there were something like twenty nervous breakdowns and three or four suicides... suicides , Crane.”

“In less than 200 homes?”

“That’s right. Wrap the national suicide rate around that one.”

“Maybe... maybe I should talk to Boone again.”

“Of course you should,” Roger said. “Go use the pay phone.”

“It’s long distance...”

Roger grinned and pulled a roll of quarters out from somewhere. “Here you go,” he said; he rolled the roll toward Crane, who caught it.

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve been set up?” Crane said, smiling at his two friends; they shrugged and smiled back at him as he got out of the booth.

He went to the phone on the wall over by the rest rooms and made the station-to-station call. He let it ring a dozen times. It was a big house, after all. No answer. He called information and got another number. He made the second station-to-station call, and on the third ring, Mary Beth’s mother answered.

He didn’t identify himself; he just asked to speak to Laurie. Mary Beth’s mother said she would put Laurie on.

“Hello?”

“Laurie? This is Crane.”

“Crane! Why you must be calling about Boone.”

“Why, yes...”

“Who told you? Did her husband call you about it?”

“About what?”

“About Boone. About her taking all those pills. Last I heard, she was still in a coma.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Laurie asked.

“Yes,” Crane said.

It was dusk. The trees lining Boone’s street were skeletal, abstract shapes; the ground was white and brown, patches of leaves showing through the light covering of snow. It looked peaceful to Crane. Peaceful like death.

“I’d rather you came and stayed with us,” Laurie said. “Mother would like you to. We have the room.”

“No, thank you, Laurie, but I could never stay in that house.” He didn’t look at her as he said this; he’d been with her since late this morning, when she picked him up at the airport, but he hadn’t looked at her much. She was still too much a plumper, slightly older version of Mary Beth for him to be comfortable looking at her.

“You’ll be staying at the motel, then?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Crane, she could be in that coma for a year.”

“Or forever.”

“Or forever. The doctor as much as said so. And if she does wake up, she could...”

“Be a vegetable. He as much as said that, too.”

“Not necessarily. He did say they got to her within the first hour. He said that was encouraging.”

“Somewhat encouraging.”

“Somewhat encouraging, he said. But you can’t stay around here forever, waiting for Boone to wake up. It’s crazy.”

Crazy. Crazy was Boone in Intensive Care with tubes in her. That was what crazy was.

“Laurie, I want to thank you for everything. Picking me up at the airport, driving me to the hospital at Fair View, sticking around till I talked to the doctor. Everything.”

“It’s all right, Crane. You were almost my brother-in-law, remember?” She smiled at him, a little.

“I remember.” He couldn’t find a smile to give her back. He tried, but it wasn’t there.

“You’re sure you want out here? Not at the motel?”

“This is where I want out.”

There were lights on in Boone’s house, in the downstairs. Two cars were parked at the curb: an MGB and Boone’s yellow Datsun. There was snow on the Datsun. Laurie was double-parked with the motor running.

Though they’d been together for some hours, he and Laurie hadn’t said much. It had seemed to him that Laurie had tried several times to say something and hadn’t been able to. He glanced at her now, as he opened the car door to get out, and realized she was trying one last time.

“Crane... you and Boone. You must’ve gotten... close.”

He closed the door and settled back in the seat.

“Laurie,” he said, “I love her. That doesn’t take anything away from how I felt about Mary Beth. I still love Mary Beth, and she’s dead. And now Boone, and she’s in a coma. I love them both, and I let them both down, or they wouldn’t be where they are right now.”

“Don’t say that.”

He shrugged.

Laurie was struggling again.

Crane said, “Say what’s on your mind. Go on.”

“It’s just... you told me you were leaving town... told mother the same thing... then you move in with Boone. You never called or anything, saying you’d changed your mind about going or anything. But I knew you were still in Greenwood, and with Boone. This is a small town, Crane, in case you haven’t noticed. Word gets around.”

She had tried to keep the resentment out of her voice, but it was there.

He said. “I didn’t want to bother you and your mother again. I didn’t want to worry either of you with my suspicions.”

“Suspicions?”

“About Mary Beth’s death.”

“Is that why you were asking questions around town?”

“Yes.”

“Then, what? You think Mary Beth was, what? Murdered?”

“Yes. I’d convinced myself that it was something else, but now...”

“Now Boone attempts suicide, too, and that’s just one too many suicides for you to swallow. Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“Not so poor. You said this was a small town. Hasn’t anybody in Greenwood noticed that suicide is going around like the mumps?”

“Of course.”

“And?”

“People think it’s strange.”

“And?”

“They just think it’s strange. Not suspicious. Just strange.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s suspicious. But I don’t know what you’re going to do about it, if that’s why you’re staying around.”

“Well, I have no plans for suicide... so if I turn up some morning sleeping under an exhaust pipe, it wasn’t my idea, if anybody asks.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get into this.”

“Crane.”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Go home to your kid, Laurie. I appreciate you picking me up, driving me around today.”

He got out of the car.

“If you want a ride to Fair View to see Boone tomorrow, or any day,” Laurie said, “just call. Mom can sit with Brucie.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe she’ll wake up, Crane.”

“Maybe she will.”

Laurie drove off.

He turned and looked at Boone’s house. One of the upstairs windows was boarded up. Odd.