Paul bent forward and buried his face behind his hands.
“After the news about Patty Hearst, Wiley got a long-distance call from this guy named Crow. And yesterday morning, I wake up and find my car is gone and my daddy's old hunting rifle and shotgun, and all the money stole from the coffee can at the back of the kitchen cupboard. My mum don't want to admit it to herself, but—”
“Where are they going?” Margaret asked.
“I have no clue. He never said. Bound for heaven or bound for hell.”
“She's gone,” Paul said. “He took our baby. Call the police, Margaret, and have them meet us at this boy's house.”
While the Quinns readied themselves, they left Denny alone, small and uneasy in the easy chair. Arrangements made: the dinner taken from the oven to cool, neglected, in the baking dish; Erica's room quickly scoured for further clues; Paul's blood pressure medication best not forgotten; the tangled conversation with the police; coats on, and where did I leave those keys? She had a moment alone with Denny in the foyer while Paul searched his slippery memory. Margaret cleared her throat and asked with a hint of fear, “What did this Crow person say to make them run away?”
Before he spoke, Denny licked his dried lips. “Wiley told me: the time is at hand.”
14
Mrs. Gavin's imagination had tricked her into believing that her prayers had been answered. Earlier, in the muffling warmth beneath her comforter, she heard their voices through the drowse, and some trick of longing conjured them. Before the strangers in the living room, she took off her glasses, pretending to stop a tear, and in that instant, could deny the truth before her and arrest relentless, unforgiving time. No matter. She would improvise her way back to reality.
“No, Mee-Maw, these are the two—”
“You were expecting us?” Erica asked, and chuckled nervously.
Rain tapped against the windowpanes, falling in sighs through the pines surrounding the cabin. It drummed the surface of the lake where they had stopped and fell upon the ducks huddled together on the cold shore, and rain beat on the stolen car, rivulets spilling through the cracked window on the driver's side to soak the blue velour seats and carpets. Through a makeshift hill of fallen leaves, the rising waters soaked the swaddled and buried guns. An absolving, cleansing rain that threatened to fall forever. In the space between the question and the answer, the rain fell, and the four of them listened to a new sound entering the world.
“No,” the woman said. “You're not who you were supposed to be, not who I thought. You'll pardon me.”
Wiley stepped forward to offer his hand. “Our car broke down out by the lake, and we got caught in the storm. Your granddaughter here opened the door and let us borrow these dry clothes. I'm Wiley Ri—” He caught the name before it completely spilled from his mouth. “Ricky. Ricky Wiley, and this is … Nancy Perry.”
“I'm Una, and this here is my grandmother, Mrs. Gavin.” The girl sidled up to the old woman. “Mr. Wiley and Miss Nancy need a place to stay for the night. Can we, Mee-Maw, can we keep them? For the night. It's raining tadpoles.”
Acquiescent, Mrs. Gavin wrapped her arm across Una's shoulders and drew her near, holding her so for just an instant. The overhead light reflected off Una's round glasses, obscuring her eyes, and from across the room, Erica and Wiley could not read any emotion in that temporary opacity. As soon as her grandmother spoke, however, Una could no longer restrain a wide smile. “Of course they can stay, of course. Miss Perry, Mr. Wiley, if you please. I was just fixing to make our supper, but we can stretch a stew to four, and I won't send you out on such a night with the heavens thrashing the earth. You'll stay.”
Mild objections were raised and gracefully rebutted. Mrs. Gavin threw more carrots in her stew, set the covered pot to simmer on the stove, and with the weary patience of the long-suffering cook, she mixed a buttermilk dough, then dropped rough spoonfuls on a cookie sheet. The heat from the oven suffused the kitchen and spilled over into the whole cabin, and when the biscuits began to bake and the stew was uncovered for a stirring, the smell of the dinner triggered a Pavlovian reaction in her guests. They could be heard from the fireside, small exclamations punctuating their concentration. Puffs of flour sifted through the air when she clapped her hands against the apron and went to announce the service. Una and the visitors were in a triangle, knee to knee to knee, huddled over a deck of cards, a game of War afoot, the child clutching the thickest of three stacks, satisfaction shining on her face.