65
The boy fell asleep quickly and all at once and in his sleep he returned to the glen on the mountain where the stone Virgin watched over the crooked stones. There was the coldness of the stone bench and no sound but the chattering aspens, a sound like wind chimes made of bird bones, and in the dream he leaned to search for the tarnished plaque but behind the scrub growth there was only more growth, and he rooted and pulled in despair until something moved at the tree line and he looked up and there she was: black toss of ponytail, bare legs blotched pink and red, the scant shorts and the running shoes all brilliant white in the shaded hollow. She said There you are and pulled up before him winded, hands on hips, her head cocked to one side. She asked him where he’d been and he said he’d been right here, and she asked why and he said because he was waiting for her and she asked why and he said because he didn’t know the way down and she shook her head and said, Dudley, the way down is down. It’s always down. Didn’t you know that? Then she knelt to retie one shoe and as she was doing this something else moved in the woods, some plodding and reckless thing, and she looked up and smiled, and then, like a sprinter in the blocks, she rose and flew, leaping once more into the woods. He tried to follow but when he stepped into the trees there was no sign of her, nor any sign of trail. He stared into the pines and he heard his name, and when he opened his eyes a hand was on his shoulder and a face was hovering in the dark, eyes shining, and he said Don’t, don’t . . . but the words were only in his heart and his father shook him again, almost violently, and said, “Sean, wake up. Wake up. You have to get dressed.”
“Why?” he asked, still in the woods.
“Because they found her.”
He stared at his father in the darkness, his father staring at him.
“How do they know?” said the boy, and his father said, “Because she told them.”
Part V
66
Something was buzzing—a terrific and malevolent insect, a great scarab. It sat wide and hard-shelled on her chest, it sat on her mouth, and she couldn’t breathe; she swung an arm and struck a soft small creature near her head and the animal released a childish, laundered smell and the smell told her where she was, who she was, and when she knew this she knew what the buzzing was and she blindly reached for it, toppling the capped water bottle onto its side, the bottle sending the vial of pills rolling off the table and bouncing on the carpet with the faraway sound of a fallen baby rattle.
She swung out her legs and sat with the phone in her hand, reading the bright small screen. The room faced east and the windows were a deep shade of blue. No idea how long she’d slept. The alarm clock sat blank and pointless, unplugged long ago by her husband. The phone buzzed twice more before she answered.
“Angie,” Grace nearly cried. “Where are you?”
“At the house,” she said thickly. She picked up the water bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“The house?” It took her sister a moment. “What are you doing there?”
“Running the streams.”
“Running the what?”
“The . . . water. Running the water. For the traps.”
“Angie, are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Why?”
The heat had stopped blowing, the furnace paused. No one, nothing, moved in the house. It felt empty as a museum after even the guards have gone home; the paintings unlit in the vast gloom, gazed at by no one but the white-eyed statues. She looked about her at the posters, the furniture, her daughter’s things; they were losing their power to devastate her. They were becoming like her memories.
“Well,” Grace said, “I’ve been calling. Did you lose your phone, or what?”
Angela could see her sister’s face: the anger and disbelief. The fear. The face of an adult woman whom she loved without question and into whose tiny lungs she had once blown life, a fact that was known but could not
be felt.
“It was in my bag,” Angela said. “I didn’t hear it. I’m sorry, Grace.”
“Well—” said Grace. She took a breath. “How did it go this morning?”
“How did what go.”
“Teaching, Angie. Did you teach?”
“Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“They sat and read their book. They pretended to. Real teacher-of-the-year stuff.”
There was a long silence. Angela glanced at the screen. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.” Grace’s tone became casual. “Have you been at the house all day?”
“No. I walked around. I rode the bus.”
“You rode the bus?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. The library.”
Grace’s son hollered at her from somewhere in the house; she didn’t answer. “Angie,” she said. “I’m coming over.”
“Don’t, Grace. Seriously, I’m fine.” She was putting her things back into the tote bag. Shouldering it. She restored the teddy bear and the ape to their places. Smoothed the duvet.
“Well—are you coming home? I mean, are you coming back for dinner?”
There was the sharp rap of the little brass knocker on the front door downstairs.
“Go ahead and eat without me,” Angela said. “I’ll warm something
up later.”
“But Angie—”