25 September 1975
He Will Not Wash His Hands of You
The following day Nathan rose at seven, made coffee — which he’d grown quite adept at doing since Flora’s death — and ate a quick breakfast, pouring boiling water on to Cream of Wheat.
Before leaving for the morning, he rapped lightly on Nat’s closed bedroom door. He didn’t open it, because he wanted the boy to feel he had some privacy. Especially in light of how much was changing for Nat, and how fast. But he did want to remind the boy that he would be gone all morning.
The night before, when he’d told Nat his schedule, Nathan had been under the distinct impression that the boy had been only half-listening. If indeed he had been listening at all.
“Nat, I’m on my way. I’ll be gone all morning. As I told you last night. There are three kinds of cold cereal in the cupboard over the refrigerator.”
No response.
Part of Nathan felt sorely tempted to insist on some response. But he’d been doing so much insisting lately.
Later in the day he’d have to look into getting Nat registered for school in this new district, but after yesterday’s early hunting morning, it seemed that the kindest thing Nathan could do was to go away and let him sleep in.
? ? ?
Nathan drove an hour and a half out of town to the rural kennel. The same kennel, run by the same breeder, that had produced Sadie and Maggie.
Sam, the breeder, greeted him at the door to the barn. “How’s the girl?” Sam asked.
“Maggie’s fine. Thank you.”
“Glad to hear it. Scared me to see you. Didn’t think you’d be needing another dog so soon.”
“It’s not for myself,” Nathan said. “I have a young man in my care now. Just barely fifteen. Seems there’s not much he responds to. But he appears to like dogs. I know you specialize in fine hunting dogs, and that’s not quite what this situation requires, but I thought you might know where I could find—”
“Boy, are you in luck,” Sam said. “Got just the thing for you.”
He led Nathan over to a kennel cage in which lounged an adult curly-coated retriever and a half-grown pup that looked to be of indeterminate bloodline. His coat was longer and straighter, making him look like a poorly designed sheepdog. The liver color inherited from his mother was broken with patches of white. The hair on his face seemed to protrude in every direction at once.
“One of my best bitches got out and came home pregnant. Just my luck, had ten pups. You have any idea how hard it is to find homes for ten mutt pups? This little guy’s the only one left. Five months.”
“What kind of a dog did she breed with?”
Nathan peered deeply into the dark, solid eyes of the adult curly-coated retriever, who steadily returned his gaze. She reminded Nathan of Sadie, which was not entirely surprising; she was likely a relative.
“No idea. But the people who took the other pups say they’re pretty good dogs. Smart, with nice dispositions. I heard from three of the ones that took ’em, anyway. And none’ve come back.”
Sam opened the chain-link wire door of the cage. The pup came bounding out and jumped on Nathan, gnawing at his wrist as if it were a rawhide bone.
“Just needs someone to learn ’im some manners,” Sam said. “Boy, this is kismet if you ask my opinion. Not an hour before you showed up here I was looking in that run and wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do with ’im.”
Nathan sat the pup down on the concrete barn floor and looked into his eyes. He would be a handful for a time. But he would be Nat’s handful. And his eyes reflected intelligence and sanity. Maybe he would take after his mother. Maybe the champion genes would be stronger somehow.
“What do you want for him?”
“He’s a mutt. I want a good home for ’im. And I want ’im out of my hair. And that’s all.”
? ? ?
On his way back through town, Nathan stopped at the bank, leaving the new pup in a carrier crate in the back of his car. He could hear the puppy yelping even as he stood in front of the teller’s window.
He had just stepped out of the bank and was making his way down the leaf-covered sidewalk of Main Street when he heard a woman say his name.
“Nathan?”
Nathan turned.
It took him a moment to recognize her. In fact, she had to come several steps closer before he understood that it was Eleanor MacElroy.
“Eleanor,” he said, his pleasure at unexpectedly seeing her evident in his voice. And it was genuine. He did not assume a pleased tone just to be polite.
She hadn’t changed much, Nathan noted. Oh, she had aged. But gracefully. Not as much as he had, it seemed. She had foregone the vain coloring of her hair that so many women of a certain age favored. Yet she had only a dusting of gray, mostly in the front-most strands of hair framing her forehead.
Nathan fully believed the theory that people, as they grow older, acquire the faces they truly deserve. In her case, it was no tragedy.
“Nathan, I haven’t seen you in so many years. Twelve years, maybe. How are you? And how is Flora?”
Nathan didn’t even need to offer an answer to her second question. Apparently the look on his face said it all.
“Oh, Nathan. I’m so sorry. How long ago?”
“Three years.”
“And have you married again?”
Nathan was more than surprised at the question. He was, in fact, quite thoroughly taken aback.
“Why, no. I haven’t even thought of a thing like that. I’m not sure why you thought I would—”
“I guess I don’t, either,” she interjected. “After all, I’ve been widowed for fifteen years, and I haven’t remarried. It’s so good to see you, Nathan. Are you in a rush? Do you have a few moments? I’d just love to catch up and hear about your life. We could have a cup of coffee. Or, I guess it’s almost lunchtime. Not quite, but … well, an early lunch.”
Nathan stood still in the flurry of his own thoughts. Certain elements of this confusing conversation with Eleanor were clearing themselves. Coming out from hiding. But at the same time, he was involved in the weighing and measuring of how long he should be away. He actually would have enjoyed an early lunch with her. Very much. But he felt there might be a price to pay for leaving Nat alone too long.
And then there was the matter of the pup, howling now in the back of his car.
“I, uh …”
“Oh, never mind. I probably shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, it’s not that at all, it’s just—”
“I understand. Really I do.”
“No,” Nathan said. “I don’t think you do. I just can’t get free right now, today. Not on this short notice. If I could just have a rain check …”
“Well. Of course. Dinner? At my house? I still remember how to cook. Or at least I think I do.”
“That would be wonderful. I’m still not much of a cook. I make an acceptable roast duck, but other than that I haven’t had a decent home-cooked meal since …” He trailed off, somehow not wanting to say Flora’s name.
“What night?”
“Well. Any night.”
“Tonight? Seven o’clock?”
Tonight. He would have to leave Nat alone again today. But he supposed that would be all right. So long as the situation came with advance warning. Besides, Nat would be busy with his new pup.
“Yes. I’d love to. Thank you. Tonight at seven would be perfect.”
? ? ?
When Nathan arrived home, he put the pup in the run with Maggie.
“Look after him,” he told her. Which she seemed already inclined to do.
Then he went inside to get Nat. But Nat was nowhere to be found.
Nathan opened the boy’s bedroom door to find the bed neatly made.
Was it possible that he had made the bed of his own accord before leaving? And then, of course, the obvious question. Leaving for where?
Nathan walked to the bed and checked the corners of the sheets. Perfect on one side, sloppy on the other.
No, Nathan realized. Much as he longed to think otherwise, this bed had not been slept in since the previous morning, when he had taken Nat hunting.
Had he tucked Nat in last night? Come in to say goodnight? No, he had not. He had simply handed him a towel and a washcloth and said he’d see him in the morning. Aware as he was that the boy was surely feeling overwhelmed. And never thinking to doubt that his simple prediction would prove true. He found the washcloth and towel sitting still folded, unused and untouched, on the sink of Flora’s old bathroom.
Nathan sat in the living room for a few moments, quieting his mind and asking it to take a more organized tack.
The boy might have run away, home to his grandmother’s house. After all, that was everything he had ever known. Nathan felt sure she would not take him in, but it was certainly possible that Nat would delude himself on that score. Could he have gone to classes at his same old school across town? Even though Nathan had not provided transportation or insisted? It seemed more than unlikely. No, likely he ran away. And not necessarily to his grandmother’s house, either. More likely to parts unknown.
Nathan thought of calling the police, but two thoughts delayed him. One, he wondered if a teenager, particularly one prone to making trouble, might need to be missing for longer before the police would mix in. And, also, he felt he would have a hard time representing himself as the legal guardian.
He decided to check the attic and the basement. Not so much because he expected to find Nat in either place. It was more an organized act of research. If a suitcase had been taken, for example, that would say something.
Then he realized he hadn’t checked Nat’s closet and drawers. So he did that first. But none of the boy’s belongings appeared to be missing. Which seemed to Nathan a very encouraging sign.
He walked down the basement stairs. Flipped on the light.
The door to his shotgun case — his locked shotgun case — stood wide open. On the floor in front of it lay his hacksaw, and a small pile of metal shavings. And, although Nathan owned three shotguns, the only one missing was — more than inconveniently — the priceless gift from his grandfather.
Was it possible that the boy had taken himself hunting? Maybe he had felt that bringing home a duck all on his own would earn Nathan’s approval. But no, if he wanted Nathan to be proud of him, he would not have sawed through the lock on his gun rack. That’s not the act of a young man seeking approval.
Nathan stood frozen, considering all of this, until the phone rang upstairs. It instantly formed a frosty core inside his gut. As if the ring itself contained bad news.
He vaulted up the stairs two at a time. Grabbed the phone off the kitchen wall.
It was Nat. Much to his relief, it was Nat.
“Where have you been?” Nat asked. “I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”
“I told you I was going to be away all morning.”
“You did? When?”
“Last night.”
“Oh. I need your help.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m in a little bit of trouble. And I need you to come bail me out.”
“Literally?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Where are you?”
“At Juvie Hall.”
Nathan sighed deeply. Well, at least he had been found. And would have to stay put. “Where exactly is that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly drive here on my own, you know.”
“Is there an officer there with you?”
“Well, that’s a pretty obvious one, isn’t it? No, I’m all on the honor system. I could walk right out the door, but I’m just too honest to do it.”
“When a person is in your position,” Nathan said, “it would behoove him to be polite to whomever he thinks can help.”
“Behoove? Whomever? That must be more of your English-as-a-foreign-language. Oops. You know what? Never mind. Forget I said that. In this case, I think I might actually see your point. I’m going to turn you over to one of these nice officers now. So they can tell you more about where I am.”
? ? ?
It seemed unfortunate to Nathan that all of the county offices were clustered together on to one campus in this town. Because, as it turned out, walking in the front door of Juvenile Hall involved using the exact same front door as one would use for either the men’s or women’s county jail. And Nathan did not enjoy his memories of the place. Not at all.
Despite two tries, no bond measure had been passed, and the place had deteriorated a great deal further in fifteen years. Nathan had voted in the affirmative twice since that first visit. But a two-thirds majority had been needed, and the measures had gone down to defeat just the same.
Nathan stepped up to the desk, only to be greeted by the same officer. It took him a moment to recognize the man. He was a good fifty pounds heavier. Much grayer and much balder. If only he could have retired, Nathan thought, before I had to come back here. He looked close enough to retirement age.
His name badge read Chas. A. Frawley.
The two men stood eyeing each other carefully.
It seemed impossible to Nathan that this man would remember him. Then again, he remembered the officer. After fifteen years. But it had been a disturbing episode for Nathan, and trauma tends to firmly cement memories in place. And, also, Nathan had the advantage of seeing the man in context.
“I know you. Don’t I?” Frawley said.
“I’m not sure,” Nathan said, being — uncharacteristically — not entirely forthcoming.
“I never forget a face.”
“I’ve come to see Nathan Bates. The juvenile you arrested today.”
“Wait. I know. You’re that guy who almost cost me my job. When that girl died in custody.”
So apparently Frawley had gathered his own trauma with which to cement the memory in place.
“I never said I was that girl’s father.”
“You never said you weren’t, either.”
“When you meet new people,” Nathan said evenly, “do you make it a habit to tell them whose relative you are not?”
“This was a bit of a different—”
“I can’t help feeling it’s all water under the bridge after so many years. I’m here to see Nathan Bates.”
The officer snorted. Threw — literally threw — the clipboard with the sign-in sheet on to the counter in front of Nathan. It slid over and hit him lightly in the stomach at one corner.
“At least this one’s alive and kicking,” Frawley said. “And kicking. And kicking. And kicking. Little hellion, if you ask me.”
I didn’t, Nathan thought. But he kept the sentiment to himself, feeling he was already on poor enough footing in this place.
“Can you please tell me what he’s charged with?”
“Armed robbery.”
Nathan’s jaw dropped, literally. He had to consciously remind himself to close his mouth. “That’s a very serious charge,” Nathan said.
“You’re telling me. Tried to knock over a gas station with a shotgun. Lucky for him nobody got killed.”
“Maybe the gun wasn’t loaded,” Nathan added. Hearing the hopefulness of his own words. As if he could shape the truth with them.
Frawley snorted. “It was more than loaded. It was discharged.”
“He shot somebody?”
“I only know what it says on this report. Weapon discharged. Gas-station owner injured. Nothing life-threatening. He was treated and released at the emergency room. Lucky for your boy. If he’d been badly hurt, you couldn’t have even afforded the bail they’d’ve set. If he got bail at all. Wait till you hear how high they set bail as it is.”
“I don’t need to hear that at all,” Nathan said. “Because I have no intention of posting it. I just need to see him.”
? ? ?