Walter looks at me in horror. “You have got to be kidding.”
“Look, I know you were less than thrilled when I showed up, and I know he’s a working man and all, but he’s an old man and he’s in bad shape and he needs help.”
“And what exactly are we supposed to do with him?”
“Just keep him away from Blackie.”
“For how long? Forever?”
I drop to the edge of my bedroll. He’s right, of course. We can’t keep Camel hidden forever. “Shit,” I say. I bang my forehead with the heel of my palm. And then again. And then again.
“Hey, stop that,” says Walter. He sits forward, closing his book. “Those were serious questions. What would we do with him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he have any family?”
I look up at him suddenly. “He mentioned a son once.”
“Okay, well now we’re getting somewhere. Do you know where this son is?”
“No. I gather they aren’t in touch.”
Walter stares at me, tapping his fingers against his leg. After half a minute of silence he says, “All right. Bring him on over. Don’t let anyone see you or we’ll all catch hell.”
I look up in surprise.
“What?” he says, brushing a fly from his forehead.
“Nothing. No. Actually, I mean thank you. Very much.”
“Hey, I got a heart,” he says, lying back and picking up his book. “Not like some people we all know and love.”
WALTER AND I ARE relaxing between the matinée and evening show when there’s a soft rapping on our door.
He leaps to his feet, knocking over the wooden crate and cursing as he keeps the kerosene lamp from hitting the floor. I approach the door and glance nervously at the trunks laid end-to-end across the back wall.
Walter rights the lamp and gives me the briefest of nods.
I open the door.
“Marlena!” I say, swinging the door farther open than I intend to. “What are you doing up? I mean, are you okay? Do you want to sit down?”
“No,” she says. Her face is inches from mine. “I’m all right. But I’d like to speak to you for a moment. Are you alone?”
“Uh, no. Not exactly.” I say, glancing back at Walter, who’s shaking his head and waving his hands furiously.
“Can you come to the stateroom?” Marlena says. “It won’t take but a moment.”
“Yes. Of course.”
She turns and walks gingerly to the doorway. She’s wearing slippers, not shoes. She sits on the edge and eases herself down. I watch for a moment, relieved to see that while she moves carefully, she’s not limping obviously.
I close the door.
“Man, oh man,” says Walter, shaking his head. “I nearly had a heart attack. Shit, man. What the hell are we doing?”
“Hey, Camel,” I say. “You okay back there?”
“Yup,” says a thin voice from behind the trunks. “Reckon she saw anything?”
“No. You’re in the clear. For now. But we’re going to have to be very careful.”
MARLENA IS IN the plush chair with her legs crossed. When I first come in, she’s sitting forward, rubbing the arch of one foot. When she sees me, she stops and leans back.
“Jacob. Thank you for coming.”
“Certainly,” I say. I remove my hat, and hold it awkwardly to my chest.
“Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” I say, sitting on the edge of the nearest chair. I look around. “Where’s August?”
“He and Uncle Al are meeting with the railroad authority.”
“Oh,” I say. “Anything serious?”
“Just rumors. Someone reported that we were redlighting men. They’ll sort it out, I’m sure.”
“Rumors. Yes,” I say. I hold my hat in my lap, fingering its edge and waiting.
“So . . . um . . . I was worried about you,” she says.
“You were?”
“Are you all right?” she asks quietly.
“Yes. Of course,” I say. Then it dawns on me what she’s asking. “Oh God—no, it’s not what you think. The doctor wasn’t for me. I needed him to see a friend, and it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t for that.”
“Oh,” she says, with a nervous laugh. “I’m so glad. I’m sorry, Jacob. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was just worried.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“And your friend?”
I hold my breath for a moment. “Not so fine.”
“Will she be okay?”
“She?” I look up, caught off-guard.
Marlena looks down, twisting her fingers in her lap. “I just assumed it was Barbara.”
I cough, and then I choke.
“Oh, Jacob—oh, goodness. I’m making an awful mess of this. It’s none of my business. Really. Please forgive me.”
“No. I hardly know Barbara.” I blush so hard my scalp prickles.
“It’s all right. I know she’s a . . .” Marlena twists her fingers awkwardly and lets the sentence go unfinished. “Well, despite that, she’s not a bad sort. Quite decent, really, although you want to—”
“Marlena,” I say with enough force to stop her from talking. I clear my throat and continue. “I’m not involved with Barbara. I hardly know her. I don’t think we’ve exchanged more than a dozen words in our lives.”