"I don't know," Alan said evenly. "What I do know is that he's only been doing business here in town for a week. So a check seems like a reasonable precaution to take."
Yes, he was being reasonable. Polly recognized that. It was that very reasonableness, that stubborn rationality in the face of what seemed to her to be an authentic miracle cure, that was now driving her anger. She fought an urge to begin snapping her fingers in his face, shouting Do you SEE that, Alan? Are you BLIND? as she did so. The fact that Alan was right, that Mr. Gaunt should have no problem at all with her check if he was on the up-and-up, only made her angrier.
Be careful, a voice whispered. Be careful, don't be hasty, turn on brain before throwing mouth in gear. Remember that you love this man.
But another voice answered, a colder voice, one she barely recognized as her own: Do I? Do I really?
"All right," she said, tight-lipped, and slid across the seat and away from him. "Thank you for looking after my best interests, Alan.
Sometimes I forget how badly I need someone to do that, you see. I'll be sure to write him a check."
Polly"No, Alan. No more talk now. I can't not be mad at you any longer today." She opened the door and got out in one lithe gesture.
The jumper rode up, revealing a momentary heart-stopping length of thigh.
He started to get out on his own side, wanting to catch her, talk to her, smooth it over, make her see that he had only voiced his doubts because he cared about her. Then he looked at his watch again. It was nine minutes of three. Even if he pushed it, he might miss Brian Rusk.
"I'll talk to you tonight," he called out the window.
"Fine," she said. "You do that, Alan." She went directly to the door beneath the canopy without turning around. Before he put the station wagon in reverse and backed out into the street, Alan heard the tinkle of a small silver bell.
5
"Ms. Chalmers!" Mr. Gaunt cried cheerfully, and made a small check-mark on the sheet beside the cash register. He was nearing the bottom of it now: Polly's was the last name but one.
"Please... Polly," she said.
"Excuse me." His smile widened. "Polly."
She smiled back at him, but the smile was forced. Now that she was in here, she felt a keen sorrow at the angry way she and Alan had parted. Suddenly she found herself struggling just to keep from bursting into tears.
"Ms. Chalmers? Polly? Are you feeling unwell?" Mr. Gaunt came around the counter. "You look a trifle pale." His face was furrowed with genuine concern. This is the man Alan thinks is a crook, Polly thought. If he could only see him now"It's the sun, I think," she said in a voice that was not quite even. "It's so warm outside."
"But cool in here," he said soothingly. "Come, Polly. Come and sit down."
He led her, his hand near but not quite touching the small of her back, to one of the red velvet chairs. She sat upon it, knees together.
"I happened to be looking out the window," he said, sitting in the chair next to hers and folding his long hands into his lap. "It looked to me as if you and the Sheriff might be arguing."
"it's nothing," she said, but then a single large tear overspilled the corner of her left eye and rolled down her cheek.
"On the contrary," he said. "It means a great deal."
She looked up at him, surprised... and Mr. Gaunt's hazel eyes captured hers. Had they been hazel before? She couldn't remember, not for certain. All she knew was that as she looked into them, she felt all the day's misery-poor Nettle's funeral, then the stupid fight she'd had with Alan-begin to dissolve.
"It... it does?"
"Polly," he said softly, "I think everything is going to turn out just fine. If you trust me. Do you? Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Polly said, although something inside, something far and faint, cried out a desperate warning. "I do-no matter what Alan says, I trust you with all my heart."
"Well, that's fine," Mr. Gaunt said. He reached out and took one of Polly's hands. Her face wrinkled in disgust for a moment, and then relaxed into its former blank and dreaming expression.
"That's just fine. And your friend the Sheriff needn't have worried, you know; your personal check is just as good as gold with me."
6
Alan saw he was going to be late unless he turned on the flasherbubble and stuck it on the roof. He didn't want to do that. He didn't want Brian Rusk to see a police car; he wanted him to see a slightly down-at-the-heels station wagon, just like the kind his own dad probably drove.
It was too late to make it to the school before it let out for the day. Alan parked at the intersection of Main and School streets instead. This was the most logical way for Brian to come; he would just have to hope that logic would work somewhere along the line today.