"We'll leave you, Joe. I'll leave you. I'll go with him. Unless you're good."
Larry felt a further tensing of the arm under his foot, then a loosening. But the boy was looking at her grievingly, accusingly, reproachfully. When he shifted his gaze slightly to look at Larry, Larry could read the hot jealousy in those eyes. Even with the sweat running off him in buckets, Larry felt cold under that stare.
She continued to speak calmly. No one would hurt him. No one would leave him. If he let go of the knife, everyone could be friends.
Gradually Larry became aware that the hand under his shoe had relaxed and let go. The boy lay dormant, staring up at the sky. He had opted out. Larry took his foot off Joe's wrist, bent quickly, and picked up the knife. He turned and scaled it up and out toward the headland. The blade whirled and whirled, throwing off spears of sunlight. Joe's strange eyes followed its course and he gave one long, hooting wail of pain. The knife bounced on the rocks with a thin clatter and skittered over the edge.
Larry turned back and regarded them. The woman was looking at Joe's right forearm where the waffled shape of Larry's boot was deeply embedded and turning an angry, exclamatory red. Her dark eyes looked up from that to Larry's face. They were full of sorrow.
Larry felt the old defensive and self-serving words rise - I had to do it, it wasn't my fault, listen lady, he wanted to kill me - because he thought he could read the judgment in those sorrowing eyes: You ain't no nice guy.
But in the end he said nothing. The situation was what the situation was, and his actions had been forced by the kid's. Looking at the boy, who had now curled himself up desolately over his own knees and put a thumb in his mouth, he doubted if the boy himself had initiated the situation. And it could have ended in a worse way, with one of them cut or even killed.
So he said nothing, and he met the woman's soft gaze and thought: I think I've changed. Somehow. I don't know how much. He found himself thinking of something Barry Grieg had once said to him about a rhythm guitar player from L.A., a guy named Jory Baker who was always on time, never missed a practice session, or f**ked up an audition. Not the kind of guitar player that caught your eye, no showboat like Angus Young or Eddie Van Halen, but competent. Once, Barry had said, Jory Baker had been the driving wheel of a group called Sparx, a group everybody seemed to think that year's Most Likely to Succeed. They had a sound something like early Creedence: hard solid guitar rock and roll. Jory Baker had done most of the writing and all of the vocals. Then a car accident, broken bones, lots of dope in the hospital. He had come out, as the John Prine song says, with a steel plate in his head and a monkey on his back. He progressed from Demerol to heroin. Got busted a couple of times. After a while he was just another street-druggie with fumble fingers, spare-changing down at the Greyhound station and hanging out on the strip. Then, somehow, over a period of eighteen months, he had gotten clean, and stayed clean. A lot of him was gone. He was no longer the driving wheel of any group, Most Likely to Succeed or otherwise, but he was always on time, never missed a practice session, or f**ked up an audition. He didn't talk much, but the needle highway on his left arm had disappeared. And Barry Grieg had said: He's come out the other side. That was all. No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just... come out the other side.
Or you don't.
I've changed somehow, Larry thought dimly. I've come out the other side, too.
She said: "I'm Nadine Cross. This is Joe. I'm happy to meet you."
"Larry Underwood."
They shook hands, both smiling faintly at the absurdity.
"Let's walk back to the road," Nadine said.
They started off side by side, and after a few steps Larry looked back over his shoulder at Joe, who was still sitting over his knees and sucking his thumb, apparently unaware they were gone.
"He'll come," she said quietly.
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
As they came to the highway's gravel shoulder she stumbled and Larry took her arm. She looked at him gratefully.
"Can we sit down?" she asked.
"Sure."
So they sat down on the pavement, facing each other. After a little bit Joe got up and plodded toward them, looking down at his bare feet. He sat a little way apart from them. Larry looked at him warily, then back at Nadine Cross.
"You were the two following me."
"You knew? Yes. I thought you did."
"How long?"
"Two days now," Nadine said. "We were staying in the big house at Epsom." Seeing his puzzled expression she added: "By the creek. You fell asleep by the rock wall."
He nodded. "And last night the two of you came to peek at me while I was sleeping on that porch. Maybe to see if I had horns or a long red tail."
"That was Joe," she said quietly. "I came after him when I found he was gone. How did you know?"