“I’m serious,” James says. “It was always you, Shelby.”
She goes to wait in the car while he finishes packing up. She’s not the kind of girl who has to befriend someone’s mother, and she’s sure his leave-taking will be difficult. He’s come here every week to run errands and help his mother, despite the fact that he says they’ve never been close. It’s growing cooler, and Shelby wishes she had her Burberry raincoat. She hugs herself to keep warm. She’s so wrapped up in her thoughts about leaving for California she doesn’t notice Mrs. Howard has come out of the house and is approaching. When there’s a tapping on the window, Shelby nearly jumps out of her skin. She buzzes down her window. She says the first thing that comes into her head. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Howard.”
“When you lose a son, people being sorry doesn’t do much good,” Mrs. Howard responds coldly.
“But you have James,” Shelby says.
“James is it? I thought that was the son you were talking about since you never knew Lee. Now I’m about to lose Jimmy, too, thanks to you.” Liz Howard stares Shelby down. “I don’t think you’re sorry at all, Shelby Richmond.”
Shelby’s heart is beating too fast. “I am.”
Mrs. Howard isn’t wearing a sweater. She must be cold standing out on the curb. “He was in jail, you know,” she says.
Shelby understands. Mrs. Howard is trying to drive her away. “He told me,” she says gently.
Mrs. Howard appraises her coolly. “Young girls can be stupid.”
“I’m not that young.” Shelby sees that James’s mother has a little tremor just like she does when she’s anxious. Right now, for instance, Shelby is shaking. “And I’m not stupid.”
James is headed down the path, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his dog following. He’s wearing the same coat he wore on the night of the accident, the one he covered her with until the ambulance came. He slinked off, and Shelby’s mother came to lie beside her on the asphalt until she was lifted into the ambulance. He stops to reassure his mother. “All the bills for next month have been paid. Mr. Boyd is going to look over the lawn until you hire someone.”
“Do you think I care?” his mother says.
“Probably not.”
He opens the car door, and after Coop leaps in the back, James gets behind the wheel. “That went well,” he says darkly. Shelby is watching Mrs. Howard. Her face has fallen, her complexion is chalky, and her tremor has worsened. She understands that Mrs. Howard can’t afford to show her love for James. She can’t lose another son.
“She cares desperately,” Shelby says.
James gives Shelby a look. “You think you understand my mother?”
“Trust me,” Shelby says. “You’re her everything.”
James gets out of the car in order to speak with his mother. They stand there for quite a while, and at the end of their conversation James hugs her. When he gets back into the car he looks at Shelby with admiration. “Anything else I need to know?”
“Yes,” she says.
They stop in Northport and drive to a strip of land called Asharoken. As far as Shelby is concerned the only thing he needs to know is whether or not he really wants to leave this place. She wants him to be sure. They park and walk along the rocky shore as the sky hangs down in bands of gray and blue twilight. Coop runs off to chase seagulls. James tells her that when he dreams, it’s always of this beach. If his brother ever were to return, it would be here.
“There are beaches in California,” Shelby says.
“What if he comes back and I’m not here?”
James picks up a rock and throws it as far as he can. Shelby feels a chill. She may have lost him to the burden he carries. He has been trapped here since he was ten years old. Under this pale sky there is a soul as free as a bird and a man who has never taken off his mourning clothes. Shelby folds her arms around James and presses her face to his. She can hear his heart beating against hers. He’s in there somewhere, just as she was when she couldn’t say anything or believe in anything or want anything or see anything or be anything. She was hiding inside, waiting for an angel.
“Do something,” she says.
It is a late Sunday afternoon like any other, except for one major problem. Ben Mink is at the door. Not at the lobby door downstairs that a visitor has to be buzzed through, but right here on the fourth floor.
“Ben,” Shelby says when she opens the door to see him, stating the obvious and doing her best not to let on that she’s having an instant panic attack. They’ve been packing and there are boxes everywhere.
“It’s me,” Ben says.