“Is this Laura?” he said.
“Who’s this?” said the woman. She sounded nervous, on edge. He’d met Laura Langstrom a number of times, at various social events at the college. David and Kathy had also been over to the Langstroms’ for a cookout last summer, a hospitality David kept meaning to repay. Laura Langstrom was what someone might refer to as a hefty woman, with meaty upper arms and thighs that stretched the fabric of her pants. She had always been pleasant enough—the entire Langstrom clan had always been happy and cheerful—but now she sounded like someone who’d been holed up in a cave for half a year and had forgotten how to converse with another human being.
“This is David Arlen, Laura. From the college.”
“Burt’s college?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Is that where he is now?”
“Yes.” He thought it odd she wouldn’t know where her husband was. “He’s—”
“Is he okay?” she said, cutting him off. “Did something happen?”
“Well, nothing happened, but—”
“You wouldn’t be calling me if something hasn’t happened. Just tell me.”
“Burt’s okay. I’ve just been worried about him lately. His . . . his behavior, I guess. His . . .” His what? Attitude? Outlook? Entire persona? He didn’t know how to finish the thought.
“Does he seem sick to you, David?”
“He seems severely depressed. I think he should talk to a doctor.”
“We’ve all been to doctors. We had our quarterly test just last month. We’re all clean here, David. Folly-free, as they say.” She practically sang this last part, as though it was part of some advertising jingle.
“That’s not the kind of doctor I’m talking about. I think he needs to see . . . well, maybe a shrink.”
“We don’t have a shrink.”
“Maybe he should get one. Listen, I know this is coming out of left field, Laura, but I felt I should do something—”
“Tell me,” Laura Langstrom said, and now her voice dropped, as if they were two criminals conspiring over the phone about an upcoming heist. “How is your family, David? How is . . . uh . . .”
“Kathy and Eleanor,” he finished for her.
“Yes!” The word jolted from her. “Yes, that’s right. How are they? Are they healthy? Have you gotten blood tests recently?”
“We’re all clean.”
“Are you sure?” Her words hung there, the emphasis on that final word somehow sounding perverse. As if she was taunting him.
“As sure as we can be.”
“Because sometimes you can’t trust them,” said Laura.
“Trust what? The blood tests?”
“Yes, that’s right. But not just the tests. Them. Do you understand?” She whispered this last part.
“No. Who’s ‘them’?”
“Them,” she said. “Them. You want to know something? We don’t let anyone come over anymore. I suggest you do the same.”
“We’re keeping to ourselves,” he said, suddenly wondering how this panicked woman on the other end of the line had managed to usurp this conversation.
“And Burt and I, we keep watching them. Because I think part of this whole thing—the part they don’t report about on the news, I mean—is the sneaking part, the part that creeps up on you and gets you, infiltrates you, even when they tell you the blood tests are all fine. Fine and dandy.” Again, she lowered her voice to a whisper: “But I don’t believe it. Not for one goddamn second. You might think we don’t notice those . . . slight changes . . . in their behavior, David, but we do. We do.”
“Who are you talking about?”
Laura Langstrom’s response was a single whistling exhalation.
“Are you feeling all right?” David asked.
“Me? Oh, I’m just fine, David.” Her normal voice again, as if some pill had just kicked in and regulated her. “We’re just all so scared, David.”
“Burt mentioned something about packing up and driving off somewhere.”
“Now?”
“No, not now. He said something about renting an RV and—”
“It’s beyond that,” Laura said flatly, once more cutting him off. “I’m afraid it’s beyond all of that, David.” She cleared her throat. “It’s David, isn’t it? I’ve forgotten.”
“Yes,” he said. This was a bad idea.
“Maybe,” she said, “it’s beyond that for all of us.”
“I’m not sure I—”
Laura Langstrom hung up.
37