WHEN THEY reached Grace’s house, the boy would hardly leave his side, hovering next to him in the kitchen and then sitting so close to him on the sofa that he was nearly in Bill’s lap. The Jeff Foxworthy Show was on television and Bill laughed when Grace and Jude laughed.
When the program was over, Grace stood and disappeared into the bathroom and Bill turned toward the boy. Listen, pal, he said. We’re gonna have to do that thing later.
No, Jude said, his head shaking from side to side. You said after Fall Festival. You promised.
Shhh. It’s still a surprise. I don’t want her to find out.
Why can’t we do it tonight?
I have to talk to your mom about something first.
What?
Something important, that’s all.
Something else?
Yeah, something else.
When will we do it then?
I don’t know. I’ll have to figure that out after I talk to her.
But you’re not gonna do it without me, right? Don’t do it without me, OK?
I won’t.
Grace had returned, sitting on the other side of her son on the sofa, her arm draped around behind the boy so that her fingertips rested on Bill’s shoulder. On the television, the actor Brian Dennehy stood in front of a dark house telling the viewer to take a pill called Zantac 75. What are you boys talking about? she said.
Nothing, Jude said quickly.
Sounds fishy, Grace said.
Just talking about homework and stuff, Jude said.
Homework and stuff, huh? She leaned over and kissed his head. Time for shower and bed, little man.
He was staring at her now. At her and at Jude. How beautiful they both were. How lucky he had been to have them in his life at all.
Can’t I stay up just a little while longer?
Show’s over and it’s already past your bedtime, she said.
OK, Jude said, his voice falling.
The boy disappeared into the hall with his mother and after a time Bill clicked off the television and wandered out into the kitchen. The black-covered paperback of The Tibetan Book of the Dead rested on
the counter and he lifted it and stood flipping through its pages until he found the image he had looked at before. The Great Mandala of the Peaceful Deities. It made no more sense to him this time than it had the first.
Catching up on your research? Grace said, coming into the room from the hall.
The book was still in his hand. He closed it and returned it to the counter now. It doesn’t make any sense.
Just ways to get through.
Through what?
Through to the other side.
The other side of what?
Of anything. I don’t know. I’ve only read like fifty pages. It’s pretty far out. Lamas and rituals and stuff like that.
Just don’t start making altars or burning incense or anything, all right?
I’m just trying to get far enough into it so that I can tell Fran I read it.
Fran’s that important?
She shrugged. Isn’t everyone?
No, he said.
She looked up at him. I was the one who put down her dog. It just seemed like her whole soul kind of leaked out of her when that animal died. She doesn’t need me to read the book. She just needs to be able to talk to someone.
You’re the best person I know, Bill said.
She smiled at him. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. She went to the kitchen counter and lifted a manila envelope from its surface. He had dropped it off at the veterinary office a few days earlier: a sheaf of forms from Idaho Fish and Game, some of which seemed impossible to complete. You wanna talk about this tonight?
Not tonight, he said.
It’s not just gonna go away.
He looked at her, saying nothing, only staring into her wide, beautiful eyes. He felt as if his body had filled with snow, as if dry and frozen powder shifted and blew and swirled everywhere through him. I just can’t do it tonight, he said.
OK, she said. I know it’s hard.
He nodded. That’s one word for it.
Maybe I can come up this week and you and me and Bess can all talk it out.
He nodded again. Think Jude’s still awake in there?
If you hurry.
He entered the boy’s room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at him in the softly lit darkness.
What? the boy said.
Look, pal, about that guy. He’s not really a friend of mine, all right?
What do you mean?
He’s someone you should keep away from.
But he knows about the animals. And he knows your mom.
I know.
How does he?
I knew him a long time ago.
How long?
We can talk about that some other time, Bill said. Point is, if you see him again, I need to know about it.
OK.
I’m serious.
I know. The boy looked for a moment like he might cry.
You don’t have to be scared. Just don’t talk to him again. And if you see him and he tries to talk to you, just walk away. And tell me. Tell me if you see him somewhere, OK?
OK, Jude said. His eyes were tearing up.
Bill leaned in close and kissed his forehead. You don’t have to be afraid, he said. I’ll take care of it. I just wanted you to know because you’re a big boy and you should know what’s happening.
OK, Jude said.
I love you, pal, Bill said.
I love you too, pal, Jude said.
Bear hug?
The boy threw his arms around him and Bill squeezed him hard against his chest.
He swung the door partially closed, said good night one last time, and then clicked off the hall light and returned to the front of the house. Grace was seated on the sofa, a blanket pulled around her, watching television.
I need to talk to you about something, he said.
She did not turn toward him at first, instead laughing quietly at something on the screen. Murphy Brown. Candice Bergen turning to look at her co-anchor before deadpanning a joke about his toupee.
Grace, he said.
His hands went into his pockets and he could feel the velvet box that contained the engagement ring there and the thought of it made him crumble as if everything inside him had become a tower of ash.