[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
one of Tronstad s sayings.
You saw the paper, snapped Tronstad. Fucker had a heart attack.
Shit happens.
I m praying, said Johnson, solemnly. I think we should all pray for
him. And we should pray for ourselves.
What are we praying for? Tronstad said, flippantly.
That maybe the FBI doesn t come around and want to know what
we did with those bearer bonds, I said. Or that the medical examiner
doesn t decide Abbott died of smoke inhalation instead of a heart attack.
Or that the medical examiner doesn t find that bond on Abbott and turn
it over to the cops.
Jesus. Where is the bond? Johnson asked. Where s the bond Ab-
bott had?
I don t know.
Shit, said Tronstad.
I m praying, Johnson said. For Abbott s family and for our fami-
lies. I know the Lord is looking down on us, and I know he s going to give
us guidance so we ll know to do the right thing.
The right thing, I said, would have been to sit down on those steps
last night when Abbott asked us to go into the smoke room and wait for
union representation.
Let s all just put our trust in the Lord Jesus, Johnson said.
The Lord helps them who help themselves, said Tronstad, heading
for his new truck.
17. IF HE ONLY HAD A HEART
SUNDAY EVENING I was doing laundry when somebody knocked
W
at the front door.
Iola blew in past me and moved from room to room in rapid strides.
You ve got another woman, right?
How could I have another woman? You show up whenever you
want. I m always alone.
Where were you yesterday? And last week?
Sometimes I have places to go.
For days on end?
After racing through my house and finding no one but me, she ap-
proached slowly, a drowsy look in her amazing blue eyes, a look I d seen
before. At times like this she was like a dog in heat.
Tonight, though, I had other business on my mind. I d taken my
mother up to Snoqualmie Pass for a hike to Franklin Falls, which was one
of the shortest and easiest hikes in the Cascades, intersecting the histori-
cal Snoqualmie wagon trail and ending at the base of a seventy-foot
waterfall after only one mile. I worried that it would be too much for her
and tried to talk her into a movie instead, but my mother was determined
to ignore her illness until it struck her down she was more than deter-
mined. On the drive home from Denny Creek she had been so ill, we d
stopped in North Bend and spent an hour in the McDonald s while she
rested and sipped from a paper cup of ice water.
There s no point in being alive unless you stretch your limits,
she said.
Throughout the weekend, I worried about my mother and about how
Chief Abbott died. I d promised Tronstad I d go along with his story, but
only to get him helping with the CPR. Later, I began to think maybe I was
more culpable than I d imagined. On the other hand, everybody knew
116 E A R L E ME R S ON
Abbott thought there was something wrong with his heart and had called
the paramedics on himself twice in the past eighteen months. Maybe
everything would be okay. Or maybe I was fooling myself. Hard to know,
because since the bonds showed up, I d become a virtuoso at fooling
myself.
Iola wore jeans and a sleeveless sweater vest, her auburn hair loose
and windblown. We were going to have sex. She knew it and I knew it.
When we kissed, her skin smelled of onions and pipe smoke, the latter
probably from her father. We ended up making love in the dark on the
couch without bothering to close the living-room drapes. This was just
the sort of licentiousness that made Iola exciting to me.
Afterward, we lay cheek to cheek, our perspiring bellies stuck to-
gether. I said, My battalion chief died Friday.
Her voice was mocking. That was so great, Iola. You re fantastic in
the sack. Oh, why, thank you, Gum. So are you.
I m sorry.
Is that why you were gone all weekend? Because your chief died?
If you would ever let me phone you, I could have told you I d be
gone.
Where were you?
Up at the pass. Hiking. The one time I mentioned my mother she d
ridiculed me this from a woman who lived with her father and still
called him Daddy.
She didn t want to hear about me or my problems. What she wanted
was a roll in the hay and to have that be the end of it. Once in a while she
would grumble about goings on at her work or complain about a driver
on the road or some cretin of a cashier she d run into, but she didn t want
to hear about my problems. Not today. Or the last time we met. Nor the
next time. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl exclamation.htw.pl
one of Tronstad s sayings.
You saw the paper, snapped Tronstad. Fucker had a heart attack.
Shit happens.
I m praying, said Johnson, solemnly. I think we should all pray for
him. And we should pray for ourselves.
What are we praying for? Tronstad said, flippantly.
That maybe the FBI doesn t come around and want to know what
we did with those bearer bonds, I said. Or that the medical examiner
doesn t decide Abbott died of smoke inhalation instead of a heart attack.
Or that the medical examiner doesn t find that bond on Abbott and turn
it over to the cops.
Jesus. Where is the bond? Johnson asked. Where s the bond Ab-
bott had?
I don t know.
Shit, said Tronstad.
I m praying, Johnson said. For Abbott s family and for our fami-
lies. I know the Lord is looking down on us, and I know he s going to give
us guidance so we ll know to do the right thing.
The right thing, I said, would have been to sit down on those steps
last night when Abbott asked us to go into the smoke room and wait for
union representation.
Let s all just put our trust in the Lord Jesus, Johnson said.
The Lord helps them who help themselves, said Tronstad, heading
for his new truck.
17. IF HE ONLY HAD A HEART
SUNDAY EVENING I was doing laundry when somebody knocked
W
at the front door.
Iola blew in past me and moved from room to room in rapid strides.
You ve got another woman, right?
How could I have another woman? You show up whenever you
want. I m always alone.
Where were you yesterday? And last week?
Sometimes I have places to go.
For days on end?
After racing through my house and finding no one but me, she ap-
proached slowly, a drowsy look in her amazing blue eyes, a look I d seen
before. At times like this she was like a dog in heat.
Tonight, though, I had other business on my mind. I d taken my
mother up to Snoqualmie Pass for a hike to Franklin Falls, which was one
of the shortest and easiest hikes in the Cascades, intersecting the histori-
cal Snoqualmie wagon trail and ending at the base of a seventy-foot
waterfall after only one mile. I worried that it would be too much for her
and tried to talk her into a movie instead, but my mother was determined
to ignore her illness until it struck her down she was more than deter-
mined. On the drive home from Denny Creek she had been so ill, we d
stopped in North Bend and spent an hour in the McDonald s while she
rested and sipped from a paper cup of ice water.
There s no point in being alive unless you stretch your limits,
she said.
Throughout the weekend, I worried about my mother and about how
Chief Abbott died. I d promised Tronstad I d go along with his story, but
only to get him helping with the CPR. Later, I began to think maybe I was
more culpable than I d imagined. On the other hand, everybody knew
116 E A R L E ME R S ON
Abbott thought there was something wrong with his heart and had called
the paramedics on himself twice in the past eighteen months. Maybe
everything would be okay. Or maybe I was fooling myself. Hard to know,
because since the bonds showed up, I d become a virtuoso at fooling
myself.
Iola wore jeans and a sleeveless sweater vest, her auburn hair loose
and windblown. We were going to have sex. She knew it and I knew it.
When we kissed, her skin smelled of onions and pipe smoke, the latter
probably from her father. We ended up making love in the dark on the
couch without bothering to close the living-room drapes. This was just
the sort of licentiousness that made Iola exciting to me.
Afterward, we lay cheek to cheek, our perspiring bellies stuck to-
gether. I said, My battalion chief died Friday.
Her voice was mocking. That was so great, Iola. You re fantastic in
the sack. Oh, why, thank you, Gum. So are you.
I m sorry.
Is that why you were gone all weekend? Because your chief died?
If you would ever let me phone you, I could have told you I d be
gone.
Where were you?
Up at the pass. Hiking. The one time I mentioned my mother she d
ridiculed me this from a woman who lived with her father and still
called him Daddy.
She didn t want to hear about me or my problems. What she wanted
was a roll in the hay and to have that be the end of it. Once in a while she
would grumble about goings on at her work or complain about a driver
on the road or some cretin of a cashier she d run into, but she didn t want
to hear about my problems. Not today. Or the last time we met. Nor the
next time. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]