The Silent Places (27 page)

Thursday. Thanksgiving Day. His first holiday out of prison in thirteen years. A free man’s holiday. Free but not free.

He realized he was still in his clothes. He had not found the strength to undress. He lifted the left cuff of his pants to examine his foot and ankle. The swelling had not gone down. If anything, the pain had increased. Red, throbbing pain. An abscess had formed. Reese hopped over to his bag and retrieved a knife. With the knife, he lanced the abscess. Pus drained out. He cleansed the wound with water from the sink. He knew this would not be enough to get rid of the infection. He would need Betadine or even a bottle of alcohol. He had neither.

He opened the door and looked out in the hallway. He saw no one. He wondered who, apart from himself, would spend Thanksgiving Day at a bed-and-breakfast. He limped down to the bathroom to clean himself. In the bathtub, he fought the urge to vomit. He would have done it, except he didn’t want to refill the tub. He feared there would be no more hot water. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the water was cold and he realized he had fallen asleep. Or fainted. He didn’t know which.

He got back to his room and changed into a fresh pair of shorts and jeans and an undershirt. Then he persuaded himself not to get back in bed. He had work to do and not much time. He started to work on fitting the scope to the rifle. He had at least kept the scope.

He heard the rain coming down outside. It made him feel better. It was always easier to hide in the rain.

He finished fitting the scope about an hour later. Then he put the rifle and attached scope underneath the bed. That done, he found that he was thirsty and hungry. He put a sweater over his undershirt and moved to the door. He would have a light breakfast and then come back to the room and rest. He felt he had earned it.

There was a moment at the top of the stairs when he felt a wave of nausea and he had to grab the banister and steady himself. It passed and slowly he made his way down. Near the bottom of the steps, the wave returned, bigger this time, and he felt shards of pain shooting up his leg. Then things went black and he fell.

Coolness. Comfort. Yes, comfort.

Reese opened his eyes and saw the woman above him. She lifted the cold compress off his forehead.

Reese took in his surroundings, realized he was in a bed but not in his room.

The Mangan woman was sitting on the bed next to him. She was wearing a black turtleneck sweater and a black skirt. It’s better than her previous outfit, Reese thought. Not as dowdy.

She said, “How are you?”

“I don’t know,” Reese said. “What happened?”

“I was in the dining room and I heard a crash. You seem to have fallen down the stairs.”

Christ, Reese thought. Fell down the stairs. The story he was going to tell if asked. How was that for irony?

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Reese said. “You didn’t call anyone, did you?”

“Like who?”

“An ambulance. Nine one one.”

“No. Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“I can if you want.”

“No, don’t. I’ll be fine. If you’ll just let me get back to my room.” He started to rise but felt another wave. The woman gently pushed him back.

“You’re burning up,” she said.

“I’m not … I’m not comfortable here, ma’am. This is your room, your bed. You have guests.”

“No one knows you’re here. And I’m not worried about—I’m not worried.”

“Where is the boy?”

“He’s in Rolla.”

“What’s he doing there? Is he with his father?”

“No,” the woman said. “His father—my husband—died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Molly Mangan shook her head. She had never sought pity. She said, “It’s okay. Connor went with a friend of his from school. They have a big holiday celebration there. Family, a big dinner, football in the yard. He’ll enjoy himself there more than he would here.”

“I see.”

The woman looked at Reese for a moment, then seemed to become aware of herself and got off the bed.

Standing, she said, “You need medicine. Can I get you some aspirin?”

“Yes, thank you,” Reese said. “Do you have—do you have any antibiotics?”

“I think so. Connor had his wisdom teeth removed last month. I think we still have some Augmentin. Would that be all right?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get it.”

She returned with the medicine and a glass of water. After he took the medicine, she put the compress back on his head.

“You have a fever,” Molly said.

Reese said, “It’ll break. Listen, I can’t stay here. If you’ll help me up, I’ll return to my room.”

“Your room’s upstairs. I don’t think you can get back up there with that foot.”

“I can.”

“Please stay here,” she said. “I don’t want you falling again. Please stay. At least for a while.”

Reese said, “I don’t want you doing this.” He didn’t know what else to say.

Molly Mangan said, “I know.”

Then she left the room.

Reese looked at the door after it closed and thought there was nothing to stop him from getting up and walking out himself. But his fever was still burning and he told himself he would leave in five minutes.

Three minutes later, he was asleep.

When he awoke, it was darker in the room. He checked his watch and saw that it was late afternoon. Outside, the rain was still coming down. The sheets beneath him felt clean and cool. He wiggled his toes and realized the woman had taken off his shoes and socks. She had removed his sweater, too. He was still in jeans and an undershirt.

Reese moved his legs to the side of the bed, then sat up. He looked at his ankle. The woman had taped it and cleaned it with alcohol. Reese put some weight on it and winced again. It still hurt.

The door opened and the woman came in. She was carrying a tray. On the tray were a teapot, two small cups, and some finger sandwiches.

Molly said, “Oh, you’re up. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling better, thanks.”

“I brought you some food. Do you like tea?”

“I happen to love tea.”

“I hoped you would,” Molly said, setting the tray on the nightstand. “If we were in England, this would be teatime. Have you been to England?”

“Yes. I lived there for a while, actually.”

“Oh?” She seemed surprised by this.

Reese said, “It was a long time ago.”

“Did you work in the oil business? Sorry if I’m prying.”

“You’re not. No, I didn’t work in the oil business. Why did you think that?”

“My father worked in oil. He worked for British Petroleum. We were Americans living in England.”

“You lived in England?”

“For a few years. From the age of five to thirteen.”

“Was your father an executive?”

“No, an engineer. He was one of the pioneers on the liquefied natural gas project. I’m sorry. I’m sure that would bore you.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Tell me about it.”

“Well, he helped build that and he was on the ship that first transported liquefied natural gas across the ocean. From Lake Charles, Louisiana, to Dover, I think. That was before I was born.”

“That’s terrific.”

“You think so? I never understood it all myself.”

“It’s quite an achievement. It’s good to leave something like that behind.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. Did you like living in England?”

“Sort of. My mother and father put me in a British school, though there’s a school there for children of Americans. I guess he thought the experience would broaden us.”

“Did it?”

“Well, if you want to call cold classrooms and bad food a broadening experience.”

Reese laughed. He said, “I liked it there. But I wasn’t a child.”

Molly said, “What I remember was the vacations we used to take there. They’re called ‘holidays’ there.”

“Right.”

“We would load up the car with a picnic basket and drive to the seashore. Go out to the beach and put the blanket down, and you could just see that it was about to rain. And then it
would
rain. And we’d have to pack everything up and get back in the car. We’d eat our sandwiches in the car. That’s what I remember about those trips. It was either raining or it was about to rain.”

“Right,” Reese said again, smiling at the memory. “I guess if you’re born there, you get used to it. You don’t know anything else. You left, though, when you were thirteen?”

“Yes. We moved to California. A bit of a culture shock. My father missed England, but the rest of us were glad to be back in the States. The American kids made fun of my English accent.” She looked at him, suddenly aware of herself talking. “Sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m prattling.”

“No, you’re not. I like it. You still have a trace of an accent.”

“Do I?”

“A trace, yes.”

Molly poured the tea in the cups. She handed a cup to Reese. Reese sipped it and thought it was very good. Then he took a bite of one of the sandwiches. Egg salad, and that was good, too.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, it’s very good tea. But I meant thank you for helping me.”

Molly said, “You’re a guest here.”

“I know, but I won’t be staying long.”

“I know that, too,” Molly said, taking his meaning.

They were both quiet for a few moments, having their tea, each feeling something for the other but avoiding direct looks.

Reese said, “Do you have other family, apart from your son?”

“My father died a couple of years ago. My mother and brother live in California. We got along okay, but we’re not that close.”

“Don’t you want to go back? To California, I mean.”

“No, we like it better here. Connor has friends—we’ve put down roots here.”

“And you have this business.”

“Yes. It keeps me occupied.”

Reese felt pity for the woman again. But she didn’t seem to feel any for herself. He admired her for it. He said, “Do you think you’d like to get married again?”

“I don’t think so,” Molly said. “If I had a husband, he would have to fit in here. And then there’s Connor. It’s a lot to ask of a man.”

“No, it isn’t.”

The woman blushed and briefly turned her face away. She said, “Are you married, Mr. Bryan?”

“No.” Reese hesitated. Then thought, Why lie to her? Why lie to someone like her? He said, “I was. She died, too. Cancer.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“And you never had children?”

“No. We meant to, but…” He shrugged.

“I am sorry. But a man like you, there’s still time for that. You could meet a young lady and have a baby with her.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“No, it isn’t. And you’re a natural with kids. The way you handled Connor. It was very nice.”

“Oh,” Reese said, embarrassed. “That was fleeting.”

“It wasn’t fleeting. He likes you, you know. He says you’re ‘cool.’”

“He’s a good kid. You’ve done well with him.”

“No. I’ve been lucky.”

Reese looked at her. A plain woman at first, but not plain. In fact, very attractive. Pretty, really. He said, “You lost your husband and you’re alone on a holiday. And you say you’re lucky.”

Her voice tight, Molly Mangan said, “I was talking about my son. But it all depends on how you look at things.”

“You did love your husband, didn’t you?”

“Very much. Did you love your wife?’

“Yes, but…”

“I guess I just don’t see the point, that’s all. I don’t see the point in being mad about things.”

She stood up and went over to get the tray. She avoided eye contact with him. Reese could see that she was struggling to hide her hurt. He felt a shame he didn’t think was in him and placed a hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” Reese said.

She shook her head slightly, still not looking at him.

And Reese stood in the presence of the lady. He said, “I’m sorry, Molly. I’m not used to—I haven’t been with people for a while. I’m sorry.”

Then, without thinking about it, he kissed her on the cheek. She turned and looked at him, her face registering apprehension. Not of him, but of herself. Reese was about to step back, when she leaned toward him and kissed him on the mouth. Her mouth opened and Reese felt his heart jump, as if he were a teenager. “Hey,” he said. And she dropped the tray on the floor.

“Hey,” Reese said again.

And now the woman apologized, seeming ashamed and self-conscious in that moment, and Reese stepped forward and put his arms around her to comfort her. He said, “It’s all right.” He didn’t know what else to say.

He pulled her close in the embrace and kissed her on the cheek again. She relaxed in his arms and he heard her say, “I’ve—I’ve never done this before.”

“What?”

“I mean, not since my husband. He was … It’s only been…”

“It’s okay,” Reese said. “I’ll go.”

“Don’t go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure.” Then she kissed him again.

Some things you don’t forget. He had not been with a woman in over thirteen years, the last one being his wife. Under normal circumstances, he would have worried about whether or not he would be able to do it. Before Sara died, he had allowed himself to fantasize about making love to her again. In his mind, the truth surfaced and he was released from prison. But even in the fantasy, he was nervous about the first time with Sara. Would prison make him impotent? Sexually damaged? It’s not good for a man to be alone. To be without a woman. After Sara died, he stopped fantasizing about another time with her. It seemed wrong somehow. Instead, he thought of the times they had had.

Molly Mangan looked better naked than she did clothed. She looked good. Her body was full and natural and she was an uninhibited lover. She thrust her hips back and forth underneath him, and when he came, she moaned softly. He stayed on top of her and asked her if he was hurting her, his weight on top of her. She shook her head and whispered “No,” smiling warmly. And he asked her if she was all right and she said she was fine. The second time, she got on top of him.

Later, they lay in bed, and Reese realized he didn’t want to leave. He had been with a lot of women before he was married, and typically when it was done, he wanted to go. He had expected to feel self-conscious around this woman he had pitied, this woman he had mistaken for a frump. He wondered if prison had screwed him up. Had made him consider a life with a woman he barely knew, filling in for the woman’s husband, the boy’s father. People who should have been strangers to him. That he was lonely, he knew. But he had to be out of his mind to consider a long-term arrangement with this woman and her son. He had told her he would be leaving soon and she had said, “I know that, too.” He had not misled her.