The Slow Moon (14 page)

Twenty-five

A
S
B
OBBY DROVE
up to his house, he could see that the light in his mother’s bedroom was on. He would go in and say he wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t want to talk. Dog was waiting in the front hallway, his strong tail whacking the umbrella stand. “Hush, boy,” whispered Bobby.

When his foot hit the stair, his mother called out. “Bobby, is that you? Come up here, please.” Her voice sounded coarse, strange. When he got to the top of the stairs he could see her in a chair, wrapped in her old brown robe and setting down a book.

“I went to see Crow,” he said.

“I figured as much. I waited on you.” She kept her eyes focused hard on him, and he could feel the weight of her glare.

“He’s all right. I mean, we talked a little while, but he was tired.”

“Uh-huh.” She stood up, her back to him. She held her book down by her side. “Did you speak to Helen and Carl?”

“No, just Crow.”

Bobby felt the tension in the air but didn’t know what it was about. When he turned to leave the room, his mother’s voice stopped him.

“Bobby?” She took a breath and let it out. She sat back down again. “Why do you have a gun in your room?”

He was sure he had misunderstood her question. “What?” He turned to face her.

“You had a pistol in your room.” She took the pistol, which she had laid beside the chair, and lifted it into sight. She put it on her lap. “And I want to know why.”

“It’s no big deal. It’s just something I bought over in Red Bank.”

“When?”

“A few months ago.”

“You’ve had a gun in this house for months?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to have it. I don’t do anything with it. I mean, I take it out sometimes. I shoot at bottles and stuff.”

“You can’t keep it, Bobby.”

“But I bought it with my own money.”

“You shouldn’t have spent your money on it. You shouldn’t have brought something like that into this house, Bobby. Not to mention the danger of it. I can’t believe you.” She took a deep breath. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

“I didn’t think that…I just bought it.”

“You didn’t think at all. That’s the trouble. I don’t want a gun in this house, nor do I want it in your possession. You could be arrested for not having a license, you know.”

“Nobody’s gonna see it.”

“
I
saw it,” she said. Then she asked a question that came from the ceiling. “When exactly did you purchase it?”

She seemed suspicious of him now, and he would need to watch what he said. He would need to be friendlier to ease her mind. He tried to let out a weak laugh.

“Sometime in February or March. I don’t know the day.”

He watched as his mother’s expression changed.

“You know,” Bobby said, “if I had a dad, he’d understand. If I had a father, he’d let me keep it, I bet.”

“Well, there is no father here,” his mother said quickly. “So you’ll have to live with my lack of understanding about guns. This mother, who is a judge and sees killings both deliberate and accidental thanks to guns, you’ll have to listen to her advice.” She took the gun and wrapped it in newspaper. “Where are the bullets?”

“In my room.”

“Get them,” she said. “I’m turning this in tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Bobby returned with four bullets and let them fall on the table beside the bed.

Both of them, mother and son, felt warned by the other, and when Bobby turned, his mother said, “Bobby, I worry about you.”

“Well, don’t.” He fingered his ear. “I’m going to bed.”

As Bobby got to his bedroom door, he heard his mother go downstairs to lock up and turn off the lights. Dog made two full circles on his dog bed before settling down.

Bobby wondered for a moment: If he lost her approval, would she throw him out? Would she insist that
he
leave, or would
he
have to pretend to be dead? He knew what she was capable of. Still, he would need to tell her about the letter. He longed to see his father. He would tell her tomorrow.

He dreaded going to sleep, dreaded dreaming. His dreams often jolted him awake, made him sit straight up in bed, sweating. Every night he dreamed of gigantic roots going to the center of the earth, gnarly roots that moved around like worms. No trees appeared above the ground in his dream, and the worms hardened before his eyes. He dreamed of Crow in the courtroom, and Sophie’s mother, who looked wrung out now, a gray ash on her skin.

Sometimes he saw Rita Chabot in town and wondered if he should speak to her. Once he saw Sophie, coming out of the doctors’ building. She didn’t see him. He tried to remember kissing her. Why had she let him kiss her?

The next morning it was raining hard, a downpour. He woke with a briny steam on his skin and surged out of bed, going quickly to cup water under the faucet and drink from his hands. The room itself felt cold.

He opened the window. Mud built up in pools beside the brick walk, and he imagined the mud rising, flooding his room. The one word that kept going over and over through Bobby’s head was:
Don’t. Don’t.

Twenty-six

W
HEN THE JURY
acquitted Crow, Carl thought the decision was reasonable; Helen didn’t care about reasonableness, she gave a rush of breath. And Crow, at the moment the judge dismissed him, didn’t understand what had happened, or even if he was really free to go.

Late that same afternoon, Bobby sat with Johnny beneath the tree in Crow’s front yard. Helen and Ava sat on the porch. When Louise Burden’s car drove up, she waved, her large arm moving up and down out the window.

“Antony and the others are coming in a little bit,” she called. Bobby nodded.

Helen embraced Louise just as Carl Davenport’s car arrived with Crow riding in the front seat. Bobby stood up to greet him. Crow got out, but he didn’t look at anyone. He walked straight to the house and spoke politely to Mrs. Burden.

“Bobby’s here,” said Helen. She thought Crow hadn’t seen him. Bobby followed Crow upstairs. They didn’t speak until he closed the door.

“It’s over,” Crow said. He made a sound, a groan.

Bobby didn’t know what to say. “You got off, man,” he said, trying to cheer his friend—though he couldn’t tell if they were still friends.

Crow had not turned. He kept his back toward Bobby, standing like a tall block of wood.

“This was messed up,” Bobby finally said. “Everybody knew you didn’t do it. Most of us were just stoned.” He looked at his shoes with absorption.

“That’s what I kept thinking,” said Crow.

“What do you mean?” Bobby pulled back, formal.

“I mean everybody, you know, everybody was out of it.” He turned around. “But not me. I wasn’t. Neither was Sophie. We’d had some beer, but not much. And look what happened to her. Fuck, Bobby. I just hope they go back and catch the guys who did this. Those goddamn bastards let me go to trial. They must’ve been real disappointed at the verdict.”

“Maybe not,” said Bobby. “Maybe they were glad you got off.”

“Yeah. Right.” Crow’s room felt to him like a place in someone else’s house. “If the police keep looking, then they’re gonna find something, or else may be Sophie will remember. I haven’t even seen her. She won’t talk to me. I keep wondering if she thinks I did it.”

“She doesn’t think that.”

Crow sat on his bed. He felt like a balloon empty of anything but air. He breathed out.

Bobby grew uncomfortable in his skin. “Listen, everybody’s going to the river tomorrow. You wanna come?”

“What for?”

“We’re planning for the Battle of the Bands, which songs and stuff. You can put this behind you now. We can focus on something else. We have a lot of work to do to be ready.” He was trying to make his voice sound upbeat.

“Maybe. But, Bobby…” Crow’s chest became concave. “I don’t know if I can still be part of the band. I don’t know if I can do anything until they find out who did it.”

“But you’ll come to the river.” The statement seemed to be a question.

Crow could hear the other boys coming up the stairs, his mother leading them. He stood up as Tom opened the door. The boys entered and lined up side by side like posts.

“Listen,” Crow said quickly. “I don’t wanna be with anybody right now. All I wanna do is sleep.”

“That’s cool,” said Tom. “Bobby tell you about tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“We thought you’d want to do something,” Antony said.

“He does, he does,” Tom said quietly.

“C’mon,” Lester said. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Crow.”

They all looked relieved.

“Hell, I’m just tired,” Crow told them. “I’m glad it’s over, and I’m tired.”

“Let’s go.” Bobby urged everyone out the door. Tom looked slightly irritated, and Casey, who had not said anything, turned to leave.

Helen Davenport stood at the door as the boys drove away. Crow could see her watching them leave. He closed the door to his room and imagined that she watched them until they were out of sight.

The next day Crow went to the river, though he arrived late. He didn’t want to go, but his mother urged him to get out, do something, try to get back to normal. The boys were already waiting when Crow reached the river.

Bobby spoke first. “If we’re ever gonna get out of this place and make a name for ourselves—”

“Get famous,” Casey said.

“—then we’ve got to decide some things. We’ve got to decide which songs we want to do, and how we’re gonna arrange them.”

Crow had brought a spiral notebook filled with songs written several months ago. He put it on the ground. “I might not be part of this,” he said. He looked around at their faces, as though he had never seen any of them before. He wanted to be far away; and he also wanted everything to be the way it used to be.

“We can’t do it without you,” Tom urged. “Not without you and Antony.”

“Give him some time,” Lester said.

Casey flipped the notebook open to one of the new songs and began to suggest where drums could come in.

“Where’s Antony?” Casey asked.

“He couldn’t come. He’s working at the diner.”

They agreed to begin practice on Saturday and Sunday afternoon in Casey’s garage, and to make their rehearsals more regular. Crow thought about going home, getting away from them.

“Anybody wanna swim?” Lester said.

“Hell, no,” said Crow, “that water’s spring-fed.” Yet his face clearly showed pleasure in the idea of doing something they used to do.

“C’mon, man.” Casey pulled his T-shirt over his head.

“Listen, Crow,” Tom said. “What happened, I mean you getting arrested and all. That really sucked.”

“But now we can all get back to normal,” said Casey. “Hang out again. Kick ass in the band competition.”

“What happened didn’t just happen to Crow.” Lester grew angry. “It’s not just Crow it happened to, you know.” He was yelling.

“Je-sus, Lester!” Tom shouted. “Don’t be so self-righteous.”

“I mean, what happened that night?” Lester looked as if he might hit someone. “What the hell happened?” His tone sounded accusing.

“You tell us,” snapped Casey. “You were there that night. You think we know any more than you do?”

“Everybody shut up,” said Tom. “This is not the kind of shit Crow needs to hear today.”

Crow shook his head, silent. “She won’t even talk to me.” He looked stunned admitting this. She had heard what he said in court. Had she heard everything? He had had to say it all. Did she hate him for what he said?

Everyone grew quiet, then Bobby asked, “Lester, you’ve talked to her. What does she say to you?”

“She doesn’t say anything. That’s the problem. She can’t remember.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t remember,” Casey said.

“I want her to remember whatever she has to to be all right,” said Lester.

“Je-sus, Lester! Why don’t you act like a reasonable person instead of somebody who fucks his hand.” Tom looked disgusted and began to take off his shirt. Everybody thought he was going to fight Lester, but instead he slipped off his pants and jumped from a high rock into the river.

Casey grumbled loudly, calling them all pricks, then took off his own clothes and jumped from the rock. He landed flat on his belly and rose out of the water, laughing and complaining. For one moment their lives felt innocent again.

Bobby and Lester began to remove their shirts and jeans, then Crow followed, last. They went into the river, not leaping from the rock but going in running, their particular alienation visible to the world. Sun broke out from a passing cloud and threw sparkles onto the water.

They dove and rose up like dolphins, ducking, pushing each other underwater, pretending mischief. They didn’t want to think about the price it took to be men, wanting instead to be the blaze, the rage, the danger they
thought
were men. So they willed themselves back in time to when everything was just a game, their affection for each other real, not easily dismissed.

III

Evidence of Things Not Seen

Twenty-seven

T
HE TRIAL WAS
over, but nothing seemed over for Sophie. She still had sleepless nights and was afraid to close her eyes for fear that something terrible might happen in her dreams, or in her life. Teachers had allowed her to finish up the year’s work by taking exams at home. She had passed, or they had passed her on the basis of her previous work. Finally her mother had suggested that Sophie see a therapist on a daily basis, instead of just twice a week; and in only one week of daily visits, Rita saw a change in Sophie’s sleeping habits.

Today Rita walked into Sophie’s room to find her sleeping on the floor in a bed of blankets, a sheet folded neatly under her arms—a pillow for her head. In this manner she had slept all night for several nights in a row.

“So what did he say?” Rita asked when Sophie returned from one of her sessions with the psychologist.

“You’re not supposed to ask me that,” Sophie said.

“I mean about sleeping on the floor.”

“He said it was fine and that when I wanted to get back into the bed I could, but to use the same blanket and use the sheet for a pillow. He said it was fine.”

Rita opened the refrigerator door, took out some Cheez Whiz, and got Ritz crackers from a tin box she kept on the counter. “Sit down. Let’s eat gobs of cheese on these crackers like we used to do.”

“I don’t want gobs of cheese,” said Sophie. Her hair fell forward.

Rita opened the box and used a spoon to glob the cheese onto crackers.

“Mom!” Sophie smiled. “That’s gross.”

Rita opened her mouth wide and put the whole cracker in, her cheeks puffing out like a fat lady’s.

“Give me one.” Sophie spooned a huge hunk of cheese onto her cracker, then ate it in small bites. Her eyes looked rested, finally. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”

“What?” Rita spooned another dollop of cheese onto a cracker.

“When we flew down here to look for a house?”

“Yeah.”

“You fell asleep and I looked out the window in the plane. We were
above
the moon. It was a half-moon, and it was just coming up. And I was looking down at it. Looking
down
to see the moon. It was weird.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that.” Rita reached for another cracker. “Did you paint that? I think I saw one of your drawings that looked like that.”

“Yeah, I tried.” Sophie changed the subject. “Did anybody call?”

On Friday nights Nikki and Stephanie often came to the house. They brought movies and sometimes spent the night. Or sometimes Lester Dunphy came by. Lester was the only boy Sophie wanted to see; though at times she seemed to be waiting for Crow to call or come over. Rita didn’t know what to think.

“Nobody called,” she said. “Sophie, tell me, what does Nikki say to you? Do you talk to her about what happened?”

“Yes.” Sophie made a little hissing noise with the word
yes.
“She said she knew somebody this happened to, not as bad as mine, but she knew a girl.”

“And how is that girl now?” Rita asked hopefully.

“She’s okay, I guess. She moved away. Nikki thinks maybe she was pregnant.”

“Oh, honey. Did they find who did it?”

“Yeah, but nothing happened.”

“You mean the man never went to jail?” Rita had trouble keeping her voice at a level pitch.

Sophie began to cry. When she cried, blotches appeared on her face like red marks, and though this had been true since she was a little girl, when it happened now Rita could not bear to see it.

“Listen, honey,” she said. “If you remember who did this I promise you that whoever it was will be brought to justice. They have to be.”

Sophie shook her head, her hands in her lap.

Rita thought for a moment. She was trying to be careful, trying to discern how much Nikki might be affecting Sophie’s actions. “What does Lester say?”

“He tries to help me remember.”

“Well, he’s your real friend, Soph. Did you tell this to Dr. Brooks?”

“Not yet,” said Sophie, indignation in her voice.

“Maybe you should. See what he says.”

“He doesn’t say what I should or shouldn’t do, Mom. He just helps me decide.”

“Okay.” Rita closed the tin of crackers and put the cheese away. “Okay. That’s good.”

“Lester’s coming over,” said Sophie. “He’s bringing a movie.”

“You want me to fix some dinner for the two of you?”

“I may never eat again.” Sophie smiled. “But yeah, that’d be good. Fix some burgers.”

Something new had happened. Not only had Sophie smiled, but she also gave a small laugh-sound. The moment between them felt like a Before moment, before anything bad had happened, and Rita knew healing had begun. She was briefly hopeful, and determined to make the moment fit realistically into the day.