Thieves I've Known (25 page)

They moved along on the water, dipping and rolling with the tide. The ferryboat ran across in place of a bridge. They could see it now, off in the distance, a ten-minute ride that people across the sound seemed to like.

“I'm happy for you,” said Merrill.

“Thanks.”

“That is the big-time,” she said.

The boy said nothing. He watched her, suspiciously.

“Now will you take people's money, or will you wave the cars on and off ?”

He was still suspicious. “I'll do both.”

“Both?” she said. “But someone's got to tie the line. Will you do that too?”

He splashed her with one of the oars, though she didn't blink.

“Do they have a knot that you're supposed to tie, or will you get to use your own?”

“I use my own,” he said.

“Impressive. Is it complicated?”

“No,” he said. “Any fool can do it. We call it the Merrill knot.”

She ignored that. “Will you make change for people?”

“Why are you being all stupid?” he said.

“It's a dollar fifty now,” she said. “Will you have one of those little tube things for the quarters, or will you just carry them loose in your pocket?”

“I'm going to carry them in a little bag and knock you upside the head when I get home.”

Merrill said nothing to that. She looked up at the houses. They were almost there now. Nate also turned and looked. They could see the dock where they would land. There seemed to be no one about.

“Can I come visit with you?” Merrill said.

“On the ferry?”

“Yes.”

“No,” he said.

She smiled at that, looked forward to it. She set the bailer aside and picked up the sacks. There was one light on at the house up ahead. A kitchen light, the sort people leave on when they are away at night. It was a house that Merrill had studied for many Saturdays now.

“Did you bring the gun?” she said.

Nate looked back, pulled at the oars. He judged the distance, looked for any movement on shore.

“No,” he said. “Why would I bring the gun?”

The girl said nothing, and the boy shook his head. He watched the kitchen light.

“There's no reason to bring the gun,” he said.

They pulled the boat up, not to the dock, but into the tall reeds and under the darkness of a sycamore that was growing crooked over the
water. There was a tire and rope—a swing—tied to the tree, and it was wrapped and wrapped around the thick branch. By human hand or wind they did not know. They tied the boat up, then waited there and watched the house. There were a dozen windows at the back, but only the one light on in the kitchen, and there was a long deck made of wood and a large garden filled with bright plants and flowers. Some of the planters had been knocked over by the storm, and the birdbath was nestled sideways against a rosebush.

There was a thick line of trees on either side of the yard, so that they could not see the neighbor's houses or even any light from there. He'd worked some Saturdays on the ferry, Nate had, and he knew the couple that lived here. They went across the water each Saturday and did not return till late. Each night he'd seen them they were dressed up, and he'd often imagined the parties they went to. Candles and a ballroom, men smoking and women drinking from tiny glasses. Foolish thoughts of his, he knew. He'd only seen movies. But that was how he thought of these people. He watched for a dog or for any sign of movement. The driveway was long and winding, and they could barely hear the cars up on the road. They listened to the wind, and to a howling down the shoreline. One coyote howled, and then another. The sound—shrill and curious—carried along the water, and when they'd gone silent again Nate picked up the sacks from the bottom of the boat and stepped up onto the grass.

They walked up the yard slowly and silently. They found the garage unlocked with three spaces inside. No cars there. They climbed over the fence to the yard, as if this was the most normal thing to do, and they made their way up the deck and to the back door. Here Nate knelt on one knee and took the picks out from the paper bag. He was good with mechanical things. Merrill stood watch, looking out across the backyard. The view was not unlike the view from the other side. The moonlight stretched across the sound, and the water seemed blue and dark, the waves rippling across the way. The lights on the Coast Guard buoys ticked red and then disappeared, and then red again, and she could make out the ferry, way off in the distance: the white running lights and its slow push toward the mainland.

The lock popped open, and they went inside and closed the door. The air smelled of coffee and a strange perfume, and Nate flipped on the light and they squinted in the brightness.

The room was long and the ceilings high, and there were two couches and many chairs, all of white leather, and a long staircase led upstairs. A dining room was set off in an alcove, and there were plates and silverware set out, as if a meal was about to be served. There were two fireplaces, one on either side of the long room, and the brickwork had been painted black and it led up in a funnel all the way to the ceiling. Merrill picked up a book from the coffee table, a photo book about Europe, and there was an ashtray there, in the shape of a swan, and a decanter filled with whiskey or scotch. Nate walked about the kitchen, running his hand along the marble countertop and touching the toaster, which was small and made of aluminum, and it seemed the same as the one they had at home.

“Do you want a drink?” said Merrill.

“All right,” he said.

She poured the scotch into two glasses and they toasted but said nothing. They sipped their drinks slowly and each made a face as they swallowed.

They took their sacks and went upstairs. They'd agreed beforehand to look for jewelry and money. They went into a room that was obviously an office, and there was a big oaken desk set in the center of the room and photographs, black-and-white, set on blue backgrounds, no glass, on the walls. The photographs were of landscapes: rivers and tobacco fields and a strange, distant shot of the ocean with two figures standing out in the water. Nate took his pocketknife out and cut through the picture of the river. He tore it diagonally, and the paper flapped back like a wave.

“Stop that,” the girl said.

“Fuck them,” he said. “They don't own the water.”

“Use your head,” she said.

He ripped his knife through the tobacco fields, then the ocean. He kicked the chair over, then knocked the pens and notebooks off the desk.
There was a half-bottle of red wine sitting on a cabinet, and he took the cork out and poured the wine on the carpet. He tossed the bottle out into the hallway. It knocked against the banister and then rolled away.

“You are such a boy,” Merrill said.

He wiped his lips with his sleeve. “Yes, I am a boy,” he said.

“Aim high,” she said. “Become something better.”

They went into the largest room, a bedroom, and they opened the drawers and found the jewelry: necklaces and rings, and a little pendant ringed with diamonds. Two bracelets with a stone they didn't know. They stuffed these into one of the sacks, and they opened one of the closets.

They searched slowly. The closet was filled with dresses and sweaters, and they searched through pockets and hems. They reached up to the boxes on the shelves. Shoes inside this one, papers in another.

The smallest box was filled with money: fives and twenties and fifties, crisp and new, and Nate dropped the box whole into the sack.

“Idiots,” he said. “They deserve what they get.” He looked at the dresses. He pointed at them. “Take them.”

“I don't want dresses,” said Merrill.

“Yes you do,” the boy said.

They opened the other closet, and it was empty. There were square patches of dust on the shelves, as if something had been there recently, and the bar was filled with hangers, set for shirts on one side and cardboard slats for pants on the other. A single sock—black with blue stripes at the top—lay in the corner. They picked it up and studied it, as if it might contain some value.

“We'll have another drink,” said Merrill. “Then we'll go.”

“Take the dresses,” said Nate.

The girl looked at them. They were mostly dark—blues, blacks, and reds—but there was one, gray with red stitching at the collar, that she admired. She took it from the hanger and held it up against her shoulders. She could smell the perfume of the woman upon it.

“Will it fit?” she said.

“Take it,” said Nate.

“I'll put it on,” she said.

He shrugged, looked into the sack. “Live it up.”

She went into the bathroom and put the dress on over her clothes. There was a man she had in mind, a man who she'd guessed was twenty-eight. He'd often shop at the grocery store where she worked on weekends. He had a beard and would often talk with her when she put his beer, his vegetables, into paper sacks. There was something formal about him, perhaps something friendly behind it, and she wondered what he would think of this dress. She looked in the mirror and patted it down along her stomach. She turned off the light and stood in the dark for a moment, then she went out into the room.

“Movie star,” said Nate. “That is all you.”

“I don't care for the movies,” she said.

“Don't you?”

“Amateurs, all of them,” she said. “I have a beautiful voice. They don't let you sing in the movies anymore.”

“Let's hear it,” said Nate.

She shook her head, looked down at her dress. “You'll have to pay.”

“I'm cheap,” he said. “I'll give you five dollars for a dance.”

“I don't want your money,” she said, but she held her hand against her chest, and the other outstretched at her side, as if she had a partner there. Her mother—Nate's mother—had been a good dancer, and she'd taught her the waltz among others. Merrill moved to it now. She imagined the man from the grocery store as her partner. Imagined him formal and elegant. Imagined the music about her. She moved to it, moved across the room.

“You're a freak,” said Nate.

“Shh,” she said. She moved to the corner of the bed, then spun away. She moved in a circle near the doorway, allowed herself a dip. She could hear her brother laugh. She closed her eyes, and soon after, she ran into the wall. She listened for his laugh. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her, smiling. He'd allow her this moment.

She spun out into the hallway, dipped again. She felt the same—elegant and formal—as her imagined partner. She took another dip. Did a curtsey. The next song was not a waltz, and she decided to leave the dance floor. She bowed and looked down the hallway.

There was a little girl standing there. She wore a pajama top and shorts and looked to be about eight years old. She held a hand on the banister and one foot on top of the other. She smiled at Merrill as if she'd expected her to be there all along.

“Hi,” the girl said.

“Hi,” said Merrill.

“You mustn't wear my mother's dress.”

Merrill looked down at the dress. She flattened down the stomach. The wine bottle had rolled into the middle of the hallway, halfway to the girl.

“I'm sorry,” said Merrill.

“We're not to touch her things.”

“No,” said Merrill. “We shouldn't do that.”

“Why not?” said Nate. He'd come to the door and was staring down at the girl.

“Because we mess them up.”

“We won't mess them up,” he said.

The girl considered that. She had a strange way about her. Her movements were like those of someone older. Before she spoke she tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Maybe you're old enough,” she said.

“We're plenty old,” he said.

“When I'm old enough I'll be able to touch them.”

“You can touch her things now,” he said.

Merrill looked at him. “Stop it,” she said.

“You stop it.”

“I'm to get a dog,” the girl said. “If I keep quiet at night and don't bother things. If I'm very good, I'm to get a dog. Do you have a dog?”

“No,” said Merrill.

“You must not be very good then,” said the girl.

“No,” said Nate. “We're very bad.”

Merrill looked at him again. He had a tone in his voice that she didn't like. “I mean it,” she said.

“Fuck off.”

“Oh,” the girl said. She covered her mouth as if she'd been the one that said it.

Merrill didn't take her eyes off her brother. She signed to him quickly. She often signed when she was angry.
Stop it
, she signed.
Don't scare this girl. I'm not going to tell you again
.

He frowned and looked down the stairs. “Let's go,” he said.

“You'll have to put the dress back,” said the girl.

Merrill looked at the girl. “Yes. We're going to put it back now. Just like we found it, and no one will have to know.”

“I won't tell,” said the girl.

“You're a very good girl,” said Merrill. “You go back to bed now, and we'll put this back, and then we're going to leave.”

The girl looked at the floor. She pulled her hair behind her ears. “All right,” she said, and she went back to her room.

Merrill picked up the wine bottle from the floor and went back into the bedroom. She took the dress off carefully. The dress smelled of perfume and smoke. She picked up the sack, took out the jewelry, and put it back in the drawer, and then she looked in the sack at the box of money. Their father was very sick, and he needed the heart medicine. She dumped the money into the sack, but put the box back where they'd found it. She put the other boxes back too and then hung the dress on a hanger. She pulled the bedspread tight so there would be no wrinkles in it. Then she turned out the light, put the empty wine bottle into the sack, and went into the hallway.