sk.everythingseventual-第62章

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　　But　the　little　girl　had　abandoned　the　doll　on　the　store's　splintery　gray　steps　and　had　gone　over　to　look　at　a　dog　caged　up　in　the　back　of　a　station　wagon。　Then　Bill　and　Carol　Shelton　went　around　a　curve　in　the　road　and　the　store　was　out　of　sight。
　　'How　much　farther？'　Carol　asked。
　　Bill　looked　at　her　with　one　eyebrow　raised　and　his　mouth　dimpled　at　one　corner…left　eyebrow；　right　dimple；　always　the　same。　The　look　that　said；　You　think　I'm　amused；　but　I'm　really　irritated。　For　the　ninety　trillionth　or　so　time　in　the　marriage；　I'm　really　irritated。　You　don't　know　that；　though；　because　you　can　only　see　about　two　inches　into　me　and　then　your　vision　fails。
　　But　she　had　better　vision　than　he　realized；　it　was　one　of　the　secrets　of　the　marriage。　Probably　he　had　a　few　secrets　of　his　own。　And　there　were；　of　course；　the　ones　they　kept　together。
　　'I　don't　know；'　he　said。　'I've　never　been　here。'
　　'But　you're　sure　we're　on　the　right　road。'
　　'Once　you　get　over　the　causeway　and　onto　Sanibel　Island；　there's　only　one；'　he　said。　'It　goes　across　to　Captiva；　and　there　it　ends。　But　before　it　does　we'll　e　to　Palm　House。　That　I　promise　you。'
　　The　arch　in　his　eyebrow　began　to　flatten。　The　dimple　began　to　fill　in。　He　was　returning　to　what　she　thought　of　as　the　Great　Level。　She　had　e　to　dislike　the　Great　Level；　too；　but　not　as　much　as　the　eyebrow　and　the　dimple；　or　his　sarcastic　way　of　saying　'Excuse　me？'　when　you　said　something　he　considered　stupid；　or　his　habit　of　pooching　out　his　lower　lip　when　he　wanted　to　appear　thoughtful　and　deliberative。
　　'Bill？'
　　'Mmm？'
　　'Do　you　know　anyone　named　Floyd？'
　　'There　was　Floyd　Denning。　He　and　I　ran　the　downstairs　snack　bar　at　Christ　the　Redeemer　in　our　senior　year。　I　told　you　about　him；　didn't　I？　He　stole　the　Coke　money　one　Friday　and　spent　the　weekend　in　New　York　with　his　girlfriend。　They　suspended　him　and　expelled　her。　What　made　you　think　of　him？'
　　'I　don't　know；'　she　said。　Easier　than　telling　him　that　the　Floyd　with　whom　Bill　had　gone　to　high　school　wasn't　the　Floyd　the　voice　in　her　head　was　speaking　to。　At　least；　she　didn't　think　it　was。
　　Second　honeymoon；　that's　what　you　call　this；　she　thought；　looking　at　the　palms　that　lined　Highway　867；　a　white　bird　that　stalked　along　the　shoulder　like　an　angry　preacher；　and　a　sign　that　read　SEMINOLE　WILDLIFE　PARK；　BRING　A　CARFUL　FOR　10。　Florida　the　Sunshine　State。　Florida　the　Hospitality　State。　Not　to　mention　Florida　the　Second…Honeymoon　State。　Florida；　where　Bill　Shelton　and　Carol　Shelton；　the　former　Carol　O'Neill；　of　Lynn；　Massachusetts；　came　on　their　first　honeymoon　twenty…five　years　before。　Only　that　was　on　the　other　side；　the　Atlantic　side；　at　a　little　cabin　colony；　and　there　were　cockroaches　in　the　bureau　drawers。　He　couldn't　stop　touching　me。　That　was　all　right；　though；　in　those　days　I　wanted　to　be　touched。　Hell；　I　wanted　to　be　torched　like　Atlanta　in　Gone　With　the　Wind；　and　he　torched　me；　rebuilt　me；　torched　me　again。　Now　it's　silver。　Twenty…five　is　silver。　And　sometimes　I　get　that　feeling。
　　They　were　approaching　a　curve；　and　she　thought；　Three　crosses　on　the　right　side　of　the　road。　Two　small　ones　flanking　a　bigger　one。　The　small　ones　are　clapped…together　wood。　The　one　in　the　middle　is　white　birch　with　a　picture　on　it；　a　tiny　photograph　of　the　seventeen…year…old　boy　who　lost　control　of　his　car　on　this　curve　one　drunk　night　that　was　his　last　drunk　night；　and　this　is　where　his　girlfriend　and　her　girlfriends　marked　the　spot　…
　　Bill　drove　around　the　curve。　A　pair　of　black　crows；　plump　and　shiny；　lifted　off　from　something　pasted　to　the　macadam　in　a　splat　of　blood。　The　birds　had　eaten　so　well　that　Carol　wasn't　sure　they　were　going　to　get　out　of　the　way　until　they　did。　There　were　no　crosses；　not　on　the　left；　not　on　the　right。　Just　roadkill　in　the　middle；　a　woodchuck　or　something；　now　passing　beneath　a　luxury　car　that　had　never　been　north　of　the　Mason…Dixon　Line。
　　Floyd；　what's　that　over　there？
　　'What's　wrong？'
　　'Huh？'　She　looked　at　him；　bewildered；　feeling　a　little　wild。
　　'You're　sitting　bolt…upright。　Got　a　cramp　in　your　back？'
　　'Just　a　slight　one。'　She　settled　back　by　degrees。　'I　had　that　feeling　again。　The　déjà　vu。'
　　'Is　it　gone？'
　　'Yes；'　she　said；　but　she　was　lying。　It　had　retreated　a　little；　but　that　was　all。　She'd　had　this　before；　but　never　so　continuously。　It　came　up　and　went　down；　but　it　didn't　go　away。　She'd　been　aware　of　it　ever　since　that　thing　about　Floyd　started　knocking　around　in　her　head…and　then　the　little　girl　in　the　red　pinafore。
　　But；　really；　hadn't　she　felt　something　before　either　of　those　things？　Hadn't　it　actually　started　when　they　came　down　the　steps　of　the　Lear　35　into　the　hammering　heat　of　the　Fort　Myers　sunshine？　Or　even　before？　En　route　from　Boston？
　　They　were　ing　to　an　intersection。　Overhead　was　a　flashing　yellow　light；　and　she　thought；　To　the　right　is　a　used…car　lot　and　a　sign　for　the　Sanibel　munity　Theater。
　　Then　she　thought；　No；　it'll　be　like　the　crosses　that　weren't　there。　It's　a　strong　feeling　but　a　false　feeling。
　　Here　was　the　intersection。　On　the　right　there　was　a　used…car　lot…Palmdale　Motors。　Carol　felt　a　real　jump　at　that；　a　stab　of　something　sharper　than　disquiet。　She　told　herself　to　quit　being　stupid。　There　had　to　be　car　lots　all　over　Florida　and　if　you　predicted　one　at　every　intersection　sooner　or　later　the　law　of　averages　made　you　a　prophet。　It　was　a　trick　mediums　had　been　using　for　hundreds　of　years。
　　Besides；　there's　no　theater　sign。
　　But　there　was　another　sign。　It　was　Mary　the　Mother　of　God；　the　ghost　of　all　her　childhood　days；　holding　out　her　hands　the　way　she　did　on　the　medallion　Carol's　grandmother　had　given　her　for　her　tenth　birthday。　Her　grandmother　had　pressed　it　into　her　hand　and　looped　the　chain　around　her　fingers；　saying；　'Wear　her　always　as　you　grow；　because　all　the　hard　days　are　ing。'　She　had　worn　it；　all　right。　At　Our　Lady　of　Angels　grammar　and　middle　school　she　had　worn　it；　then　at　St。　Vincent　de　Paul　high。　She　wore　the　medal　until　breasts　grew　around　it　like　ordinary　miracles；　and　then　someplace；　probably　on　the　class　trip　to　Hampton　Beach；　she　had　lost　it。　ing　home　on　the　bus　she　had　tongue…kissed　for　the　first　time。　Butch　Soucy　had　been　the　boy；　and　she　had　been　able　to　taste　the　cotton　candy　he'd　eaten。
　　Mary　on　that　long…gone　medallion　and　Mary　on　this　billboard　had　exactly　the　same　look；　the　one　that　made　you　feel　guilty　of　thinking　impure　thoughts　even　when　all　you　were　thinking　about　was　a　peanut…butter　sandwich。　Beneath　Mary；　the　sign　said　MOTHER　OF　MERCY　CHARITIES　HELP　THE　FLORIDA　HOMELESS…WON'T　YOU　HELP　US？
　　Hey　there；　Mary；　what's　the　story　…
　　More　than　one　voice　this　time；　many　voices；　girls'　voices；　chanting　ghost　voices。　These　were　ordinary　miracles；　there　were　also　ordinary　ghosts。　You　found　these　things　out　as　you　got　older。
　　'What's　wrong　with　you？'　She　knew　that　voice　as　well　as　she　did　the　eyebrow…and…dimple　look。　Bill's　I'm…only…pretending…to…be…pissed　tone　of　voice；　the　one　that　meant　he　really　was　pissed；　at　least　a　little。
　　'Nothing。'　She　gave　him　the　best　smile　she　could　manage。
　　'You　really　don't　seem　like　yourself。　Maybe　you　shouldn't　have　slept　on　the　plane。'
　　'You're　probably　right；'　she　said；　and　not　just　to　be　agreeable；　either。　After　all；　how　many　women　got　a　second　honeymoon　on　Captiva　Island　for　their　twenty…fifth　anniversary？　Round　trip　on　a　chartered　Learjet？　Ten　days　at　one　of　those　places　where　your　money　was　no　good　（at　least　until　MasterCard　coughed　up　the　bill　at　the　end　of　the　month）　and　if　you　wanted　a　massage　a　big　Swedish　babe　would　e　and　pummel　you　in　your　six…room　beach　house？
　　
　　Things　had　been　different　at　the　start。　Bill；　whom　she'd　first　met　at　a　crosstown　high…school　dance　and　then　met　again　at　college　three　years　later　（another　ordinary　miracle）；　had　begun　their　married　life　working　as　a　janitor；　because　there　were　no　openings　in　the　puter　industry。　It　was　1973；　and　puters　were　essentially　going　nowhere　and　they　were　living　in　a　grotty　place　in　Revere；　not　on　the　beach　but　close　to　it；　and　all　night　people　kept　going　up　the　stairs　to　buy　drugs　from　the　two　sallow　creatures　who　lived　in　the　apartment　above　them　and　listened　endlessly　to　dopey　records　from　the　sixties。　Carol　used　to　lie　awake　waiting　for　the　shouting　to　start；　thinking；　We　won't　ever　get　out　of　here；　we'll　grow　old　and　die　within　earshot　of　Cream　and　Blue　Cheer　and　the　Dodgem　cars　down　on　the　beach。
　　Bill；　exhausted　at　the　end　of　his　shift；　would　sleep　through　the　noise；　lying　on　his　side；　sometimes　with　one　hand　on　her　hip。　And　when　it　wasn't　there　she　often　put　it　there；　especially　if　the　creatures　upstairs　were　arguing　with　their　customers。　Bill　was　all　she　had。　Her　parents　had　practically　disowned　her　when　she　married　him。　He　was　a　Catholic；　but　the　wrong　sort　of　Catholic。　Gram　had　asked　why　she　wanted　to　go　with　that　boy　when　anyone　could　tell　he　was　shanty；　how　could　she　fall　for　all　his　foolish　talk；　why　did　she　want　to　break　her　father's　heart。　And　what　could　she　say？
　　It　was　a　long　distance　from　that　place　in　Revere　to　a　private　jet　soaring　at　forty…one　thousand　feet；　a　long　way　to　this　rental　car；　which　was　a　Crown　Victoria…what　the　goodfellas　in　the　gangster　movies　invariably　called　a　Crown　Vic…heading　for　ten　days　in　a　place　where　the　tab　would　probably　be　。　。　。　well；　she　didn't　even　want　to　think　about　it。
　　Floyd？　。　。　。　Oh　shit。
　　'Carol？　What　is　it　now？'
　　'Nothing；'　she　said。　Up　ahead　by　the　road　was　a　little　pink　bungalow；　the　porch　flanked　by　palms…seeing　those　trees　with　their　fringy　heads　lifted　against　the　blue　sky　made　her　think　of　Japanese　Zeros　ing　in　low；　their　underwing　machine　guns　firing；　such　an　association　clearly　the　result　of　a　youth　misspent　in　front　of　the　TV…and　as　they　passed　a　black　woman　would　e　out。　She　would　be　drying　her　hands　on　a　piece　of　pink　towelling　and　would　watch　them　expressionlessly　as　they　passed；　rich　folks　in　a　Crown　Vic　headed　for　Captiva；　and　she'd　have　no　idea　that　Carol　Shelton　once　lay　awake　in　a　ninety…dollar…a…month　apartment；　listening　to　the　records　and　the　drug　deals　upstairs；　feeling　something　alive　inside　her；　something　that　made　her　think　of　a　cigarette　that　had　fallen　down　behind　the　drapes　at　a　party；　small　and　unseen　but　smoldering　away　next　to　the　fabric。
　　'Hon？'
　　'Nothing；　I　said。'　They　passed　the　house。　There　was　no　woman。　An　old　man…white；　not　black…sat　in　a　rocking　chair；　watching　them　pass。　There　were　rimless　glasses　on　his　nose　and　a　piece　of　ragged　pink　towelling；　the　same　shade　as　the　house；　across　his　lap。　'I'm　fine　now。　Just　anxious　to　get　there　and　change　into　some　shorts。'
　　His　hand　touched　her　hip…where　he　had　so　often　touched　her　during　those　first　days…and　then　crept　a　little　farther　inland。　She　thought　about　stopping　him　（Roman　hands　and　Russian　fingers；　they　used　to　say）　and　didn't。　They　were；　after　all；　on　their　second　honeymoon。　Also；　it　would　make　that　expression　go　away。
　　'Maybe；'　he　said；　'we　could　take　a　pause。　You　know；　after　the　dress　es　off　and　before　the　shorts　go　on。'
　　'I　think　that's　a　lovely　idea；'　she　said；　and　put　her　hand　over　his；　pressed　both　more　tightly　against　her。　Ahead　was　a　sign　that　would　read　PALM　HOUSE　3　MI。　ON　LEFT　when　th