why.’
‘Then why?’
‘He asked me to marry him, but I wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Your father wasn’t a nice man.’
‘Then why did you … go with him?’
‘I didn’t.’ She stared at her spaghetti. So far, she hadn’t taken a single bite. ‘He was just a guy in school. We hardly knew each other. He followed me home, one day, and nobody was there but me, and – well, things happened. We were both only sixteen, and … He got kicked out of school, and got a job at a gas station. He wanted me to marry him, but I just told him no. And then he left town, about a month before you were born, and he never came back.’
‘You should’ve married him.’
‘How can you say that? You don’t even know him.’
‘You should’ve. You should’ve let me have a dad. It’s not fair.’
Her eyes got shiny and her mouth started to tremble. She pushed herself away from the table.
Eric started to cry. She’d made his favorite meal, and now everything was ruined. ‘Mom, I’m sorry.’
‘Never mind,’ she sobbed. ‘Just never mind.’ She rushed out of the room.
10
Sitting in his car, Sam watched the house. He was across the street, and half a block away. As he watched, he ate a cheeseburger he’d bought at Jack-in-the-Box.
He had arrived at five o’clock, dressed in civvies and driving his own Chrysler. Darkness closed quickly over the street. Lights appeared in the windows of nearby homes. The home of Elmer Cantwell, however, remained dark, and Sam wondered if he’d been wrong about the mother.
At 5:52, light appeared in an upstairs window. It soon went off. A few minutes later, the picture window lit up, and he could see into the living room. Then the draperies slid shut.
He hadn’t been wrong about the mother.
At 6:10, a Volvo entered the driveway and stopped. A man climbed out. From his bulging shape and the slouch of his walk, Sam knew it had to be Elmer.
Elmer entered the house, leaving his car in the driveway.
Going out later?
Sam finished his cheeseburger. He turned on the radio, and listened to quiet music. As he waited, a chillseeped through his trouser legs. He had a blanket in the trunk, but didn’t want to bother with it. He turned on the car engine. Soon, the heater was blowing warm air on him, and the car began to feel cozy.
Not as cozy as home, though. Nice to be back at his duplex, sitting on the couch, staring at the TV news and sipping a vodka gimlet. Nicer to be with Cynthia. He wouldn’t be with her tonight, though, even if this hadn’t come up. Maybe she would straighten things out with Eric. It’d be good to know the kid. The three of them could get together, go to movies, go fishing. Not right for a kid to grow up without a father.
Better no father, though, than the guy Eric would’ve been stuck with if Cynthia’d married that bastard who raped her. Harlan. Scotty Harlan. Damn good thing he’d left town. If Sam ever got his hands on the guy … Christ, to do a thing like that to Cynthia! She’d cried the night she told Sam about it, cried so hard she could barely talk as she described how he stood with a knife and made her strip, how he pressed the blade to her throat as he took her, and threatened to slice off her nipples if she ever told.
People saw Scotty leave the house, and knew he was the one when she got pregnant, but she never told anyone how it happened. No one but Sam, on a night fifteen years later when he asked about Eric’s father and she spoke in a voice so broken by sobs that he cried, himself, and held her tightly.
A guy like Scotty Harlan shouldn’t be allowed to live.
Sam had never killed anyone, but he’d like a chance at Harlan.
Maybe not kill him, Sam thought. Maybe just blastapart his knees. And his elbows. And shove the muzzle against his cock and blow that off.
He realized that he was trembling with rage. He took a deep breath. He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers.
Keep your mind on the job, he warned himself. No point
Liz Wiseman, Greg McKeown