In a Lonely Place by Dorothy B. Hughes Read Free Book Online

the family. She knows everything about everybody.”
    “Otis and I share the same dentist, darling.”
    “She’s a cute kid.” Brub was again looking across at the girl.
    “You’re married now,” Dix reminded him.
    “To me,” Sylvia added sweetly. “I may not be a cute kid but I’m nice.”
    They exchanged that happy intimate look. Then Brub turned his eyes again to the Banning girl. “You’re right, though. She does look familiar.” He was scenting her, the way a detective would, narrowed eyes, his brows pulled slightly together, his nose keen.
    “Come on home,” Dix laughed.
    Brub’s head snapped to Dix quickly. His dark eyes were lighted. “That’s it! You know who she looks like? Brucie!”
    The name was spoken before he could warn Brub not to speak it. He’d known in that split second of Brub’s remembering, in the second before the name. It was said and for the moment he could see nothing, only the red blur before his eyes and the dread roaring of sound in his ears. He didn’t know his knuckles were white knobs gripping the table, his cigarette mashed between his fingers. The moment passed and he was in control of himself again. He let the cigarette brush to the floor. In another moment he could speak.
    Sylvia spoke first. “And who is Brucie, darling?”
    “A girl we knew in England. She was a Red Cross worker when we were stationed near Dover. Scotch—that’s where the Bruce, Brucie, came from. Cute as a button.”
    Brub had noticed nothing. But he wasn’t sure about Sylvia. Behind her civilized attention, her humor, her casualness, he wasn’t certain. Something was there behind the curtain of her eyes, something in the way she looked at Dix, a look behind the look. She might have been watching him at that wrong moment.
    Dix said, “She was, all of that.” His voice wasn’t thick; it was as casual as Sylvia’s.
    “Wonder what ever happened to her? She was sure a cute kid. You kind of went for her, didn’t you, Dix?”
    Dix laughed, a normal laugh. “You kind of liked her yourself, didn’t you?”
    “Brub!” Sylvia’s eyes opened, wide surprise. She was pretending. She was too level-headed, too secure to care.
    “You bet I liked her. I guess every man in the platoon sort of liked Brucie. But you needn’t worry, honey. No one had a chance with old lady-killer Steele present.”
    Dix was very careful lighting his cigarette. Because Sylvia was watching him. With the look behind the look.
    “You ever hear from her, Dix?”
    He shook his head. He was surprised at how easy it was to talk. “No. Brub,never did.”
    “Out of sight, out of mind. That’s the great Steele. Don’t ever fall for a guy like that, Sylvia.” Brub began on his neglected ice cream.
    “No, darling,” Sylvia murmured. She wasn’t looking at him, yet Dix had a feeling she was seeing him. And probing him with her mind.
    “If I’d had a girl like Sylvia,” he began, and he realized there was some honesty in the play, “I wouldn’t have looked at anyone else. I wouldn’t have been like you. ogling all those U.S.O. legs.”
    “I’m learning things.” Sylvia nodded a severe head. “Go on. Dix, tell me more.”
    He invented lazily but his mind wasn’t there. It was remembering Brucie and the ache in him was the ache of a wound torn open. His face covered his mind, as his voice covered the pain crying from his throat. “Remember the redhead contortionist?” and he remembered the redhead in the patio this afternoon. With a woman like that, he might be able to forget. Nothing else brought forgetfulness, only for a brief time. Another section of his mind moved as the brown girl stood up from her table with her young crew-cut escort. The look of Brucie, not the face, the swagger of her shoulders, the echo of laughter. Perhaps married to seven million dollars you could forget. You could have fast cars, fast boats, a good plane to climb up there into the vastness of eternity. Brub and Sylvia were happy.