Part 6 (2/2)

”Sweetie, I can't take cash.”

She ran the numbers: their checking account was close to being overdrawn and a bad check was grounds for termination, but if she deposited the funds first thing in the morning, she should be alright.

Veronica opened her purse, took out her billfold, flipped it open on her checks and began writing the date. ”I'll write you a check. Sorry, I should've known,” she said, laughing, tearing out the check.

The woman took it and stepped to the computer. As soon as the account popped up there was a beep. Her eyes dashed to Veronica and back.

She blushed. ”I know it's late. Had a death in the family.”

”Oh,” said the woman. ”You do know your property tax is overdue, correct?”

”No. Are you sure?”

The woman nodded.

”How much more do I owe?”

The woman consulted her screen. ”Let's see,” she said, hitting keys. ”Twelve hundred and four dollars. And eleven cents.”

Veronica's stomach turned. Her mouth dropped open. She wouldn't have enough to catch up the car payments. She thought she'd borrowed too much, but now? With the penalties and unpaid interest on three loans, plus property taxes? Smiling weakly, she started writing another check. ”Just give me a moment,” she said. She tore it off and s.h.i.+fted her stance, hoping she wouldn't faint.

The woman lifted her fingers from the keys and a receipt slid out of a plastic box. She tore it off, handed it to Veronica. ”Looks like you're safe for another month,” said the woman, her eyebrow raised.

Veronica smiled, folded the receipt, stuck it into her billfold, then traipsed back the way she'd come, keeping her head down, her shoulders rounded, her eyes on the squares of tile. Again, she successfully navigated the mall, only lifting her head when a boy with strange silver hair touched her arm. She halted, regarding the boy's gray slacks and white polo.

”I know you,” he said.

”I don't know you,” she answered.

”Yeah,” the boy said, pointing, his silver hair bouncing. ”Your picture's on Professor Lieber's desk. I just started his cla.s.s. He's the coolest teacher I've got.”

”Oh, great.”

”Only he dresses kind of funky.”

”He what?”

”You know, dresses drab. I thought maybe you could help him.” The boy backed up, into a men's clothing store named Ralph's. ”I work here,” he said, pointing up at the sign. ”We got a s.h.i.+pment in today.” The boy smiled, reached out. ”Name's Scott.”

As he neared her she noted a long cylindrical object in one of his cargo pockets. A drummer? Then his hand slid inside hers, and his grip was tender, his skin moist and soft.

Scott helped her for an hour, putting the best Ralph's had to offer on display. Veronica was all blushes and pouty, s.e.xy looks, only pausing to think when he asked her, ”You ready to check out?”

It'll only be a couple of hundred dollars, she a.s.sured herself. You can spare it. Both of us get paid in a couple of days. Nothing will be repossessed in two days, right? ”Yes,” she finally answered, handing over a s.h.i.+rt and brus.h.i.+ng her hand against Scott's. Eighteen, she thought.

He carried the clothes up front, laid them down on the desk top and began popping off the security stickers. Her heart was racing, her hands were wet. ”Thanks for all your help, Scott,” she said, her confidence bolstered by the thought that this kid, who was really kind of cute, wouldn't steer her in the wrong direction.

Scott rang it all up quickly, as if he knew she was reconsidering, folding and placing the items in the bags hurriedly. When he hit the 'Total' key, and nine hundred and seven dollars and a penny appeared on the screen facing her, she gasped. But he was nice enough to repeat the amount. She moved slowly, as if in a dream, popping open her billfold, thumbing through her credit cards and previous receipts, delaying the inevitable.

Finally, she removed a stack of bills from her purse and counted out the hundreds, laying them on the counter side by side.

7.

For three hours following his appointment with Matt, Robert paced the bank of the St. John's, watching fishermen load up their cars, the sun melt into the choppy water, and Wolfy's light up for another long August night.

When he made it home he asked his wife to join him in the living room. He'd wanted to discuss their relations.h.i.+p, but the docket had changed. She took the couch, Robert the chair beside the coffee table. ”I went to see Matt this afternoon.”

”Oh,” she replied. ”How come?”

He stretched back, pointed at the node.

”Infection?”

”Come on. It's huge.”

”What did he have to say?” asked Veronica, looking at the carpet, the couch, anything to avoid looking at him.

”He checked my prostate. I think he felt something.”

”Robert, don't self-diagnose. Remember what Matt told you last time.”

”He asked me to get a sub for tomorrow. He just called my cell, gave me an address.”

”Okay,” she said.

”The address is the Simola Straight Cancer Center. I looked it up.”

Veronica stared at him for a long time, then fell back, crossing her arms. ”s.h.i.+t,” she mumbled. ”One thing after another. Does it ever end?”

Later, Robert slumped into his pillows. His mind wavered on the edge of sleep. He tossed and turned. All his life he'd figured that if G.o.d existed, He'd created life by accident. Maybe knocked over a bucket of paint, and-Oh, s.h.i.+t! Look what I did! Life was a cosmic practical joke, a statistical aberration that wouldn't repeat until the galactic tide returned and its net dragged through the universe again, bringing bits of whatever s.h.i.+t lay on distant solar system's sh.o.r.es.

He opened his eyes and tossed off his covers. All that had sounded good years ago, when he'd been young, but now? It seemed almost too easy. Sure, people died all the time and they didn't haunt houses, they didn't thirst for blood, they didn't form crop circles, and they sure as h.e.l.l weren't doomed or pardoned by a demiG.o.d with a spear mark in his side. They vanished. Wasn't that it? Vanished. No more. But something about that thought struck Robert as lazy.

He closed his eyes. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing quieted. He lay naked under the ceiling fan. Slowly, sleep came. He dreamt.

Cold. Water swallows his skin. He leans back. Blood streaks the sky. Purple runs a line through the black-tinged thunder heads. A crimson sword of light plunges into the west. Beyond him, sand and yellow trees reach into the vastness, beckoning.

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