Pete looks at him. Tina is looking, too, her arms still linked around her brother’s neck.
‘You found the notebooks and the money, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. By accident. They were buried in a trunk by the stream.’
‘Anyone would have done what you did,’ Jerome says. ‘Isn’t that right, Bill?’
‘Yes,’ Bill says. ‘For your family, you do all that you can. The way you went after Bellamy when he took Tina.’
‘I wish I’d never found that trunk,’ Pete says. What he doesn’t say, will never say, is how much it hurts to know that the notebooks are gone. Knowing that burns like fire. He does understand how Morris felt, and that burns like fire, too. ‘I wish it had stayed buried.’
‘Wish in one hand,’ Hodges says, ‘spit in the other. Let’s go. I need to use an icepack before the swelling gets too bad.’
‘Swelling where?’ Holly asks. ‘You look okay to me.’
Hodges puts an arm around her shoulders. Sometimes Holly stiffens when he does this, but not today, so he kisses her cheek, too. It raises a doubtful smile.
‘Did he get you where it hurts boys?’
‘Yes. Now hush.’
They walk slowly, partly for Hodges’s benefit, partly for Pete’s. His sister is getting heavy, but he doesn’t want to put her down. He wants to carry her all the way home.
AFTER
PICNIC
On the Friday that kicks off the Labor Day weekend, a Jeep Wrangler – getting on in years but loved by its owner – pulls into the parking lot above the McGinnis Park Little League fields and stops next to a blue Mercedes that is also getting on in years. Jerome Robinson makes his way down the grassy slope toward a picnic table where food has already been set out. A paper bag swings from one of his hands.
‘Yo, Hollyberry!’
She turns. ‘How many times have I told you not to call me that? A hundred? A thousand?’ But she’s smiling as she says it, and when he hugs her, she hugs back. Jerome doesn’t press his luck; he gives one good squeeze, then asks what’s for lunch.
‘There’s chicken salad, tuna salad, and coleslaw. I also brought a roast beef sandwich. That’s for you, if you want it. I’m off red meat. It upsets my circadian rhythms.’
‘I’ll make sure you’re not tempted, then.’
They sit down. Holly pours Snapple into Dixie cups. They toast the end of summer and then munch away, gabbing about movies and TV shows, temporarily avoiding the reason they’re here – this is goodbye, at least for awhile.
‘Too bad Bill couldn’t come,’ Jerome says as Holly hands him a piece of chocolate cream pie. ‘Remember when we all got together here for a picnic after his hearing? To celebrate that judge deciding not to put him in jail?’
‘I remember perfectly well,’ Holly says. ‘You wanted to ride the bus.’
‘Because de bus be fo’ free!’ Tyrone Feelgood exclaims. ‘I takes all the fo’ free I kin git, Miss Holly!’
‘You’ve worn that out, Jerome.’
He sighs. ‘I sort of have, I guess.’
‘Bill got a call from Peter Saubers,’ Holly said. ‘That’s why he didn’t come. He said I was to give you his best, and that he’d see you before you went back to Cambridge. Wipe your nose. There’s a dab of chocolate on it.’
Jerome resists the urge to say Chocolate be mah favorite cullah! ‘Is Pete all right?’
‘Yes. He had some good news that he wanted to share with Bill in person. I can’t finish my pie. Do you want the rest? Unless you don’t want to eat after me. I’m okay with that, but I don’t have a cold, or anything.’
‘I’d even use your toothbrush,’ Jerome says, ‘but I’m full.’
‘Oough,’ Holly says. ‘I’d never use another person’s toothbrush.’ She collects their paper cups and plates and takes them to a nearby litter barrel.
‘What time are you leaving tomorrow?’ Jerome asks.
‘The sun rises at six fifty-five A.M. I expect to be on the road by seven thirty, at the latest.’
Holly is driving to Cincinnati to see her mother. By herself. Jerome can hardly believe it. He’s glad for her, but he’s also afraid for her. What if something goes wrong and she freaks out?
‘Stop worrying,’ she says, coming back and sitting down. ‘I’ll be fine. All turnpikes, no night driving, and the forecast is for clear weather. Also, I have my three favorite movie soundtracks on CD: Road to Perdition, The Shawshank Redemption, and Godfather II. Which is the best, in my opinion, although Thomas Newman is, on the whole, much better than Nino Rota. Thomas Newman’s music is mysterious.’
‘John Williams, Schindler’s List,’ Jerome says. ‘Nothing tops it.’
‘Jerome, I don’t want to say you’re full of shit, but … actually, you are.’
He laughs, delighted.
‘I have my cell phone and iPad, both fully charged. The Mercedes just had its full maintenance check. And really, it’s only four hundred miles.’
‘Cool. But call me if you need to. Me or Bill.’
‘Of course. When are you leaving for Cambridge?’
‘Next week.’