World And Town Part 40

Carter looks at Hattie, who is already beginning to wish they'd taken a different tack. Because Everett, she can see, is heating up.

"It ain't right, Ginny getting off." Everett looms over them, his voice even and low. "It ain't right."

"No," says Carter, looking rueful. "It ain't, as you say. But there's no law to nail her with, sadly."

"Why the h.e.l.l not? What's the point of law if people like Ginny are going to get the h.e.l.l off?"

"You want the law to be just," says Carter. "But, as my ex-wife used to say, the law doesn't make things just. It just makes things better."

"Better than what?"

"Better than if we had no law. Better than if we had corruption, which is what they have in many parts of the world, unfortunately."

"You're helping her," says Everett, glaring. "You're helping her get off."

"That might be true," says Hattie, after a moment. "We might be helping her. But we're not trying to help her."

Everett stops.

"Any help she gets is inadvertent. We're just trying to protect Sophy and get you back on your feet, if that's possible. Especially as the situation was complicated." She plunges on. "Especially as a lot of people who could've stepped in, failed to." She pauses.

But if ever Everett could have heard this, he can't hear it now.

"Ain't I on my feet?" he says. "Or is this someone else with my same boots?"

The window claps shut.

"No, no," says Hattie. "Of course you're on your feet."

Smoke spills from the stove. Hattie reaches to prop the window back open with the broken-off stick Everett's been using-part of a paint stir stick, actually, with some white paint still on it-as Everett starts to pace again.

"I don't need your help unless it's to burn Ginny up." The whole hut shakes as Everett starts to pace again.

"Perhaps you should become a Buddhist," says Carter.

Hattie kicks him.

"That some kind of a joke?" asks Everett-swaying himself, now, like the hut.

"Actually, no. Actually my ex-wife felt much the way you did and really did become a Buddhist after a while. Before that she was a judge." Carter stares at the black stove as if at an apparition-Meredith in her robes. "She was mad."

"Sick of the world," guesses Everett. "Sick of a world where people like Ginny get off."

"Precisely."

"She dump you?" asks Everett, stopping.

"She did." Carter looks thoughtful.

"Didn't you just want to kill her?"

"I suppose one part of my brain did, yes," says Carter. "But other parts, happily, thought better of that plan."

"Yeah, well, I just want to kill her." Everett paces.

"Yeah, well, don't." Carter gives Everett an El Honcho look, and for a moment Everett seems to heed him. "Let us help you instead," Carter goes on. "So the world's unjust. You can still get some projects going."

"Don't get hung up, you're saying."

"Precisely."

"I gave her my life."

"That was generous of you, but perhaps it's time to take it back," says Carter, drily.

Hattie kicks him again.

"Take it back!" Everett laughs. "All them years." He shakes his head. "Maybe you have some way of getting them back, now, being a professor. But the rest of us've got to just kiss 'em good-bye, see. Sayonara. Good-bye."

Hattie looks at him. " 'Thirty-seven Years Wasted, You Could Say My Whole Life,' " she quotes.

"You got it." Everett smiles.

"Actually," Carter starts, but stops when Hattie puts a hand over his mouth. "You loved her," he says instead, unmuzzling himself.

"Jacka.s.s that I was."

"You loved her," Carter says again. And slowly, after a moment: "You gave her your life."

"Wasn't such a great plan, to be frank." Everett yawns. "You probably would've thought better of that plan."

"Probably," agrees Carter.

Everett shifts slightly. "I loved her but, well, now I just want her burned to a crisp, see." He stretches a little. "Now I'm aiming to send her right to h.e.l.l." He hesitates, then wedges himself back into the chair.

"Everett, we want to help." Hattie sits forward.

"That's kind of you, Hattie. Generous. I always said you were generous."

"We're just trying to help you reach the tacos, if you know what I mean. Pay you back a little for all that snow shoveling you did."

"I can reach what I need to just fine."

"You mean, you don't want help," says Carter.

"Guess I've taken all the help I want to in this life. Guess I don't need any more, no. No thanks."

"You'd rather have your pride. Is that it?" asks Hattie.

"My pa lived his whole life with no pride so's his son could have some," says Everett.

"You'd rather have your rage," says Carter.

"Guess I'm planning to have it for breakfast."

"You plain don't care for a world where people like Ginny can get off," says Hattie.

"Guess I don't."

"Where n.o.body sees," she goes on. "Is that it? Where you can build a big tower and still have n.o.body see. Where you can talk and talk and still have n.o.body hear."

"You got it," says Everett. "You know what I want?"

Hattie and Carter exchange glances.

"You want Ginny burned to a crisp," guesses Carter.

"That church," says Everett, evenly. "I want that whole Christian f.u.c.king church burnt up in their own righteous fire."

"Well, whatever you do, don't go lighting any matches." Carter raises his eyebrows and his voice. "You are no doubt uninterested in a professor's opinion, but I will share mine anyway."

Everett waits.

"It is inadvisable."

"That mean it's dumb?"

Hattie sighs. "Can we come back tomorrow?"

Everett laughs.

"Think of your kids," she says. "Think of Brian and Betsy."

He continues to grin.

"Think how they'd feel. Have you talked to them lately?"

He doesn't answer.

"Do you have a phone?"

He straightens a knee. "There some treetop service I don't know about around here?"

"We'll have to do something about that," she says. "That's our step one. In the meanwhile, it's getting late." She stands, putting on her jacket and nudging Carter.

"We'll be back tomorrow." Carter stands, too.

"Is there anything else we can bring you?" asks Hattie. "Besides a phone? Some nice hot bacon and eggs, maybe? Sausage? Hash browns?"

Everett shakes his head again gently, as if he's turning gnomic, like Carter. He does not stand.

"Anything you want me to tell Ginny? If I see her? If she's in town?"

"Nah." He b.u.t.tons a b.u.t.ton.

Cows'll fly before she sees.

And when they come back the next day with a satellite phone and a hot pack full of food, they find him slumped in his chair. The fire is out; the cabin is cold. His skin is blue, his mouth open, his gaze fixed, his pupils huge.

"Oh my G.o.d, no," says Hattie.

Guess I've taken all the help I want to in this life.

Carter opens the window, though the smoke has mostly cleared.

"Smoke inhalation," he says.

They sink back down on the bed as if to talk to Everett all over again. Then Carter stands back up, closes Everett's eyes, and puts his hand on Everett's forehead, fingers fanned.

"May you go to heaven if there is a heaven," he says. "You didn't hedge your bets. You gave your whole heart. You were right to be mad."

He puts Everett's hat back on his head, resting his open hand a moment on its crown. Then he sits back down with Hattie. They hold hands.

COME SEE THE KING.

Carter keeps waking in the middle of the night.

"Reedie," he says. "My brother Reedie."

"I remember Reedie."

"They found Reedie slumped over like that." Reedie with his RBIs and his cotton candy and his, in truth, terrible Chinese.

"Poor Reedie," says Hattie. "Poor, poor Reedie."

"He did all right in the end. He didn't think so, but he did."

She reaches for Carter in the dark, ma.s.saging his head. His skull is hard but full of little tensions, she knows, as is hers; he ma.s.sages hers back. It's a new routine they've developed already, and a pleasure, though Reedie, Reedie, Reedie. She pictures Reedie slumped over like Everett; then Everett himself, slumped over, his eyes open.

Twins.

The room is perfectly black-there's no moon tonight. She nudges Reveille through the sheet with her foot. What with both dogs sleeping on her side of the bed now, it's easy to lose territory, and Reveille's on top of the covers, her foot below; it's hard to get his attention. Still, she tries.

"I'll never get over it." Carter's voice is husky.

"None of us will. Are you crying? Oh, Carter. Come."

She hugs him, their knees knocking in a way hers and Joe's never did. Or did they? She tries to remember but can't, though she remembers very well, she thinks, how Joe snored all night-like Cato, except that Cato only snored when he was lying on his back. Joe snored in every position, as does Carter-who does snore more quietly, however, and more musically, with a little whistle.