Bullet Point

24

Wyatt drove out of Millerville, soon came to a junction. A right turn led back to Silver City, a slight left to East Canton. He slowed down, and as he did, his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Wyatt? It’s me, Lou Rentner. Can you stop by?”

“I’m sort of on my way back,” Wyatt said. Had Doc, in a fury, gone barging into the Beacon office? Or had Greer shown up? Wyatt steered onto the shoulder and stopped the car. “What’s it about?”

“Have you ever seen a picture of Sonny Racine?” Mr. Rentner said.

Wyatt sensed what was coming. “No.”

“I’m talking about the young Sonny Racine, around the time of the trial. This may sound strange, but there’s an eerie similarity. Has anyone ever mentioned it?”

“No.”

There was a long pause at the other end. Then Mr. Rentner said, “I’m wondering why you didn’t ask what was similar to what.”

Wyatt gazed at the road sign. SILVER CITY -412 MILES; EAST CANTON -207 MILES.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Wyatt?”

Wyatt didn’t answer.

“Maybe I can help.” Another long pause. “Fact is, I checked with Foothills Community College. They report no one registered under the name Wyatt Lathem. I’m concerned you’re getting into something a little over your-”

Wyatt clicked off. He headed for home.

It was almost fully dark by the time Wyatt drove up through the familiar streets of Lowertown and parked in front of the house he’d lived in all his life. Linda’s car was in the driveway, lights glowed in the kitchen window, a bulb was out on one of the two porch lanterns. In short, everything looked the same, except that Wyatt got this strange feeling that the whole house had no secure hold on the ground, just sat there unfastened, and could blow away if the wind rose high enough. He went to the door, took out his keys, and then paused, wondering whether entering in the normal way, just letting himself in, might frighten them. A crazy thought. He let himself in.

Wyatt heard Cammy’s voice. “Mom? I think I hear the door.”

Linda came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked down the hall, saw Wyatt, and smiled. “And just when I was losing hope,” she said.

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Wyatt?” Cammy called from her bedroom.

Linda came down the hall, threw her arms around Wyatt. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

Cammy came running, crayons in both hands. She dropped them, clutched Wyatt by the leg. “Me, too,” she said. “I’m glad, too. How come you’ve been gone so long?”

Wyatt patted Cammy’s head. Her hair felt like some strange luxury from a faraway place.

Linda had been making tuna casserole. Wyatt didn’t like tuna casserole, but tonight it tasted delicious. He found he was very hungry, had seconds and then thirds.

“Are you going to have fourths?” Cammy said.

Wyatt laughed, at the same time realizing he hadn’t laughed much recently. Cammy climbed up on his lap and showed him some drawings.

“That’s a dog I want, here’s another dog, and another one, and another one.”

“Don’t you draw anything besides dogs?”

“Here’s a puppy.”

Cammy wanted him to put her to bed.

“First a story,” she said.

He lay down beside her. “What story do you want?”

“Go, Dog, Go.”

“Isn’t that a bit young for you now?”

“So what?”

He read Go, Dog, Go three times.

“Let’s do fourths,” Cammy said.

“Cammy?” Linda called. “That’s it. Night night.”

“Give me a kiss, Wyatt.”

He gave her a kiss. She gave him one back.

“Walk me to the bus tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Night.”

“Night.”

“Tell me sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams,” Wyatt said.

“Leave the door open a crack.”

He left the door open a crack.

“Two cracks.”

He opened it a little more.

“Night, Wyatt.”

“Night.”

Wyatt went into the kitchen. “Tea?” his mom said. “Soda?”

“I’m good.”

Linda poured herself a cup of tea. They sat at the table, now cleared, the dishes all done. He saw how tired his mom looked, her face kind of sagging, dark patches under her eyes.

“How’s work, Mom?”

“Not too bad.”

“Where’s Rusty?”

“Cheyenne tonight, I think it was. He’ll be home next week.”

“And it’s, uh, working out?”

“No complaints.” Linda sipped her tea, gazed at him over the rim of the cup. “What about you?” she said.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good to hear,” Linda said. “Is your stuff in the car?”

“No.”

She put down her cup. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, Mom.”

“Are you home or not?”

“I’m home right now. But there are things I’ve got to take care of.”

“Like what?” Linda said. Wyatt looked at her. Could he imagine this decent and kind person at some earlier stage in life firing a gun at 32 Cain Street? No. But Mr. Wertz the lawyer suspected that Sonny Racine had been covering for someone, and Mr. Rentner had heard rumors of a girlfriend. His mom had been the girlfriend, pregnant with him, waiting on a marriage that never happened.

“What’s wrong, Wyatt? Is it that girl Hildy was telling me about? Greer something-or-other?”

Wyatt gazed down at the table.

“Listen to me,” his mom said. “There’s a big, big difference between sixteen and nineteen. A girl of nineteen-any girl, she could be perfectly nice-is coming from a place you know nothing about, Wyatt, way past your ability to handle. I’m not talking about just you, but any sixteen-year-old-”

He looked up. “All right, Mom. I get it.”

Linda sat back a bit. “You’re in some kind of trouble.”

“I’m not.”

“Is she pregnant?”

“No.” But even as he spoke, Wyatt realized he really had no idea of the answer to that question, also had no idea what Greer would want to do about it if she was. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

Linda shook her head. “It’s so weird that anyone could change this fast.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You. I used to trust you completely, believe every word you said. What’s happened?”

“Nothing.” He got up, opened the fridge. Cammy’s lunch box-blue with a pattern of red dogs-was on the top shelf, tomorrow’s sandwich already made. Wyatt took out a soda, drank it down, suddenly very thirsty. He turned to Linda.

“Where were you the night of the crime?” he said.

Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “What crime?”

He gazed at his mom. Sonny Racine’s girlfriend, yes, but there was just no way. He started to think, If I can’t trust her, who can I trust? but then the fact of Rusty intervened, complicated things. Could he trust her when it came to Rusty? Maybe there wasn’t one single person who could ever be trusted completely in anyone’s life. But no matter what, he couldn’t play investigative reporter or detective or anything like that with his mom.

“I’ve seen him,” Wyatt said. “Sonny Racine.”

Tea slopped over the rim of Linda’s cup. “What are you talking about?”

“In the visiting room at Sweetwater State Penitentiary.”

She put the cup down; it rattled in the saucer. “Why would you go and do a thing like that?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s my father.”

“Haven’t we been through this? He’s not a father to you. Rusty’s the one who-”

“I don’t want to hear about Rusty.”

“Don’t raise your voice. Cammy’s sleeping.”

They were both silent for a few moments. Coyotes shrieked, not too far away.

Linda’s eyes narrowed. “This…this visit of yours,” she said. “How did that come about?”

“It’s complicated. He found out I was in the area and called me.”

“How would he find out something like that? How would he get your number?”

“I told you it was complicated. But that’s what happened.”

“How? I don’t understand. Take me through it.”

“Why, Mom? That’s not what matters.”

“This girl’s involved, isn’t she?”

“So?”

“So? Just the fact you can say that means you don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t want you going back there, on no account.”

“Don’t you want to know how he is or anything?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not interested.”

“But you were interested in him back then.”

“That was before I knew what he was really like, obviously.”

“What was he really like?”

“How can you even ask that question? An innocent woman got killed and her baby got mutilated. What more do you need to know?”

What more did he need to know? That was the question, right there. “Suppose he was innocent?” Wyatt said.

Linda dismissed the idea with a backhand wave. “Of course he told you that. They never admit guilt.”

“That’s what he said-that inmates never admit guilt.”

“A kind of admission, then? Is that what you’re saying? I don’t get it.”

“No. It’s really the opposite, you know, like practically telling me to doubt. I guess that’s why I’m starting to believe.”

“Believe what?”

“That he was innocent. Maybe he wasn’t even there.”

“Not even there? Did he say that?”

“No.”

“He admitted he was there-that was never in question,” Linda said. “And even if he didn’t do the actual shooting, he’s every bit as guilty.”

“Come on, Mom. That’s just what the law says.”

“And I say it, too. Think of that poor mother. Think of the baby.”

Wyatt met his mom’s gaze but couldn’t hold it. If she’d been at 32 Cain Street, if Sonny had covered for her, then she was a gifted liar and he didn’t know her at all. “How did you find out about that night?” he said.

Linda closed her eyes. “I’ll never forget,” she said. “I was asleep. This was in the apartment I had then over on Bates Street-Sonny stayed there when he got weekends off from the construction. Knocking woke me up. I answered the door and there was a cop with a search warrant. Donnie Reeves. He’d been three years ahead of me in school.”

That was that. The whole protecting-the-girlfriend theory was out.

Her eyes were open now, and watching him closely. “By the way,” she said, “you asked me that same question two different ways. Any explanation?”

Wyatt almost laughed. He had a smart mom. And-he almost went further, almost found himself thinking he had a smart dad, too. The urge to laugh disappeared fast. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“I got together with a guy I didn’t really know,” Linda said. “That’s all there is to understand.”

“Why don’t you want to hear how he’s doing?” Wyatt said.

“I just don’t.”

“He had nice things to say about you.”

“I don’t care. That’s all in the past and it’s no good to live in the past, not for me, not for you.”

That had the sound of good, sensible advice, but not the feeling. All at once Wyatt remembered a line from Hamlet — so weird, because he wasn’t good at remembering stuff like that, even when he tried to memorize it, and in this case he hadn’t. Actually he didn’t remember the line exactly. “Do not for ever” something something “seek for thy noble father in the dust.” Spoken by Hamlet’s mother, the queen, to Hamlet. Whoa. He felt a lurch inside, as though the ground had abruptly lowered itself. “I saw that baby,” he said, the words just popping out.

“What baby?”

“The baby who got shot.”

Linda covered her mouth with one hand. “My God,” she said.

“Her name’s Toni.” Wyatt told his mother about Toni-how she’d been adopted by the Pingrees, was going to Northwestern, seemed happy. Linda’s face, worried and irritated when he started, had softened by the end, and her eyes were damp.

“Thank you, Wyatt,” she said. “That’s good to know.” She reached across the table, took his hand. “But that’s enough now. Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” said Wyatt, who was wondering whether to bring Doc into the story.

“That this is over,” Linda said. “That you’re back home.”

Wyatt rose, went around the table, put his arms around her, and kissed her cheek. “It’s good to be home, Mom.” That was true, but it promised nothing, not in his mind. She gazed up at him with worried eyes.

Wyatt slept in his own bed that night, had no dreams, sweet or otherwise. He fell deep, deep down into a state of perfect rest, sleeping, yes, like a baby.