Hard News

8

What's that? Rune opened her eyes, stared up at the ceiling of her houseboat's bedroom, watching the ripples of the morning sun reflecting onto the off-white paint. She turned her head, squinting.

What's wrong?

She felt the boat gently rocking in the Hudson, water lapping against the hull. Heard the baritone grind of a boat engine that seemed near but was probably two hundred yards away – she'd learned how noise carries on the water. The sound of rush-hour traffic too.

So what was it? What was missing? What wasn't here that ought to be?

The tie-dye sheet had tangled around her feet, a percale Gordian knot. Her white Joy of Movement T-shirt had ridden up to her neck and her hair was in her face. Rune was a restless sleeper. She untangled her feet and pulled the shirt down. She brushed a crescent of pizza crust out of the bed and sat upright.

Well, part of it was the silence – a special kind of silence, the sort that comes from theabsence of a human being.

Rune realized that Claire was gone.

The young woman always had her Walkman plugged in by ninea.m. Even upstairs, in the houseboat's bedroom, Rune usually could hear the raspy chunk of decibels murdering Claire's ears.

But today, nothing.

Rune went into the white-enameled head, thinking: Maybe she got up early to go shopping. But no, none of her stores – clothing and cosmetics – opened before ten or eleven.

Which meant that maybe she'd already moved up to Boston!

Which is exactly what happened. Rune, downstairs, stood in the middle of the living room and read the note Claire had left. As she scanned the words she grinned like a kid on Christmas Eve.

Excellent! she thought. Thank you, thank you, thank you…

The note was all about how Claire appreciated (spelled wrong) everything Rune had done for her in the past couple of weeks (six and a half) even though she was a moody bitch a lot but that was good

because if she could live with her she could live with anybody (Rune, trying to figure v -ho theshes were and not liking the conclusion).

Claire explained that she was going home to her mother's in Boston, like she'd said, and how she was going to think about going back to school. She spent a long paragraph, the last one, talking about how happy she was that Rune and Courtney were such good friends and how they'd gotten along so well because-

The smile vanished.

– she knew Rune would take good care of the girl. Oh, shit…

Rune ran into the small storeroom in the bow of the boat, the room that Claire and Courtney had shared.

Goddamm it!

The little girl was lying, asleep, on top of Claire's futon, clutching a mutant stuffed animal that might, at one time, have been a rabbit.

Son of a bitch. Claire, how could you? Rune did a fast survey. The room was pretty much cleared out. Claire had taken her clothes and jewelry and whatever other objects had filled the dust-free squares and circles and trapezoids on the top of the dresser.

Everything, gone – except for Courtney's toys and clothes and a poster of the Jackson 5 that Claire had kept, waiting for it to become chic enough to put up again.

Son of a-

Rune ran outside to find the letter again.

– bitch!

The closing paragraph of the letter said only that she hoped to be back to pick up Courtney sometime and to give her the home she needed and deserved.

Sometime?

Rune was sweating. She actually felt her scalp prickle. Her fingers left stains on the paper.

No address. No phone number.

She didn't even remember Claire's real last name -the girl kept trying on stage names for the day when she became a professional model.

Rune went back to the room and searched carefully. The only clue she found was a bra under the bed with initials penned on the side – C.S. But Rune thought it looked a little small for Claire and remembered that one of her boyfriends had been a transvestite.

Hopeless, Rune sat down in the middle of the room and picked up a toy, a wooden penguin on a stick. His broad plastic feet were on wheels. She ran him back and forth, the webbed feet slapping on the wooden deck.

I don't want to be a mother.

Claire…

Slap, slap, slap.

The jogging penguin woke up Courtney.

Rune sat down on the futon, kissed the girl's cheek. "Honey, did you talk to your mommy this morning?"

"Uh-huh."

The little girl rubbed her eyes. Oh, they're so damn cute when they do that. Come on, kid, get ugly.

"Did she say where she was going?"

"Uh-huh. Can I have some juice?"

"Honey, did your mother say where she was going?"

"Bawden."

" Boston, I know. But where?"

"Uh-huh. Juice?"

"Sure. We'll get some Ocean Spray in a minute. Where in Boston?"

"Grandma's house."

"Where is your grandmother's house?"

"Bowden. I want some juice."

"Honey, what's your mother's name?"

"Mommy." The little girl started to squirm.

"No, I mean her last name?"

"Mommy. I want some juice!"

Rune said, "Did she say anything before she left?"

Courtney stood up in bed, pulled away from Rune. "Zoo."

"The zoo?"

"She said you'd take me to the zoo."

"That's what your mommy said?"

"Uh-huh. I want juice!"

"Did she say how long she'd be gone?"

Courtney frowned for a moment then extended her arms as wide as they'd go. She said, "Long, long time."

Rune picked up the stuffed rabbit. Oh, shit.

Courtney stuck her lower lip out threateningly and said, "Juice."

Sam Healy was in his late thirties, over six feet tall and lean. His thinning hair was combed straight back and his moustache drooped over the corners of his mouth. He resembled a cowboy, at least when he was wearing what he now wore – a plaid shirt, jeans and black boots. His profession: a detective with the NYPD Bomb Squad.

They sat in Rune's houseboat, where he spent an occasional night, and she leaned forward, listening to him as intensely as if he were telling a rookie how to dismantle a C-4 demolition charge. She asked, "How often should I feed her?"

Healy said, "You're too nervous about this, Rune. Three times a day'll work fine."

"How about medicine?" Rune's palms were glistening with sweat. "Should she be taking medicine?"

"Well, is she sick?"

"No."

"Then why would she need medicine?"

Rune said, "She's a baby. I thought you always gave medicine to babies."

"Not if she's not sick."

Rune gazed out over the river. "Oh, Sam, it was fun playing with her and reading to her, but this – this is, like, really, really serious."

"They're very resilient."

"Oh, God. What if she falls?" she asked, panicked.

Healy sighed. "Pick her up. Comfort her. Dust her off."

"I'm not ready for this, Sam. I can't be a mother. I'm trying to do my story. I'm… Oh, God, does she wear diapers?"

"Ask her."

"I can't ask her. I'd be embarrassed."

"She's, what? About three? She's probably toilet-trained. If not, you should start pretty soon."

"Me? No way. Forget about it."

"Rune, kids are wonderful. When you and Adam and I go out we have a great time."

"But he'syour son. That's different. I don't want one of my own. I'm too young to be a mother. My life is over with already."

"It's only temporary, isn't it?"

"That's the part I'm not too sure about." Rune looked toward Courtney's room. Her voice was panicky when she said, "You think she drinks too much juice?"

"Rune."

"She drinks a lot of juice."

"You should worry a lot less."

"Sam, I can't have a kid with me when I interview people. What am I-?"

"I'm going to give you the name of the day-care center Cheryl and I used to take Adam to. It's a good place. And some of the women there work nights as baby-sitters."

"Yeah?"

"Look at the bright side: You didn't have to go through labor."

Rune sat close to him and laid her head on his chest. "Why do I get myself into things like this?"

"She's a sweet little girl."

Rune put her arms around him. "They're all sweet when they're asleep. The thing is they wake up after a while."

He began rubbing her shoulders.

"That's nice."

"Yeah," he said, "it is."

He rubbed for five minutes, his strong fingers working down her spine. She moaned. Then he untucked her T-shirt and began working his way up, under the cloth.

"That's nicer," she said and rolled over on her back.

He kissed her forehead. She kissed his mouth, feeling the tickle of the moustache. It was a sensation she'd gotten used to, one she liked a lot.

Healy kissed her back. His hand, still inside her T-shirt, worked its way up. He disarmed bombs; he had a very smooth touch.

"Rune!" Courtney shouted in a shrill voice.

They both jumped.

"Read me a story, Rune!"

Her hands covered her face. "Jesus, Sam, what'm I going to do?"