drive to their destination surprised Eric. But then, when not waiting on a stopped school bus for every farm kid living on every back road along the way, it made perfect sense.
The old man parted the curtain and strained to see who stood in the driveway of the Kane place, so-called despite lacking Kanes for over twenty years. But what else could it be called? He knew Mary’s truck but not the car parked behind it. Curious as to whether she’d finally found a buyer, he went to his study to retrieve the binoculars he used to identify birds out on his walks. Positioned by the window again, he put them to his eyes to find that they’d gone inside. He licked his dry lips and thought about a glass of water, but feared if he did the vehicles would be gone when he got back.
He sat and waited, sweating in the heat and trying not to think of the drink, the desire for which had increased ten-fold once denied. The window air-conditioning unit rattled in place, doing its best but no match for this day. He felt nervous and irritable, telling himself that his failing eyes had played a trick on him, that when they came back out he’d see that the man with Mary was a perfect stranger. His legs began to feel stiff, so he risked pulling up a chair to the window and sitting down. Soon he was dozing, his head dropping down to his chest only to jerk back up, then repeating the process. Of all the negative consequences of original sin, he thought, getting old and feeble had to top the list. But no. He knew of worse things, over-familiar companions that would never leave him.
He finally saw motion in the porch and put the binoculars to his eyes again. His heartbeat accelerated sharply and he felt faint. Standing next to Mary, very close he couldn’t help but notice, was George Kane, but George Kane of twenty years ago when... as he willed his hands still and looked more closely, he could make out differences in his build. Fit but not as thickly muscled as George, and taller. The light brown hair was the same, and his wide smile and slightly flattened nose similar, but the mouth was Maggie’s, unfortunately feminine for a child but an asset on a man that put stock in those things. So it had to be Eric, his son.
His surviving son.
He had always liked Eric, had even read some of his stories, shocked by the violence but impressed with the same sharp mind he recalled, still evident in the depth of the characters and their moral and philosophical quandaries. Just that a lot of gore had to be hosed off to see it clearly. And he also saw a man struggling desperately within those pages.
He watched them get into their vehicles and drive away, and told himself that Eric had been in the area and wanted to see the old place. With that particular itch scratched, he would already be heading back home. Pittsburgh, he thought it was. He refused to consider that he’d actually been looking to buy. It wouldn’t change anything, but would make it all so much harder to have to see and talk to him. He felt wetness on his cheeks and wiped it away brusquely with his sleeve.
Stop it. You made your bed, now lie in it.
He did go to his bed and lay down, exhausted, and troubled at the presence of Eric in Lincoln Corners, whether he planned to stay or not. A mind could grow used to about anything, given enough time to adjust. As long as nothing entered from the outside that challenged its right to be. Eric introduced that variable, and despite feeling the weariness in his marrow, he lay awake under a rattling ceiling fan for a long time, staring at the past.
Chapter 6
The boy woke up, the sun streaming through his window, and spent a few minutes lying there and thinking. Last night had been the worst he’d ever experienced. If not for the sun and the fact that he was alive and breathing, he would have sworn that the man had actually appeared. Not to kill him, but his parents. Suddenly fearful, he nearly jumped out
The old man parted the curtain and strained to see who stood in the driveway of the Kane place, so-called despite lacking Kanes for over twenty years. But what else could it be called? He knew Mary’s truck but not the car parked behind it. Curious as to whether she’d finally found a buyer, he went to his study to retrieve the binoculars he used to identify birds out on his walks. Positioned by the window again, he put them to his eyes to find that they’d gone inside. He licked his dry lips and thought about a glass of water, but feared if he did the vehicles would be gone when he got back.
He sat and waited, sweating in the heat and trying not to think of the drink, the desire for which had increased ten-fold once denied. The window air-conditioning unit rattled in place, doing its best but no match for this day. He felt nervous and irritable, telling himself that his failing eyes had played a trick on him, that when they came back out he’d see that the man with Mary was a perfect stranger. His legs began to feel stiff, so he risked pulling up a chair to the window and sitting down. Soon he was dozing, his head dropping down to his chest only to jerk back up, then repeating the process. Of all the negative consequences of original sin, he thought, getting old and feeble had to top the list. But no. He knew of worse things, over-familiar companions that would never leave him.
He finally saw motion in the porch and put the binoculars to his eyes again. His heartbeat accelerated sharply and he felt faint. Standing next to Mary, very close he couldn’t help but notice, was George Kane, but George Kane of twenty years ago when... as he willed his hands still and looked more closely, he could make out differences in his build. Fit but not as thickly muscled as George, and taller. The light brown hair was the same, and his wide smile and slightly flattened nose similar, but the mouth was Maggie’s, unfortunately feminine for a child but an asset on a man that put stock in those things. So it had to be Eric, his son.
His surviving son.
He had always liked Eric, had even read some of his stories, shocked by the violence but impressed with the same sharp mind he recalled, still evident in the depth of the characters and their moral and philosophical quandaries. Just that a lot of gore had to be hosed off to see it clearly. And he also saw a man struggling desperately within those pages.
He watched them get into their vehicles and drive away, and told himself that Eric had been in the area and wanted to see the old place. With that particular itch scratched, he would already be heading back home. Pittsburgh, he thought it was. He refused to consider that he’d actually been looking to buy. It wouldn’t change anything, but would make it all so much harder to have to see and talk to him. He felt wetness on his cheeks and wiped it away brusquely with his sleeve.
Stop it. You made your bed, now lie in it.
He did go to his bed and lay down, exhausted, and troubled at the presence of Eric in Lincoln Corners, whether he planned to stay or not. A mind could grow used to about anything, given enough time to adjust. As long as nothing entered from the outside that challenged its right to be. Eric introduced that variable, and despite feeling the weariness in his marrow, he lay awake under a rattling ceiling fan for a long time, staring at the past.
Chapter 6
The boy woke up, the sun streaming through his window, and spent a few minutes lying there and thinking. Last night had been the worst he’d ever experienced. If not for the sun and the fact that he was alive and breathing, he would have sworn that the man had actually appeared. Not to kill him, but his parents. Suddenly fearful, he nearly jumped out
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