Behind the Bonehouse by Sally Wright Page A

copy to Carl and another to Jane, then sat down again by the fireplace, where he thumbed through a
National Geographic
he’d picked up from a side table, while Bob Harrison put the cover on the tape recorder, and Carl and Jane read the contract.
    Jane finished first. She was a university librarian who’d been reading since she was four, and she sat slumped against the blue flowered sofa, tears gathering in her eyes, her hands clenched on top of the contract in her lap.
    When Carl looked up and lit another Lucky, Jane said, “You ought to sign it. It’s the best resolution you can hope for, and nobody else would have to know what it is you’ve done.”
    â€œDon’t expect me to give in to this, simply because you—”
    â€œ
I
was born and raised here! You weren’t. I don’t want one more person to know what you’ve done. How could you
do
it!” Her face was flushed, but her lips looked bloodless, as she glared at Carl, on the other end of the sofa with a grim but petulant smile on his face.
    No one else said anything. And Carl read the three page contract again, taking his time, glancing at Garner Honeycutt twice, before he said he’d try to reach Rasmusson at home.
    He walked out to the front hall, then turned toward the rear of the house, and was gone for fifteen minutes. The other three sat in silence, unable to contemplate small talk, tapping feet and staring into space.
    Carl came back in, and sat on the sofa, and crossed his legs before he spoke. “If you make one addition I will agree to sign this now.”
    Bob said, “What is that?”
    â€œThat I will not be liable for legal costs, other than my own, pertaining to this document.”
    Garner said, “We would not be willing to entertain such a requirement concerning action brought about by your possible infringement of this second document.”
    â€œNo, I mean at this time. Bob’s legal fees relating to the work you’ve done and are doing now. Drawing this up, evaluating the first contract. I want it stated clearly that you can’t come at me for costs.”
    â€œBob?” Garner Honeycutt looked at Bob, his eyebrows raised inquisitively, making him look like a wild hare for a moment, nose quivering in the air.
    â€œThat’s okay with me.” Bob sat upright in his side chair, his spine a steel rod, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as though he needed to control them, his feet set squarely on the floor, ready to move fast.
    â€œIn that case, with Mr. Harrison’s consent, I shall compose a draft of an addendum for consideration.” Garner pulled a legal pad from his briefcase and wrote for a moment with a ballpoint pen.
    No one said a word while Garner handed his draft to Bob first, and then Carl.
    Both nodded, and Carl handed it back. Honeycutt asked if there were a typewriter in the house.
    Jane said, “I’ll show you,” and led him across the hall to the study on the other side of the front door.
    When Garner came back, he stapled addendums to the two originals and three copies, which Carl and Bob both signed. He had them both initial every page in every copy, and then Jane signed the bottom of the last page of the contract, and the addendum as well, as a witness. Garner handed an original to Carl and another to Bob, then put the others in a folder and slipped it into his briefcase.
    Bob stood and picked up the tape recorder, and started toward the door—before he stopped and turned and looked Carl in the eye. “You fooled me. I’ll give you that.”
    â€œThat’s the first time I’ve heard you admit a mistake!”
    Bob stared at him and shook his head as though that didn’t deserve a reply. Then he and Garner walked out the front door, closing it quickly behind them.
    Jane was standing, clutching her apron, her eyes burning into Carl’s. “I wish I could say I was as surprised as Bob.”
    â€œShut