thought, Don’t go in there, but she did, sliding, not perfectly in control.
Do you have any idea who you are dealing with, the man said, made stupid by his slur.
I’ll call you back, Dial said.
She rushed back to the waiting room door where she could see the boy had taken out his papers and was laying them out beside him on the seat. Above his head a silent television displayed a picture of Susan Selkirk: PHILLY BOMB BLAST. 2 DEAD.
The woman with the pearls was at her shoulder, her eyes also on the set.
What happened? Dial whispered.
Crazy bitch blew herself up.
Here?
Up near Temple. Fool.
When?
She shook her head, meaning Who could say. She held out her newspaper parcel as if a deal had been concluded. Caught in the weird focus of her baleful gaze, Dial opened her change purse and gave her three singles.
God bless you, said the woman, and thrust the paper into Dial’s hand.
You’ve got blood poisoning, Dial said.
The woman started, then raised her upper lip to laugh.
Your leg, Dial said.
The woman shook her head and began to laugh uncontrollably, staggering a little as she made her way out to the street.
Dial untangled the newspaper and was not at all surprised to find it empty.
Who was that, the boy asked when she returned.
Susan Selkirk was making bombs! She wanted me to bring her child to a bomb factory.
I’ve got to call New York, she said.
She balled up the newspaper and thrust it in the trash. When she looked up her yearbook picture was on television. She thought, They think I’m blown to pieces. The boy was still sorting out his papers. She snatched one of his papers up. What’s that? she asked, forcing him to look.
D-i-l-e, he said, holding up her card.
The boy’s picture was on the screen right now.
I know, she said. I really dig your papers. Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were everywhere, on the card, the screen, the woman in the street who was now walking toward a man with a suitcase.
The news finished. She said, I won’t be a moment, baby. Are you OK?
He looked up. What a strange contained creature he was, folding up his papers so they were mostly the size of a cigarette pack, stacking them carefully on top of one another. I’m fine. He smiled at her, holding up his left hand to show his splayed fingers and his rubber bands. I’m cool, he said.
At the Belvedere, they had seen the news, or not. They knew Susan Selkirk was dead, perhaps. The phone was answered by a new man, colder, clearer, with a Brooklyn accent. Could it have been the cops so fast?
Hi ya, Anna. What’s up?
She had not even said her name.
I was instructed to come here to Philadelphia, she told whoever it was. I was just doing what I was asked to do by the family.
Anna, Mrs. Selkirk put the child in your care for two hours.
Would a cop say that? Wouldn’t he know it would scare her? In her mind’s eye she could see the bus ticket, the handwriting. She understood: Susan Selkirk had used her to steal her child.
So, the man said, and of course he was a cop. So, what are your plans now, Anna?
I’m coming back on the bus, she said, thinking she had a Massachusetts state bursary check—two thousand dollars—in her purse.
Uh-huh. Back to the city. What time, Anna?
Oh, I’ll be on the next one, she said. Up the road there was a snaky red neon: CHECKS CASHED.
So you’re near the bus station now, the man said.
She could see the wash of police light on the shining hallway floor.
See you then, she said. She hung up.
What next? the boy asked when she returned to him. He was already binding his rubber bands around his papers as she crouched in front of him. Was it weird for one so young to be so neat? She could see the street over his shoulder. The woman with the pearls was sitting on the hood of a police car.
We’ll stay in a hotel, she said. How about that?
You said we were going to a scuzzy house, he said, but he smiled at her again, his eyes so wide and trusting she wanted to tell him not to be
Do you have any idea who you are dealing with, the man said, made stupid by his slur.
I’ll call you back, Dial said.
She rushed back to the waiting room door where she could see the boy had taken out his papers and was laying them out beside him on the seat. Above his head a silent television displayed a picture of Susan Selkirk: PHILLY BOMB BLAST. 2 DEAD.
The woman with the pearls was at her shoulder, her eyes also on the set.
What happened? Dial whispered.
Crazy bitch blew herself up.
Here?
Up near Temple. Fool.
When?
She shook her head, meaning Who could say. She held out her newspaper parcel as if a deal had been concluded. Caught in the weird focus of her baleful gaze, Dial opened her change purse and gave her three singles.
God bless you, said the woman, and thrust the paper into Dial’s hand.
You’ve got blood poisoning, Dial said.
The woman started, then raised her upper lip to laugh.
Your leg, Dial said.
The woman shook her head and began to laugh uncontrollably, staggering a little as she made her way out to the street.
Dial untangled the newspaper and was not at all surprised to find it empty.
Who was that, the boy asked when she returned.
Susan Selkirk was making bombs! She wanted me to bring her child to a bomb factory.
I’ve got to call New York, she said.
She balled up the newspaper and thrust it in the trash. When she looked up her yearbook picture was on television. She thought, They think I’m blown to pieces. The boy was still sorting out his papers. She snatched one of his papers up. What’s that? she asked, forcing him to look.
D-i-l-e, he said, holding up her card.
The boy’s picture was on the screen right now.
I know, she said. I really dig your papers. Her heart was pounding. Her eyes were everywhere, on the card, the screen, the woman in the street who was now walking toward a man with a suitcase.
The news finished. She said, I won’t be a moment, baby. Are you OK?
He looked up. What a strange contained creature he was, folding up his papers so they were mostly the size of a cigarette pack, stacking them carefully on top of one another. I’m fine. He smiled at her, holding up his left hand to show his splayed fingers and his rubber bands. I’m cool, he said.
At the Belvedere, they had seen the news, or not. They knew Susan Selkirk was dead, perhaps. The phone was answered by a new man, colder, clearer, with a Brooklyn accent. Could it have been the cops so fast?
Hi ya, Anna. What’s up?
She had not even said her name.
I was instructed to come here to Philadelphia, she told whoever it was. I was just doing what I was asked to do by the family.
Anna, Mrs. Selkirk put the child in your care for two hours.
Would a cop say that? Wouldn’t he know it would scare her? In her mind’s eye she could see the bus ticket, the handwriting. She understood: Susan Selkirk had used her to steal her child.
So, the man said, and of course he was a cop. So, what are your plans now, Anna?
I’m coming back on the bus, she said, thinking she had a Massachusetts state bursary check—two thousand dollars—in her purse.
Uh-huh. Back to the city. What time, Anna?
Oh, I’ll be on the next one, she said. Up the road there was a snaky red neon: CHECKS CASHED.
So you’re near the bus station now, the man said.
She could see the wash of police light on the shining hallway floor.
See you then, she said. She hung up.
What next? the boy asked when she returned to him. He was already binding his rubber bands around his papers as she crouched in front of him. Was it weird for one so young to be so neat? She could see the street over his shoulder. The woman with the pearls was sitting on the hood of a police car.
We’ll stay in a hotel, she said. How about that?
You said we were going to a scuzzy house, he said, but he smiled at her again, his eyes so wide and trusting she wanted to tell him not to be
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