hear, outlining in great detail the extent of our search and generally sounding a whole lot like my father.
“You just don't do that to people,” Caulder said, finally losing some steam.
But Smitty Tibbs hadn't heard a word of it. Caulder stepped out of his way, and Smitty went home.
Then Caulder got back into the car and slid down in the seat, his head back against it, sighing. He looked at me. Neither of us said anything. He started the car, backed, pulled into his driveway, and turned off the ignition, all without a word.
“You want to come over?” I asked him. I was feeling kind of worn out and cross. Maybe a little tired of the game.
“It's late,” he said. “If my sisters are still over there, send them home.” We got out of the car. He stood there on the driveway, looking over toward Smitty's house. A light had just gone on upstairs. “Sometimes,” Caulder said, “I think this is going to drive me crazy. He's probably sitting up there in his room, making faces at himself in the mirror and laughing his head off.”
“Why do you do this?” I asked him. “It's not your job to babysit Smitty Tibbs. Why don't you just let him take care of himself?”
He turned to me and blew a little cloud of steam into the night air. “I suppose you think we should have just gone home and left him?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” I stuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “It's just—who made you his keeper? I mean, we could have just gone to the movie without him, tonight. It was your idea to take him. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe I just thought he'd like a little chance. Just to live, you know? I'm not his keeper.” He looked back over his shoulder at Smitty's house. “I'm his friend.”
I don't know what went through my mind just then—a thousand things mostly having to do with my concept of friendship, and the fact that, I guess, I never really thought of Smitty as an actual human being. And maybe some jealousy. “I thought, to be friends, you had to really know each other. A relationship,” I said finally. “Like you and me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, it's never going to be like you and me, is it?” He sighed, and mist curled around his face. “I can't explain it to you,” he said to me. “How can you explain why you love somebody?”
“You love him? You don't even know him. You don't even know if there's anybody in there to love.”
He laughed. “Do you ever really know anybody?” he asked, and I shivered in the dark. “Go home,” Caulder said. “I'll see you tomorrow. I'll watch you to your door.”
He was still standing there when I climbed my steps and put my hand on the knob. I gave him a little wave. “And I love you too,” he called to me. He was gone before I could answer.
The girls were gone. Only Charlie was still up, all wrapped up in his plaid robe with my mom's slippers on his feet. He was sitting at the piano as I locked the door behind me, softly playing the Adagio from Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique .
I took off my coat and hung it in the closet, then I bumped him over and sat beside him on the bench.
“Don't get too close,” he warned, leaning away so he shouldn't breathe on me.
“Mom and Dad home yet?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said.
I sighed. “This is not cheerful music,” I told him.
“It's loving music,” he said, closing his eyes as he played. “It's gentle.”
As he played, I looked around the sterile living room. “I wonder if this could ever end up seeming like home,” I said softly.
He looked at me and smiled. “As the prophet said—'no man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom…'”
“Oh, that's helpful,” I said, and I got up.
“Be happy, Ginny,” he told me. He dropped his hands into his lap and turned to face me. “This is home. This is where we are. This is the place we store our love. You just have to be
“You just don't do that to people,” Caulder said, finally losing some steam.
But Smitty Tibbs hadn't heard a word of it. Caulder stepped out of his way, and Smitty went home.
Then Caulder got back into the car and slid down in the seat, his head back against it, sighing. He looked at me. Neither of us said anything. He started the car, backed, pulled into his driveway, and turned off the ignition, all without a word.
“You want to come over?” I asked him. I was feeling kind of worn out and cross. Maybe a little tired of the game.
“It's late,” he said. “If my sisters are still over there, send them home.” We got out of the car. He stood there on the driveway, looking over toward Smitty's house. A light had just gone on upstairs. “Sometimes,” Caulder said, “I think this is going to drive me crazy. He's probably sitting up there in his room, making faces at himself in the mirror and laughing his head off.”
“Why do you do this?” I asked him. “It's not your job to babysit Smitty Tibbs. Why don't you just let him take care of himself?”
He turned to me and blew a little cloud of steam into the night air. “I suppose you think we should have just gone home and left him?”
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” I stuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket. “It's just—who made you his keeper? I mean, we could have just gone to the movie without him, tonight. It was your idea to take him. What did you think was going to happen?”
“I don't know,” he said. “Maybe I just thought he'd like a little chance. Just to live, you know? I'm not his keeper.” He looked back over his shoulder at Smitty's house. “I'm his friend.”
I don't know what went through my mind just then—a thousand things mostly having to do with my concept of friendship, and the fact that, I guess, I never really thought of Smitty as an actual human being. And maybe some jealousy. “I thought, to be friends, you had to really know each other. A relationship,” I said finally. “Like you and me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Well, it's never going to be like you and me, is it?” He sighed, and mist curled around his face. “I can't explain it to you,” he said to me. “How can you explain why you love somebody?”
“You love him? You don't even know him. You don't even know if there's anybody in there to love.”
He laughed. “Do you ever really know anybody?” he asked, and I shivered in the dark. “Go home,” Caulder said. “I'll see you tomorrow. I'll watch you to your door.”
He was still standing there when I climbed my steps and put my hand on the knob. I gave him a little wave. “And I love you too,” he called to me. He was gone before I could answer.
The girls were gone. Only Charlie was still up, all wrapped up in his plaid robe with my mom's slippers on his feet. He was sitting at the piano as I locked the door behind me, softly playing the Adagio from Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique .
I took off my coat and hung it in the closet, then I bumped him over and sat beside him on the bench.
“Don't get too close,” he warned, leaning away so he shouldn't breathe on me.
“Mom and Dad home yet?” I asked.
“Of course not,” he said.
I sighed. “This is not cheerful music,” I told him.
“It's loving music,” he said, closing his eyes as he played. “It's gentle.”
As he played, I looked around the sterile living room. “I wonder if this could ever end up seeming like home,” I said softly.
He looked at me and smiled. “As the prophet said—'no man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom…'”
“Oh, that's helpful,” I said, and I got up.
“Be happy, Ginny,” he told me. He dropped his hands into his lap and turned to face me. “This is home. This is where we are. This is the place we store our love. You just have to be
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