myself. I just plain stopped giving a damn. Like a motor stopping. Running down. I don’t know.”
“I saw that woman.”
“I know you did. I remember seeing you in front of her place. Memory of that period is all… misty. And I don’t get things in the right order. But I remember seeing you there. Running away from you. But she didn’t do it. Every thing had slipped a long, long way before I found her. She just helped me find bottom—slide all the way down.” He managed a faint smile. “It was easy.”
“Grady told me about your farewell performance in the office.”
“I can just barely remember that. I did a great job. It was just a few days after she disappeared. I don’t know how many.”
“Strange girl.”
Troy stared into space. “There should be a better word than that. I think about how it was. And sometimes it makes me want to throw up. It couldn’t have been me. But I’ve got this fear, Mike. That if I ever saw her again… I’d either kill her, or it would be the same thing all over again. But this time… there’s not as much to lose. You can only lose your career and your wife one time.”
“Maybe it will be easier… in one sense, not having so much to lose.”
“It’s a big comfort to me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snotty. I’m dead, Mike. In a special way. Walking, breathing, eating, but dead. You’ve been swell. And there’s nothing more to say about the whole thing.”
“Delayed combat fatigue?”
“That’s a wild idea.”
“Is it? Take it this way. They didn’t kill you. They just twisted you a little. New values. But the values didn’t fit you, Troy. And it took you a long time to find out. Then the roof fell in.”
Troy studied him. “Interesting. You know, if I was anxious to find an excuse for myself, boy, I’d be hanging on every word. But somehow I don’t give a damn about the reasons. I know what happened. It happened. I didn’t dream it. Keep your psychiatrics.”
“You must be better, you’re so much nastier.”
For the first months after Troy left he wrote at dutiful intervals, and his letters had somewhat the flavor of those a boy might write home from army training. He had decided on Ravenna, Florida. Big opportunities for growth. He was working for Brail Brothers Construction, living in a used house-trailer he bought, doing a lot of weekend fishing. The letters became less frequent and had a more distant tone. In August of 1954, he started his own small firm, doing foundation work on subcontract. Troy Jamison, Builder. They got a card at Christmas, with a short note. He was busy and prospering, had made a small investment in land and was putting up three low-cost spec houses.
In late March he wrote them that he had married Mrs. Mary Dow, a widow. The next communication was a Christmas card, without note, from Troy and Mary Jamison. It looked elegant and expensive. And others in 1956 and 1957 and 1958, except that in 1958 he knew about Buttons and no cards went out.
About two weeks before the whole thing was over, after Buttons was back in the hospital again, a letter came to the house for her from Bonita Linder, and Mike opened it. It was a warm, amusing, chatty letter, and she sounded a little bit cross about not hearing from Buttons in months.
It made Mike realize that it wasn’t entirely fair to leave Bunny, who after all the years was still Buttons’ best friend, completely out of it. By then, through that sardonic miracle, there was enough money, and he had quit the paper in order to spend more time with her. And he was trying desperately to be steady and dependable and reliable and unhysterical about the whole thing. So that evening he had placed a call to her in Colorado, and tried to tell her how things were with Buttons. But in the middle of it something broke, and she arrived two days later, leaving the girls and her three-year-old son on the ranch, and moved in and took over with a compassionate efficiency that made
“I saw that woman.”
“I know you did. I remember seeing you in front of her place. Memory of that period is all… misty. And I don’t get things in the right order. But I remember seeing you there. Running away from you. But she didn’t do it. Every thing had slipped a long, long way before I found her. She just helped me find bottom—slide all the way down.” He managed a faint smile. “It was easy.”
“Grady told me about your farewell performance in the office.”
“I can just barely remember that. I did a great job. It was just a few days after she disappeared. I don’t know how many.”
“Strange girl.”
Troy stared into space. “There should be a better word than that. I think about how it was. And sometimes it makes me want to throw up. It couldn’t have been me. But I’ve got this fear, Mike. That if I ever saw her again… I’d either kill her, or it would be the same thing all over again. But this time… there’s not as much to lose. You can only lose your career and your wife one time.”
“Maybe it will be easier… in one sense, not having so much to lose.”
“It’s a big comfort to me. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snotty. I’m dead, Mike. In a special way. Walking, breathing, eating, but dead. You’ve been swell. And there’s nothing more to say about the whole thing.”
“Delayed combat fatigue?”
“That’s a wild idea.”
“Is it? Take it this way. They didn’t kill you. They just twisted you a little. New values. But the values didn’t fit you, Troy. And it took you a long time to find out. Then the roof fell in.”
Troy studied him. “Interesting. You know, if I was anxious to find an excuse for myself, boy, I’d be hanging on every word. But somehow I don’t give a damn about the reasons. I know what happened. It happened. I didn’t dream it. Keep your psychiatrics.”
“You must be better, you’re so much nastier.”
For the first months after Troy left he wrote at dutiful intervals, and his letters had somewhat the flavor of those a boy might write home from army training. He had decided on Ravenna, Florida. Big opportunities for growth. He was working for Brail Brothers Construction, living in a used house-trailer he bought, doing a lot of weekend fishing. The letters became less frequent and had a more distant tone. In August of 1954, he started his own small firm, doing foundation work on subcontract. Troy Jamison, Builder. They got a card at Christmas, with a short note. He was busy and prospering, had made a small investment in land and was putting up three low-cost spec houses.
In late March he wrote them that he had married Mrs. Mary Dow, a widow. The next communication was a Christmas card, without note, from Troy and Mary Jamison. It looked elegant and expensive. And others in 1956 and 1957 and 1958, except that in 1958 he knew about Buttons and no cards went out.
About two weeks before the whole thing was over, after Buttons was back in the hospital again, a letter came to the house for her from Bonita Linder, and Mike opened it. It was a warm, amusing, chatty letter, and she sounded a little bit cross about not hearing from Buttons in months.
It made Mike realize that it wasn’t entirely fair to leave Bunny, who after all the years was still Buttons’ best friend, completely out of it. By then, through that sardonic miracle, there was enough money, and he had quit the paper in order to spend more time with her. And he was trying desperately to be steady and dependable and reliable and unhysterical about the whole thing. So that evening he had placed a call to her in Colorado, and tried to tell her how things were with Buttons. But in the middle of it something broke, and she arrived two days later, leaving the girls and her three-year-old son on the ranch, and moved in and took over with a compassionate efficiency that made
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