Читать книгу The Editor - Steven Rowley, Steven Rowley - Страница 8

The room was warm, too warm, Russell thought, to share with a dead body, but no one seemed concerned. Guests wore their coats cinched tight at the waists, as if taking them off would obligate them to stay. In the back of the room a giant silver percolator was brewing coffee, and there was another kettle for tea. His mother, having had three cups black, did laps around the room like the women who exercised inside the Pyramid Shopping Center—mall milers, they called them—somehow connecting with anyone in her path and simultaneously avoiding everyone.

“Look at her,” Russell said, watching his mother’s path from his vantage point by the casket. “When this is over I swear I’m going to lock her in a room.”

“Who?” Sean tried to follow his brother’s moving gaze.

“Mom.”

“Mom? Why?”

“Why?” Wasn’t it obvious? She’s all they had left. He tugged at his tie. “Is it warm in here?”

“Very.”

Russell ran his hand across the closed casket; his father had it worst of all, stuffed inside in the suit he hated and wore only to church. Or maybe he had it best. If only Russell could give his father some air. “She has to answer some things.”

Sean offered his hand to the Speighs as they approached and gave him and his brother, the sons of Dick Mulligan, a solemn nod. “Thank you for coming.”

“Dick was a good man,” Mr. Speigh said, his nose twice the size it once was, not from the lie but from age. “It’s a shame what he d—”

“… what happened,” Mrs. Speigh corrected, tugging at her husband’s arm. No one wanted to say it out loud.

“Your father had some of my tools …”

“Of course,” Sean said. Eventually they would clean out the garage.

“Another time, Arthur.” Fed up, Mrs. Speigh gave her husband a full yank, pulling him toward the door.

Sean waited until their old neighbors were out of earshot. “What things? What does Mom have to answer?”

“Questions! She has to answer questions. Without circling the room, without walking away. Face-to-face. It’s time.”

“Now? You think now is the time. In the wake of …”

In the wake of, well, this wake.

“YES.”

“And how will she answer them, these questions, locked in a room.”

Russell stared at his brother, his eyes red, cried out, but overrun with inspiration. “I’m going to lock myself in with her.”

And that’s when the idea for The Quarantine took hold. As his mother, on her umpteenth lap, passed the table with the cups and the saucers and decided they needed restacking. As Sean removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves like a politician hitting the campaign trail. As his sister, Fiona, held everyone’s hand and listened as the same drab stories were told again and again and again. As his own head throbbed with torment and heartbreak. A quarantine. Russell wouldn’t go home, back to California. He would stay in Ithaca, secured inside a room with his mother until there were no more secrets, until they knew each other as well as two people could. As two people with the same blood should. It was the only way he could make sense of the gunshot that took half his father’s face.

It needed to shatter everything.