Four Octobers Page 12

  “I asked if you would be so kind as to tell the class the name of the largest country in South America.”

  JJ leaned forward and whispered something, but Andy didn’t hear what it was

  “I… I’m not sure,” Andy replied, shaking his head.

  Mrs. Doyle suddenly smacked the edge of his desk with her pointer. The loud snap made Andy jump again, and he cringed in his seat, expecting to be hit. To his knowledge, Mrs. Doyle had never actually whacked anyone with her pointer, but she always threatened to, and like Andy’s mom was always saying, there was a first time for everything.

  “You haven’t been paying attention, have you, Mr. Draper?”

  Mrs. Doyle took another step closer… so close Andy caught a whiff of her rose-scented perfume. The aroma was heavy and cloying. It almost overpowered him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, gulping air as he stared up at her. The ceiling behind Mrs. Doyle’s head went out of focus and began to spin with splinters of light shooting off in all directions. Pressure burned like hot coals behind his eyes as Mrs. Doyle loomed above him, her face expanding until it filled his entire field of vision.

  With a sharp intake of air, Andy tried to speak, but nothing came out. The walls of the classroom blazed with white, flickering flames as they closed in on him. Then, with an audible whoosh, everything went black.

  ****

  Some time later, Andy awoke in the nurse’s room. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten there, but he was lying flat on a fresh sheet on the cot against the wall. The window above his head was open a crack, and a cool breeze curled around his face. The left side of his head throbbed like he had a toothache, and his ears were ringing. He reached up and gingerly touched a spot above his left ear. A lumpy knot the size of a half-dollar had formed beneath his hair. He winced and sucked in a quick breath, surprised not to see blood on his fingers when he took his hand away.

  “You bumped your head on the desk when you fainted,” Mrs. Rivers, the school nurse, said. “Let me get you some ice for that.”

  I fainted? Andy thought but couldn’t say.

  He rolled his head to one side and watched silently as the heavy-set woman filled a cloth bag with ice from the freezer. She had a kindly smile when she came back to the cot and handed it to him.

  “Let me help you with that,” Mrs. Rivers said as she eased him into a sitting position and gently pressed the ice pack to the back of his head. The spike of cold made his neck and shoulders ache, but the blazing pain behind his ear lessened a bit as the cold began to penetrate.

  “You’re going to have quite a bump there,” Mrs. Rivers said.

  Andy grunted and closed his eyes for a moment. In his mind’s eye, all he could see was a mental image of a granite tombstone with his last name carved on it.

  “I called your mother,” Mrs. Rivers said. “She said she’d be by—” She checked her wrist watch like she was taking his pulse. “—in ten minutes to take you home.”

  Andy nodded but still hadn’t found his voice. He wanted desperately to say something. He knew it was important, but he had no idea where or how to start. It didn’t really matter because Mrs. Rivers wasn’t the person to talk to about this. She was an adult, and like any other adult, she would no doubt tell his parents if he revealed anything about what he had done last night.

  The problem was, Andy was also certain that he couldn’t talk about what was bothering him with his parents or his brother or with Jimmy or any of his other friends. For the first time in his life, he felt completely alone, and the feeling terrified him.

  “I’ve got it,” Andy said as he slid his fingers under Mrs. Rivers’s hand and pressed the ice bag against the side of his head. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at her. She was hovering over him the same way his mother hovered over him whenever he was sick.

  Andy wished she would go away. He didn’t want or need her help. He didn’t need anyone’s help. Maybe this was just a part of growing up, but he realized that he was going to have to deal with this on his own because the only person who would be able to tell him what it all meant—if she wanted to and if he dared to ask—was Miss Henry, and one thing for sure, Andy was determined never to see or speak with her ever again.

  ****

  Andy’s mother picked him up and, when they got home, he told her that he still wasn’t feeling well and needed to sleep. Without another word, he went upstairs to his bedroom. She told him if he wasn’t any better after lunch she was going to take him to Doctor Brown’s for a quick checkup.

  After drawing the shades, Andy flopped down onto the bed and closed his eyes. Not bothering to put on his pajamas, he just lay there in the semi-darkness, listening to the feathery rushing sound of blood in his ears.

  There was no way he was going to be able to sleep. His mind was roiling with thoughts and fears about what he had discovered. It scared him that he was no closer to figuring it all out, and on a deep level, he was sure that he wouldn’t like the answer when and if he ever did.

  What was Miss Henry doing, putting flowers on his uncle’s grave?

  Why was she standing there, crying?

  What possible connection could there be between his family and her?

  And why had he never heard about Robert Matthew Draper?

  Who was he, and why did he die so young?

  All afternoon, Andy lay in bed and stared at the closed window shades. They glowed with a dull, buttery light that was bright enough to sting his eyes. He watched the shadows of the window frames slip slowly to one side as the sun shifted westward. Sometime after lunch—a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich, which he hardly touched—the telephone rang. The sudden sound drilled into Andy’s ears, making him jump and sit up quickly in bed.

  He didn’t know how he knew, but this meant trouble.

  From downstairs, he listened to the buzzing sound of his mother’s voice as she talked on the phone. He couldn’t make out anything she said until she said “Good-bye.” Seconds later, the soft tread of her feet sounded on the stairs. A light rapping sounded on his door. He got off the bed and stood up, his knees almost buckling.

  “Andy?… Are you awake?”

  His mother eased the door open and stuck her head into his bedroom. When she saw Andy standing by the edge of the bed, she swung the door open and entered. He just stared at her, his mouth hanging open as if he was about to say something but couldn’t.

  “Feeling any better?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Andy shrugged like he didn’t really understand what she had asked.

  “Well, that was the strangest phone call I’ve ever had,” his mother said after an awkward moment. “That was Elsie Henry on the phone.”

  Andy started to ask, who? but he knew he couldn’t pull one over on his mother.

  “She was calling, she said, because you had some work to finish up at her place.”

  His mother walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. The bed springs creaked beneath her weight. She started to reach out to clasp his hand but pulled her hand back. Her shoulders slumped. She looked defeated, resigned.

  Andy knew he wouldn’t be able to speak as he stared at his mother, wishing this could all be a dream, and that he would awaken from it soon.

  “I didn’t know you had anything to do with Miss Henry,” his mother said mildly. “Why would she be calling here like that?”

  “I—I’m not sure,” Andy said, surprising himself with the sound of his own voice.

  “You’re doing chores for her?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Andy nodded.

  “You never mentioned anything about that to me. But I didn’t like the way she sounded, like you owed her something.”

  Andy noticed a curious tone in his mother’s voice—a tone he hadn’t heard there before. It was like she was holding herself back because, if she didn’t, her voice would tremble and break from …

  —from what?

  Andy knew this was his
chance to start getting answers to the questions that were whirling inside his head.

  —What does Miss Henry have to do with Uncle Arnie, and why is she putting flowers on his grave at night?

  —And who is Robert Matthew Draper?

  —Why is he buried out at Hillside Cemetery?

  —Why hadn’t I ever heard about him before?

  These and other questions exploded in Andy’s mind like a string of firecrackers, but he remained absolutely silent and just stood there, trembling inside and staring blankly at his mother. Her eyes were moist and large in the darkened room. Her face looked unusually pale, almost drained of blood as she leaned across the bed toward him.

  “So tell me— What kind of work have you been doing for her?”

  Beneath her mild tone, there was a hard edge that frightened him.

  “I didn’t know you even knew her. I thought you and your friends stayed clear of her.”

  “We do.” Andy’s voice caught in his throat. When he swallowed, it hurt. “I was—just the other day, she—she asked if I’d mow the lawn and do some other stuff for her, and I did.”

  “Really,” his mother said, nodding solemnly. She placed her hand over her mouth and just stared at Andy like she couldn’t quite focus on him. Her eyes were glistening.

  “It wasn’t anything… you know, I just …” He shrugged again as knots of tension tightened his shoulders and back. “She’s just a crazy old lady, but I figured, what the heck? I probably should help her out, you know? She promised to pay me.”

  “I see,” his mother said with a nod. “I see.”

  She sat back on the bed and, glancing at the ceiling as though struggling to collect her thoughts, heaved a deep sigh. After a lengthening moment, she looked at Andy again. Beneath the softness of her gaze, he saw something that chilled him.

  “We’ll talk about this once your father gets home,” she said firmly. “Until then, I want you to promise me one thing.”

  Andy could only nod. His neck felt frozen.

  “I want you to promise me that you’ll never, ever speak to that woman or go anywhere near her again. Do you understand?”

  His mother’s tone of voice was harsh, like it always was whenever she disciplined him; but something in it frightened him. She sounded…

  Hurt, Andy thought.

  He desperately wanted to tell her that no, he didn’t understand, that he understood so little it scared him, but he couldn’t say what he needed to say. Again, all he could do was nod.

  “I mean it,” his mother said, pointing her forefinger at him and shaking it.

  Whatever that note in her voice was—whatever it meant, whether it was fear or anger or hurt, it frightened Andy.

  Finally, he found his voice and with a slight nod said, “Don’t worry, Mom… I understand.”

  He wanted to cry when he saw that look he had never seen before in his mother’s eyes, but he held it back.

  ****

  “I’m—ah, sorry about leaving the ladder out like that.”

  Andy was struggling to control the tremor in his voice as he stood at the foot of the steps and looked up at Miss Henry, who stood in the doorway. A bar of early morning sunlight lit the lower half of her legs and feet. She was wearing a pair of scuffed leather slippers and wool socks that bagged down around her ankles. The rest of her was lost in shadow behind the dusty screen. The morning was chilly, and Andy’s breath came out in a puffy white cloud that whisked away on the breeze. He couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering.

  Miss Henry was silent for a long time, long enough for Andy to imagine that she might be nothing more than an illusion—a silent ghost, lurking in the shadowed doorway.

  “I’ll put it back after school today, if you want, but I could come back next weekend and finish the gutters for you, too.”

  Something told him that he was a fool to make such an offer. After the scare she had given him, and considering the way she treated all the kids who went past her house, he knew he should just ignore her. She could live the rest of her miserable life by herself and die that way, for all he cared. He didn’t owe her a darned thing.

  After the silence had stretched on uncomfortably long, Miss Henry finally spoke. Her voice had a hissing rasp that sounded like the wind, blowing through dead grass. Andy could easily imagine that she was a ghost, whispering to him from the dense shadows of her house.

  “I need you to do one more thing for me.”

  Andy swallowed and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder at the crumbling cement walkway that led back to Granite Street. A thin icing of frost lingered in the shadows of the horse chestnut trees. Once again, Andy shivered, stronger now.

  “I gotta go,” he said, bouncing up and down nervously on his toes. “The school bus is gonna be coming, ’n I can’t be late for school.”

  “No!” Miss Henry’s voice rang out sharply in the still morning air, snapping like a bullwhip at Andy’s ears and echoing in the sudden quiet. “Don’t go!”

  A hot constriction made it impossible for Andy to swallow or say anything. His eyes began to burn, and a low tremor in his leg muscles made him think he might not be able to stand up much longer unless he started running.

  “I need you to help me. Right now,” Miss Henry’s voice softened although the edge of command was still there. “It’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you to do for me. I promise.”

  “I can’t be late for school. My parent’s’ll kill me.”

  “This is much more important, Andrew. Please. Come inside.”

  Against his will, Andy found himself reaching for the worn railing and placing his foot on the lowest step. The spongy wood creaked beneath his weight. Once again, he caught the subtle mixture of aromas as Miss Henry swung the door open and held it for him as he stepped inside.

  “The principal’ll call home and say I’m not there,” Andy said, but he knew that further protestations were futile. He followed Miss Henry through the kitchen and into the living room. Without another word, she sat down in the stuffed chair by the wall. Her elbow knocked one of the age-yellowed doilies from the chair arm onto the floor, but she either didn’t notice or care. On the small table beside her chair was an array of small bottles—the various prescription bottles he had seen in her kitchen the other day.

  “Fetch me a glass of water, will you?” Miss Henry said once she was settled. She sighed as she leaned back against the doily on the chair back. It looked greasy from use.

  Andy glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen, then looked at her. In the amber glow of morning light, her wrinkled skin was horribly pale, like crumpled paper. The lines around her eyes and mouth looked like thin strands of spider webs stuck to her skin. Her eyes held a bright gleam that didn’t look all that sane.

  Without a word, Andy walked into the kitchen, took a glass tumbler from the dish drainer beside the sink, and after running the water until it was good and cold, filled it about three quarters full. When he came back into the living room, he handed it to Miss Henry without a word. She smiled wanly and nodded her thanks.

  “Have a seat,” she said, indicating the couch against the far wall. Above it, on the wall, was a framed faded photograph of a young man in an Army uniform. There was a gleam in the man’s eyes and a crooked, half-smile as though he was uncomfortable being photographed. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but Andy couldn’t figure out what.

  Miss Henry smiled at him as he sat down stiffly, keeping his feet planted firmly in front of him like he was ready to get up and leave in an instant. Damp rings formed in his armpits, and he had to force himself to breathe evenly without hyperventilating.

  “I know what you did the other night,” Miss Henry said without preamble.

  There was a wistful tone in her voice that took the edge out of what she had said, but Andy tensed nevertheless. He gulped and wanted to ask her what night? but he knew exactly what she meant. He sat with his hands folded and pressed between his knees while Miss Henry picked up one of
the small bottles, opened it, and shook five or six of the small, white pills into the palm of her hand. Andy was expecting her to select one and put the rest back into the bottle, so he gasped out loud when she tossed the whole handful of pills into her mouth.

  “What are you—?” he started to say but fell silent as she regarded him with a slow, steady gaze, unblinking, like a snake’s.

  “You were there… at the grave,” she said after taking a gulp of water to wash the pills down. A small amount of water leaked from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin, but she apparently didn’t notice. “I knew you were following me.”

  “How did—?” Andy started to say, but he realized it would be pointless. Suddenly light-headed, he took a shallow breath and held it for a moment.

  “And I know you saw the graves—both of them,” Miss Henry continued, shattering the silence that had filled the room.

  Andy nodded slowly.

  “And now you want to know whose grave that little one is,” Miss Henry said. “Fact is, you’ve been wondering about it constantly ever since that night. You want to know, and you know that I’m the only one who can—or will—tell you.”

  While she was speaking, she grabbed another prescription bottle from the table and started to open it. Her hands were too frail to twist off the cap. Only with great effort was she able to remove it. She shook a handful of blue pills into the cup of her hand and, looking like she was eating candy or nuts, tilted her head back and tossed the entire handful into her mouth. She winced as she reached blindly for the glass of water to wash them down with three or four quick gulps.

  Andy was beginning to panic.

  What the hell is she doing?

  Is she crazy?

  There’s no way she’s taking the right amount of those pills!

  Is she trying to—?

  A fragile smile froze the old woman’s face. Then her expression softened as she replaced the glass of water on the side table and looked steadily at Andy.

  “Why on earth, you’re wondering, would a nasty old lady like me go out there and place flowers on your uncle’s and someone else’s grave?”