The Cypress House(98)

“What are you staring at?” Paul said.

“Nothing,” Arlen said, voice soft. “Nothing at all.”

He took a drink, but he had no taste for it, and then he slid the glass away from him and went through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Rebecca had a slice of ham frying in a skillet on the stove, and she turned to him as if to speak but instead she just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him and put her face to his neck. He wrapped his own around her, and they held each other in silence for a long time. Her face was warm on his neck, and he could feel her breathing and for some reason he had to close his eyes and hold that moment in darkness.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Sorry?”

“For it all. This isn’t something you should be a part of. I wish I could—”

“Stop,” he said, voice gentle. “We’re going to handle this. All right? It’s not but a day left, Rebecca. By the time the sun goes down out there on the water tomorrow, you’ll be gone from this place. Going north, to Maine, just the way you hoped. I’ll see that it happens.”

He pushed her back and lifted her chin and kissed her. Soft and slow. When he broke the kiss, he said, “Is there a train that could be taken yet tonight?”

She frowned. “One more before the end of the night, but it’s an hour’s drive. What are you asking for?”

“I’d like to give Paul his share and put him on it.”

She stepped back and looked at him in surprise. “Already?”

He nodded. “I want him clear of this, Rebecca. Make no mistake—I intend to see it through just as we’ve planned, but I want him clear of it. He’s ready to leave this place. We’ve soured him on it, on us, on damn near everything. I can’t change that. But I can put money in his pocket and get him aboard a train and hope for the best for him.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and said, “I love you.”

All he could get out was “Yeah.” They both laughed then, and he took her close and said, “I love you, too. And I don’t give a damn what’s happened since I got here, or what’s left to come—I found my way to you. Any price that must be paid in exchange for that is a small one.”

She kissed him again, and this time he could feel a tear gliding off her skin and onto his own, and then she took the burlap sack with the five thousand dollars down from the shelf and handed it to him. He left her there in the kitchen and went for Paul.





43


PAUL WAS DRINKING WITH OWEN. Trying to engage him in some of the usual tales, asking about Dillinger and Handsome Harry Pierpont, the one they electrocuted up in Ohio, inquiring about them as if he thought Owen had ridden at their sides. Even Owen wasn’t having it tonight, though. He looked worn, and all he said was “Ah, those boys didn’t hardly spend any time in Florida at all. A few months when they was hiding out once, but that was all.”

Arlen said, “Paul?”

He turned and looked at Arlen with that usual expression of distaste, a glass of liquor in his hand. “What?”

“Give me a minute, would you? Step out on the porch.”

“I’m having a conversation.”

Arlen said, “Paul,” one more time, no change of tone at all. He got a sigh of annoyance and the slap of the glass smacking down hard on the table before the boy rose and followed him out onto the back porch. It was still raining, but the wind had shifted direction and lessened enough so that it didn’t spray under the porch roof and soak them. They stood out there in the dark, and Paul folded his arms across his chest and stared at Arlen.

“Whatever you got to say, it’s probably not worth the time. I don’t need to go through it again. I don’t need to hear your stories or your warnings or your—”

“Open that up and take a look inside,” Arlen said, passing him the sack. He watched as Paul took it warily, opened it, and went slack-jawed. He reached inside gingerly, as if he were going to frighten the money right out of the bag by moving sudden, and fanned his thumb over the edges of the bills.

“Where’d you get all this?”

“The same man you were hoping to earn it from.”

Paul looked up. “Wade?”

“That’s right. There’s five thousand dollars in that bag.”

“Five thousand—”

“And it’s yours,” Arlen said. “Provided you get your gear together right now and ride with me to the train station. You go wherever you like from there. I’m not going to tell you another thing, not going to give you another bit of advice. You don’t want to hear it, and I don’t deserve to say it. Not anymore. But regardless of what you think or what you believe, I want you to know this: you better get your ass out of this state, and fast.”