Страница 44 из 102
She cringed at the thought of what he might remember.
“I remember lawn tag” And he tapped her on the shoulder and went hobbling away.
She pretended to chase, smiling to herself. All that last summer, they had played lawn tag through the long evenings. Daddy was the town doctor in Bruce, a little Canadian prairie town, a one-road grain town; of all the lawns in Bruce, the Gates’s lawn was the biggest.
Lawn tag was a simpleminded chase: under the privet hedge, past the willow tree, mustn’t stray beyond the border of the sidewalk, around back, past the doghouse. A
Now… she could scarcely believe he was ru
She pretended to chase. Bobby looked back and laughed out loud. A
Sometimes, of course, he made her mad.
The hardest part of Contact had been facing this memory. But it was a memory that had to be faced: Most of A
She was ten. Only ten. A child. Impulsive. Wasn’t every child?
Bobby and A
It was easy to get onto the roof. Bring the ladder from the old bunk beds in the basement, step onto the tiny balcony outside A
Bobby was scared of the roof. A
Today—well, it was hot. Prairie-summer-itchy-sunburn-tight-clothes hot. Bobby had been whining about it. So she went up on the roof by herself, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
Of course, he did.
He pulled himself over the eavestrough and scuttled up the shingles behind her, clinging to her foot until he could safely lie down. Stay still, silly, and you won’t slip. But that’s not what A
If you get scared, she said, your hands get all sweaty.
Bobby’s frown deepened.
And if your hands get sweaty… you might slip. He looked at her aghast across a space of cedar shakes and hot air. A
It’s a lo-o-ong way down, Bobby.
Panicking a little, he grabbed her left foot with both hands. Hey, let go, no fair!
But he hugged it tighter. She was wearing shorts and no shoes. In the hot air, his fingers felt sticky as tar… his touch was an intolerable itch. Bobby! Let go of me!
She kicked her ankle out to shake him loose. A
Now she was starting to get scared. Her gaze drifted down from the blue deeps of the sky, across those farms, grain elevators, houses, streets, to the rain gutter and the paved walk down below. Mama had put the garbage out. The garbage cans shivered in the rising heat.
She thought of Bobby tumbling down there and carrying her with him.
She shook her foot again, harder.
One hand came loose. Bobby scrabbled against the shingled roof. She kicked again. A
It was peculiar, it was maddening, how calm his voice still sounded.
A
She scrambled down the bunk-bed ladder and looked over the edge of the balcony and saw Bobby on the paved walk beside the garbage cans. She looked for a long time, unable to make sense of what she saw. His head was broken open and some of what was inside had come out.
When Bobby left the hospital, he was back in diapers. Mama had to change him all the time.
Once, she shook a soiled cotton diaper in A
Bobby’s head was curiously flat on one side and he didn’t talk, but whenever he saw A
Mama died a couple of years after that.
A
She finished her degree anyhow. Bobby was institutionalized, and the estate was paying for everything, but that money wouldn’t last forever, and she would need a good income—a doctor’s income—to keep Bobby cared for.
Her residency was the hardest part. The sight of a head wound still made her dizzy.
When she took up the partnership with Matt Wheeler, he talked about his wife Celeste and how he had lost her. A
The Travellers had stirred up these memories, but the Travellers had offered something in return: objectivity, as cool and cleansing as mountain water. The ability to forgive herself.
A
But it wasn’t her own forgiveness she really craved.
Bobby tired himself out playing lawn tag, so they retreated to the shade of the patio at Wellborne. A
“We’re going on a trip,” Bobby said.
She thought he meant the Wellborne patients. “That’s nice,” she said. “To the seashore, Bobby?”
“No, I mean—us. We’re all going on a trip.”
“Oh. That trip. Yes.”
“Are you excited, A
“It’s not for some time yet, Bobby. A few months, anyhow.”
“They have to build the spaceship.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I have a lot of growing up to do.”
“There’s no rush.”
“I got kind of… left behind.”
She wanted to say, “I’m sorry!”—but couldn’t find her voice.
“I’m getting stronger,” Bobby said. “A
A wooden railing ran all around the patio of the Wellborne building. Before she could say anything, Bobby had boosted himself onto the banister. He was clinging to the narrow timber with hands and feet… then he stood up, like a tightrope walker, balancing himself.
His hips stuck out in bony ridges from the loose jeans. His arms, thrown out for balance, were fragile as twigs.
A brisk wind could knock him down from there. She felt a surge of panic. “Bobby, stop it!”
“No, A
“Bobby, you’ll hurt yourself!”
“No, I—”
But she was up without thinking about it, ru