Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
"
Wherever the company is whose stock he wants to buy. I don
'
t understand why he can
'
t make his decisions in the office. Why does he have to go out and actually kick the tires?
"
She sighed again, more disappointed than ever.
"
Boy. They used to say that all these modern electronics would make it easier for people to stay home and work. If you ask me, it
'
s just made it easier for them to take their offices everywhere around the world.
"
"
He sounds very conscientious,
Lena
,
"
said Aunt Mary, tucking her cotton afghan across her spindly ankles.
"
Why do you hold it against him?
"
"
Because of Katie, for one thing. He can
'
t just raise her by remote control, you know.
"
"
Well, that
'
s true,
"
said Aunt Mary agreeably. She sipped her tea and then broke off a small piece of her sugary Angel Wing, rationing her pleasure.
"
You
'
re very taken with him, aren
'
t you,
Lena
,
"
she said.
"
Are you falling in love, do you think?
"
The simple question hung in the twilight like the moth hovering in the evening primrose. Helen didn
'
t know what to say. Up until then she
'
d been able to tell herself that the attraction was no more than a physical one. Nat Byrne was knock
-
down good-looking; who wouldn
'
t be attracted?
But in the sanctuary of her garden, surrounded by sweet scent and soft light, for Helen to admit anything less than the truth seemed profane. Was she falling in love?
"
I think I am, Aunt Mary,
"
she whispered. Her voice was an echo of despair.
"
God help me. I think I am.
"
"
Oh-hh. That
'
s very nice,
"
said her aunt, smiling.
"
It
'
s been such a long time.
"
"
But I don
'
t know why,
"
Helen added, shaking her head in sorrow. In a way she was relieved to have the confession off her chest. Now, at least, she could come to terms with her feelings for Nat. She could look at them, turn them over, and—with any luck—grind them to dust.
"
You know how they always say,
'
When it
'
s right you know it
'
?
"
she said quietly.
"
Well, I don
'
t feel that way. Nat Byrne is the opposite of everything I loved and admired in Hank.
"
One by one, she ticked off her reservations.
"
He
'
s a man who puts his career before everything. He buys and sells emotions like they
'
re some kind of trading commodity. He considers hotel clerks and parking valets to be his best friends. And God
only
knows what he must spend on speeding tickets every year. He
'
s nothing like Hank, Aunt Mary; nothing. And yet
..."
She pressed her lips together, trying to hold back the tears. She failed.
I
'
m falling in love with him.
"
Maybe that
'
s why, dear. Because he
'
s nothing like Hank.
"
Helen wiped her eye furtively.
"
You mean
...
I
'
ll never find an exact replica of Hank
...
so subconsciously I
'
ve decided to look for something else altogether?
"
Ign
oring the fancy talk, her aunt
said simply,
"
If his heart
'
s in the right place
—
"
"
I have to admit, he means well,
"
Helen said with a sigh.
"
But so what? The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
"
"
But isn
'
t it possible that someone—
"
"
Can shape him up and keep him closer to home? I don
'
t know. He
'
s such a workaholic.
"
"
But you work hard, dear.
"
"
That
'
s different! My job has meaning.
"
"
Money has meaning. Most people think so, anyway.
"
"
No, I
'
m sorry,
"
Helen decided.
"
It doesn
'
t take my master
'
s in psychology to figure out why he
'
s always away:
t
he man has a fear of commitment.
"
"
Oh.
"
After a moment, her aunt said,
"
What does that mean, dear—
'
fear of commitment
'
? I see it all the time on the covers of magazines when I
'
m food shopping.
"
"
It means he
'
d rather be away with his work than at home with his family. It
'
s the number-one phobia that men have,
"
Helen said, working herself into a fine snit.
"
They
'
re not afraid of heights, speed, guns, fists, or sex; but dangle a commitment in front of their faces, and they run like rabbits.
"
Aunt Mary made a tisking sound and said,
"
He did marry the lady who passed away, didn
'
t he? He wasn
'
t living in sin or anything like that?
"
"
No, no, on paper, he looks fine. It
'
s just that
...
he wasn
'
t there for Linda,
"
Helen murmured.
"
And now he isn
'
t there for Katie.
"
The two women lapsed into silence, each with her own thoughts. Aunt Mary, older and with more experience of the glitches and flaws in life, spoke first.
"
Piddle,
"
she said flatly.
"
You
'
re being way too hard on the man.
"
Helen sighed and said,
"
Maybe I am. But you know what? It
'
s easier for me this way.
"
The twilight had deepened, setting the stage for a parade of stars. Already the first and brightest were showing off. It was bedtime for Aunt Mary, come-home time for Russell.
Helen stood up and held out her hands to the elderly woman.
"
Come on, Aunt Mary,
"
she said with an affectionate smile.
"
I
'
ll help you climb out of that chair.
"
"
Thank you, dear. First take this
...
this whachamacallit. This bottle,
"
she said, handing Helen the
afghan. "And then pull me up."
****
When the call came, it knocked Helen out of a sound sleep. As she groped for the phone she opened one eye: two in the morning. Probably a drunk. Angry that the house was being roused at that hour, she mumbled an annoyed
"
Yes?
"
As it turned out, she didn
'
t have to worry that Becky and Russell had been rudely awakened. They weren
'
t home. They were, to be precise, in the juvenile holding cell in
Salem
'
s brand-new police station, properly chaperoned by a matron who was standing guard outside the cell block.
Helen was speechless. Her mind, barely functioning at that hour anyway, shut down at the news. It wasn
'
t possi
ble.
"
They
'
re in bed,
"
she said stupidly.
"
Wait.
"
She slammed the receiver down and staggered down the hail, flipping lights on as she went. All she found were rumpled beds in empty bedrooms and one open, screenless window.
Returning to the phone again, she said indignantly to the lieutenant on hold,
"
What
'
re they doing
there?
"
Her tone suggested that they
'
d been grabbed from their beds by a Salem SWAT team.
"
As I said, ma
'
am, they were apprehended in the act of spray painting city property: the statue of Roger Conant, across from the Common. In front of the
Witch
Museum
?
"
he added, mistaking Helen
'
s stunned silence for geographic confusion.
"
Are you kidding me?
"
she asked.
"
Not
that
statue. The most well-known one in
Salem
?
Nobody
would be that stupid. It
'
s in the heart of town
...
a tourist landmark. They would
'
ve been caught!
"
"
They were caught,
"
said the lieutenant laconically.
"
Your two, anyway. Three others got away.
"
She couldn
'
t get over the choice of targets.
"
Roger Conant? The founder of
Salem
? It
'
s
...
unpatriotic!
"
Her logic, not very impressive so far, improved as her mind cleared.
"
And Rebecca would never—
never!
—vandalize something. No, Lieutenant, really. There
'
s been a mistake.
"
"
We checked with the juvenile probation officer,
"
he said without comment,
"
and neither of your children
'
s been in trouble before, so we
'
re releasing them to you. You can come for them anytime. Juvenile Court convenes on Tuesday; you
'
ll want to be there for their hearing.
"
Juvenile Court. Hearing.
They were words guaranteed to strike agony in a parent
'
s heart.
"
My children aren
'
t allowed out at this hour,
"
Helen insisted.
"
You must believe me.
"
"
Be that as it may, they were out, Mrs. Evett,
"
the lieutenant reminded her.
"
What will happen on Tuesday?
"
she asked, humbly now.
"
They
'
ll be ordered to pay for the cleanup. Since it
'
s their first offense, the charges will probably be filed for a year.
"
He hesitated, then added,
"
Ma
'
am? I know about your husband. I
'
m sorry about this. We all are.
"