Beth was already finished with the true incredible story of Mary Jemison the Indian captive and had moved on to Cotton in My Sack. She had reached a point where she started imagining the book report she would write even before finishing the first chapter. A book I like is Cotton in My Sack. Cotton in My Sack is good because it tells you a lot about picking cotton. Everyone puts cotton in their sack all day long until their fingers are bleeding and the sack is as heavy as a big bag of Halloween candy but not as nice. The main girl in this book Cotton in My Sack has fingers that bleed a lot and she gets splinters, too, ouch!, and she’s young and shouldn’t even be doing this.
Now that was a good opening. She ducked her head and put her hand over her mouth so no one would see her self-satisfied smile. Bad thing about the desert and being alone so much: she was starting to act out all her reactions. Nobody noticed. They were all too busy with themselves. She checked her leg, already drying up. She told herself not to pick any scabs, but she knew she’d give in to the temptation.
The tabby had run off again. Beth hoped the cat wouldn’t get involved with anything like a car running over him that would cost him another life. Charlie had disappeared, too. He had gone into Miss Dazzle’s office. Miss Dazzle had invited him inside, tempting him with the toys she played with when no one was around, the ceramics kit, the wood burning set, and her own tray of test tubes and the little corked bottles of secret chemicals that got mixed inside them. That was what really tempted Charlie for he’d left his chemistry set at the campsite. Beth remembered how Miss Dazzle had glowed red in the night from the brake lights of Harry’s truck, a crimson afterimage mimicking her gestures. It was easy to picture her as a homemade mad scientist holding up a test tube with hot-dog prongs.
She knew it wouldn’t be long before Miss Dazzle had Charlie’s situation figured out. Miss Dazzle was going through what the teachers in Beth’s school would call a process of elimination, which meant applying the principles of dodge ball to taking multiple choice tests. First, Miss Dazzle was getting rid of the easy possibilities, the ones that just stood there and didn’t get out of the way. In dodge ball that meant most of the girls, especially anyone named Peggy Anderson. In Charlie’s case the easy target was the sun. Miss Dazzle was taking him out of the sun and putting him into her office to see if that helped his situation. Of course the sun wasn’t his problem, that was stupid, but no more stupid than Peggy Anderson, who just never got it, like move when somebody is throwing the ball at you. On the other hand, you had to get rid of all the Peggy Andersons and clear the area so you could identify your real enemy. And then suddenly, a game that had seemed all too easy became way too hard (meaning, not once had she ever thrown out Tommy Beckwith).
Anyway, guaranteed Miss Dazzle would find out. This Beth knew for certain. Giving up wasn’t in Miss Dazzle’s nature. It was as if that night in the parking lot the neon-red pantomimes flowing from Miss Dazzle’s hands had exposed a part of human nature usually left invisible. Maybe Beth had witnessed Miss Dazzle’s soul. More likely it had been her intestinal fortitude.
Charlie and Miss Dazzle were still inside when a dashing white car with fins pulled into the Stagecoach Oasis. Beth leaped up and made a quick panicked survey of the lot. No tabby to get run over. The white car parked. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. Several long moments passed before the motor turned off, and several more long moments ticked off before the door finally opened. “Any bets on whether he can get out?” one of the old ladies said. Another one anted up a big mound of chips and they all burst into old-lady versions of belly laughing.
Miss Dazzle came to the doorway of her office. Her arms twisted unhappily in geometric shapes up and down the rose-colored frame. The man used both arms to pull himself from the car. It was quiet, and the way the pool water occasionally lapped into the gutters made it more quiet. When the car door slammed, it broke the air. Everybody jumped, even though they were expecting the sound. Miss Dazzle’s limbs twisted out of their unhappy swastika, and she stepped from the rosy doorframe. “Hello, Vince,” she said, her voice cheerful. Miss Dazzle always greeted everyone the same, as if they had just arrived for the party she was throwing, even her mother that night she lay sprawled in Navajo Joe’s pickup. Her mother might have been shot dead, but that wasn’t enough to stop Miss Dazzle from being sociable.
The man named Vince stretched out an arm to the roof of his car and leaned over to catch his breath. He tossed out a salute to Miss Dazzle and dipped his hat. The hat waved over toward the pool in a questioning swirl. Miss Dazzle crossed her arms and shrugged.
The man climbed the three cement steps to the pool. The plumbing-pipe railing wobbled dangerously. “Doctor’s in the house in case you keel over, Vince!” Dr. Randolph yelled out. The piping snapped away from the man as he pushed up the final step. Even the old ladies didn’t lean upon the railing. The cement at its base was crumbly. The old ladies looked up from the pretend card shuffling they had been doing. Their mouths were swollen shut from the chortles swelling inside. “Is one of you fair ladies the newlywed Josephine Dawson?” the man asked. Only one of the old ladies tittered gratefully, the blondish one, who had reapplied her bright red lipstick as soon as the white car pulled in.
The man then turned to her mother. “Miss Josephine Dawson, I presume.” Beth had written enough book reports to guess from the fancy formality that the very next words out of the man’s mouth were going to be something like “Allow me to introduce myself.” He was acting out some kind of make-believe, bowing as if before a king and queen: as his arm swept out grandly, the businessman’s fedora was replaced by a Three Musketeers hat.
Speaking of make-believe, the man was Humpty-Dumpty fat, with a kettle-drum stomach and two stick legs that didn’t seem real.
“My name is Vincent Flaherty, and your husband has recently become a partner of mine.”
Her mom didn’t bother to correct him. Jo had gone back to the room to change into her bathing suit and was missing the whole show put on for her benefit.
“That’s Vincent Flaherty,” Beth heard the old ladies whispering to each other.
Miss Dazzle appeared at the pool with her tray. The doctor was finishing up his second drink and he took a third one already mixed for him. Vincent Flaherty picked up the bottle and poured his own. His drink was a lot browner than the doctor’s drink and he poured only a little. Beth studied the bottle that was on the tray. Jim Beam was the name and the very interesting words 80 proof were on it. It was barely lunchtime, it was more like past-breakfast-time, and everybody was drinking and that was the way this town operated. And yet there was absolutely no alcohol in this town and nobody drank because the law didn’t allow it and because they were too religious. Not a single bit of liquor because that was how God wanted it. A guy named Jim Beam, if he could talk, could mention 80 percent proof that there was in fact drinking in this town, but 80 percent was not nearly enough to convince people. Yet these same people took 0.0 percent proof that God existed and treated it like 100. Pretty much the whole town needed to be in her fourth grade math class.
Vincent Flaherty toasted her mother and sat down. He inched forward in the chair until his legs were spread wide apart, furthering the illusion that his thighs and knees had been purchased in the toy department and stuck into his big potato stomach. He was staring at the fedora in his hands, chopping at its crease, when Jo returned to the pool. Vincent Flaherty was so busy living in his make-believe world that he didn’t notice Jo until she was at the deep end, untying the robe she wore over her bathing suit.
“Well, okay, that’s what we’re here for!” the doctor cried.
Jo tried not to look horrified but her face crumpled and she backed away and Beth saw her begin to cave in as she sat down. She drew the robe around her, over her neck and chin.
Beth looked over for her mother’s reaction, but her mother had fallen asleep.
“You don’t talk to a lady like that,” Vincent Flaherty corrected sternly. He pushed himself up to a standing position and that took some effort. Beth didn’t understand how legs could be that skinny and a stomach could be that fat.
“You don’t give the orders around here, Vince.”
“I protect the dignity of fine women and if that means giving an order to the intemperate likes of you, then so be it.”
The doctor laughed.
“Hear hear,” one of the old ladies said. “You can’t come up here and get tight and insult us. We’re paying guests.”
“No one’s insulting you. No one even wants to—”
“That’s enough,” Miss Dazzle said. Her hand was already around the doctor’s arm. “We’re going home.”
“I don’t want to,” the doctor said.
“You’ve got patients waiting,” Miss Dazzle said, leading him to her DeSoto. In a moment they had sped away, it happened like that before anyone could see it coming, and Miss Dazzle was seeming to Beth more and more like a magician. She was glad now that Miss Dazzle had taken on Charlie as her project. She was, in fact, filled with relief. For the first time in a long time she felt calm about the whole visitor situation.
“Ladies, I’m sorry you had to experience that,” Vincent Flaherty said.
“He’s a little man,” one of the old ladies said.
“Short,” the other two agreed.
“I’m afraid, ladies, that yes there is some truth to the theory of the Napoleonic complex. Young man—” Vincent Flaherty was now addressing Charlie, who had joined them at the pool. “Explain to us for our edification the theory of the Napoleonic complex.” Charlie was carrying some test tubes and bottles of chemicals.
“He doesn’t need to. Charlie is going to be a tall man,” one of the ladies said. Her back sprang erect.
“He’ll grow,” the other ladies agreed. The ladies liked Charlie. Beth liked the fact that they liked him so much. They were prepared to defend him.
“Charlie, is it?” Vincent Flaherty said.
“I feel sorry for his patients.” Jo, who was still grabbing at her robe, stared numbly at the white cement. Vincent Flaherty walked over to her.
“‘Allow me to introduce myself,’” Beth whispered to Charlie.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” Vincent Flaherty said, bowing before Jo. Beth grinned victoriously at Charlie, who nodded without much interest. Jo hesitated, then timidly offered her hand, which Vincent Flaherty, instead of shaking, kissed.
“How very . . . very.” Jo stopped, searching for the word.
“Would that you were Josephine Dawson,” Vincent Flaherty said. “You seem much more amenable.”
“Well, I am,” Jo said.
Vincent Flaherty turned to look at Beth’s mother, then at Jo.
“I’ve been had. Ol’ Vince has been put on. Is that it?”
“Oh no,” Jo said. “Nothing like that. She’s had a head injury.”
“Ahh.” Vincent Flaherty reared back his head. He paused respectfully. “So she’s the one.”
“It’s too bad,” one of the ladies said. “We could use her for our fourth.”
“Maybe it’s not nice to talk about someone while they’re sleeping in front of you,” Charlie mumbled.
“What are you doing with those test tubes?” Beth asked him.
“I’m experimenting with my petrified wood.”
“Isn’t it my petrified wood?”
Charlie didn’t answer.
“Miss Dazzle thinks she’s curing you,” Beth whispered to Charlie.
“I know,” Charlie said.
“She’s going to figure it out.’
“I already told her,” Charlie said. “Nothing works on petrified wood. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s petrified?”
“Well kind of, yeah.”
“Why did you tell her?” Beth asked.
“Because she asked.”
“Why didn’t you let her figure it out? She would have figured it out. She needs to figure it out on her own.”
“Why does she need to figure it out on her own?”
“Because . . .” Beth began. How to explain it?
“Charlie, is it?” The man had walked over to them. He had no qualms about interrupting their private conversation. Beth was sitting on the cement and the upward view of Vincent Flaherty was unsettling.
“Yes,” Charlie said.
Vincent Flaherty looked down at Charlie’s test tubes. “What are you doing there?”
“I’m mixing calcium nitrate and sodium carbonate.”
“And why are you doing that?”
“So it’ll explode.”
“So it’ll explode,” Vincent Flaherty repeated. “Boy’s doing chemistry.” He sent a conspiratorial smile to the old ladies. “What happens after it explodes, Charlie Einstein?”
“It blows up. That’s it?”
“There are other things,” Charlie said. “It blows up everything but the petrified wood.”
“Ah,” Vincent Flaherty said. “And why doesn’t the petrified wood blow up?”
“Because it’s petrified.”
“And that my friends is chemistry!” Vincent Flaherty exclaimed, turning to sweep his imaginary Three Musketeers hat toward the three old ladies. “Charlie, have you ever heard of Albert Einstein?”
Charlie looked at Beth and rolled his eyes.
“No need to be impolite.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Charlie said.
“Charlie, let me tell you something. When elders talk to you, you got to respect what they say. Even if you’re one of these straight-A scientist whiz kids, you don’t talk back. Okay? We got a deal?”
“I have to ask my mother first,” Charlie mumbled into his chest.
“What’s that, Charlie Einstein?”
“I have to ask my mother first.”
Vincent Flaherty looked at Charlie for a long time, long enough that one of the ladies called over, “Charlie’s a good boy, now.” The way she said now made it into a warning. Since Vincent Flaherty lived in a pretend world where he was a Musketeer who was always chivalrous to the ladies, he had to back down.
“I can see I need to keep my eye on you,” he told Charlie.
“Charlie’s a good boy.”
“A very good boy.”
Jo walked over from the deep end and pulled a chair next to Charlie. The chair, green-webbed with shiny aluminum tubing, slid against the cement in a clanging scrape, a sound of summer that gladdened Beth even in the midst of this showdown. Charlie sat cross-legged on the cement with his test tubes. Jo reached out and stroked his hair.
“I can see you like the boy,” Vincent Flaherty said. “I will defer to your good taste and give him a second chance.”
“Thank you. You’ll find out how special he is.”
Charlie rolled his eyes again.
Vincent Flaherty raised his arms and shook them at the heavens— and just like that he switched from a Musketeer to Moses. “We are all in a mess out here, aren’t we? We are driven by greed and eaten alive by false hope. And do you know who we can thank for that?”
“Who?” Jo asked like a little girl.
“Do you know who predicted a destruction even more terrible than the present destruction of life? A chain reaction great enough to destroy all of this planet?”
“Helen Keller?” Jo asked.
Vincent Flaherty looked to Charlie. “Who?”
Charlie paused. “Albert Einstein,” he said.
“Are you guessing or do you know for sure?”
“I’m guessing,” Charlie said.
“Not only is he honest but he’s an excellent guesser. Charlie, I’m impressed with you. It was the right choice to give this lad a second chance. Charlie, if it weren’t for a certain Mr. Albert Einstein and the encouragement of his München mother, we wouldn’t be here digging up uranium and getting rich. I like Einstein, I’m a big fan of Einstein’s, wouldn’t miss him for the world if he stopped by in a parade on his way to a testing site. Left his homeland, saved our behinds for us. But he’s created a mess. Albert Einstein, the man who gave us E = mc2 and the big mess that goes along with it.”
“Didn’t understand word one,” said the old lady with the upswept hair.
Vincent Flaherty stared down at Charlie’s test tubes. “And what did Einstein have to say about matter?”
“Matter can neither be created nor destroyed,” Charlie said.
“Matter can neither be created nor destroyed,” Vincent Flaherty continued, not even listening to Charlie.
“Charlie said it first.” Beth was happy that the ladies were quick to point this out.
“He’s a smart boy.”
“Very smart.”
“And he’s going to be a tall man.”
“Let me ask you something, Charlie Einstein. As someone smart and future-tense tall, I bet you saw what happened with your mom.”
“Nothing happened. She just fell asleep.”
Beth saw her mother stir, as if she knew she was being talked about.
“I mean back there.”
Charlie didn’t say anything.
“You were a witness?”
Charlie hesitated.
“I just want the truth. I can see you’re an honest young man. Right?”
Charlie nodded.
“The unfortunate accident. Fortunately, nobody—”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Charlie said.
“What’s that, Charlie?”
“He tried to kill her,” Charlie said. “On purpose. It wasn’t an accident.”
“Are you sure about that?” Vincent Flaherty turned to his jury of old ladies and smiled in a flabbergasted way. “Mr. Dawson is a man who works for me, a man I trust implicitly.”
“He took my mother’s gun and shot her,” Charlie said.
“What was your mom doing pointing a gun at him?”
“She wasn’t pointing a gun at him.”
“Then how could he take it away?”
“He knew where she kept it.”
“He knew where she kept it,” Vincent Flaherty repeated.
“Yes.”
“What was she really doing, Charlie?”
“Nothing.”
“She was doing nothing and Mr. Dawson went and got her gun and shot her for no reason.”
“Yes,” Charlie said.
Vincent Flaherty stared down at Charlie and Jo quickly blocked their line of sight with a tray of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches put there earlier by the magical Miss Dazzle. Beth had been observing everything and hadn’t seen Miss Dazzle bring out lunch before she left. But here they were, having simply appeared, pb&j sandwiches added to the tuna-fish ones. She felt the thrill of her secret expanding inside her. It was getting stronger, stronger than anything this man Vincent Flaherty could do or say. Miss Dazzle was going to save Charlie. She turned away. She was afraid Charlie would be able to read her mind or read the excitement on her face and she didn’t want to give away the secret. Miss Dazzle deserved that much, the joy of telling Charlie herself.
Vincent Flaherty reached for the sandwiches. “And what might these fortifications consist of, my dear?”
“They’re just peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches,” Charlie said in a way meant to discourage him.
“Young man, there’s nothing better than peanut butter. You know what peanut butter’s got in it? Protein. You know what builds bones? Protein.”
“Charlie’s bones are fine,” one of the ladies warned.
Vincent Flaherty gave Charlie the once-over. “How would you all like to take a ride in a whirlybird?”
Charlie looked up.
“I’m off to do a little reconnaissance flight, and I sure would like some company. What do you say? Ever been in a helicopter, young man?”
Charlie shook his head.
“What’s that?”
“No I haven’t, sir,” Charlie said.
“Well, let’s go then.”
Jo said, “Thank you, but we couldn’t possibly accept your offer.”
“You can’t go,” Jo said.
Charlie narrowed his eyes at her. “Mr. Flaherty asked me to go and I was raised to be polite.”
Jo said, “Don’t you even think about it.”
Charlie moved over to their mother and shook her shoulder. Charlie said, “Mom, I’ll be back in a little while, okay?” Beth shook the other shoulder. “Mom, I’m going, too, all right?”
“Neither one of you is going anywhere,” Jo said. She reached out both arms and Red Rover–like tried to hold them back. They broke through her arms and headed toward the white car. “Get back here!” Jo yelled. Beth saw that the tabby had reappeared. Six lives and counting.