Mack came home and retreated to his room, working and drinking more or less continuously for three days. He emerged only to get another bottle or to fix himself an occasional sandwich. McClain cornered him on one of his excursions to the refrigerator.
“I haven’t seen Linda lately,” he observed.
“If you miss her, give her a call,” said Mack morosely.
“Lovers’ quarrel? Hey, it happens, hotshot. You know how many times me and Joyce broke up and got back together?”
“I forget,” said Mack.
“You can’t just sit around here and mope.”
“As it happens, I’m working. But if you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”
“Sorry I brought it up,” said McClain.
He waited until Mack went back upstairs before going to look for Joyce. “Mack’s all bent out of shape over Linda,” he told her. “We’ve got to do something.”
“I think maybe I better go over there, have a talk with her.”
“You stay out of their business, John,” she said. “They don’t need any of your po-lice psychology.”
“In that case, you go,” he said. “Talk woman to her. Come on, Joyce, I’m worried again. Either you go or I do.”
“I’ll go,” Joyce said. She didn’t want to alarm her husband, but she was worried about Mack, too.
After supper she drove out to Linda’s place in West Tarryton. It was already dark and she felt uneasy; she didn’t like driving around all-white neighborhoods alone at night. The cops in West Tarryton had a habit of pulling over black drivers and hassling them. “Next time that happens, tell ’em you’re married to me,” John had instructed her, but she refused to do that. Instead she informed them that she had a constitutional right to drive on any damn street she wanted and took their badge numbers. It didn’t do any good, but it made her feel a little less helpless.
The porch light was on when Joyce pulled into the driveway, and Linda appeared in the doorway while she was walking up the front steps.
“Sorry to barge in like this,” said Joyce, handing her coat to Linda. “It was either me or a visit from Cupid McClain.”
“How is old Cupid?”
“Worried about Mack. Actually, I am too.”
“How come nobody ever worries about me?” asked Linda with a smile.
“Well, it’s different,” said Joyce. “You know.”
“Know what?”
“He was doing so well with you and now John’s afraid he might get back to where he was.”
“I’m not sure I get it.”
“His old frame of mind,” said Joyce. “The suicide thing.”
Linda stared at her for a long moment. “What suicide thing?”
Now it was Joyce’s turn to stare. “You mean John never told you?” She shook her head. “Linda, when Mack came to town, he was thinking about committing suicide.”
“No he wasn’t,” said Linda.
“Yes he was. He was keeping a suicide diary,” said Joyce. “He’s still keeping it.”
“It’s a novel,” said Linda. “Fiction.”
“Honey, I’m sorry, but it’s no novel. I’ve seen it.”
“He showed it to you?”
“John went snooping around his room one night and found it in a desk drawer.”
“And you’ve been worried Mack was going to kill himself? In your house? Poor Joyce.”
“Listen to me, now. John talked to Mack’s editor. This isn’t any novel.”
“He talked to Wolfowitz?”
“Arthur Wolfowitz, yes.”
“And he said it wasn’t a novel?”
Joyce nodded. “He consulted with Mack’s psychiatrist, who says Mack was suicidal before he left New York. That’s why John’s so concerned now. The psychiatrist says that since you two got together there’s been a real improvement.”
“How would he know? Mack’s been here the whole time.”
“John’s been sending him pages from the diary,” Joyce said.
“Behind Mack’s back? He’s been sending Mack’s book to a shrink in New York?”
“To Wolfowitz,” said Joyce. “He’s the go-between.”
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“John’s been had,” said Linda. “Mack promised to send pages to Wolfowitz, but he didn’t, he’s got some kind of phobia about it. He told me about the novel, but he wouldn’t even show it to me. Obviously this was Wolfowitz’s way of getting his hands on it. When John called, he saw his chance and he took it.”
“He knew all along that Mack wasn’t going to kill himself?”
“Then why would he go to all that trouble just to see a manuscript he was going to get anyway?”
“Beats me,” said Linda. “Curiosity, maybe. Or one of those testosterone things. Mack thinks they’re great friends, but from what he’s told me about Wolfowitz, he sounds like a creep.”
“Oh, my,” said Joyce. “We’ve made a mess, looks like.”
Linda nodded. “When you found the diary, why didn’t you just confront Mack with it?”
“John didn’t want him to know he’d been going through his things. And he was afraid, if he mentioned it, he’d scare Mack off.”
“I guess that’s why he didn’t tell me, either,” said Linda. “He was afraid it would scare me off, too.”
“I’m sorry,” said Joyce. “If I’d have known, I would have told you myself. It never occurred to me that he hadn’t.”
“Men,” said Linda.
“Men,” agreed Joyce. “Well, so what do we do?”
“You better tell Mack now,” said Linda. “He’s got a right to know.”
“I can’t,” said Joyce. “John would rather kill himself than have him find out.”
“You think he’ll care? Reality never upsets Mack. He’ll probably put the whole episode in the novel.”
“You may be right about that, but it would make John feel like a fool.”
“Well, you must admit—”
“Hold it, now,” said Joyce. “John’s no fool. He may act foolish now and again, but he’s a smart man and he’s proud. It’s hard enough for him being retired like he is. I won’t have him humiliated.”
“I’m sorry,” said Linda, taken aback by Joyce’s fierce reaction. “I like John, you know that. He did what he thought was best.”
“It’s all right,” said Joyce, softening. “Being married to a man like John can make you protective. Mack’s a lot like him in some ways. You’ll see what I mean.”
“What makes you think I’m going to marry Mack?”
Joyce narrowed her eyes in mock anger. “Don’t even try that stuff on me, girlfriend. Like my mama used to say, I been where you been and you gettin’ to where I am.”
“Well, don’t tell Mack, for God’s sake.” Linda laughed. “I hate New York.”
“I’m not going to say a word, and neither are you. About the Wolfowitz thing, either. Not to Mack and not to John. This is going to be our secret.”