THE OLD MAN HAS BEEN TALKING FOR almost an hour when he goes suddenly quiet. (David writes the phrase swirling fog down on his notepad, to remind himself where they’ve left off.)
They sit in silence for a while, Mr. Hart with his eyes closed. Way, way back is where he is, lost in the folds of time. David read that somewhere. He didn’t really understand what it meant then; now he gets it. Mr. Hart has vanished over the horizon. He’s back with his pal Jeddy in 1929. Maybe he knew this was going to happen. Maybe it’s why he called up David and decided to talk, as a way of getting there, of revisiting the scene now that Jeddy is so sick. There’s some knot in their past that’s bothering him.
David has more pressing interests. So, who was the man on the beach? he wants to ask. What’s Charlie Pope covering up? But he can see that the old guy’s out of gas. Anyway, it’s almost dinnertime and David is due home himself. His mother has a fit if everyone’s not there to sit down at 6:30 sharp.
Should I come back tomorrow?
Mr. Hart grunts, eyes still shut.
I’d like to come back tomorrow, David says. You didn’t even get to any smuggling yet, or to the Black Duck. I guess you know that the crew on that boat was shot. They wouldn’t stop and the Coast Guard opened fire with a machine gun. I read an old newspaper story about it.
Behind his glasses, Mr. Hart’s eyes blink open.
Leave that alone, he rumbles. His eyes close again. David makes his way quietly out of the house, uncertain whether he’ll be allowed back.
But the next day when he knocks at a little past noon, Mr. Hart’s front door flies open and the old man appears at once.
I’ve been waiting all morning. Thought you’d chickened out!
David grins. Sorry, I had to wait for someone to drive me.
How old did you say you were?
Seventeen?
You seem younger. Mr. Hart fixes him with a spectacled stare.
David avoids his gaze. He wishes he’d never started this bit of fraudulence. It’s not like him. He usually keeps things on the level. He was just so afraid he’d be turned away. He wants to get this interview, needs to write this story. He allows the lie to stand.
They sit in the kitchen again, where Mr. Hart takes off his glasses and polishes them energetically on his sweater. His eyes are clearer today, sea-colored. Out from behind their lenses, they have a bright, youthful look. For a second, David catches sight of another Ruben Hart, the boy who was Jeddy’s friend, co-explorer of beaches and admirer of older sisters.
Where were we?
Swirling fog, David says. It’s closing in on the McKenzies’ house.
He’s brought his notebook again and is determined to make a better attempt at writing things down. His dad is on his case about getting a summer job. He’s pressuring David to work in the garden shop that’s part of the family landscaping business. So far, David has refused, not an easy stand to take.
Well, don’t expect any more handouts from me! his father raged. It’s about time you started supporting your own lifestyle.
What lifestyle? David had protested. How can I have a lifestyle when I live at home?
You know what. Movies, magazines, computer games. All that stuff you buy at the mall. Books.
Books! You mean, for high school next fall? His parents had always paid for those.
They’ll cost me a fortune. You could help out if you had a paying job.
I’m trying to get a job with a newspaper, David had explained. That’s what I’m working on. I’m researching a story.
It hadn’t gone over. He had nothing to show for it. His dad is a hands-on guy who measures industry by what he can see: gardens plowed, hedges pruned, lawns seeded. Another reason for the notebook. If David can produce evidence that he’s not wasting time, that he has good intentions, his father might cut him some slack. He might realize that David has a plan for his life, even if it doesn’t include Peterson’s Landscaping and Garden Design.
Who was the dead man in the evening suit, did you ever find out? David asks Mr. Hart now, to get him back on track.
Not right away. There was a clue, though, right under my nose. Something I’d overlooked.
What? David says, ballpoint poised and ready.