Rehab Run Read online

  “Your brother sure knows what he wants,” Mary called over to me. “I think I just sold him the Beast.” I laughed and Laurence gave me a thumbs up. “I’ll clean my shit out but you guys have to drive me home.” I carefully stubbed my cigarette in the sand-filled coffee can under the swing, and stood to go inside to wash my hands. I wondered which counsellor was on duty, so I could tell them I’d be out a little late to get Mary home and Laurence settled in at the inn or at Dickie’s, though I had only a sketchy idea where either of those was.

  I closed my eyes and smelled the air. I found myself saying a silent prayer for peace for all of us, but after all I had done, I wasn’t sure how predisposed God would be to hear me.

  Mary ran over and grabbed my hand and started pulling me back to the car. She was stronger than she looked. “Come on,” she said. “You have to take me to my puppy.”

  “And then you can help me find Dickie’s place,” Laurence called over. I looked at Mary, and she ran inside to tell whoever was on duty that I would be signed out for another couple of hours. I was aware of the fact that finding the hand in the mailbox – and that Rose’s Place was topsy-turvy as a result – had meant that favors like this would not be a problem. Only two residents had left in the last day. The others, as I had predicted, seemed to be vaguely enjoying the drama. But as I wasn’t the most sociable person here, I wasn’t privy to the gossip.

  I was about to walk in, when Mary burst back through the door and tossed some hand sanitizer at me. “Okay, who’s driving?” she said, and threw the keys in the air somewhere between my brother and me. Laurence’s height meant that he got there first.

  He opened the passenger door for Mary. “My dear,” he said smoothly, helping her in. I looked at him. “You’re in the back, Bean,” he said. “Behind me.” He patted me on the head and I lightly kicked his ankle.

  I couldn’t stop grinning, and neither could Laurence. I climbed in the back seat, and we sped back down the driveway. And I, for one, had no thoughts of any more severed hands.

  FOUR

  Mary chatted away a mile a minute all the way to her place, and Laurence seemed vastly entertained. I was just happy in the back seat, watching the world go by. Night had settled in, and if the car had been a four-door I would have had my head sticking out the window like a dog, enjoying the air and movement.

  We drove west along the Evangeline Trail, the main thorough fare through the Valley, until Mary directed us onto a side road across from a huge, abandoned brick building, which apparently used to be a high school. Weeds were everywhere, and a bunch of kids were having a bonfire on what looked like it was once a track field.

  “Don’t worry, they built a new school,” Mary said, though nobody had mentioned anything. “Years and years ago. But they can’t get rid of that land for love nor money.” We drove down a road with markedly less affluence than those we had been on before. Patio lanterns strung between rusted trailers, and chicken pens sat close to the road.

  “We call this Dogpatch,” Mary said. “You know, after the old L’il Abner funnies?”

  “I can see that,” Laurence said. The road was all hairpin turns and the vehicles we did see were pickup trucks, whose drivers obviously knew the road better than we did.

  “Back when I was little, I had cousins down here,” Mary continued. “Moonshiners. Some of them are still around back here. Off the beaten path.”

  “Where did the rest of them go?” I said. I felt like Margaret Mead.

  “Oh, jail, some of them,” she said. “Died off. My cousin Charlotte has an apartment in Wolfville now though.” We drove slowly past what looked like a big old industrial furnace, abandoned by the side of the road. Until you saw that someone had blowtorched a small window out and hung a curtain in it. “There’s hardship everywhere,” she said, after a pause.

  We drove in silence, past a small lumber mill that made me think of Maine, and then down a steep hill. It was all forest here, until at the bottom of the hill we came to a river. People were still swimming, and there was another bonfire on a miniscule beach. Parents were packing up coolers and one little girl was wailing her disapproval. She stopped for a startled second as I stuck my hand out the front window and waved enthusiastically to her from the back seat. On the other side of the river, the road grew steep again, and I could tell Laurence was enjoying getting the chance to play with the Mustang.

  “We’re heading up the mountain now,” Mary said.

  “I’ll say,” Laurence said. For a mile or so the road seemed to go up at a sixty-degree angle. Houses were few and far between, but while modest, they were nothing like what we had seen in Mary’s Dogpatch.

  “Manure!” Mary said, rolling up her window. “You’re not in New York City now, Larry!”

  I laughed. It was so steep that my ears popped. I could see myself living here. More and more, I could see it. Maybe not year round, maybe only in the summer. Laurence and Mary were bickering in the front like old friends about his name, and I fantasized about us all spending time together in some house or other I would buy. Eating lobsters and going for walks. I wouldn’t know any dealers here, and maybe this would be the place I could settle. Reminded me a bit of where I grew up in Maine, but not so much that it would bring back painful memories.

  Mary directed us into the driveway of a neat little white house, covered in wooden butterflies in bright shades of turquoise and yellow and pink.

  “Shut up. I know they’re tacky, but I love them,” she said. Neither of us, of course, had said a word.

  “Follow your dreams, Mary,” Laurence said, straight-faced. Mary laughed and hit him on the arm, and told him again to shut up. She invited us in for tea but it was obvious she wanted to be with her husband and the dog, and we still had to find Dickie’s place.

  “Cell service is unreliable once you get back into the woods,” she said. “Just follow my map; you’ll be fine.” Mary had made it for me before I went to pick Laurence up at the airport, and it was so precise and pretty I wanted to frame it. It included landmarks in small, neat handwriting, such as “big ugly red house, don’t knock on their door” and “Bill’s Bait and Grocery, cheap milk.” Dickie’s cabin was highlighted with a big gold star, the same ones they used on a chart in the meeting room at Rose’s Place to indicate when someone had made a breakthrough in their Share.

  “We’ll be fine,” I said. Laurence helped me out of the narrow back seat. I could hear Dixie barking madly inside the house, recognizing the sound of Mary’s car door closing. I was curious about her husband, but that would be for another day.

  Mary hugged us both and tugged her house keys off the key chain Laurence handed her and gave the car keys back to him. “I’ll bring you the spare set tomorrow,” she said. She gestured at the house. “I should…”

  “We’re leaving,” I said. “Thanks so much, Mary.” She patted her hip absently, smiled, and trotted into the house. Laurence and I pulled out of her driveway back onto the road and drove for a few minutes in companionable silence. I turned the light on and looked at the map.

  “So this road will sort of take us around the lake,” I said. “It looks like we have to turn once, but then it just follows the lake around, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

  “It’ll be weird to see Dickie,” Laurence said. He passed his pack of cigarettes to me, the universal sign for I’m driving, light me a cigarette. So I did, and one for myself. Windows down, crickets chirping, elbow out the window, smoking cigarettes. I felt sixteen again. I was the happiest I had been since Ginger was murdered. Since long, long before that, in fact. “I hope he’s okay.” He glanced at his cell. “No bars.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Rose’s funeral.” He smoked in silence. “Before that? About a dozen years ago. Rose was already addicted but I didn’t know about it.”

  “Everybody seems to love him,” I said. “They all seem very protective of Dickie.”

  “He has always inspired that in people. Even
when he was earning close to a million a year. It’s probably his greatest strength.”

  “You make it sound like it’s fake, that he does that on purpose,” I said. “Like he’s conning people.”

  “No, Dickie’s genuine. But in business, I would imagine he was savvy enough to know how he was perceived.” I nodded. “But those days are over. He says he’ll never set foot in an office again.”

  “Look,” I said. We were now driving parallel to the lake now, and through the modest cottages you could see the water. More patio lanterns in the distance on several cabins. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It is.” Laurence slowed down and stopped. We watched the lake for a minute.

  “Mosquitos,” I said. I slapped one on my arm, and immediately became aware that I had been bitten several times. I’m one of those people whose pheromones attract them. I’d spent half my childhood summers covered in pink calamine lotion.

  “Fucking nature,” Laurence said brightly.

  “I know, right?”

  “Didn’t you say something about wanting to move out here?” Laurence said. “You wouldn’t last a summer.”

  “I’d stay indoors in the summer maybe,” I said. “Views look pretty good from an air-conditioned room through floor-to-ceiling glass.” We drove slowly on the narrow dirt road, enjoying each other’s company. But I was actually starting to get a bit nervous about what state Dickie would be in. My own state of mind had been precarious enough of late.

  “Car,” Laurence called, and I laughed. We could hear a vehicle probably three hundred yards away, around a corner. When we were growing up, Mom and Dad had always yelled out “car” to us when that happened back in Maine. Used to crack us up.

  Laurence pulled over to the side of the road and moved at a snail’s pace, not wanting to surprise whatever was approaching. It was the first car we’d seen since leaving Mary’s place, and with these corners we were an accident waiting to happen.

  It was a yellow truck. A yellow pickup was heading for us.

  “Jesus!” I heard Laurence yell, but my heart was pounding so hard it was muffled in my ears.

  The truck had its high beams on and was taking the corner at speed. Laurence pulled sharply off the road and laid on the Mustang’s horn. The truck didn’t slow down, but didn’t hit us either. I tried to see the driver when the truck was parallel with us. I caught a glimpse. The tinted driver’s-side window was rolled halfway down.

  “Did you see him,” Laurence wanted to know.

  “Red baseball cap,” I said. “Dark hair.”

  “Man?”

  “Probably,” I said. I shook my head and shook out my hands, which were still holding onto the dash. “I don’t know.”

  “Think it was the same one?” Laurence said and I knew what he meant. The same one from the highway back from the airport.

  “Probably.”

  “Follow him or get to Dickie’s?”

  “Dickie,” I said. “I really think we should get to Dickie’s.”

  It was automatic. We had to get to Dickie’s. Until this moment, even after finding the hand, I hadn’t felt a sense of danger. Not until now.

  After Ginger was murdered, I experienced some strange things that I hadn’t faced yet. Dreams where she was talking to me. Everybody has dreams, but a couple of times I had felt like she was inhabiting my body, or I hers, moments before her death. Despite being fraternal and not identical twins, Ginger and I did have some of that twin telepathy that people always talk about. And I had encountered a couple of random strangers who seemed to recognize something in me, some sensitivity or that, if it existed, I had always ignored or explained away to myself. I had long ago sworn that the next person who used the word “psychic” in my presence in any serious way was going to get a knuckle sandwich.

  But I was feeling something now. Something dark, something pulling me across the lake to Dickie.

  Laurence was checking the rear view, but the road was deserted. “How much further?” he said.

  “According to Mary’s map we have to look for a cottage painted with lilac and green stripes. Then Dickie is on the right somewhere past that. He has a sign that says ‘Rose’ at the end of the driveway.” I hadn’t noticed that on the map before.

  “God,” Laurence said. “The poor bastard.”

  “Look,” I said, a few minutes later. Ahead on the right, closer to the road than the lake, was the place Mary had described. Despite the feeling of foreboding I couldn’t shake, I had to laugh. Even in the dark, it looked like something a five-year-old might color. But I loved it.

  “That takes courage,” Laurence said. “They’re really letting the freak flag fly with that one.”

  A bit further down, the road veered away from the lake, so the cottages were hidden from view by thick forest. Most people had hammered cutesy signs into trees: MOTHER’S MANSION, or BIDE-A-WEE.

  But within another minute we found Dickie’s sign. ROSE. Simple black lettering, small white sign.

  There were no lights, and the night was now pitch black. Laurence flipped on the high beams and we turned onto a narrow, rutted road. There was still mud from the rain days ago. After about fifty yards was a yellow sign indicating a turn to the right, and then we saw the cabin.

  It was bigger than I had been expecting, and in the dark at least, nicer looking. A simple clapboard cabin though, no crazy paint jobs. I immediately noticed an outhouse, and nudged Laurence.

  “You’re staying here?” I said, pointing at it. “This ain’t Central Park West, baby.”

  “No shit,” he replied.

  I snorted. “You hope,” I said, and Laurence grinned.

  “Outhouse and a compost toilet inside,” he said. “I’ll be able to dine out on this for a while.”

  The levity was slightly nervous and definitely short-lived. The cabin was dark with no sign of life.

  “Car’s here,” Laurence said.

  “He could be sleeping.” I looked at Laurence. “Well, so we knock on the door, right? Isn’t he expecting you?”

  “I thought so.”

  We got out of the car, and I found myself shutting the door quietly. For no reason other than my continued feeling of unease I found myself scanning the ground for something to use as a weapon. I picked up a rock the size of my fist.

  And to my surprise, Laurence followed my lead. I looked at him.

  “It was good enough for the cavemen,” he said.

  I snorted. “Yeah, and look what happened to them.”

  We went to the back door, which was fronted by a little porch with some plants on it, and even a welcome mat. I noticed that there was an outdoor light by the door, and the fact that it wasn’t on, particularly when Dickie knew Laurence was probably coming tonight, made me reach into my back pocket and put my cell phone in my free hand.

  Laurence knocked and we waited in silence. I stood flat against the building to the left of the door. There was nothing; no sound, no sign of life.

  “So what now? Should I take you to the hotel?” My feeling of something wrong hadn’t eased up; in fact it had ratcheted up a notch. But I had had enough bounding through doors where I wasn’t expected to last me a lifetime. There never seemed to be birthday cake and balloons on the other side.

  Laurence shook his head. He hesitated for a moment, then tried the door.

  It was open.

  “Dickie!” Laurence called without stepping inside. “It’s Laurence. Are you here?” The direct approach, I suppose. No sound. “I’ve got Danny with me. We’re coming in, buddy.”

  Were we now. Yes, I supposed we were.

  Laurence groped around inside the door and flipped on a light, and we stepped inside.

  FIVE

  The first thing I noticed was the smell of meat cooking. Well, burning. Obviously, so had Laurence. He rushed over to a stove, picked up a frying pan and put it in the sink.

  “It’s turned off, but it’s still warm,” he said quietly. “Steak.”

  I quickl
y glanced to my left and saw the open bathroom door, and flipped on the light. Compost toilet, basic shower with the curtain open, sink. Nobody there. I scanned the kitchen area and grabbed the largest knife from a block on the counter, and motioned for Laurence to do the same.

  My instinct was to remain quiet until we got the lay of the land, but of course Laurence had already loudly announced our presence.

  Laurence was perfectly still. He was staring at the counter, where a cutting board sat, a lone tomato partially sliced into. A glass of beer beside it, which when I touched it was still cold.

  No signs of a struggle. Nothing knocked over.

  The cabin was one large room with a bedroom at the far end. It was neat, if shabby, and not in a fashionable way. No television or radio that I could see. Lots of books. A gun rack on the wall with a single-barrel shotgun. I touched the barrel, which was cold. Not recently fired, then. I started toward the bedroom but Laurence put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Let me,” he said.

  I looked at my hands as though they belonged to someone else. A large knife in one, and a rock in the other. I had put my cell down somewhere, obviously. I didn’t remember doing that.

  “Dickie?” Laurence said and stuck his head into the bedroom. I heard Laurence’s breath stop.

  Before I could think, I was in front of my brother and pushing him behind me. Every muscle in my body was ready, and I found I was holding the knife in an overhand grip. No way was I going to lose another sibling. No fucking way.