Chapter Forty-Seven

Joe and Brent sat with Ursula at her kitchen table. The white and yellow curtains were drawn against the evening and a brass hanging lamp provided cozy light as the men picked at the remains of their sandwiches. Ursula was smiling, the lines around her eyes folding into crinkles. "You two sure went to a lot of trouble to track her here. Funny, but Elise suspected you might get this far. She was tired and really should've stayed another day or two, but she didn't think she should chance it."

Joe glanced at Brent, who was scowling at his plate. "Is she going to stay in Mexico, do you think?"

Ursula shook her head. "There's nothing that appeals to her there." She picked up her teacup and took a sip. "She said she's going to Europe as quickly as she can get a ticket under her assumed name. She could be on her way right now."

"Which country?" Brent asked grimly.

"Honestly, she didn't say. She didn't want me tempted to tell."

"We can find her anyway," Brent said. "We know the name she's using. We have her passport number, we--"

"I don't know if we should be doing that," Joe said quietly.

"Why not? We've come this far."

Ursula stood up. "How about dessert?" She went into the kitchen and took a key lime pie out of the refrigerator. She put two slices on plates and brought them to the table. Finding the men still arguing, she gazed levelly at each of them in turn. "If you're going to carry on, you're going to have to take it outside. I raised four children who could think of nothing better to do than snip at each other. I've earned some peace and quiet."

Joe and Brent exchanged hostile looks, but said no more, transferring their attention reluctantly to their dessert. "The pie looks great," Joe said, although the tone of his voice didn't match the enthusiasm of his words.

"When you're finished, you can take showers if you like. One of you can sleep in my guest room and the other can sleep on the sofa. I'm sorry I don't have more space, but I converted my other rooms into a study and a studio."

"That's okay, "Brent said. "I don't mind sleeping on the sofa. We don't have any clean clothes, though."

"That's right," Joe said. "They're in the truck." He looked at Ursula. "Would you mind if--"

Ursula smiled primly. "I never lend out my car, but I'll drive you to get your things, unless you'd rather have the truck towed here."

Joe shook his head. "I think I'd rather wait until morning, when I can get it taken to a mechanic. There probably isn't anything wrong with it, but I'd rather be sure."

Ursula reached for her keys lying on the kitchen counter. "Well, come on then. Not you," she added, as Brent rose to his feet as well. "I don't need you two arguing any more. And besides, I'd rather someone stay here so I don't have to turn off all the lights and lock the doors."

Brent shrugged and sat back down. "Gives me more time with this pie."


* * *

Joe moved down the darkened hallway on silent feet. He emerged into the living room, its blond furniture rendered shadowy and suspicious in the ruddy glow from the fireplace. Joe could just make out Brent's sleeping form stretched out on the sofa, wrapped in a homemade quilt. The light from the fire was kind to his features, making him look young and vulnerable, like a tow-headed child.

Joe stood over him for a moment, his own features softening into something like pity. Then he shook himself and turned away, scanning the shadowy room. He made out the form of Brent's ruined coat lying across a chair and tried that first, digging his hand into first one pocket, then another, pulling out scraps of paper which he examined in front of the fire. Annoyed, he checked the pockets again, but there was nothing else.

He found Brent's pants on the floor and went through those next, but had no better luck. Increasingly agitated, he checked the leather overnight bag, groping through every pocket, fold and crevice, producing plenty of folded paper, but not the one he was looking for. Exasperated, he sat on the floor and buried his face in his palms. After a minute he looked up. Silently, he made his way to the sofa and reached a tentative hand under the pillow. Brent stirred, but his eyes didn't open. Joe reached deeper until his hand encountered something. His fingers closed over it and he slowly drew it out.

Joe moved to the hearth and unfolded it. This was the one. Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he opened the mesh screen and tossed it in.

A hand grabbed him from behind and brutally threw him to the floor. "What do you think you're doing?" Brent grabbed a poker and thrust it into the fire.

Joe sat up, stunned but calm. "Give it up. It's over."

Brent continued poking at the fire but found only blackened bits of ash. "We'll never find her now. That was all we had left to go on. That was--"

"I want this to be the end of it. I'm tired, you're tired...I'm sure she's tired. Let's just stop."

"Like hell I will." Brent stood up, brandishing the heavy poker. "Maybe you're done looking, but I'm not. If I have to go to the ends of the earth to find her, I will."

"Good luck. You'll have to find some way to get those social security and passport numbers again, unless you plan to knock on every door in Europe."

"You sorry bastard. I ought to kill you." Before Joe could react, he brought the poker down with lethal force. Joe ducked out of the way and wrenched it from his hands.

Brent tried to wrest it back and they struggled, rolling on the floor and panting, until Joe managed to throw it out of reach of either of them. Brent brought his fist down on Joe's face but before he could punch him again, Joe pinned him to the floor and held him there while he struggled and cursed. It took several minutes, but at last Brent lay calm.

"You can let me go," Brent said.

"Not if you're going to pull that shit again."

"I won't."

Joe watched without comment as Brent sat up and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent tears. After a moment he retreated silently to his own room, where he threw himself on the bed, drawing deep ragged breaths and waiting for his own tears to come. When nothing happened, he rolled over and gazed out the window.

A full moon had risen and was shining like daylight through the slats of the blinds. Joe sat up and pulled the cord, flooding the room with cold white light. Then he lay back down, gazing up at the distant satellite-- a world unto itself, so unlike his own. For a long time he stared, mesmerized by the moon's cold, distant beauty, by the way it seemed close enough to touch while remaining tantalizingly unreachable. Joe stared at it so long that finally tears came to his eyes, and he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow so the moon wouldn't see him cry.