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Burnt Offerings :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 211 из 286"
"You getting superstitious on me, Larry?"
He was quietfor a space of heartbeats. "Maybe, or maybe it's just been a long day."
"It'll be a longer night," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "Just what I wanted to hear." He hung up then without saying goodbye.
Maybe I'd trained Dolph never to say goodbye. Maybe I was always the bearer of bad tidings, and everyone wanted to get off the phone with me as soon as possible. Naw.
40
I expected Larry to be sitting in his car. He wasn't. He was leaning against it. Even from a distance I could tell he was in pain, back stiff, trying not to move any more than necessary. I pulled in beside him. Up close he looked worse. His white dress shirt was smeared with black soot. His summer-weight dress pants were brown, so they'd survived a little better. A black smudge ran across his forehead to his chin. The blackness outlined one of his blue eyes so that it seemed darker, like a sapphire surrounded by onyx. The look in his eyes was dull, as if the pain had drained him.
"Jesus, you look like shit," I said.
He almost smiled. "Thanks, I needed that."
"Take a pill, get in the Jeep."
He started to shake his head, stopped in mid-motion and said, "No, if you can drive, I can go to the next disaster."
"You smell like someone set your clothes on fire."
"You look pristine," he said, and he sounded resentful.
"What's wrong, Larry?"
"Other than my back feels like a red-hot poker is being shoved up it?"
"Besides that," I said.
"I'll tell you in the car." Underneath the sulkiness, he sounded tired.
I didn't argue with him, just started walking for the Jeep. A few steps and I realized he wasn't keeping up. I turned and found him standing very still, eyes closed, hands in fists at his sides.
I walked back to him. "Need a hand?"
He opened his eyes, smiled, "A back, actually. Hands work fine."
I smiled and took his arm gently, half expecting him to tell me not to, but he didn't. He was hurting. He took a stiff step, and I steadied him. We made slow but sure progress to the Jeep. His breath was coming in small, shallow pants by the time I got him around to the passenger side door. I opened the door, wasn't sure how to get him inside. It was going to hurt any way I could do it.
"Just let me hold your arm. I can do it myself," he said.
I offered my arm. He got a death grip on it and sat down. He made a small hissing noise between his teeth. "You said it would hurt worse the second day.
"You getting superstitious on me, Larry?"
He was quietfor a space of heartbeats. "Maybe, or maybe it's just been a long day."
"It'll be a longer night," I said.
"Thanks," he said. "Just what I wanted to hear." He hung up then without saying goodbye.
Maybe I'd trained Dolph never to say goodbye. Maybe I was always the bearer of bad tidings, and everyone wanted to get off the phone with me as soon as possible. Naw.
40
I expected Larry to be sitting in his car. He wasn't. He was leaning against it. Even from a distance I could tell he was in pain, back stiff, trying not to move any more than necessary. I pulled in beside him. Up close he looked worse. His white dress shirt was smeared with black soot. His summer-weight dress pants were brown, so they'd survived a little better. A black smudge ran across his forehead to his chin. The blackness outlined one of his blue eyes so that it seemed darker, like a sapphire surrounded by onyx. The look in his eyes was dull, as if the pain had drained him.
"Jesus, you look like shit," I said.
He almost smiled. "Thanks, I needed that."
"Take a pill, get in the Jeep."
He started to shake his head, stopped in mid-motion and said, "No, if you can drive, I can go to the next disaster."
"You smell like someone set your clothes on fire."
"You look pristine," he said, and he sounded resentful.
"What's wrong, Larry?"
"Other than my back feels like a red-hot poker is being shoved up it?"
"Besides that," I said.
"I'll tell you in the car." Underneath the sulkiness, he sounded tired.
I didn't argue with him, just started walking for the Jeep. A few steps and I realized he wasn't keeping up. I turned and found him standing very still, eyes closed, hands in fists at his sides.
I walked back to him. "Need a hand?"
He opened his eyes, smiled, "A back, actually. Hands work fine."
I smiled and took his arm gently, half expecting him to tell me not to, but he didn't. He was hurting. He took a stiff step, and I steadied him. We made slow but sure progress to the Jeep. His breath was coming in small, shallow pants by the time I got him around to the passenger side door. I opened the door, wasn't sure how to get him inside. It was going to hurt any way I could do it.
"Just let me hold your arm. I can do it myself," he said.
I offered my arm. He got a death grip on it and sat down. He made a small hissing noise between his teeth. "You said it would hurt worse the second day.