Rescue - By Anita Shreve Page 0,10

warned. “He’ll have you up against the wall for a feel before the week is out.”

She smiled. “Looking forward to it,” she said.

“You going to invite me to sit down?”

“No,” she said, dropping her cigarette into the sink and picking up her jacket. “I’m broke. I need a hot meal.”

By the time Sheila had walked to the cruiser, gone back to lock the door, and returned, the tips of her wet hair had frozen. She played with the frost and broke the ends. “Christ, it’s cold. I hope your car doesn’t break down.”

“You need a better jacket.”

“You want to buy it for me?”

He did. That was the problem. He made a U and pulled out onto 42.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“A place that serves good chili.”

Webster drove north, past the town line, and then past the one after that. For a while, they didn’t talk in the car. She spent the time looking out the window at the lights in the houses. “They still have their Christmas trees up,” she mused.

“They’ll be lit until the needles fall off. The wreaths will be up until Easter.”

“How come?”

“Long winter in Vermont.”

“Think we’ve gone far enough?” she asked after a time, a note of sarcasm in her voice.

“It’s the best place around.” A lie, and she knew it. “We can turn back if you want,” he offered.

“What?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard him.

* * *

The parking lot was full. Webster let Sheila off at the door. He watched as she left the car and straightened her shoulders.

Webster searched for a spot, his frustration growing every second. He didn’t want to leave her alone. By the time he got inside, some guy would be hitting on her. He parked at the edge of an adjacent cornfield. Illegal, but so what? A farmer was going to come out and slash his tires? He jogged back to the restaurant.

At first, he couldn’t spot her as he glanced from room to room.

“She’s in a booth,” the guy behind the bar said. Webster gave a quick nod and headed for the red leatherette. The tables were highly varnished and slick to the touch, as if they weren’t entirely clean. The whole place smelled of cooked onions and cigarette smoke. Sheila had her jacket off. She was sitting sideways, a beer in front of her.

She’s comfortable here, he thought.

Three beers apiece and two half-empty chili bowls. Sheila was a delicate eater, and Webster had lost his appetite. Her skin was flushed, and the heat inside the restaurant had curled her hair at the ends. It softened her face.

“It’s not that I’m trying to settle here or anything—fuck, no—it just seems like a good place to lie low for a while.”

She said it as if she were used to lying low. As if she were an outlaw.

“You know you’re in the police records,” Webster said. “Your boyfriend being a cop, he can easily find you.”

She shrugged, but he could feel the vibration of the tip of her boot against the center pole of the table. Her eyes slid off his face.

“What did he do to you?” Webster asked.

“What do you think?”

The ER nurse had said evidence of old bruises. Webster felt anger toward a cop he’d never met.

“So what about you?” she asked. “You been here all your life? In Hartstone, I mean?”

“Sort of.”

“Ever lived in a city?”

“Rutland. Didn’t live there exactly, but I did my training there.”

“That’s a city?”

“Maybe.”

“How can you stand it?” she asked, turning and stretching out again in the booth. Dinner over. She blew the smoke away from him. It didn’t much matter. Webster could hardly see the pool tables against the back wall for all the fog.

“Stand what?”

“The… I don’t know… the nothing.”

“People lead full, rich lives all over the planet,” he said with a half smile.

“A philosopher now.”

He liked watching her in profile, especially as she smoked. She had long fingers, a sophisticated drag, a lovely purse to her mouth as she exhaled. He hated smoking, but he knew the look was the reason girls took up the habit.

“And you would know this how?” she asked.

“I read,” he said.

He was surprised when she let that go.

“You have family?” he asked.

“I’ve got a sister in Manhattan.”

“You could have gone there.”

“First place he’d look. Besides, she lives in a one-bedroom with her boyfriend and a baby on the way.”

“You like her?”

“My sister? What’s it to you?” She was facing him now, restless, but blew the smoke sideways this time. A mouth poised to