with him and his girlfriend in those days, what was her name? Missy? Lissy?"
"Oh, yes, that dear girl, that poor girl."
"Poor girl?"
"So broken-hearted. Oh, you don't know, do you? Of course not. Lanny's gone. All these years."
"Gone?"
"You don't - you haven't seen him, have you?"
"No ma'am, I'm sorry."
"Can't help hoping. Silly, isn't it? To hope that a phone call out of the blue...."
This was it. And he wouldn't get anywhere on the phone. "Mrs. McCoy, I don't mean to intrude, but can I come over?"
"Oh, I wish you would."
As soon as she said the address, Don knew half the history of the family. It was a tiny crackerbox house on a street of crackerbox houses, in a neighborhood built by Cone Mills for their textile workers. A strategy for keeping the unions out. The paternalistic employer provides workers with homes and they're grateful; meanwhile, labor agitators get evicted, not just fired, so their families are out on the street. Very effective disincentive. But when times changed, the company sold the houses to the workers at a better than fair price, and now those factory families or their children or grandchildren kept immaculate yards around those tiny houses, their labor insisting that the size of the houses did not tell you about the class of the people inside. These were solid people, working people, salt of the earth. And for one of these families to send a child to college was still a big deal, even in the days of student loans and government financial aid. Lanny must have been the bearer of the McCoy family honor, their hope, their ambition.
Mr. and Mrs. McCoy were white people in their late fifties, her hair gray, his graying. They ushered him into a tiny living room filled with furniture covered with doilies and throws. The fireplace mantle was covered with knickknacks, including a couple of Hummels and a Lladro that must have been the markers of special occasions. The pride of place in the center of the mantle went to a framed eight-by-ten of a young man with longish hair and a great smile. No sooner had Don sat down than Mr. McCoy took down the picture and handed it to him.
"That's our Lanny," he said. "Senior picture from high school."
"Nice-looking boy."
"He was the first of our family ever to get to college," said Mrs. McCoy. "And he was with that nice girl, too - we were sure they'd get married."
"You just never know," said Mr. McCoy, shaking his head.
"Nice girl?"
"You mentioned her on the phone," said Mrs. McCoy. "Felicity Yont."
"Lissy," said Mr. McCoy.
"Then they didn't get married?" asked Don. "We all assumed that they would."
"It just broke her heart," said Mrs. McCoy. "She came over here crying and crying about how he ran off with her roommate."
Ran off with.... This was not the story Don had expected to hear.
"A snake in the grass, that's what that one was," said Mr. McCoy. "The librarian steals the man? What a joke."
"And you don't know where they're living now?"
"We've never heard from him since." Mrs. McCoy broke down in tears.
After a delicate pause to show respect for his wife's grief, Mr. McCoy said softly, "I don't expect they're together. A woman like that, she's got no loyalty. She probably left him cold somewhere."
What could Don say? What would be gained by telling them that in fact Lissy murdered that very roommate, who certainly did not run off with anyone because she was still haunting the house where they roomed together?
The only sound was Mrs. McCoy's soft crying. Her husband gave her a handkerchief.
"I'm sorry I made you think of your loss again," said Don.
"Oh, young man, we think of Lanny every day," said Mrs. McCoy.
Mr. McCoy nodded sadly. Don suspected he carried handkerchiefs solely to deal with his wife's tears.
Don hated deceiving these people, but it was kinder than the truth. "My wife always assumed Lissy and Lanny must have ended up together."
"Maybe our boy is alive, maybe not," said Mr. McCoy. "I don't know what we did to make him leave us without a word." He stood up to keep himself from crying openly. So... maybe the handkerchiefs weren't just for her. "I guess we've disappointed you," he said.
Don could take a hint. Besides, he'd learned what he came to learn. There'd be no address from these people. "I appreciate your time. I'm just sorry that... I'm sorry." He got up, shook hands with Mr. McCoy, and took the one step that was needed