kid did anything dumb, he would hear about it, one way or another. He’s not entirely sure that’s the case.
Trey herself has dematerialized. Cal is prepared for anything from slashed tires to a brick through his window—he’s moved his mattress into a corner out of range, and he keeps a lookout for missiles on his way in and out of the house. Nothing happens. When he sits on his step in the evenings, nothing rustles in the hedges but birds and small animals. When he works on his house or cooks his dinner, the back of his neck stays quiet. If he didn’t know better, he could easily find himself believing that he imagined the whole thing.
He goes flat out on the house: gets the name of the local chimney sweep from Noreen, finishes painting the walls in the front room and moves on to stripping the wallpaper in the little second bedroom. Mart’s buddy Locky comes round to do the rewiring and provide a washing machine, at a price that Cal knows better than to inquire into. Locky shows an inclination to chat, so Cal takes the opportunity to go into town and buy himself some new kitchen cupboards and an actual fridge-freezer. With them installed and a fire in the fireplace, the front room changes. It loses its remote, dismantled air and comes together into something whose bareness has a spare, solid warmth. He WhatsApps Alyssa a photo. Oh wow, she texts back, it looks great!
Getting there, Cal texts. You should come see it. Alyssa comes back with, Yes! As soon as work settles down and an eye-roll emoji. Even though this is much what Cal expected, it leaves him sore and low, with the urge to call Donna and piss her off.
Instead he goes out to his woods and spends a couple of hours collecting dead branches to stack for firewood. The cold has settled in, and a fine net curtain of rain hangs in the air. Whenever Cal leaves the house, even just to take out the trash, he doesn’t feel a drop hit him, but he gets back inside damp through. Somehow it seeps inside the house, too: no matter how long he keeps the fire burning and the oil heater on, his sleeping bag and his duvet always feel almost imperceptibly damp. He buys another heater for his bedroom, which helps some but not a whole lot.
He tries to take advantage of the fact that he can play his music as loud as he wants again, but it doesn’t go to plan. He starts out well, cooking dinner to a good rousing dose of Steve Earle complete with full air drums, just like no one ever came peeping in the windows to see him make a fool of himself. Somehow or other, though, by the end of the evening he finds himself sitting on his back step with a beer, looking up into the darkening haze of the sky and feeling the mist of rain thicken on his skin and his hair, while Jim Reeves fills the air with an old tearjerker about a guy trudging through a blizzard who almost makes it home.
One of the few things that give Cal real pleasure in these days is the discovery that he still has his eye for a rifle. The weather lends itself more to fishing, but he doesn’t have the patience just now. He would love to spend more time out with the Henry, drizzle or no drizzle, but there’s a limit to how much rabbit he can eat. He stashes a couple in his new freezer and takes two to Daniel Boone, who rewards him with a discount on bullets and a tour of his favorite guns, and a pair to Noreen, to make it clear that he sees and appreciates her support. He knows he ought to take one to Mart, but he can’t bring himself to do it.
He could take one to Lena, except he’s avoiding her with such dedication that he feels like a damn fool, skulking outside the shop trying to make sure she’s not in there before he can work up the courage to go in himself. He would love to do all his shopping in town for a few weeks, but he can’t risk offending Noreen at this delicate moment. This also means he can’t hurry in and out; he has to listen to all the news about Angela Maguire’s heart trouble, complete with an explanation of