11/22/63: A Novel

She ran for the parking lot. She did it awkwardly, like someone who hasn’t moved at a pace faster than a stately walk in a long time. In her brown shin-length skirt, opaque flesh-toned hose, and sensible brown shoes, she was the spirit of the age. Her hair was coming loose from its bun. Once I had no doubt she had worn it down, the way men like to see a woman’s hair, but that had been a long time ago.

“And have a nice day!” I called after her.

7

Sadie came into the kitchen while I was putting things away in the icebox. “You were gone a long time. I was starting to worry.”

“I got talking. You know how it is in Jodie. Always someone to pass the time of day with.”

She smiled. The smile was coming a little more easily now. “You’re a sweet guy.”

I thanked Sadie and told her she was a sweet gal. I wondered if Caltrop would talk to Fred Miller, the other schoolboard member who saw himself as a guardian of town morality. I didn’t think so. It wasn’t just that I knew about her youthful indiscretion; I had set out to scare her. It had worked with de Mohrenschildt, and it had worked with her. Scaring people is a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.

Sadie crossed the kitchen and put an arm around me. “What would you say to a weekend at the Candlewood Bungalows before school starts? Just like in the old days? I suppose that’s very forward of Sadie, isn’t it?”

“Well now, that depends.” I took her in my arms. “Are we talking about a dirty weekend?”

She blushed, except for around the scar. The flesh there remained white and shiny. “Absolutely feelthy, senor. ”

“The sooner the better, then.”

8

It wasn’t actually a dirty weekend, unless you believe-as the Jessica Caltrops of the world seem to-that lovemaking is dirty. It’s true that we spent a lot of it in bed. But we also spent a fair amount outside. Sadie was a tireless walker, and there was a vast open field on the flank of a hill behind the Candlewood. It was rioting with late-summer wildflowers. We spent most of Saturday afternoon there. Sadie could name some of the blooms-Spanish dagger, prickly poppy, something called yucca birdweed-but at others she could only shake her head, then bend over to smell whatever aromas there were to be smelled. We walked hand in hand, with high grass brushing against our jeans and big clouds with fluffed-out tops sailing the high Texas sky. Long shutters of light and shadow slipped across the field. There was a cool breeze that day, and no refinery smell in the air. At the top of the hill we turned and looked back. The bungalows were small and insignificant on the tree-dotted sweep of the prairie. The road was a ribbon.

Sadie sat down, drew her knees to her chest, and clasped her arms around her shins. I sat down beside her.

“I want to ask you something,” she said.

“All right.”

“It’s not about the… you know, where you come from… that’s more than I want to think about just now. It’s about the man you came to stop. The one you say is going to kill the president.”

I considered this. “Delicate subject, hon. Do you remember me telling you that I’m close to a big machine full of sharp teeth?”

“Yes-”

“I said I wouldn’t let you stand next to me while I was fooling with it. I’ve already said more than I meant to, and probably more than I should have. Because the past doesn’t want to be changed. It fights back when you try. And the bigger the potential change, the harder it fights. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I already have been,” she said quietly.

“Are you asking if that was my fault?”

“No, honey.” She put a hand on my cheek. “No.”

“Well, it may have been, at least partially. There’s a thing called the butterfly effect-” There were hundreds of them fluttering on the slope before us, as if to illustrate that very fact.

“I know what that is,” she said. “There’s a Ray Bradbury story about it.”

“Really?”

“It’s called ‘A Sound of Thunder.’ It’s very beautiful and very disturbing. But Jake-Johnny was crazy long before you came on the scene. I left him long before you came on the scene. And if you hadn’t come along, some other man might have. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been as nice as you, but I wouldn’t have known that, would I? Time is a tree with many branches.”

“What do you want to know about the guy, Sadie?”

“Mostly why you don’t just call the police-anonymously, of course-and report him.”

I pulled a stem of grass to chew while I thought about that. The first thing to cross my mind was something de Mohrenschildt had said in the Montgomery Ward parking lot: He’s a semi-educated hillbilly, but he’s surprisingly crafty.

It was a good assessment. Lee had escaped Russia when he was tired of it; he would also be crafty enough to escape the Book Depository after shooting the president in spite of the almost immediate police and Secret Service response. Of course it was a quick response; plenty of people were going to see exactly where the shots came from.