11/22/63: A Novel

“On that note, I think I’ll drive back to Jodie.” She laughed distractedly. “In a daze.”

She walked down the ramp, put her case in the cubby that served as her Beetle’s trunk, then blew me a kiss. She started to get in, but I couldn’t let her go like that. I couldn’t run-Dr. Perry said that was still eight months away, maybe even a year-but I limped down the ramp as fast as I could.

“Wait, Sadie, wait a minute!”

Mr. Kenopensky was sitting next door in his wheelchair, bundled up in a jacket and holding his battery-powered Motorola in his lap. On the sidewalk, Norma Whitten was making her slow way down toward the mailbox on the corner, using a pair of wooden sticks more like ski poles than crutches. She turned and waved to us, trying to lift the frozen side of her face into a smile.

Sadie looked at me questioningly in the twilight.

“I just wanted to tell you something,” I said. “I wanted to tell you you’re the best damned thing that ever happened to me.”

She laughed and hugged me. “Ditto, kind sir.”

We kissed a long time, and might have kissed longer but for the dry clapping sound on our right. Mr. Kenopensky was applauding.

Sadie pulled away, but took me by the wrists. “You’ll call me, won’t you? Keep me… what’s that thing you say? In the loop?”

“That’s it, and I will.” I had no intention of keeping her in the loop. Deke or the police, either.

“Because you can’t do this on your own, Jake. You’re too weak.”

“I know that,” I said. Thinking: I better not be. “Call me so I know you got back safe.”

When her Bug turned the corner and disappeared, Mr. Kenopensky said, “Better mind your p’s and q’s, Amberson. That one’s a keeper.”

“I know.” I stayed at the foot of the driveway long enough to make sure Miz Whitten got back from the mailbox without falling down.

She made it.

I went back inside.

2

The first thing I did was to get my key ring off the top of the dresser and pick through the keys, surprised that Sadie had never shown them to me to see if they’d jog my memory… but of course she couldn’t think of everything. There were an even dozen. I had no idea what most of them went to, although I was pretty sure the Schlage opened the front door of my house in… was it Sabattus? I thought that was right, but I wasn’t sure.

There was one small key on the ring. Stamped on it was FC and 775 . It was a safe deposit box key, all right, but what was the bank? First Commercial? That sounded bankish, but it wasn’t right.

I closed my eyes and looked into darkness. I waited, almost sure what I wanted would come… and it did. I saw a checkbook in a faux alligator cover. I saw myself flipping it open. This was surprisingly easy. Printed on the top check was not only my Land of Ago name but my last official Land of Ago address.

214 W. Neely St. Apartment 1

Dallas, TX

I thought: That’s where my car got stolen from.

And I thought: Oswald. The assassin’s name is Oswald Rabbit.

No, of course not. He was a man, not a cartoon character. But it was close.

“I’m coming for you, Mr. Rabbit,” I said. “Still coming.”

3

The phone rang shortly before nine-thirty. Sadie was home safe. “Don’t suppose anything came to you, did it? I’m a pest, I know.”

“Nothing. And you’re the farthest thing in the world from a pest.” She was also going to be the farthest thing in the world from Oswald Rabbit, if I had anything to do about it. Not to mention his wife, whose name might or might not be Mary, and his little girl, who I felt sure was named April.

“You were pulling my leg about a Negro being in the White House, weren’t you?”

I smiled. “Wait awhile. You can see for yourself.”

4

11/18/63 (Monday)

The DAVIN nurses, one old and formidable, the other young and pretty, arrived at 9:00 A.M. sharp. They did their thing. When the older one felt that I had grimaced, twitched, and moaned enough, she handed me a paper envelope with two pills in it. “Pain.”

“I don’t really think-”

“Take em,” she said-a woman of few words. “Freebies.”

I popped them in my mouth, cheeked them, swallowed water, then excused myself to use the bathroom. There I spat them out.

When I returned to the kitchen, the older nurse said: “Good progress. Don’t overdo.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Catch them?”

“Beg pardon?”

“The assholes who beat you up.”

“Uh… not yet.”

“Doing something you shouldn’t have been doing?”

I gave her my widest smile, the one Christy used to say made me look like a game-show host on crack. “I don’t remember.”

5

Dr. Ellerton came for lunch, bringing huge roast beef sandwiches, crispy french fries dripping in grease, and the promised milkshakes. I ate as much as I could manage, which was really quite a lot. My appetite was returning.

“Mike talked up the idea of doing yet another variety show,” he said. “This time to benefit you. In the end, wiser heads prevailed. A small town can only give so much.” He lit a cigarette, dropped the match into the ashtray on the table, and inhaled with gusto. “Any chance the police will catch the mugs who tuned up on you? What do you hear?”