Black Chalk

No, she says, a Johnny Rockets in a mall near Albany. It was only for a few hours. He said he had some important matters to take care of back down in the city. You haven’t seen him since he got back?

I’m sure I will, I say.

We talk some more. I let her tell me about her son, that she baked him cookies, they were always his favourite, he hasn’t changed one little bit . . . And then I tell her I have to go.

We say goodbye, Chad’s mother thanks me some more. And I hang up.

Dee looks at me, all of the hope gone from her face, and I shake my head. He went to see her near Albany, I say. Then he said he was coming back here.

Maybe he just needs some time, Dee says.

Maybe, I nod.

But that’s not what you think, is it, Jolyon?

I don’t know, Dee. I don’t know if he believes in them or not.

Oh, Chad believes in them, Dee says.

Did you see any of the letters?

He showed me a few. And he admitted it was perfectly possible the whole thing was ridiculous, a sadistic game.

And what do you think, Dee?

What do I know, Jolyon? The only things I know about the world I got from reading books. Good people do good things, good people do bad things, bad people do worse things. What more is there? My husband was scared, that’s all I know.

So what will you do? I say.

Continue to wait for him.

And if he doesn’t come back?

I’ll find him. I’ll look and I’ll never stop looking. Dee picks up one of the cushions from my sofa and hugs it to her belly. And how about you, Jolyon, what will you do?

Stop drinking, I say. Stop taking pills. And start working.

As simple as that?

No, probably not, I say.

And now I think the time has come. In the corner of the room there hangs a white sheet draped over my surprise.

She hasn’t asked about it but Dee watches me curiously when I kneel down and feel for the electrical cord, when I plug it into the socket.

The lights show faintly through the fabric. I stand up and pull the sheet off with as much flourish as I can muster. And there it stands, a four-foot artificial Christmas tree, green wiring wrapped all around and the red lights ablaze.

The fireflies are out, I say to Dee.

She sniffs and half laughs at my silly game.

And look, I say, there’s a present underneath the tree for you.

What is this, Jolyon? Dee says. A reminder of all the lies I told you in the park?

I make shushing sounds. That’s not what this is about, I say. I told you I understand what you did. The present is for you, Dee. Open it.

I have overwrapped the gift, trying to conceal my surprise with layers of bubble wrap and now it looks as big as a pillow.

Dee pulls away the paper, rips through the layers of wrap. And there it is, the large book as thick as a wedding album, red leatherette.

She blinks in amazement. She has to open it to be sure, to see her words inside.

Oh, Jolyon, she says, throwing her arms around my neck and starting to cry.

I hug Dee tight to me, rub circles on her back.

But how did you find it? she asks.

It doesn’t matter, I tell her. And don’t worry about anything, Dee.

But I’m scared, Jolyon.

No no no, I say. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise, Dee.

LXXVI(ii) Because what should I have said to her? Do you think I should have told Dee the truth? That I don’t think she will ever see her husband again? The truth about Mark? Should I have told her that, two days ago, when I returned to my apartment from a walk, I found a small package outside my door? And that the package bore only my name and no address, no stamps? Should I have told her that inside the package I found twelve thousand pounds in cash beneath a sealed envelope? And that when I opened the envelope I found the following note written in green ink?