Lights Out

The waiter laid the bill in front of Eddie. It came in a leather folder, as though there was something to hide. “Why don’t I take that?” Karen said. “I invited you.”

“I ate the most,” Eddie said, opening the folder: $107.50. That surprised him.

“I insist,” Karen said.

“Next time,” Eddie said. She smiled. He laid down the $100 bill and the rest of his money, making $124.75. Not enough tip. He remembered the $350 sitting on the table. Jack’s $350.

They went outside. The sky had cleared. There was a moon and stars. The trees were black, the pond silver. Karen took Eddie’s arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They walked around the pond, following a footpath of crushed stone. Karen still held his arm. “You don’t know much about your brother’s business, do you?” she said.

“Should I?”

“You were involved in it.”

“What do you mean?”

“At that resort.”

“It wasn’t Jack’s. We were just employees.”

“Who owns it?”

“I don’t know who owns it now.”

“Who owned it then?”

“People named Packer.”

She stopped. “You don’t mean Raleigh Packer?”

“No,” Eddie said. But then he remembered Brad and Evelyn’s son, the one Jack had met at USC. “Who’s Raleigh Packer?”

“One of Jack’s associates. Former associates.”

Eddie made another mental leap. “The one who went to jail.”

Karen let go of his arm. “So you do know something about Jack’s business.”

“That’s all I know.”

Karen was silent. Eddie picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the pond. It left footprints of quivering silver in the moonlight.

“What jail is he in?”

“Raleigh Packer? He’s in a halfway house somewhere. He only spent a few months in jail. Jail of the country-club type.”

“What for?”

“Stealing. The indictment was complicated, but it came down to stealing.”

“Stealing from who?”

“Investors.”

“You?”

“No. I just signed on with Jack last night, as a matter of fact.”

“So why do you know all this?”

“I do my research.”

Eddie scaled another stone. It bit into the water and disappeared on first contact. “I’d like to see Raleigh Packer.”

“Why?”

“Just to find out how he’s doing.”

“Did you know him?”

“I knew his parents.”

“We have something in common, then, besides Jack,” Karen said. “I’ve met his mother.”

“Where is she?”

“In the area.” Karen picked up a stone. “Try this one.”

Eddie whipped it over the pond. It skipped once off the silvery surface, rose, and disappeared into the night, as though launched into space.

Eddie stared out over the water. Karen moved close to him. “I like you, Eddie,” she said. “I think you should go back to Albany or somewhere similar.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just to be on the safe side.”

“The safe side of what?”

Karen didn’t answer. She just took his face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m attracted to you,” she said. “And I haven’t been attracted to anyone in a long time. Remember that, no matter what happens.”

“What could happen?”

“Anything.”

Anything could happen when you were free; even getting kissed by a woman like this. Eddie took Karen in his arms, kissed her. She responded, even moaned, very low, but he heard it. The sound thrilled him, spurring his imagination. It rushed ahead, much too far, developing snapshots of a wonderful future: he and Karen, a house, even children. She pushed him away. “Let’s go,” she said.

“I like it here.”

“So do I, believe me. But I’m insane.” She walked toward the parking lot. He followed.

Karen drove. Eddie sat beside her. Jazz played. He wondered if she would reach out for him, touch his knee, hold his hand. She didn’t. After half an hour or so, she slowed the car and turned into a lane marked by two gateposts with carved owl heads on top.

“I just have to drop in on someone for a few minutes first,” said Karen, “if that’s all right with you.”

“First before what?”

“Before we go on.”

It was all right with him.

At the end of the lane was a big stone house with three chimneys. Karen parked in front of it. Her spine straightened, as though she was steeling herself for something unpleasant.

“Do you want me to wait in the car?”

“No.”

They got out, walked to the front door. Karen rang the bell. There was a small bronze plaque under it, very small, considering the size of the door, the house, the grounds. Eddie read it: “Mount Olive Extended Care Residence and Spa.”

The door was opened by a woman in a nurse’s outfit. Karen gave her name.

“This way, please,” said the nurse.

They followed her down a long parquet hall, past many rooms, into a library at the end. The room was furnished with leather chairs and couches, a Persian rug, and books from floor to ceiling. There was no one in it except a woman sitting at a table near the fire, bent over a jigsaw puzzle that was mostly open spaces.

“You have visitors, dear,” said the nurse.

The woman looked up. She had stringy hair, a gaunt face, unfocused eyes. Was there something familiar about her?

Karen approached the woman and took her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Nye,” Karen said.