Rapture

"She got married ages ago. Some guy I never heard of. I don't think she lives around here, or I would have heard about it sooner or later, and I haven't heard anything about Georgianne in years."

"Her family still in the house? Or did they all pack up and move out?"

"I couldn't tell you," Mike said. "That's a state road, and I haven't been down it in a long time. Christ, I drove up and down it enough times in high school to last the rest of my life."

"That's true."

"Georgianne was a sweet kid, though. A real beauty."

"She was," Jeff agreed quietly.

"Funny thing is . . ." Mike rambled on. "I'll tell you, though I hate to admit it, but the fact is, for all the time I spent with her, all those hours wrestling in the backseat of my old man's car, then my car, at the drive-in or out on that dirt road in Gunntown, for all that, I never did get in her pants. Not even a finger." He shook his head, as if he still found it hard to believe.

I'm glad to hear that, Jeff thought, surprised both at the minor revelation and at the sudden intensity of feeling it occasioned.

Yes, I'm very glad to hear that.

"Georgianne was one of those gorgeous, unattainable blondes, you know," Mike continued.

"In high school," Jeff said, "none of us got laid nearly as often as we said we did at the time."

"Now that's the truth," Mike exclaimed, seizing the point gratefully. "But we sure did kiss like there was no tomorrow, and kissing Georgianne was some kind of experience in itself."

"I'm sure it was."

The conversation had become unpleasant and distasteful to Jeff, but at the same time it seemed strangely important to him. Something was taking shape.

Back at the house a little later, Jeff followed a hunch. Cognac was the only form of spirits George Lisker ever touched. It took a few minutes, but Jeff found the solitary bottle, on the shelf in the broom closet. He didn't need another drink, but he wanted one, and poured a double measure.

He sipped the liquor slowly, enjoying it. As he drank and smoked, the grin on his face would not go away.

So, he thought, Mike had never made it with the wonderful Georgianne. Never even got a finger in, as he had so charmingly put it. Jeff still couldn't say why this pleased him, but it did, undeniably. Enormously.

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CHAPTER FOUR

The funeral service was short and dignified. Once again, more people attended than Jeff had expected. After the burial, everyone went back to Uncle Roy's place. By the time Jeff got home it was early afternoon. He stripped off his clothes and stood under a cold shower for twenty minutes. Then he sat on the edge of his bed, a large towel wrapped around his waist, and stared at the floor.

There were things to be done around the house, but he couldn't concentrate on them. His mind didn't seem to be functioning smoothly. Putting on a pair of light slacks, a sport shirt, and his loafers, he went out for a drive, acutely aware that he was surrounded by scenes of his past. The high school, the football field, the baseball diamond were all still there, more or less unchanged. But Ramona's Pizzeria had been absorbed into a plastic pizza chain and some of the bars had new names. The Alcazar movie theater was now a roller disco, and a rather forlorn-looking one at that. Next to it was an alcohol-free teenage night club. Jeff felt old.

He parked and went into a package store. A few minutes later he was driving again, a can of cold beer wedged up against his crotch and eleven others stashed under the seat. It was stupidly enjoyable, this cruising of the old ground, even if he was thirty-eight. He hadn't done this in about twenty years, but it still felt good. Sometimes it was the best thing you could do in a small town.

After a while, he got on the New Haven Road, heading south out of Millville. He was curious, but he still wasn't sure he had enough nerve. It could be terribly awkward or embarrassing. Would he really be able to think of anything sensible to say?

When he got there, he hesitated, but turned the car onto the Slaton driveway and went right up and around to the house. A small brown pickup was parked in front of the garage. Jeff turned his motor off and sat for a moment, looking at the house and the yard. The windows were uncurtained and the lawn needed mowing, but the place still had a peaceful, secluded feeling about it. The nearest neighbors were a couple of hundred yards along the road, in both directions, and at the back of the lot was a wooded hillside that rose steeply. The birdbath and swing set remained, but Jeff knew the Slatons were gone. Yet he was glad he had come.