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Forget it, he thought. Don’t think.
And then later, when he began thinking again, he took Kathy up against him, holding tight. “Verona,” he said firmly, “we’ll do it. Deluxe hotels. The whole tour.”
“That’s a promise?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “A promise.”
Kathy smiled at this. He could not see the smile, but he could hear it passing through her voice when she said, “What about babies?”
“Everything,” Wade said. “Especially that.”
“Maybe I’m too old. I hope not.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m thirty-eight.”
“No sweat, we’ll have thirty-eight babies,” he said. “Hire a bus in Verona.”
“There’s an idea. Then what?”
“I don’t know, just drive and see the sights and be together. You and me and a busload of babies.”
“You think so?”
“For sure. I promised.”
And then for a long while they lay quietly in the dark, waiting for these things to happen, some sudden miracle. All they wanted was for their lives to be good again.
Later, Kathy pushed back the blankets and moved off toward the railing at the far end of the porch. She seemed to vanish into the heavy dark, the fog curling around her, and when she spoke, her voice came from somewhere far away, as if lifted from her body, unattached and not quite authentic.
“I’m not crying,” she said.
“Of course you’re not.”
“It’s just a rotten time, that’s all. This stupid thing we have to get through.”
“Stupid,” he said.
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right. Damned stupid.”
Things went silent. Just the waves and woods, a delicate in-and-out breathing. The night seemed to wrap itself around them.
“John, listen, I can’t always come up with the right words. All I meant was—you know—I meant there’s this wonderful man I love and I want him to be happy and that’s all I care about. Not elections.”
“Fine, then.”
“And not newspapers.”
“Fine,” he said.
Kathy made a sound in the dark, which wasn’t crying. “You do love me?”
“More than anything.”
“Lots, I mean?”
“Lots,” he said. “A whole busful. Come here now.”
Kathy crossed the porch, knelt down beside him, pressed the palm of her hand against his forehead. There was the steady hum of lake and woods. In the days afterward, when she was gone, he would remember this with perfect clarity, as if it were still happening. He would remember a breathing sound inside the fog. He would remember the feel of her hand against his forehead, its warmth, how purely alive it was.
“Happy,” she said. “Nothing else.”
2 (#ulink_fcd6e32f-b1c2-58e1-addf-981d2261965b)
Evidence (#ulink_fcd6e32f-b1c2-58e1-addf-981d2261965b)
He was always a secretive boy. I guess you could say he was obsessed by secrets. It was his nature.
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—Eleanor K. Wade (Mother)
Exhibit One: Iron teakettle
Weight, 2.3 pounds
Capacity, 3 quarts
Exhibit Two: Photograph of boat
12-foot Wakeman Runabout
Aluminum, dark blue
1.6 horsepower Evinrude engine
He didn’t talk much. Even his wife, I don’t think she knew the first damn thing about … well, about any of it. The man just kept everything buried.
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—Anthony L. (Tony) Carbo
Name: Kathleen Terese Wade
Date of Report: 9/21/86
Age: 38
Height: 5′6″
Weight: 118 pounds
Hair: blond
Eyes: green
Photograph: attached
Occupation: Director of Admissions, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Medical History: pneumonia (age 16), pregnancy termination (age 34)
Current Medications: Valium, Restoril
Next of Kin: John Herman Wade
Other Relatives: Patricia S. Hood (sister), 1625 Lockwood Avenue, Minneapolis, Minnesota
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—Extract, Missing Persons Report
After work we used to do laps together over at the Y every night. She’d just swim and swim, like a fish almost, so I’m not worried about … Well, I think she’s fine. You ever hear of a fish drowning?
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—Bethany Kee (Associate Admissions Director, University of Minnesota)
He was not a fat child, not at all. He was husky. He had big bones. But sometimes I think his father made him feel—oh, made him feel—oh—maybe overweight. In sixth grade the boy wrote away for a diet he’d seen advertised in some silly magazine … His father teased him quite a lot. Constant teasing, you could say.
—Eleanor K. Wade
You know what I remember? I remember the flies. Millions of flies. That’s what I mostly remember.
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—Richard Thinbill
Exhibit Three: Photograph of houseplant debris
Remains of six to eight plants (1 geranium, 1 begonia, 1 caladium, 1 philodendron, others unidentified)
Plant material largely decomposed
John loved his father a lot. I suppose that’s why the teasing hurt so bad … He tried to keep it secret—how much it hurt—but I could always tell … Oh, he loved that father of his. (What about me? I keep thinking that.) Things were hard for John. He was too young to know what alcoholism is.
—Eleanor K. Wade
Exhibit Four: Polling Data
July 3, 1986
Wade—58%
Durkee—31%
Undecided—11%
August 17, 1986
Wade—21%
Durkee—61%
Undecided—18%
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Landslide isn’t the word. You saw the numbers? Three to one, four to one—a career-ender. Poor guy couldn’t get elected assistant fucking dogcatcher on a Sioux reservation … Must’ve asked a trillion times if there was anything that could hurt us, scum or anything. Man never said one single word. Zero. Which isn’t how you run a campaign … Did I betray him? Fuck no. Other way around. Worked like a bastard to get his sorry ass elected.
—Anthony L. (Tony) Carbo
Exhibit Five: Photographs (2) of boathouse (exterior), Lake of the Woods
Exhibit Six: Photographs (3) of “Wade cottage” (exterior), Lake of the Woods
I’ll bet she’s on a Greyhound bus somewhere. Married to that creep, that’s where I’d be. She liked buses.
—Bethany Kee (Associate Admissions Director, University of Minnesota)
I can’t discuss this.
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—Patricia S. Hood (Sister of Kathleen Wade)
Engine trouble. That old beat-up Evinrude. Busted cord probably, or the plugs went bad. Give it time, she’ll walk right through that door over there. I bet she will.
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—Ruth Rasmussen
I was working down at the Mini-Mart and they come in and I served them both coffee at the counter and then after a while they started having this argument. It went on for a while. She was mad. That’s all I know.
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