Hush (25 page)

she spied a trailer set back a good hundred feet or so off the road. It looked

like Chet had tried to hide it back in there. She wondered if he was poaching

space on private land. Not that she cared.
She decided to park just off the logging road. Ruts and small logs littered the

area closer to the trailer, and she doubted her car had enough ground clearance

to pull all the way up. She did turn the Honda around so it pointed back toward

the highway.
Davy immediately unsnapped his seat belt, jumped out with his knapsack, and

waved good-bye.
"No, wait, Davy. I'm coming with you."
She'd seen no sign of Mr. Boyce's truck, no sign of him either; and she couldn't

very well leave a seven-year-old by himself, not in good conscience. So she

guessed she'd be here for the duration. If Chet didn't get back soon, her plans

for a romantic dinner, not to mention some easy-serve penance, would be dashed.
When he heard her call to him, Davy stopped walking away. He wanted her to stay,

he really did, but he didn't want her to either. He just knew Chet wouldn't like

her being there, and then what would happen? He worried about this as they

headed to the trailer.
He searched under the lone step and found the key. He fumbled with the lock for

a few seconds before opening the door, and then hit a switch that lit up a bare

bulb screwed into a socket in the ceiling.
As she stepped in behind him, Celia saw a small couch with a faded blue Mexican

blanket off to the right. Another old blanket, olive-green, hung behind it and

closed off that end of the trailer.
To the left she saw a small table and two chairs. Behind them stood a two-burner

range, sink, cabinets, and a closed door, which she assumed led to the trailer's

only bedroom.
A TV and VCR huddled on the floor in the middle of what might have passed for

the living room. A modest woodstove crowded the inches that remained.
Tight, very tight, she thought. She needed just three steps to reach the kitchen

table where she let her eyes skim over a couple of envelopes. So he gets mail.

Or got it at one time. An Idaho address. Becker, Idaho. She made a mental note

of this.
Davy turned on the TV and worked the VCR with a remote. A Batman movie came on.
"Are you hungry?" Celia hadn't seen him eat any of his candy yet, which had

surprised her. She also wanted to know what Mr. Boyce kept in his refrigerator.

Not much. A few cans of Coors, a big green plastic bottle of Mountain Dew, a jar

of Skippy, a tub of margarine, and the last of a loaf of white bread. And some

milk.
Davy wished she hadn't done that. Chet didn't like people nosing around. That's

what he called it. "You nosing around?" he'd said to those hikers last summer

when they were in Idaho. "You better leave." And they did. Real fast. Plus

seeing Mrs. Griswold by the sink made Davy feel all sick inside and study the

floor, the dark stains that Chet made him scrub. Mrs. Griswold was starting to

make him think too much about his mom. First, back at the store, and now. He

didn't want to think about his mom anymore. It didn't feel good like when he

remembered her reading to him, or giving him Gummy Bears. It felt bad. He didn't

know why. It just did. He wished Mrs. Griswold would move away from there.
"How about a peanut-butter sandwich?"
He shook his head and looked at the screen. Move. Move.
Celia walked past Davy and pulled aside the olive blanket that shut off the

space behind the couch. She found herself staring at Davy's cot, along with an

assortment of clothing strewn across the floor and spilling out of a yellow

laundry basket. She eyed a pair of undershorts on the cot and moved closer for a

better look. The olive blanket fell closed behind her. The Batman movie formed a

wall of sound as she picked up the briefs and studied them for stains. Nothing.

Maybe they were clean. She looked at the blanket hanging from the ceiling and

tried to hazard whether she could pull off a top-to-bottom search of the

trailer. You'll hear him if he pulls up, she assured herself. Go for it.
She systematically examined every article of Davy's clothing, from the T-shirts

and socks she picked up off the floor to the rest of his limited wardrobe, which

had been stuffed into the plastic basket. She determined from the smell of

detergent that they'd just been laundered.
As she pulled back the blanket on the cot to check the sheets she thought she

heard a door open. She stood unmoving and scanned the room in a growing panic.

She spotted one of Davy's sweaters and seized it. She was on the verge of

walking back out and saying, "Here's one, Davy," when Batman spoke and she

understood that she'd been listening to the movie.
She returned to studying the sheets but found nothing unusual, a few cloudy

stains but they were old and could have been anything. Frustrated, she pulled

the blanket back up to the pillow and tapped her foot twice, impatient with her

lack of progress. Then, as she stood there, she had the awful image of Mr. Boyce

abusing Davy and knew he'd never do it on a small cot. No, that's true, she said

to herself in a coolly professional voice; but the boy might still be bleeding

when he got back here. That's assuming he got to sleep in his own bed. And that

Mr. Boyce made him bleed.
She thought uneasily about the door on the other end of the trailer. It probably

opened to Mr. Boyce's bedroom. She'd have to search in there. No way around it.
She pushed aside the hanging blanket and saw that Davy had pulled his sketchbook

and pencils out of his knapsack, though it didn't appear that he'd started to

draw yet.
She walked past him, staying as alert as she could to all the sounds that

surrounded her, the night noises coming from outside these metal walls, and the

racket that blasted out of that plastic box that he watched so insatiably. To

double-check that they were alone she held open the curtain on the lone window

in the living area. The sky had darkened, so she could see very little. But Mr.

Boyce's truck was not out there. She felt confident of this. He's not around,

she told herself, relax.
She reached for the handle of the door she believed opened to his bedroom. The

metal knob turned but the door wouldn't budge when she pulled on it. Now that's

odd. She told herself to try pushing on it, but the resistance was just as

great. Now she tightened her grip and gave the handle a good hard tug, and the

door did move, bowing a half inch or so from the handle, but no farther. She let

go and a dull noise sounded from behind it.
Oh God. She jumped back. The thought suddenly struck her that Mr. Boyce could

have been in there the whole time, and that he'd been holding the handle from

the inside, silently refusing her entry. Just because you can't see his

truck...Her fear flooded over her and she backed up another step, but she never

took her eyes off that handle.
She listened as hard as she could. There had been that one sound, no more, like

a shoe scuffing the floor. Had she actually heard something? Yes, you sure as

hell did. There was no imagining that. But it could have been the door. Now she

tried to remember if she'd heard it at the exact moment she let go of the

handle, but she could not piece together the sequence. The handle, pulling on

it, letting go, the sound, all of it jumbled together in her memory.
Should she knock, ask if he's back there? See if there's a bathroom? She

actually could use one right now. Would he believe her?
But why would he be hiding? That doesn't make sense. He's nothing if not

aggressive. Remember how he just barged into your office? And this is his turf.

Get a grip, kiddo! He's not back there. The door's just locked.
She turned around and found Davy moving his head from side to side, as if

warning her to stay away. Decisively, she spun back around and pounded on the

door.
"Mr. Boyce, are you in there? Is there a bathroom I could use?"
No answer. Only the Joker laughing wickedly in the background.
She stole a final glance at the handle and turned to Davy. She smiled at him,

far more brightly than she felt; but his eyes returned once more to the TV. He

probably comes home and does this every day. She remembered that she had some

children's books in the back of her car. Long ago she'd learned the value of

always keeping them with her. You never knew when you'd have to entertain kids.
"How would you like me to read to you?"
He nodded. He'd like that. But he also wanted her to leave. He still had that

stiff feeling in his stomach, like it was all stuck together but could break

apart at any time and make him sick.
She said she'd be right back.
Whew, Celia exhaled softly as she stepped out into the night. For a tiny place

it sure had a lot of bad vibes. She couldn't wait to go home, though she truly

dreaded seeing Mr. Boyce. She sought comfort in the idea that he wouldn't dare

do anything too outrageous in front of Davy.
She made her way carefully over the ruts and forest debris. She popped open the

hatch and took out a couple of books. She'd start with the story of the three

little pigs from the wolf 's point of view. It was funny and might even make

Davy laugh. That would be a first. But just as she closed the hatch, headlights

turned off the highway and crawled into the darkness. She waited, believing it

was Mr. Boyce, and shaded her eyes.
But the pickup rolled right past her. Two men with a full rifle rack. They waved

at her, and she waved back. She had just started over to the trailer when her

bladder reminded her of how badly she needed to go. She didn't think she could

put if off much longer. She looked around, edged behind one of the skinny firs,

and roughed it.
When she stepped up into the trailer she saw that Davy had finally opened the

Gummy Bears. They sat on the floor beside him.
"Do you mind if we turn off Batman while we read?"
He shook his head vehemently and clutched the remote to his chest.
Okay, thought Celia, I'm competing with a one-hundred-million-dollar movie for

his attention. Wonder who'll win. But as she started to read Davy pocketed his

candy and joined her on the couch, and by the time the wolf was explaining that

the first little pig was the stupidest creature he'd ever met ("Can you believe

it? I mean who in their right mind would build a house out of straw?") Davy had

rested his head against her arm, which she happily wrapped around his shoulders.

He snuggled right up to her, and she hugged him gently.
She read on until the wolf arrived at the third house. That's when she nudged

Davy and said, "The wolf called this little piggie 'the brains of the family'

because he used bricks."
She thought she detected a smile on his face. In any case, she laughed herself;

and then they both heard a vehicle rolling up to the trailer.
Davy pushed her arm away and rushed down to his spot on the floor. The boy's

fear infected Celia too, and she had to tell herself to take a breath. You've

got no reason to be afraid.
A door closed. Just one. Seconds later the trailer door opened and Mr. Boyce

walked in.
Celia already had closed the book and gathered up the second one.
"Hi, Mr. Boyce. I—"
"Is that your car out there?"
No greeting, no surprise over her presence.
"Yes, I wasn't sure I could get any closer without getting stuck, so I just left

it out there."
"Not smart. All kinds of people drive through here. They'll strip it clean in no

time."
Celia thanked him for the advice, but thought he sounded more menacing than

helpful.
"I wasn't planning on staying long. I just didn't want to leave Davy by

himself."
He walked over to the kitchen table and looked at the mail, then at her.
"What happened to the bus?"
"He missed it."
"You missed it?" He glared at Davy, and the boy looked away. Celia could have

kicked herself for not lying but she'd always tried to make it clear to her

clients that she would not team up with them against their parents.
"It not a big deal. I kind of live out this way. Well, you know ..." But she

stopped right there because she instantly regretted bringing up the specter of

the snake.
Chet didn't catch her comment, or chose to ignore it. "I'm usually here when he

gets back," he stated bluntly.
Celia nodded. "I guess I'll be on my way then." She turned to Davy. "I'll finish

reading the story to you on Monday. How's that sound? Unless"— she turned to Mr.

Boyce—"you'd like to. I could loan it to you. It's really pretty funny. It's

about—"
But he was already waving off her suggestion as if it were of no interest

whatsoever. An awkward moment followed.
"Okay, Monday then, Davy. I'll see you."
He didn't lift his eyes from the TV.
"Good-bye, Mr. Boyce."
He remained as silent as his stepson, and when Celia brushed past his

intimidating stillness she felt her heart hanging motionless in the widening

chasm of her chest. She tried to close the door casually behind her, then walked

at an ever increasing pace to her car. She stumbled over a rut and dropped her

keys, and had to feel around on the ground for an eternity of seconds before she

found them. She hurried on, unlocked the Honda with great relief, but still

couldn't take a relaxed breath until she turned onto the highway.
*
Their house looked cozy and safe as she parked, nestled among half a dozen

full-skirted firs. She saw it as Mr. Boyce would, or anyone just scraping by,