he walked down King Street, in the heart of the city's busiest shopping district, he looked in store windows and watched the crowds of shoppers.
Feeling hungry, he went into Woolworth's and sat at a lunch counter, where he ate two beef patties and drank a bottle of orange soda. Then, to kill time, he crossed the street and went into a big store called the Times Store. There he just walked around, upstairs and down, looking at what was on sale.
By the time he reached the parking garage, he was tired from so much walking and looking. His father was not there, of course. It was only a quarter to twelve. He sat on a bench near the booth where Dad would have to pay before taking the car out, and would be sure to see him. Then he shut his eyes and wondered how things were going for Zackie.
TEN
M r. Devon came at two-thirty, and Peter told him what had happened. They sat together on the bench and waited. Zackie did not come.
At three-thirty Mr. Devon said in a tone of voice that told Peter he was beginning to be annoyed, "We can wait another half hour, and that's all. I'm sure if he found his mother it must be hard for him to break away, but I said three o'clock for a reason, Peter. I want to go home by way of the Bay."
"To stop at the cemetery, Dad?"
"Well, yes, we'll do that. But we've been having some heavy afternoon rains lately, remember, and the mountain road can be dangerous in a rain."
"He'll come, Dad. I know he will."
But at four o'clock Zackie still had not shown up. Frowning at the watch on his wrist, Mr. Devon took in a big breath, let it out, and stood up. "I'll bring the car down," he said. "You wait here just in case."
Peter sat there staring at the entrance, praying Zackie would suddenly appear. But Zackie did not, and when the car came down the ramp with Dad at the wheel, he gave up hope and got into it.
His father was right about the rain. It began before they were out of the city and continued in a downpour all the time they were traveling the coastal highway to the Bay. Peter hoped it would keep up, so that when they reached the cemetery they would not get out of the car and walk in to the graves but only sit there awhile. He could appreciate Dad's feelings—after all, he shared them—but he hated to see his father go into such a state of depression afterward.
The rain quit before they reached the Bay, though, and when they stopped at the cemetery gate, Dad got out of the car. He didn't say, "Come, Peter," or "Are you coming, son?" or anything; he just stepped out and stood waiting until Peter got out, too. Then he took Peter's hand and the two of them walked in over the wet grass to the graves. The graves were side by side, with names and dates on the headstones.
Dad still didn't say anything. He only stood in front of Mom's grave for a few minutes with his head bowed, then moved to Mark's and did the same there. When he turned and started back to the car, it was as though Peter did not exist anymore. In silence Peter followed him to the car and got in.
Before they reached the town of Seaforth, with rain again pounding the car's roof, Dad broke the silence. "How did you say Zackie would get home, son?"
"On the Rainy Ridge truck, Dad. That's what he said, anyway."
"Mmm." Mr. Devon shook his head. "I wonder if the trucker will make the trip in this weather."
Peter knew what he meant. The truck used the mountain road, not this one, because the people who used it for transportation lived along that road. Peter had been over it in a hard rain with his father, and it was a kind of journey not easily forgotten.
The rain had begun that day when they were climbing Cambridge Hill on their way home from town. It was a downpour by the time they reached the bridge over the Yallahs at Ramble. Looking down as they crossed the bridge, Mr. Devon had said, "Up in the mountains it must have begun much earlier than this. See how high the river is.”
Usually they could hear the planks rattle under the car's
Feeling hungry, he went into Woolworth's and sat at a lunch counter, where he ate two beef patties and drank a bottle of orange soda. Then, to kill time, he crossed the street and went into a big store called the Times Store. There he just walked around, upstairs and down, looking at what was on sale.
By the time he reached the parking garage, he was tired from so much walking and looking. His father was not there, of course. It was only a quarter to twelve. He sat on a bench near the booth where Dad would have to pay before taking the car out, and would be sure to see him. Then he shut his eyes and wondered how things were going for Zackie.
TEN
M r. Devon came at two-thirty, and Peter told him what had happened. They sat together on the bench and waited. Zackie did not come.
At three-thirty Mr. Devon said in a tone of voice that told Peter he was beginning to be annoyed, "We can wait another half hour, and that's all. I'm sure if he found his mother it must be hard for him to break away, but I said three o'clock for a reason, Peter. I want to go home by way of the Bay."
"To stop at the cemetery, Dad?"
"Well, yes, we'll do that. But we've been having some heavy afternoon rains lately, remember, and the mountain road can be dangerous in a rain."
"He'll come, Dad. I know he will."
But at four o'clock Zackie still had not shown up. Frowning at the watch on his wrist, Mr. Devon took in a big breath, let it out, and stood up. "I'll bring the car down," he said. "You wait here just in case."
Peter sat there staring at the entrance, praying Zackie would suddenly appear. But Zackie did not, and when the car came down the ramp with Dad at the wheel, he gave up hope and got into it.
His father was right about the rain. It began before they were out of the city and continued in a downpour all the time they were traveling the coastal highway to the Bay. Peter hoped it would keep up, so that when they reached the cemetery they would not get out of the car and walk in to the graves but only sit there awhile. He could appreciate Dad's feelings—after all, he shared them—but he hated to see his father go into such a state of depression afterward.
The rain quit before they reached the Bay, though, and when they stopped at the cemetery gate, Dad got out of the car. He didn't say, "Come, Peter," or "Are you coming, son?" or anything; he just stepped out and stood waiting until Peter got out, too. Then he took Peter's hand and the two of them walked in over the wet grass to the graves. The graves were side by side, with names and dates on the headstones.
Dad still didn't say anything. He only stood in front of Mom's grave for a few minutes with his head bowed, then moved to Mark's and did the same there. When he turned and started back to the car, it was as though Peter did not exist anymore. In silence Peter followed him to the car and got in.
Before they reached the town of Seaforth, with rain again pounding the car's roof, Dad broke the silence. "How did you say Zackie would get home, son?"
"On the Rainy Ridge truck, Dad. That's what he said, anyway."
"Mmm." Mr. Devon shook his head. "I wonder if the trucker will make the trip in this weather."
Peter knew what he meant. The truck used the mountain road, not this one, because the people who used it for transportation lived along that road. Peter had been over it in a hard rain with his father, and it was a kind of journey not easily forgotten.
The rain had begun that day when they were climbing Cambridge Hill on their way home from town. It was a downpour by the time they reached the bridge over the Yallahs at Ramble. Looking down as they crossed the bridge, Mr. Devon had said, "Up in the mountains it must have begun much earlier than this. See how high the river is.”
Usually they could hear the planks rattle under the car's
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