Fatal Light by Richard Currey Page B

of one of my sisters and I thought OK, I’ll call home. At least I’ll do that. I stood and had to reach for the table as the room dropped to one side in my head, slowly drifted upright again. I laughed, propping my duffel bag on the seat of the booth. I pointed unsteadily at it. “Don’t go away,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

    Two men in business suits in the next booth glanced up from their martinis, annoyed. I grinned at them, waved, and turned to make my way down the short hallway to the back of the bar, where a pay phone hung on the wall. I called my parents’ number, collect.
    My father answered, accepted the call. “Hey, old man,” he said brightly. “You just get in?”
    â€œJust got in,” I said, slurring.
    â€œYou all right? Sound a little rough there.”
    â€œWell,” I said, “matter of fact I’ve had a few drinks.”
    â€œHey, celebrating. Saying goodbye to a few of your buddies?”
    â€œThat’s it exactly, Dad.”
    â€œI remember. I’ve been through it. Feels good, getting out. No doubt about it.”
    â€œYeah. “
    â€œSo you all healed up? Back on your feet?”
    â€œYeah. Good as new.”
    â€œGreat. That’s a relief. Really. Your mother’s been worried sick. Ever since we got the news you’d been hurt.”
    â€œGood as new,” I said again. I could see my father on the step stool in the kitchen, beside the counter, beige cardigan hanging open, unlaced tennis shoes.
    There was a pause. I waited, my own breathing amplified on the wire. As if I were suddenly alone. The conversation was sobering me.
    â€œSo what’s the itinerary,” my father went on. “When do we see you?”
    â€œWell,” I said, “getting ready to head out... .”
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œSan Francisco.”
    â€œHey, good town to get out in.”
    I looked down the hallway to the bar and into the screen of light in the corridor. “Yeah,” I said. “Seems like it.”
    â€œSo, anyway?”

    â€œThought I’d see Grandpa first. On the way and everything.”
    My father didn’t speak for a moment. “Well, if that’s what you want.” He hesitated again. “Your mother’ll be disappointed. I can tell you that.”
    â€œI’m OK,” I said. “I’m fine.”
    â€œWell, sure, but we want to see you—”
    â€œJust that Earl’s place is right on the way, I can drop in and touch base with him. Just a couple days.”
    My father had turned away from the phone as I was speaking to say He’s home. He’s in San Francisco. There were remote voices, and my father came back on the line. “Terry just came in. You wanna say hello?”
    â€œDad, listen...just say hello for me, OK?”
    â€œWhat, a few drinks in you, you can’t say hello to your sister? It’s been three years!”
    The men in business suits from the booth next to mine came into the hallway, walking straight at me. A wisp of fear started at the base of my spine. The men glared at me, squeezed past into the men’s room. I took a breath.

3
    I flew east on a military travel voucher. When the plane came down in St. Louis I went into the airport to eat breakfast at three o’clock in the afternoon. Sitting in front of the second cup of coffee I let the connecting flight time come and go. From where I sat I could look out at the runways, and I thought of traveling on to my grandfather’s house but felt fine just where I was, between planes, my own purgatory in the middle of America. Somewhere out there and close by, I thought, was the Mississippi. Some of the same water had run past my grandfather’s house, two hundred yards from my grandfather’s back door, and I remembered my childhood revelation: the same water, the Ohio joins the Mississippi, together they go to the sea. I was, in the