even $350 a month.
After breakfast, Stanley got a notebook from the desk and made a list of things he had to do. He used to make a similar list the first thing every morning when he had worked in the Ford paint shop, and the methodical planning of his days there had worked well for him since.
First, he would close his bank account, move to another bank, and put the account in his name only. He would also cash in his three ten-thousand-dollar CDs and pay the early withdrawal penalty. He could then take out three new CDs under his own name. He hated to lose money to the penalty, but if Maya cashed any of them he would lose every cent.
Should he buy a new car? No, he could wait on that for a while. The municipal bus ran into downtown Riviera Beach every hour, and he could ride it into town. He had never been without a car, as far back as he could remember, but he could watch the list of repossessed cars that the banks posted every week until a good deal came along. It didn't pay to rush into buying a car, whether it was new or used. And maybe a used car would be the best buy after all. It was the same when Saul, Maya's old Airedale, died. She had wanted to buy a new puppy to replace the old dog, but he had reminded her that at their age any dog they bought now would probably outlive them and that there would be no one left to take care of it when they were gone. Stanley had hated the flatulent Saul and didn't want another stinking dog hanging around the house and begging at the table. At his age, he wouldn't outlast a new car, either, so why not buy a cheaper, secondhand one?
On the way back from the bank he would stop at the supermarket and buy a dozen or so TV dinners. They were simple to fix. All he had to do was put them into the toaster oven for twenty-five minutes at 4250 and his dinner would be ready. He had often asked Maya why she didn't fix TV dinners instead of preparing time-consuming meals from scratch every day, but she wouldn't hear of it. Probably because she didn't know what else to do with her time, he supposed.
Before going into town he would do his laundry, and when he came back he could put it into the dryer. There was nothing to that. He knew how to use the washer and the dryer. Then, while the laundry was drying, he could go down to the park and tell the Wise Old Men that he was a bachelor now.
Stanley's mind froze.
They would know that already. They would also know by now that he had been arrested as a child molester. He was innocent, of course, but Sergeant Sneider had told him that there were two other old geezers involved with Pammi, and it was quite possible that one, or both, of them were Wise Old Men. Whoever it was would lay low now, but any man once accused--as he was, even though he was innocent--would always be suspect. He didn't think any of the Wise Old Men would actually say anything to him about it, but they would think about it--and figure it was him--and he didn't want to sit there while they looked at him sideways and speculated about his guilt. No, it would be a long time before he could go to the park again--if ever. On the other hand, the longer he stayed away from the park, the more they would consider him guilty.
He couldn't win either way.
Stanley separated his clothes from Maya's and put her dirty clothing into a brown paper grocery bag. He sure as hell wasn't going to wash her things. When she got around to sending for her clothes, he would pack them up and send them to her dirty. He looked through the pockets of his bloodied shirt and came across the news clipping Troy Louden had handed him. He hadn't forgotten about it; he had merely put it out of his mind, which wasn't the same thing. This errand had priority over everything else he had to do, but he was reluctant to deliver a message like that. It wouldn't do the young man any good. But he had said that he would do it, so he might as well. There was a Big 5 writing tablet on Maya's
After breakfast, Stanley got a notebook from the desk and made a list of things he had to do. He used to make a similar list the first thing every morning when he had worked in the Ford paint shop, and the methodical planning of his days there had worked well for him since.
First, he would close his bank account, move to another bank, and put the account in his name only. He would also cash in his three ten-thousand-dollar CDs and pay the early withdrawal penalty. He could then take out three new CDs under his own name. He hated to lose money to the penalty, but if Maya cashed any of them he would lose every cent.
Should he buy a new car? No, he could wait on that for a while. The municipal bus ran into downtown Riviera Beach every hour, and he could ride it into town. He had never been without a car, as far back as he could remember, but he could watch the list of repossessed cars that the banks posted every week until a good deal came along. It didn't pay to rush into buying a car, whether it was new or used. And maybe a used car would be the best buy after all. It was the same when Saul, Maya's old Airedale, died. She had wanted to buy a new puppy to replace the old dog, but he had reminded her that at their age any dog they bought now would probably outlive them and that there would be no one left to take care of it when they were gone. Stanley had hated the flatulent Saul and didn't want another stinking dog hanging around the house and begging at the table. At his age, he wouldn't outlast a new car, either, so why not buy a cheaper, secondhand one?
On the way back from the bank he would stop at the supermarket and buy a dozen or so TV dinners. They were simple to fix. All he had to do was put them into the toaster oven for twenty-five minutes at 4250 and his dinner would be ready. He had often asked Maya why she didn't fix TV dinners instead of preparing time-consuming meals from scratch every day, but she wouldn't hear of it. Probably because she didn't know what else to do with her time, he supposed.
Before going into town he would do his laundry, and when he came back he could put it into the dryer. There was nothing to that. He knew how to use the washer and the dryer. Then, while the laundry was drying, he could go down to the park and tell the Wise Old Men that he was a bachelor now.
Stanley's mind froze.
They would know that already. They would also know by now that he had been arrested as a child molester. He was innocent, of course, but Sergeant Sneider had told him that there were two other old geezers involved with Pammi, and it was quite possible that one, or both, of them were Wise Old Men. Whoever it was would lay low now, but any man once accused--as he was, even though he was innocent--would always be suspect. He didn't think any of the Wise Old Men would actually say anything to him about it, but they would think about it--and figure it was him--and he didn't want to sit there while they looked at him sideways and speculated about his guilt. No, it would be a long time before he could go to the park again--if ever. On the other hand, the longer he stayed away from the park, the more they would consider him guilty.
He couldn't win either way.
Stanley separated his clothes from Maya's and put her dirty clothing into a brown paper grocery bag. He sure as hell wasn't going to wash her things. When she got around to sending for her clothes, he would pack them up and send them to her dirty. He looked through the pockets of his bloodied shirt and came across the news clipping Troy Louden had handed him. He hadn't forgotten about it; he had merely put it out of his mind, which wasn't the same thing. This errand had priority over everything else he had to do, but he was reluctant to deliver a message like that. It wouldn't do the young man any good. But he had said that he would do it, so he might as well. There was a Big 5 writing tablet on Maya's
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