Marvin screaming at her had loosened it up, made her whole face sag. A guy like Marvin, his mouth was worse than his fists. But Candy had nice skin, very smooth when you looked close, as Sutter was doing now. He'd never noticed before that Candy might have been pretty once.
Candy used one hand to pat the pockets of her robe, and Karl said quickly, "Have one of mine," offering his pack of cigarettes to her. She took the cigarette in her fingers and leaned over the lighter he held out, sucking the smoke in deep, and Sutter felt a brief adrenaline stir in his abdomen, watching her.
"God," she said, "these are strong."
"Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. It'll relax you."
She took a seat opposite him, brushing hair back off her face, inhaling deeply again and exhaling smoke through her nose. "Those dam mosquito planes went over about six. and I never really got back to sleep. You wouldn't think they'd spray on Sunday."
"Bunch of what you'd call smart asses in those planes, probably old combat pilots the way they fly."
"But they're so loud."
"Doesn't bother me. Candy. My father was a pilot. He got killed bombing the Japanese. D Day."
Candy looked at him for the first time. "Oh, you poor thing. You must have been just a baby."
"I don't even like to talk about it. I just said it to let you know I know a little bit about what you're going through, Marv dying and all." Sutter had his head down, talking softly. "And, of course, there was Judy...
"That's right, dear Judy. Oh, Karl, it never even dawned on me how much you've been through." Candy was silent for a moment, smoking, but with something on her mind. He could tell. Finally, she said, "Karl ... can I ask you something?"
"Anything. Name it."
"Last night, real late, I woke up and was going to the kitchen to get a drink and Marvin's bedroom door was open. I saw you in there at his dresser doing something with one of his hairbrushes. Holding it. Why were you doing that?"
Sutter still had his head down, and as she talked, he brought his hands up to his face. Pressing his eyelids back with his index fingers, he touched his eyeballs, rubbing them round and round, and when he felt the tear ducts open, he looked up. tears streaming down his face. His voice choked, he said, "It's ... it's just that I missed him. Candy. ... I just wanted to be near him, that's all. ..." Letting her see his face, see him weeping, until her own face went and she began to cry, holding her arms to her chest, making a sort of mewing noise.
"You two were close, weren't you?"
"Yes. Like a brother."
"I just didn't know."
He stood and moved around the desk to her. "He was a great man; people didn't understand him." And he slowly put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tighten immediately. "He was what you call way ahead of his time, and I'd love to get five minutes alone with the guy who killed him." He began to massage her neck gently, rubbing the warm skin of her neck and her shoulder:* with his big fingers.
"I just didn't know. Karl. Marv never told me anything. Never told me anything ever. Like we were two strangers; we never even talked. Even Thursday night, the night he was killed, he was just here for a while and left, didn't tell me where he was going, anything."
She was beginning to relax a little beneath his hands, but still uneasy with him touching her—he could tell—and she reached out to put the cigarette in an ashtray. Why did she have to do that? Sutter had a good flow of tears going now, really crying, but he wanted her to hold the cigarette while he touched her. He tried to think of something to say, but then she took the cigarette in her fingers again, inhaling once more deeply, and Sutter thought about his mother, the way it had been, her sitting there naked in the bathtub, smoking, while he watched. Seventeen years old and furious because she had grounded him, moving closer and closer to the electric heater beside the tub. wondering if he could really do it while she
Candy used one hand to pat the pockets of her robe, and Karl said quickly, "Have one of mine," offering his pack of cigarettes to her. She took the cigarette in her fingers and leaned over the lighter he held out, sucking the smoke in deep, and Sutter felt a brief adrenaline stir in his abdomen, watching her.
"God," she said, "these are strong."
"Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. It'll relax you."
She took a seat opposite him, brushing hair back off her face, inhaling deeply again and exhaling smoke through her nose. "Those dam mosquito planes went over about six. and I never really got back to sleep. You wouldn't think they'd spray on Sunday."
"Bunch of what you'd call smart asses in those planes, probably old combat pilots the way they fly."
"But they're so loud."
"Doesn't bother me. Candy. My father was a pilot. He got killed bombing the Japanese. D Day."
Candy looked at him for the first time. "Oh, you poor thing. You must have been just a baby."
"I don't even like to talk about it. I just said it to let you know I know a little bit about what you're going through, Marv dying and all." Sutter had his head down, talking softly. "And, of course, there was Judy...
"That's right, dear Judy. Oh, Karl, it never even dawned on me how much you've been through." Candy was silent for a moment, smoking, but with something on her mind. He could tell. Finally, she said, "Karl ... can I ask you something?"
"Anything. Name it."
"Last night, real late, I woke up and was going to the kitchen to get a drink and Marvin's bedroom door was open. I saw you in there at his dresser doing something with one of his hairbrushes. Holding it. Why were you doing that?"
Sutter still had his head down, and as she talked, he brought his hands up to his face. Pressing his eyelids back with his index fingers, he touched his eyeballs, rubbing them round and round, and when he felt the tear ducts open, he looked up. tears streaming down his face. His voice choked, he said, "It's ... it's just that I missed him. Candy. ... I just wanted to be near him, that's all. ..." Letting her see his face, see him weeping, until her own face went and she began to cry, holding her arms to her chest, making a sort of mewing noise.
"You two were close, weren't you?"
"Yes. Like a brother."
"I just didn't know."
He stood and moved around the desk to her. "He was a great man; people didn't understand him." And he slowly put his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tighten immediately. "He was what you call way ahead of his time, and I'd love to get five minutes alone with the guy who killed him." He began to massage her neck gently, rubbing the warm skin of her neck and her shoulder:* with his big fingers.
"I just didn't know. Karl. Marv never told me anything. Never told me anything ever. Like we were two strangers; we never even talked. Even Thursday night, the night he was killed, he was just here for a while and left, didn't tell me where he was going, anything."
She was beginning to relax a little beneath his hands, but still uneasy with him touching her—he could tell—and she reached out to put the cigarette in an ashtray. Why did she have to do that? Sutter had a good flow of tears going now, really crying, but he wanted her to hold the cigarette while he touched her. He tried to think of something to say, but then she took the cigarette in her fingers again, inhaling once more deeply, and Sutter thought about his mother, the way it had been, her sitting there naked in the bathtub, smoking, while he watched. Seventeen years old and furious because she had grounded him, moving closer and closer to the electric heater beside the tub. wondering if he could really do it while she
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