Another Kind of Eden (Holland Family Saga 3)

“It wasn’t the work of a serial killer?”

“People believe what they need to,” he said. “Wade isn’t the exception.”

I tried not to look at my watch. But he read my mind. “Have one cup of coffee and I’ll let you go.”

He poured some into a cup before I could respond, his face tight, a nervous twitch in his hand.

“Mr. Lowry, can I help you with something?”

“Yes, you can. I need a new foreman. The pay is a hundred eighty-five dollars a week, plus your board.”

“I don’t know as I’d qualify,” I said.

“Well, I asked you here this evening for another reason, too. I think you carry a burden of some kind. My boy did the same thing. He brooded and brooded, and rather than share his secret, he lied about his age and joined the army. He died at Guadalcanal when he was seventeen.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to talk about myself, and an apology for the death of his son twenty years ago seemed an insult to his ability to accept loss. I apologized anyway.

But he wouldn’t let go. “What bothers you, Aaron?”

“A psychiatrist said I have a personality disorder,” I said, and tried to smile. “In my case that means multiple personalities.”

“I know what it means.”

“It’s just the way I am, sir.”

He got up from the couch and went to the mantel. He returned with a framed photo. In it a soldier was wearing a field jacket and a steel pot with a camouflage cover on it; he carried a puppy on his shoulder. “That’s our son,” Mr. Lowry said.

“He’s a fine-looking fellow,” I said.

“He bears a strong resemblance to you.”

I didn’t see it, but I didn’t want to contradict him.

“He caused a girl to have an abortion. Do you know what bothers me most? Somehow he thought he had to be perfect in my eyes. I laid that cross on the shoulder of my own son.”

He put the picture back on the mantel. “Think it over about the job. The life of a rambling man is fun when you’re young. Down the track, it can get mighty tiresome. Ask Cotton Williams.”

“I have holes in my memory, Mr. Lowry. I dream about things that maybe I did but can’t remember. I don’t trust myself or know who I am. I think maybe I’ve done really bad things.”

“Know what faith is?” he said.

“I can’t really say.”

“It amounts to believing others when they tell you you’re a good fellow. Give that some thought.”

* * *

I FINISHED MY COFFEE and shook hands with Mr. Lowry and went outside. I didn’t get far. Mrs. Lowry was waiting for me in the shadows. She was wearing a white dress with big pink roses printed on it, her dull-red hair piled in swirls on her head. “I heard everything in the kitchen,” she said.

“I hope I didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Can I put in my two cents?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“You have such good manners. You had a good upbringing.”

“That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Lowry.”