Pretty Dead by Gerry Boyle

Author:Gerry Boyle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Islandport Press
Published: 2016-08-01T16:00:00+00:00

26

I called ahead. When I pulled up in front of the house, the gate slid open. I pulled in and the BMW was there; the Suburban was gone. The drizzle had stopped and Maeve was on the edge of the back lawn, standing behind a table. Taped to the front of the table was a cardboard sign that said, “Drinks, ten cents.” The letters had run. She began to jump up and down.

“Mommy, a customer.”

Maddie, in shorts, bare feet, was sitting in an Adirondack chair in the shade, a book on her lap. I walked across the cobblestones and up to the booth and dug in my pocket for change. I dropped it all in a mug that served as the cash register. Maeve picked the mug up and peered in. She was wearing a jumper with straps and I looked for bruises. There was one on her tiny collarbone, but it was fading, a barely discernible smudge.

“It only costs a dime,” she said.

“I’m very thirsty,” I said.

“I don’t have that much punch.”

“I’ll start with one cup and see how I do.”

“Okay, Jack,” she said. “Jack in the Beanstalk.” She giggled. “That’s the only other Jack I know.”

“He’s one of my favorites,” I said.

“He beat the giant,” she said.

“That’s why I like him. I like it when the good guy beats the bad guy.”

“You do, don’t you,” Maddie said.

Maeve poured my punch into a paper cup. The punch was pink. I sipped it and it tasted like weak grapefruit juice. She spilled some and ran off to get a towel, and I walked over to Maddie and sat in the chair beside her. She took off her sunglasses and propped them on top of her head.

“It’s a theme,” she said.

“What is?” I said.

“In your stories. I did a search in the Times archive. You write about injustice and sometimes you write about people who right wrongs.”

“It doesn’t happen much in real life,” I said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Maddie said. “Life is one continuous roll of the dice. Some people win and some people lose.”

I looked around at the house, the grounds, the walls and wealth that sheltered this family from so much of the unpleasantness in the world.

“Do you consider yourself one of the winners, Maddie?” I said.

She looked at me, surprised by the question. Hesitated, then said, “Sometimes I’ve won, I guess. The question is, do you win when it counts the most? Are you lucky in business, unlucky in love? Are you wildly successful but your children are a mess? Do people rave about your books or your films or whatever, but your husband dies of cancer?”

“Or you’re young and beautiful and somebody kills you.”

Maddie turned and gave me a long look.

“Exactly,” she said.

Maeve came out of the house with Mrs. Donovan trailing her, paper towels in hand.

“David and Roxanne went sailing,” she said. “He heard she hadn’t been in a sailboat in ten years and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. They went over to the Basin. They’ll be back by noon.

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