Wild, Hard, Sweet | Page 7

Charley thought. Every time Georgia scored, the place went wild. He felt--not, left out, just--not quite there. Alabama didn't give up. They kept threatening to come back, but it wasn't their day. Going to leave tomorrow, Charley said to himself.
As soon as he heard the words and knew his mind, the bar became friendlier, more important. He felt sorry for the bartender, young, stuck in a dumb job. The guys his age seemed O.K., only a couple of assholes. Older guys, some weight on them, looked happy, a little dazed at tables cluttered with bottles and glasses. He took a ballpoint from his pocket and made a few lines on a napkin, framing the room before he filled in the bar and tables, heads and backs. The napkin started to tear. He folded it, put it in his shirt pocket, and paid his check.
He walked to the Howard Johnson's which was full but felt empty. He lay down on his bed for a moment, then got up and crossed the street to a convenience store where he bought a sandwich, a diet pepsi, a bottle of water, and a Hershey bar. He went back to the room, ate, watched the last three quarters of High Noon, and tried to sleep.
His mother's face wouldn't go away. Thinking back was going to screw him up; he had to think forward. But he knew she was worried. She was in good shape, happy with Molly, Ron, and Ron's kids, but she would have heard. He couldn't call now or write. Roses. He could get one of those flower stores to deliver roses. It wasn't her birthday for a couple of months, but she would know they were from him. He bought her a dozen roses every year. He could pay here, and they'd arrange it. Florists. He looked in the yellow pages of the phone book and wrote down the number and the address of the florist with the largest advertisement. He'd tell the florist it was a surprise, send it without a message.
He turned the TV on. Turned it off after a few minutes. Stared at the ceiling. Where should he go' An edge of panic fluttered like a sheet covering bad stuff. He pushed it down. What he needed was a map. He went down to the lobby.
'You got one of those road atlases, all the states?'
'Sure do.'
He paid and went back to his room holding the atlas carefully.
Georgia was a big state. He was way down in the corner of it. He looked at the roads crawling over the map, the yellow block around Atlanta, the lonely looking places in the opposite corner, up by Tennessee. He turned the page. Hawaii. Bunch of islands. That was more interesting. He looked at Florida, at the Keys curving out into the ocean, the Atlantic on one side, the Gulf of Mexico on the other. The ocean seemed good to him, maybe because he was used to it. He felt that he could be more anonymous near the ocean. In Maine, in those little towns in the mountains, everybody knows everything about everybody. The woods were O.K., but they were dark. If you were going to get caught or die, you wanted your last look to go up into the sky, not get caught in the woods.
In the end, Florida didn't seem far enough away. He'd never been to the west coast. He flew to San Francisco.

4

When Charley's mom, Charlotte, and her husband, Ron, first heard the news, they talked about it with the kids, told them Charley was in trouble, that he was a good person but that breaking the law was bad. Eddie asked, 'What happens if they catch him?'
'He'll spend some time in jail,' Ron said, 'and then things will be all right.' There was a dubious silence. Eddie got his stony look. Molly brushed away a tear. Heather and Megan started a fight, and then they got on with dinner. They hadn't talked about it since.
That night in bed, she said, 'Charley's O.K.'
'I thought you were feeling better. What happened?'
'He sent me roses. I don't know where he is. No message or anything. I put them in the attic. I didn't want you to worry, didn't want to explain them to the kids.'
'I hope he turns himself in,' Ron said.
'I don't believe he will.' For all of Charley's good heart and sunny disposition, he had a private stubborn streak. She could see him walking next to his father, Gordon, half as tall, but with the same walk, the two of them leaving on a fishing trip. She remembered feeling that they might just keep going and never come back. Gordon finally did just that. Just as well, as it turned out.
They lay looking upward. Ron cleared his throat, twitched