Into the Inferno - Earl Emerson [100]
“Sorry I went off on you,” I said.
“Call me Scott. And don’t worry about it. One thing, though. We’d like to see as many of the victims as possible. That would certainly help a lot.”
“Mary McCain is expecting me this afternoon.”
“Who is?”
“Her husband’s got it. She’s expecting only me, but I think I can get you all in.”
I found the three of them sitting in the front seat of the tanker. When I opened the door, Britney giggled and leaned past Achara, who was on the outside. “We were hiding.”
When Achara smiled, it was clear her heart was breaking for me. I could only surmise what spending five minutes with my daughters had done to her, because either one of them could have charmed the scales off an alligator.
“We’re finished in there,” I said.
“Everything resolved?” Achara asked.
“More or less.”
“Achara thinks we should get our hair cut,” Allyson said.
“So do I.”
“Really, Daddy?” Britney was so excited she was about to burst.
“Yes.”
“Grandma said short hair wasn’t ladylike.”
“Grandma has short hair,” I said.
“That’s what we told her,” said Allyson, still indignant about it.
“You want out?” I said to the girls, who both shook their heads.
“You want to come over for dinner tonight?” Britney blurted. Allyson elbowed her and whispered in her ear. Britney added, “Stephanie won’t mind.”
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I’ll be busy,” Achara said. As I helped her climb down out of the rig, she said, “Maybe we should sit down and talk one-on-one about what’s happening. I have some ideas.”
“Sure.”
“Later?”
“Yeah.”
43. JOKESTERS WHO PUT ZOMBIES IN MOVIE THEATER SEATS
We caravanned to Joel McCain’s house, Stephanie navigating the route by memory, having followed the fire engine there earlier in the week. On North Bend Way, in the middle of town, we passed a couple of high school girls in shorts and halter tops holding cardboard signs for a car wash. I figured this was where Donovan’s Suburban had gotten wet. The thought made my blood boil all over again. They seemed helpful enough and indicated that they were working on the problem day and night, but every little thing was making me irritable.
Stephanie parked the Lexus in front of the McCain homestead while Donovan pulled his Suburban into a spot behind us in the cul-de-sac. The neighborhood was resplendent in the June sunshine, the lawns green and manicured.
A perplexed expression on her face, Mary opened the front door while we gathered at the end of her walkway. “Listen,” I said. “Let me go first. She wasn’t expecting all of us.”
“No, it’s fine!” Mary shouted. “Company will be good. I’m sure he’s ready to see people. Whoever you want to bring is fine.” As we drew closer and I made the introductions, Mary said, “If Dr. Riggs was here to treat Joel, I would veto it, but this is a matter of public health. Scientists always want to cooperate with the medical authorities. It’s in the manual. Mrs. Eddy was very explicit.”
I wondered what was going on with Joel that Mary wanted him to have this many visitors. Was it possible the syndrome really was transitory, that Holly was going to get better, and that Karrie and I weren’t doomed? That Stan had killed himself for nothing?
“Thank you, Mary.” My daughters were behind us in the cul-de-sac, Allyson walking across the street toward a girl her age, Britney lagging behind. “You two going to be okay out here?” I shouted.
“I’m going to play with Crystal, Daddy. We’ll be okay.”
“Don’t lose track of your little sister.”
“I’m not going to get lost,” Britney said, annoyed.
The four of us crowded into the McCains’ foyer, our numbers, my height, and Scott Donovan’s girth making the rooms smaller. The last time I’d been here, Joel had looked like a CPR dummy, but today Mary was so buoyant and confident, I began to get my hopes up.
Mary escorted us into the stripped-down living room, where Joel lay on a tall hospital bed. His eyes were open, but other than that he looked like a man who’d just been thrown by a bull elephant, limp, dazed, broken. He wore a white T-shirt, a bedsheet obscuring whatever