Off Season - Jack Ketchum [26]
“So then the problem is where do we look,” he said. “I’d go with five square miles, from just beyond Cutler to just below Dead River, working from inland right out to the coast.”
Peters nodded.
“Take a lot of men,” said Shearing.
“It sure will. Better start callin’ ‘em in, Sam.”
“Will do. We going tonight?”
“Sure. Should be a good clear night. Might as well go while we still got the sky for it. And before we need to fish somebody else out of the water.”
“Fine. I’ll call the wife.”
“Oh, and see if you can get that drunk fella in here. What was his name?”
“Danner. Donner. Something like that. We’ll find it.”
“Make it fast, Sam.”
“Fast is how I keep trim, George,” said Shearing.
“You watch your mouth, son,” said Peters.
7:30 P.M.
Marjie was in the kitchen, washing the dishes. That was exactly like her, thought Carla. Not two hours in the house and she’s appropriated half the domestic chores. She looked at the remains of the roast. Not even enough for a sandwich, she thought. She dumped the scraps into the garbage and picked up a towel.
“Want some help?” she said.
“Sure,” said Marjie.
She had a good little sister, she thought. And it was good having her around. She’d always found it hard to understand sisters who were always bitching at each other, who really didn’t get along. Her experience was exactly the opposite. Marjie was practically the one person on earth with whom she could count on getting along. They rarely fought, and when they did it never lasted long. And there were never hard feelings afterward. She guessed there was no rivalry between them, that was part of the magic formula. She also guessed she was lucky. She glanced out the window and saw the others smoking and talking on the porch. Let them stay there awhile, she thought.
“Carla, could we talk some time?” said Marjie.
“Sure,” she said. “What about?”
“Just . . . things. It’s been a long time. At least it feels that way.”
“Dan?”
“Among other things, yes.” She paused, sliding a bowl out of the soapy water. “Ask me what I’ve been doing all week,” she said.
“What.”
“Shopping for a psychiatrist. I’ve seen three of them.”
“And?”
“Well, it’s very interesting.” She looked puzzled.
“The first one was a woman. She listened to me for a half-hour and then she said she wanted to give me pills.”
“What kind of pills?”
“I didn’t ask. Mood elevators, antidepressants, that kind of thing. They’re very quick with the pills. The second one was a man. He wanted to give me pills and check me into a hospital.”
“A hospital!”
“Said I was very depressed.”
“Are you?”
“A lot less than I was three months ago. Three months ago I was too depressed even to think about psychiatrists. Which makes me wonder. Because I did get through those three months, after all.”
“Idiots!”
Marjie looked up from the dishes and smiled. “Anyhow, the third one looks much better. No pills, no hospitals. We just talked for an hour. He told me, among other things, that he thought I might be competing with you.”
“Are you?”
“Probably, yes.”
“What in the world for?”
“I have this feeling of futility all the time.” Carla laughed. “You don’t have it, do you? Nothing seems worth doing.”
“Most things are worth doing,” said Carla, “if you feel like doing them. Staying alive is worth doing. And you don’t stay alive by doing nothing.” She laughed. “You have this ‘feeling of futility,’ Marjie, because you don’t do anything. That is futile. And boring. And in your case, a waste of some very good stuff. I’m not just talking about jobs now.”
“Dan says I’m good stuff.”
“Take his word for it.”
“I usually don’t believe him.”
“That figures.”
“I guess I do compete with you, and I always lose.” She sighed. “How in hell did you get so together while I’ve been such a cipher all these years?” She