The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [108]
Across the path, the woman caught Annie’s eye and she took off her sunglasses. They stared at each other for an instant; it felt longer to Annie because so many disjointed images flashed at her, like slides too quickly changing. The woman looked familiar, yet Annie didn’t know her. She had a jarring flash of the woman with pink sweatshirt and flip-flops outside the lobby of the Admirals Club at the St. Louis airport. But the two women weren’t at all alike. Besides, why should a woman she’d seen a day before in the Midwest be here at Golden Days in Miami? Then two other images pushed the present aside. Both were out of place here in Miami. They were Emerald images from long ago. One was a picture on the wall of Georgette’s bedroom; one took place in the kitchen at Pilgrim’s Rest, where Sam sat crying.
Again, the driver called, “Jefe!” and waved his phone. Exasperated, the gray-haired man jerked around, striding back to the car, grabbing the cell phone from the driver. Whatever the caller said to the man, it changed his mind about visiting Golden Days. Angrily, he slid into the rear seat of the Mercedes, gesturing at the woman to join him.
The three elderly patients, scrambling up from their bench, accidentally tangled themselves against the woman as she hurried toward the car. Fighting free, she knocked two of them onto the concrete walk.
Malpy jumped on the woman. She flung him off with a violent gesture. With an ear-piercing squeal, the little dog hid in the azaleas.
Annie helped the two old people struggle to their feet. She called after the woman, who had now reached the Mercedes door. “Excuse me! How about an apology?”
The woman turned, took off her sunglasses again; her deep blue eyes looked blank. She slipped into the car, her coppery hair ablaze in the low slant of sun.
The black sedan sped away.
Annie stood watching until it was out of sight. She couldn’t shake the picture of Sam at the kitchen table at Pilgrim’s Rest. Annie, in her early teens, entered the room. Seated across from Sam was a woman who looked a little like this woman. Sam was crying. Annie stopped in the doorway, struck by the emotional intensity. Sam and the woman looked up at her. That was all she could remember of the scene. It had been so long ago, so brief and so vague she couldn’t even be sure exactly how old she’d been when it had happened.
On the Golden Days lawn, the three patients pressed around her, thanking her. One was bleeding from a scrape on her knee; another was clutching her elbow. Annie retrieved her father’s flight jacket. “She knocked you down. I saw the Mercedes’ plate number. I could call the police.”
The woman with the knitting needles shook them in the direction of the car. “She was a bitch, wasn’t she? Total bitch!”
Her friend agreed. “Worse bitch than Ms. Skippings!”
The knitter weakly smoothed the thin white curls of her hair. “That was nice of you,” she told Annie. “Who do you have here?”
It took Annie a second. “Oh, you mean staying here? I’m visiting my father.”
The knitter squeezed Annie’s arm with sharp bony fingers. “That’s nice of you.” She smiled. “What’s his name?”
“Jack Peregrine,” said Annie. “No, I’m sorry, I mean, Ronny Buchstabe. My father’s Coach Ronny Buchstabe. Do you know him?”
“No. I have a daughter.”
Another old woman pushed to the front. “I have two daughters.”
The woman with the knitting wasn’t interested. “Where’s the dog, the white dog?”
“Here he is!” shouted a man sliding toward them by means of a walker. Malpy was trotting beside him, his tail a brisk flag not of surrender but of salutation. He’d suffered no damage to his pride from being flung to the grass; in general, he forgot assaults as soon as they were over. Happily the old people circled him. The little dog began busily showing off his back-leg dancing trick in exchange for everything edible they could scrounge from their hoarded rations—bits of banana and apple, Junior Mints, corn chips.
Out of bougainvillea blossoms at the far corner of the building