Excerpt from War Memorials

"I know somebody's in there," she said as she moved her face up close to the screen. "And I don't mind calling the sheriff."
I barely breathed. Soon her eyes would adjust and she'd see me standing there in the darkened baby's bedroom. She'd ask what the hell was going on, and I wouldn't have an answer, not an easy one, anyway, because I wasn't sure myself what the hell was going on. Then she'd come storming inside and discover what I had done to her grandmother's desk. I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know what to do.

Then a remarkable thing happened. Just at the moment when I thought there was no way around it, when I thought there was no choice left but to speak up and let Laney know that I was there, that she had caught me, that I had broken Miss Bessie's antique rolltop, that I had read the letter, that I knew about Steve Pitts, that I'd always known about Steve Pitts, in fact, ever since I'd spotted Laney's car at the Stone Bridge Motel last Valentine's Day when she was supposed to be visiting her sister--and, what the hell, why stop there--that I'd never insured our new family room and had no money to pay for the damage, that I was barely on speaking terms with my father, that I'd lost my job at the agency and was now a part-time repo man, that I'd found a dead body at work, that I knew Laney's baby probably wasn't mine, but -- sure why not say it-that Laney still looked good, damned good, even after all these years, even in the goddamned dark -- just as I was on the verge of saying all that and more, maybe a whole lot more, about junior high and the speed of light and how I didn't believe a thing could be worth more if you left it broken, just at that very moment Randall the second-hand lizard waddled out onto the windowsill between us.

Apparently, he'd been lounging along the back of the over-stuffed chair next to the window, and the sound of Laney's voice had drawn him forward. So as she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered into the room, it wasn't me she focused on but Randall, perched calmly behind the screen, inches from her face, waiting for Laney to give him a cricket.

Laney's tone changed at once. "Randall," she cooed. "What have you been up to in Mommy's room?"

So that's what this place was.

"You just wait right there," she said. "I'll bring you some goodies."

As Laney moved from the window toward the front porch, I tried to map out a plan. My first idea -- which was all I had time for -- was to get to one of the other bedrooms and flop down on a bed as if I were asleep. That would explain why the lights were out and why I didn't answer Laney's calls. I'd just have to claim ignorance about the rolltop.

As Laney opened the front door and turned on the living-room lights, I set the two broken slats gently into the cavity of the desk and hurried toward the hallway. But just as I turned the corner to make my escape, Laney swung the front door solidly shut behind her and a shiver of vibration passed through the house.

A second slam came from the room behind me, from the baby's room, from the room where Bessie's antique desk had just grown a few decades older.

I knew what it was, of course, but still I had to turn back and look. And sure enough, there was Randall, his chunky body sticking up from the sill at an odd angle, and his head wedged beneath the heavy fallen sash. I crossed quickly to the window and lifted the weight from his neck, but it was too late. After a couple of spasms jolted through his legs, he went limp. I held him up and looked into his eyes for some flicker of life, but there was nothing there. His mouth was opened wide, and for the first time since I'd known him he seemed to have an actual expression on his face. He looked surprised.

I probably did, too, when Laney walked into the room and turned on the light.

Copyright 2000 by Clint McCown. All rights reserved.