The Probable Future

“She didn’t think you’d want it. So she gave you the larger share of cash.”

“Did she?” Will was surprised by that. “You’re saying I got more?”

“I was the executor. I ought to know. She wanted things to be fair.”

“Fair.” Will was surprised. He really didn’t know the first thing about his mother, the way she thought, how she could have continued to love him despite his selfish ways.

“Let me guess,” Matt said. “Your share’s all gone.”

“You want to think the worst of me, be my guest.”

“Just tell me.”

Matt suddenly felt entitled to something. If not to Jenny, if not to a life, then at least an admission. But he never got it. Will never managed to say, I got more. I admit it. I was granted the larger portion time and time again. A bee had found its way into the truck and it banged against the windshield.

“Jesus.” Will panicked. “Get rid of it.”

Will was rightfully frightened of bees, so Matt guided the intruder out the window with a newspaper. It was a gut reaction; protect Will once more, no matter the cost or the consequence.

“Now you’re safe, brother. But one question. And I want you to answer this time.” Matt had fought the urge to set the bee onto his brother’s skin. “What makes you think she’ll take you in?”

“Jenny?”

Will got out of the truck, then leaned back in through the opened window.

“It’s in her nature.”

It was the time of year when the magnolias began to bloom all over the Back Bay, on Commonwealth Avenue, on Beacon Street, here on Marlborough; even the tiniest patch of yard could be home to a huge magnolia tree. The light was altered when they bloomed, pink-tinged, hopeful, brighter somehow.

“I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Will said. So he did understand that lawyers had to be paid, that bail money came not from the stratosphere, but from somebody’s savings, that detectives wanted cash. “Don’t think I’m not grateful.”

Matt looked out at the pink street, a much poorer man than he’d been that morning. There was a lot he could say, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t look up at the third-floor window, though he knew that was where their apartment was. He supposed it was in his nature to keep what he felt to himself. If he made good time on the highway, he’d be home in a little more than an hour, and that’s what he intended to do. Some histories were meant to be forgotten, and others were fated not to begin in the first place; they remained where they belonged, in the hazy universe of lost possibilities, in the world of never-had-been.

“I mean it, brother,” Will called as Matt was leaving. “I’ll pay you back.”

Matt laughed as he pulled back out into traffic. “Like hell you will,” he said.

IV.

STELLA AND HAP STEWART had decided to test local bodies of water for possible toxicity as their earth science project, which meant they had to track through the woods all over town, in search of ponds and inlets, any body of still water, each and every larva-ridden puddle. They tromped through nettles and poison ivy, wild blackberries and duck grass. They had passed by so many peach trees beginning to flower that they soon grew hungry for peach cobbler, peach jam, and peach pie.

All of the water samples were bottled, labeled, and brought over to Cake House. Hap knew his grandfather came here often, but he himself had never been any farther than the driveway. Unlike Jimmy Elliot, he’d never gone swimming in Hourglass Lake; he’d never seen the mist people vowed was a dead horse rising from the weeds, or done battle with one of those ferocious snapping turtles. Jimmy Elliot had the tip of one finger missing from an encounter with one such turtle, or so people said; the notion had so terrifed his fellow students in earth science class that no one dared walk past the old turtle kept in a tank at the rear of the room.

“Come on,” Stella said when Hap balked at the steps to the porch of Cake House. Stella’s back was aching from the heavy bottles of water stowed in her backpack. “My grandmother doesn’t bite. And we can get some food. I’m starving.”

They were covered by mosquito bites, and brambles had caught in their hair. Frankly, they’d had a perfect afternoon, and Stella had learned her way around town. Due to a teacher conference, they’d had an early release day and had been gathering samples since noon; they’d skipped lunch and Hap had to agree his stomach was rumbling.

As soon as they came into the house, Argus approached and let out a deep woof. “Whoa, boy.” Hap backed up against the wall, hands up, as though he were about to be mugged.