When Mel hung up, Old Bob stood looking at the phone, wondering if he believed any of it and if it made any difference if he did. Then he dropped the matter, going about the business of his own life, of finishing the funeral preparations and worrying about Nest. But now the matter surfaced anew in his thoughts, and he found himself taking a fresh look at it. Truth was, it just didn’t feel right. It didn’t sound like Derry Howe. He didn’t think that boy would change in a million years, let alone in twenty-four hours. But maybe he was being unfair. People did change-even people you didn’t think would ever be any different from what they’d been all their lives. It happened.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch, staring off into space. Going to the fireworks with Mel and Carol, was he? That was a first. Where was his buddy, Junior El way, that he’d opted for an evening out with the old folks?
He got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to fish around in the packed-out refrigerator for a can of root beer. When he found it, he popped the top and carried it back into the living room and sat down again.
Fireworks. The word kept digging at him, suggesting something different from the obvious, something he couldn’t quite grasp. Hadn’t he and Deny talked about fireworks yesterday, when he had approached the boy about what sort of mischief he might be planning? Deny Howe, the Vietnam vet, the demolitions expert, talking about playing with matches in a pile of fireworks, about how fireworks were touchy if you didn’t know what you were doing, that they could cause accidents…
He sat up straight. What was it Deny had said? I’m going to give MidCon a Fourth of July to remember. But more, something else, something personal. A warning. Stay home on the Fourth. Keep away from the fireworks.
Old Bob set the can of root beer down on the coffee table, barely aware of What he was doing, his mind racing. What he was thinking was ridiculous. It didn’t make any sense. What would Deny Howe gain by sabotaging the Fourth of July fireworks? How would that have any effect on MidCon Steel? He looked the possibilities over without finding anything new. There didn’t seem to be any connection.
Then something occurred to him, and he got to his feet quickly and walked out onto the screened porch where he kept the old newspapers. He bent down and began to go through them. Most were old Chicago Tribunes, but there were a few Hopewell Gazettes among them. Friday’s had gone out with the trash, he remembered, used to wrap the garbage. He found the one from Thursday, pulled it out, and went through it quickly, searching. There was nothing on the Fourth of July.
But he seemed to remember seeing something, a big ad of some kind. He wished he had paid better attention, but it had been years since he had concerned himself with what went on in the park over the Fourth. The fireworks were all Evelyn and he had ever cared about, and you knew without having to ask when to be there for them.
He tossed the Thursday paper aside, wondering what had become of the Saturday-morning edition. He went down the hall to his den and looked for it there, but couldn’t find it. He stood motionless for a moment, trying to think what he had done with it. Then he walked back to the kitchen. He found the Saturday paper sitting on the counter under several of the casseroles he had set aside for the church. He extracted it gingerly, spread it out on the table, and began to scan its pages.
He found what he was looking for right away. The Jaycees had inserted a flyer for the Sunday-Monday events in Sinnis-sippi Park, admission free, everyone welcome. Games, food, and fun. The events culminated on Monday, the Fourth, with fireworks at sunset. This year, the flyer proclaimed in bold letters, the fireworks were being sponsored and paid for by MidCon Steel.
For long moments, Old Bob just stared at the flyer, not quite trusting himself. He must be wrong about this, he kept thinking. But it was the way a guy like Deny Howe thought, wasn’t it? Sabotage the fireworks sponsored by MidCon, maybe blow up a few people watching, cause a lot of hard feelings. But then what? Everybody blames MidCon? MidCon has to do something to regain favor, so it settles the strike? It was such a stretch that for a few seconds he dismissed his reasoning altogether. It was ludicrous! But Deny Howe wouldn’t think so, would he? Old Bob felt a cold spot settling deep in his chest. No, not Deny.