In the middle of October, shortly after Gerald Ford had pardoned the ex-president, Vera became sure that the world was going to end again. Herb realized what she was about barely in time; she had made arrangements to give what little cash and savings they had recouped since Johnny’s accident to the Last Times Society of America. She had tried to put the house up for sale, and had made an arrangement with the Goodwill, which was going to send a van out in two days’ time to pick up all the furniture. Herb found out when the realtor called him to ask if a prospective buyer could come and look at the house that afternoon.
For the first time he had genuinely lost his temper with Vera.
‘What in Christ’s name did you think you were doing?’ he roared, after dragging the last of the incredible story out of her. They were in the living room. He had just finished calling Goodwill to tell them to forget the van. Outside, rain fell in monotonous gray sheets.
‘Don’t blaspheme the name of the Savior, Herbert.
‘Shut up! Shut up! I’m tired of listening to you rave about that crap!’
She drew in a startled gasp.
He limped over to her, his cane thumping the floor in counterpoint. She flinched back a little in her chair and then looked up at him with that sweet martyr’s expression that made him want, God forgive him, to bust her one across the head with his own damn walking stick.
‘You’re not so far gone that you don’t know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You don’t have that excuse. You snuck around behind my back, Vera.You…
‘I did not! That’s a lie! I did no such…
‘You did!’ he bellowed. ‘Well, you listen to me, Vera. This is where I’m drawing the line.
You pray all you want. Praying’s free. Write all the letters you want, a stamp still only costs thirteen cents. If you want to take a bath in all the cheap, shitty lies those Jesusiumpers tell, if you want to go on with the delusions and the make-believe, you go on. But I’m not a part of it. Remember that. Do you understand me?’
‘Do you understand me?’
‘You think I’m crazy!’ she shouted at him, and her face crumpled and squeezed together in a terrible way. She burst into the braying, ugly tears of utter defeat and disillusion.
‘No,’ he said more quietly. ‘Not yet. But maybe it’s time for a little plain talk, Vera, and the truth is, I think you will be if you don’t pull out of this and start facing reality.’
‘You’ll see,’ she said through her team. ‘You’ll see. God knows the truth but waits.’
‘Just as long as you understand that he’s not going to have our furniture while he’s waiting,’ Herb said grimly. ‘As long as we see eye to eye on that.’
‘It’s Last Times!’ she told him. ‘The hour of the Apocalypse is at hand.’
‘Yeah? That and fifteen cents will buy you a cup of coffee, Vera.’
Outside the rain fell in steady sheets. That was the year Herb turned fifty-two, Vera fifty one, and Sarah Hazlett twenty-seven.
Johnny had been in his coma for four years.
9.
The baby came on Halloween night. Sarah’s labor lasted nine hours. She was given mild whiffs of gas when she needed them, and at some point in her extremity it occurred to her that she was in the same hospital as Johnny, and she called his name over and over again.
Afterward she barely remembered this, and certainly never told Walt. She thought she might have dreamed it.
The baby was a boy. They named him Dennis Edward Hazlett. He and his mother went home three days later, and Sarah was teaching again after the Thanksgiving holiday. Walt had landed what looked like a fine job with a Bangor firm of lawyers, and if all went well they planned for Sarah to quit teaching in June of 1975. She wasn’t all that sure she wanted to. She had grown to like it.
10.
On the first day of 1975, two small boys, Charlie Norton and Norm Lawson, both of Otisfield, Maine, were in the Nortons’ back yard, having a snowball fight. Charlie was eight, Norm was nine. The day was overcast and drippy.