“Sorry” she said. “Yes, Curtis, I’ll go to a movie with you. What night?”
“I better find out for sure what night I can have off. I’ll let you know.”
She stared unseeingly past him toward the lilac bushes at the comer of the porch. “You know what? When they picked mamma off the floor and laid her on the bed, I told myself I would never ever have a child who would do such wicked things and make me die. Because I knew she was going to die. I knew it before any of the grownups. And I thought it was my fault. I was too little to understand that she’d already had the cancer, probably for months, and no one knew it; a kind the person is dying from before they show any symptoms. I remember Pappa telling Uncle Wiiri that.”
Fritzi stared, shaken. “I remember. The doctor told me, and told Wiiri. He called it glioblastoma something. I remember that. It is what killed my Aina.”
Klara spoke sharply to Fritzi in German, and he gave her a brief summary. The old woman grumbled something more, then left, presumably returning to bed. Fritzi spoke gruffly to Mary: “Better you come in and go to bed. Rest. The whole neighborhood must be awake now.”
“In a minute, Pappa. First I have to thank Curtis. Privately.” Fritzi backed through the door, no doubt to wait listening in the hallway. Macurdy wondered if Mary was going to kiss him. Instead she talked.
“You’re a strange man, Curtis Macurdy, but a very nice one. How did you know what to do? To ask those questions? I feel like a new person, I can hardly believe how new.”
“I had a friend once who did things like that,” he answered.
“I’ll tell you about him sometime; I’ll tell you a lot of things you should know about me. But not tonight. Your dad’s right. Wash your face and go to bed. Sleep on it. I’ll see you tomorrow, and see how you feel.”
She peered at him for a moment, seeing he didn’t know what. Then, standing on tiptoes and holding his face in her hands, she did kiss him, gently. He left in a daze.
Back in his rented room, Macurdy again gave shamanic attention to his damaged face, then went to bed, where he reviewed the evening in his mind. He knew he’d ask Mary to marry him, probably soon, and he knew she’d say yes. It seemed strange but inevitable.
Mary lay looking at a shaft of moonlight through her window. If her mother hadn’t had that cancer in her brain, she told herself, she wouldn’t have gotten so mad about the dish. Wouldn’t have hit her so hard and said those terrible things. Poor aiti! It must have been an awful death.
And if it hadn’t been for Curtis and his questions, she’d never have remembered, never have known what festered in the back of her mind, hidden by her sense of childish guilt.
What kind of man was Curtis Macurdy? She’d find out, she told herself. Because she knew he’d ask her to marry him. And she would. She would. Perhaps he’d ask her after the movie. Perhaps in a week or a month. She would not, she resolved, disappoint him, with her answer or her love.
7
Disclosures. Proposals. Advices.
By Monday morning, Macurdy’s efforts with shamanism, massage, and hot washcloths had reduced the discoloration to a faint greenish yellow, a remarkable accomplishment. He arrived at the courthouse a few minutes before eight. Fritzi was already there, as usual, and Macurdy peered into his office. “Excuse me, sheriff,” he said, “can I talk with you a minute?”
“Go ahead.”
“I wonder if I could have a day shift today.”
“That’s what I planned for you. This morning you go to the courthouse and read some court proceedings. I have written a list.”
“You were along when Earl arrested Arne Peterson, and he showed you how to do the paperwork. The trial is this afternoon, and Earl will be there as arresting officer. I want you there too. You got to have experience with these things.”
He paused, eyeing Macurdy. “Now. Why did you want the day shift today?”