The rat stood in a bright circle of light from the diner's sign. As I settled myself in the saddle, Moira looked up from her phone and said excitedly, "They're on their way. Joe and his mom."
She swung herself up behind me and for once she leaned back on the sissy seat's padded backrest. She wanted to keep texting Joe. I made a point of alerting her when we were coming up on a turn, so she could grip the seat handle for balance. I went with the flow of the traffic, in no hurry to get back. Moira kept me informed as to exactly where Roberta's Buick Skylark was in relation to us as the line of annoying headlights passed us like herds of celestial bisons.
On Cheat Road, nearing the private turn-off, Moira said, "They're there!" And when I saw the tree stump mailbox I could smell the mix of dust and exhaust fumes that confirmed her announcement.
I slowed to a crawl. My headlight picked out a shiny rear bumper and a short skinny youth standing in front of it, a hazy phantom until I was close enough to read the lettering on his t-shirt: 'Eat, Drink, and be Mary.' I revved up passing him and we crossed the bridge in thudding echoes, on to the foot of the slope where I parked between squares of silver light on the ground cast by the cabin windows.
We waited by the slab of cement. Moira put her phone to sleep and slipped it into her belt case. I could see she was nervous. Her breathing was labored, as though she had run back from the diner. "I just don't want her to touch me," she whispered. "Stand between me and her."
"To hell with that, just go inside. I'll bring them in. Tell Top they've arrived."
She was gone before I finished speaking. I heard her say as she opened the rusty-hinged door: "Hello? Hi! They're coming!"
The door creaked shut. I saw two dark figures coming around the trees at the turn of the drive, shoes on gravel. For some reason, whenever I thought of Roberta I pictured her as looking like a nextdoor neighbor of mine when I was Moira's age. But she looked nothing like the peculiar Mrs Gordon.
She was only slightly shorter than Joe, thin from the waist up, but with broad hips and thick legs. Her hair was bleached blond; short bangs and a long ponytail. She had high skullish cheekbones, a longish nose with a cleft at the end between pinched nostrils, severe lips and a pointed chin. She wore a black turtleneck sweater and beige slacks. Her feet, in pink tennies, seemed incredibly small. She walked swinging her arms, like Top. I took all this in with a glance, then focused on Joe.
The closer he came the more masculine he looked. He had cut his hair short and brushed it straight back. He walked with a pronounced belligerence, like a young man intent on impressing his fellows with his toughness.
Then the light of the three-quarter moon left them to the meager starshine and once again they were dark phantoms.
"You're William no doubt. I'm Roberta Walcott."
She extended her hand. It was cold and strong.
She and I looked expectantly at Joe. He said, "Moira's inside I guess," and made a show of studying the outlines of the cabin. "Cool."
I went onto the stone porch and opened the door. Moira was there, hands clasped. She reached out and took Joe by the waist, ushering him in. Roberta had put a firm hand on my shoulder, meaning to hold me back from going in. So I said to Moira, "Introduce your buddy," and closed the door, turning to the woman whose face was briefly lit by the lamps inside and then dark again like a hard mask.
"I'm not the terrible creature she's made me out to be," she said softly but insistently.
The door started to open. I said through the crack, "Just a minute." Moira responded, "Oh," and pulled the door shut quickly.
"Why do you say that?" I asked Roberta.
"She's not always truthful. She has issues. It didn't happen the way she probably told you it did. She had ringworm on her back and I scrubbed the scab off with a washcloth, like the doctor advised. I had her sit in the bath because it was convenient. If she's said anything different then she's not telling the truth."
"Whatever the truth of the matter, she doesn't want you touching her."
"I know."
"And I know that where there's smoke there's fire."
"Well you either believe her or you believe me."
"Why are you here?"
She brightened, so that in the darkness her face seemed to slightly melt. "I belong to a Zodiac club. I've given seances at my house. Didn't Moira tell you? Her mother has sat in on a few of them. I'm interested in seeing how your friend performs them. I might learn something. Am I mistaken?"
"You'll have to decide that for yourself," I said. "Is Joe going home with you?"
"I think so, yes. And Moira, too. It would be what's best for her."
"You don't have a fucking clue what's best for her."
She breathed heavily, angrily, through her nose. "I'm sure I don't care what your opinion is, William. I think I know her better than you."
"Not in any way, Roberta. And this is not the time or the place to piss me off."
Her teeth gleamed in the dark. "I'm not at all surprised by that. I didn't expect to meet a gentleman."
"Maybe if you did you'd find one."
I opened the door, smelling incense and the odor of charred logs. I heard Top say, "There they be."
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