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“I don’t think I’m quite ready for a literary discussion, Jake.”
She tried to turn away again, but I held onto her hand. “It was a Japanese proverb. ‘If there is love,
smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples.’ I’ll love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it’s
yours.”
She began to cry, and I held her until she quieted. In fact, I thought she had gone to sleep when she
said, “I know it’s my fault, I married him, but—”
“It’s not your fault, Sadie, you didn’t know.”
“I knew there was something not right about him. And still I went ahead. I think mostly because
my mother and father wanted it so badly. They haven’t come yet, and I’m glad. Because I blame them,
too. That’s awful, isn’t it?”
“While you’re serving up the blame, save a helping for me. I saw that goddam Plymouth he was
driving at least twice dead on, and maybe a couple of other times out of the corner of my eye.”
“You don’t need to feel guilty on that score. The state police detective and the Texas Ranger who
interviewed me said Johnny’s trunk was full of license plates. He probably stole them at motor courts,
they said. And he had a lot of stickers, whatdoyoucallums—”
“Decals.” I was thinking of the one that had fooled me at the Candlewood that night. GO,
SOONERS. I’d made the mistake of dismissing my repeated sightings of the white-over-red
Plymouth as just another harmonic of the past. I should have known better. I would have known
better, if half my mind hadn’t been back in Dallas, with Lee Oswald and General Walker. And if
blame mattered, there was a helping for Deke, too. After all, he had seen the man, had registered those
deep dimples on the sides of his forehead.
Let it go, I thought. It’s happened. It can’t be undone.
Actually, it could.
“Jake, do the police know you aren’t . . . quite who you say you are?”
I brushed back the hair on the right side of her face, where it was still long. “I’m fine on that
score.”
Deke and I had been interviewed by the same policemen who interviewed Sadie before the docs
rolled her into the operating room. The state police detective had issued a tepid reprimand about men
who had seen too many TV westerns. The Ranger seconded this, then shook our hands and said, “In
your place, I would have done exactly the same thing.”
“Deke’s pretty much kept me out of it. He wants to make sure the schoolboard doesn’t get pissy
about you coming back next year. It seems incredible to me that being cut up by a lunatic could lead
to dismissal on grounds of moral turpitude, but Deke seems to think it’s best if—”
“I can’t go back. I can’t face the kids looking like I do now.”
“Sadie, if you knew how many of them have come here—”
“That’s sweet, it means a lot, and they’re the very ones I couldn’t face. Don’t you understand? I
think I could deal with the ones who’d laugh and make jokes. In Georgia I taught with a woman who
had a harelip, and I learned a lot from the way she handled teenage cruelty. It’s the other ones that
would undo me. The well-meaning ones. The looks of sympathy . . . and the ones who can’t stand to
look at all.” She took a deep, shuddering breath, then burst out: “Also, I’m angry. I know life is hard, I
think everyone knows that in their hearts, but why does it have to be cruel, as well? Why does it have
to bite?”
I took her in my arms. The unmarked side of her face was hot and throbbing. “I don’t know,
honey.”
“Why are there no second chances?”
I held her. When her breathing became regular, I let her go and stood up quietly to leave. Without
opening her eyes, she said, “You told me there was something you had to witness on Wednesday