Oh, I’ve done wrong and I’ve told lies, Macon’s sister sang in the kitchen. I’ve been foolish and unwise…’ Macon lay on the daybed in his grandparents’ sun porch, and listened to Rose singing as she got the breakfast. She had a high, shaky voice that sounded like an old lady’s, though she was the youngest of the four Leary children. She had never left home because there had always been someone she had to take care of. Their grandparents had got old and ill, one after the other, and then it was her brothers. First Charles, the oldest, and then Porter, the next brother, had failed in their marriages and come back home. And now Macon had come as well, to lie there with his broken left leg in plaster and be looked after by Rose.
She was pretty in a quiet, serious kind of way, and ran the house efficiently, being as neat and organized as all the Leary family. Everything in her kitchen cupboards was arranged in perfect alphabetical order-rice, salt, soup (fish), soup (tomato), soup (vegetable), sugar, tea…
Charles and Porter managed the business that Grandfather Leary had begun in 1915, a factory making bottle cape. All four of them had spent most of their childhood with their grand-parents as their father, Grandfather Leary’s only son, had been killed in World War ll. For a while they had lived with their mother Alicia in California, but she was a bright, irresponsible young widow, full of wild enthusiasms and sudden changes of life plan. The Leary children rarely her enthusiasms, and they were quite happy when she sent them to live with their dull, safe, serious grandparents in Baltimore, while she traveled round the world with her latest husband.
As he sat in front of his typewriter in the dining room, Macon felt strangely at peace with the world. No one else had any idea where he was-not Julian, not Sarah, not anyone. Macon liked that, and had said to rose, ‘I wish things could satay this way.
‘Why can’t they?’ Rose said. ‘We don’t need to answer the phone if anyone calls. We’ll just let it go on ringing.’
However, that afternoon the doorbell rang and it was Garner Bolt, a neighbor from, complaining that everyone in the street was worried that Macon had died, seeing all the mail piled up inside the door, not knowing what to think.
‘So I brought your mail around to your sister’s, to ask if she knew where you were. I promised your friend I’d fund out.’
‘What friend?’ Macon asked
‘Thin little lady with a lot of hair. Saw her standing on your porch, knocking at the door. Pointy high -heeled shoes.’
Macon thought for a moment. ‘The dog lady,’ he said. ‘Jesus.’
Garner finally left, having told Macon how to get back with Sarah and save his marriage. Macon made no reply to any of this advice. He’d noticed lately that he had stopped missing Sarah. He began to wonder what had happened to the twenty years of his marriage, and that evening, as he sat at the table with his sister and brothers, he had a sudden cold shock of fear. Here they all were, playing the same old card game they had played as children. Had anything really changed in thirty years?
‘Help! Help! Call off your dog!’
Macon stopped typing and listened. He could hear barking and the voice sounded very close. He didn’t think it could be Edward because Edward was taking a walk with Porter. But Edward had been behaving strangely for a while, barking and showing his teeth when anyone came to the house, or tried to leave it.