Page 24 of Whistle

“I guess.”

“I do kind of wish he hadn’t told me. I came up here to get away from sadness, but maybe there’s a lesson there. You can’t escape it. You have to learn to live with it. For all I know, someone died in our Bank Street place.” She laughed. “Maybe even Sid Vicious.”

“You’d have wanted to put up a plaque or something.”

“Actually, he died farther up the street, at number sixty-three. How’d you even get onto this house in the first place?”

Finnegan said, “Funniest thing. Someone new down in marketing, there was a meeting, he dropped by, poked his head in the door, heard I was looking for a spot for you for the summer. He was from up this way, knew about it. I checked it out and it looked perfect.”

“The studio space is very nice. Skylights and the whole deal. You stocked it well, you manipulative son of a bitch.”

With forced sincerity, he said, “Only trying to help. My intentions were purely honorable.”

“Of course they were.”

Finnegan wrapped things up with, “If you need anything, anything at all, just call. Maybe I’ll surprise you with a visit one day.”

“Love you, Fin,” she said, and once she was done, shouted, “Charlie! Let’s go!”

When he didn’t answer, she went to the front hall and called up to the second floor for him. When that produced no response, she went out onto the porch and called for him.

“Where the hell is he?” she said under her breath.

She started to walk down to the road, but before she’d gotten very far she decided to take a look around back. And there, sure enough, was Charlie, standing on a pile of wood, peering through the grimy window of that shed he’d been so curious about.

“Hey!”

Charlie’s head turned.

“You want a bike or not?”

“One second!” he shouted.

Charlie waited for his mother to round the side of the house, then leaned in close to the window and whispered, “I’ll be back. I’ll figure this out.”

Annie was again pretty wrapped up in her thoughts once she was behind the wheel and Charlie was belted in in the backseat.

Maybe, she said to herself, this was why John had told her not to go. Because this get-away-from-it-all house had been where some poor woman’s mind had snapped. But so what? Like Daniel had said, if it hadn’t happened here, it would have happened someplace else.

“For fuck’s sake, stop it,” she said under her breath, quietly enough that Charlie had not noticed.

John hadnottold her not to come here. She’d had adreamabout John telling her not to come here.Get a grip, lady. She gave her head a shake.

It was about a five-mile drive to Fenelon, which was the closest town that amounted to more than a gas station, a church, and an antique store. It actually amounted tomuchmore. With a population of about six thousand, it had half a dozen gas stations, a decent commercial strip as you entered with a Dunkin’ Donuts, a Burger King, a Home Depot, and a Wegmans grocery store. The center of town had more charm, with a green that ran down the middle of the main street, lots of trees, and a couple dozen small stores and eateries, many of which chose to use the quaint spelling of “shoppe.” There was the Card Shoppe and the Sandwich Shoppe and the Yarn Shoppe and, of course, Ye Olde Barber Shoppe.

Daniel had mentioned a place called Jake’s Hardware (and not, refreshingly, Jake’s Hardware Shoppe), where she might find a bike for Charlie. Annie thought they would make that their first stop, then scout a place for lunch.

“Keep your eye out for this Jake’s place,” Annie said.

As they cruised slowly down the main street heading west, Charlie called out, “Other side!” She made a turn at the next intersection, came down the east side, and nosed the BMW into an angled parking spot four shops past Jake’s. Once they were out of the car, their walk to the store took them past a bakery, an antiques store, a card shop, and a shoe repair. Annie glanced into the antiques store as they passed. She’d spotted a tall, spinning rack of paperbacks in there, the kind supermarkets and drugstores used to have. Annie recalled the rack at her neighborhood Rite Aid when she was growing up, how it squeaked when she turned it.

A jingling bell over the door announced their arrival at Jake’s. There were aisles of paint and tools and gardening gear and plumbing and electrical supplies and just about anything else someone might need for their household, but there were no bikes in sight.

A man in his early thirties, wearing a red shirt withjake’son the pocket, was working the till. “Sorry,” he said when Annie asked if they carried bikes. “We usually bring in a few in the spring, but we’re all sold out now. I doubt any place in town’s got any. You might want to take a run to Binghamton.”

“Is that far?” Charlie asked.

“About an hour,” the clerk said. “Or check online, see if anybody’s got anything in stock before you go.”

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