Act of God

don’t seem to matter as much, somehow. She was really like a younger sister to me rather than a neighbor—both of us were natural blondes, you see, so people mistook us for sisters sometimes—and I just wasn’t prepared... but, of course, nobody could be.”
    “Her death was sudden, then?”
    “People have tried to tell us that, and I do hope it’s true, but it still must have been horrible.”
    “What was horrible?”
    “Why, the—oh, there’s no way for you to know that, is there? Caroline was on that plane that crashed near Washington .”
    Mo’s airline story. “You’re right. I didn’t know.” Thorson didn’t need much prompting. “It’s just such a tragedy. She was on her way to... It was the twentieth anniversary of her brother’s death, you see.”
    “Her brother?”
    “Yes. He was killed in Vietnam , and Caroline decided she should go down to see the memorial. I believe it’s called ‘the Wall’?”
    “It is.”
    “You’ve seen it, then?”
    “Not yet.”
    Something about the way I said that made Thorson pause. Then she shook her head. “A tragedy upon a tragedy. Caroline had been planning this trip for months, to coincide exactly with her brother’s death. I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, and Roger decided to build her the potting shed she’d been wanting, so that she’d have a lift when she got back.”
    “He didn’t go with her, then.”
    “Oh, no. No, this was something Caroline felt she had to do herself. For herself, to... exorcise the demons, I guess. The ones still there after all these years.”
    “How’s Mr. Houle taking it?”
    “Her death? Oh, very hard. Very, very hard. They were so much in love, you see.”
    Thinking about his supposed affair with Darbra Proft, I said only, “I haven’t met him.”
    Thorson looked off. “Roger was at our house. We were having a barbecue. Nothing elaborate, just a few of the neighbors. This has been a very... stable neighborhood, Mr. Cuddy. Most of us have been here four generations, five in my case. But that afternoon, we were all in the back, on our patio. My husband was taking drink orders before we started the coals, and I was videotaping everybody—for Christmas, my husband bought me one of those wonderful zoom kind that you can play in your own VCR? I’ve been having such fun with it ever since.”
    “Mrs. Thorson?”
    “My husband was at the barbecue, and I was videotaping, and Roger had his cellular phone with him, because he and Caroline always called the other when one was traveling, and he didn’t want to miss the drinks after he’d worked so hard all afternoon. Well, he was sitting there, we were all talking and joking and listening to WCDJ—that marvelous jazz station?—and suddenly the news announcer broke in with a bulletin about a plane crash, and we realized it was Caroline’s flight, and Roger, he... his face just... crumbled.”
    Thorson went back to her hankie. I gave her a minute, then said, “I’m really sorry to intrude at a time like this, but it’s important that I speak to Mr. Houle. Do you know where he is?”
    She finished with the hankie. “The last time I saw her, I’ll never forget it. Roger had come over to borrow a tool, and we were at my front door there. The taxi was pulling away to take Caroline to the airport, and behind the window she gave me her wave, a very gay wave—in the traditional sense of that word, Mr. Cuddy. That’s the kind of person she was, on her way to revisit a tragedy, and she could think only of letting me know she was all right.”
    I gave the woman another minute, then said, “Mrs. Thorson?”
    Something behind her eyes seemed to register that she’d been out of the conversation. “I’m sorry, yes?”
    "Excuse me for pressing on this, but I really need to see Mr. Houle about another matter. Can you tell me where he is now?”
    “Where he is?”
    “Yes.”
    “The same place he’s been since he got back from Washington . We’ve picked up his newspaper from the sidewalk and his mail from the box. My husband and I even talked about cutting the lawn, but that would seem somehow... macabre, with Roger sitting there.”
    “Sitting where, Mrs. Thorson?”
    “In the back.” She gestured with her hand. “Staring at Caroline’s garden.”

    Stopping at the corner of his house, I watched him for a while. From the rear, Roger Houle was a teddy bear of a man, even slumped in a redwood lounge chair. Almost bald, brown hair in a fringe