Hidden Prey

she’d heard him in the shower. A strange time to take a shower, she thought; had he been up to something?
    She unpacked a sack of groceries, then heard the pipes bang as the shower was turned off. She headed into the back hall a minute later, just as Carl came out of the bathroom in Jockey shorts, carrying his clothes. He jumped when he saw her, and shied away, and that’s when she saw the cut.
    “Carl,” she began, then frowned. “What’s that on your arm?”
    “Where?”
    “There on your arm. What happened?”
    “Oh . . .” He hid it, slid sideways into his bedroom. “We didn’t want to worry you. I was helping Grandpa wash some storm windows, and one was cracked, and it broke on me and I cut myself. It’s all right now.”
    “Let me see . . .”
    “Mom, jeez . . .” But he turned his arm.
    The cut was clean, but the stitch holes were still evident. “Oh, God, Carl . . .” He didn’t tell his mother about a cut like this? It made her feel like a failure.
    “Mom, this is what we thought would happen,” Carl said. “That you’d worry. But don’t worry: it’s all taken care of. It’s almost healed.”
    “You should have told me.” A little angry with him.
    “You’d just worry more. You already worry too much.”
    She knew she did. She sighed, and changed directions. “Are you taking somebody to the homecoming dance?” And if so, would your date be female?
    “I don’t know,” he said. He edged deeper into the doorway, trying to escape into his room. “I don’t know who to ask.”
    “You’ve got ask somebody sooner or later. You’ve got to bite the bullet. Don’t worry, girls are never insulted by being asked. You’re so good-looking, that won’t be a problem anyway, believe me. You’re the age where you should start.”
    “Well, I thought about asking Jeanne McGovern,” Carl said. “She talks to me in choir quite a bit, and her brother said nobody’s ever going to ask her out because she’s too smart.”
    Jan tapped her son on the bare chest: “That’s exactly the kind of girl, uh, woman, person, you know, you should ask. Smart women are a hell of a lot more entertaining than the stupid ones.”
    “I’m thinking about it,” Carl said. “But I’ve been helping Grandpa out a lot . . .”
    “You’re over there all the time. What’s going on?”
    “I don’t know. We just like to talk, and Grandma’s so messed up, that I feel like I oughta help Grandpa out.”
    “You’re a good boy, Carl,” Jan said. “I just want you to be happy. Do ask this Jeanne girl, okay?”
    “Okay, Mom.”
    He eased the door shut and left her standing in the hall. After a moment, she turned away, worried that something about him was being left undone; but also relieved. He wasn’t gay. Probably. She’d have to check out the McGovern girl.
     
    C ARL GOT ON the walkie-talkie. He’d worked out a routine with Grandpa, both of them a little excited about the small black radios: this was like the Resistance in World War II, calling from the Underground. He beeped him, beeped him again, listened.
    Grandpa picked up—“Yes”—and Carl said, “Mom came home before I got out. Call and ask if I can come over. Tell her the car’s got a flat.”
    “Yes.” Click.
    The phone rang a minute later, once, twice, and then stopped. A minute after that, his mother knocked on his door. “That was Grandpa. It’s late, but he says the car’s got a flat and he wants to go out early tomorrow . . .”
    “I can get it,” Carl said. He’d already put on the camouflage shirt. He opened the door. “I left a book over there, too, I can get that.”
    “Jeanne McGovern,” Jan said.
    “Mom . . .” But he smiled at her.
     
    H E THOUGHT ABOUT Jeanne McGovern on the way to Grandpa’s. McGovern wasn’t great-looking, but she had all the necessary equipment, and Carl was attracted to the freckles scattered across her face; the freckles made her seem approachable, somehow. He thought of himself playing football, basketball, baseball, hockey, all thethings he didn’t play, with McGovern looking on, watching him score—would a smart girl be impressed? Did a smart girl give blow jobs?
    He was still working on the question when he pulled through the alley to Grandpa’s, and parked. They wouldn’t be taking the Chevy.
     
    G RANDPA WAS WEARING a dark turtleneck shirt and jeans, which looked strange on him: the turtleneck over Grandpa’s withered neck, the jeans flapping around