Shallow Graves

white-trim First Presbyterian Church on Maple Street. But Meg hadn’t actually heard her voice before this moment. She sounded older than Ambler.
    “Is Mr. Ambler there please?” Meg, who had never typed a letter for anyone other than herself or Keith in her life, tried to sound like a Kelly Girl.
    “Just a minute, please. Who shall I say’s calling?”
    This she’d thought about. “Dutchess Realty Company.”
    “One minute.”
    “Hello?”
    “Wex.”
    A moment later, she was listening to her lover say with a tortured formality, “Yes, Meg. How are you? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” There was a pause at the end of his sentences. She knew that Ambler liked phrases of affection and it would be natural for him to add a “darling” or “dear.” Under the circumstances, of course, he’d have to watch himself carefully to avoid these.
    Ambler had reluctantly agreed to Meg’s demand that not a single soul in town know about their affair.
    Meg asked, “Is it safe to talk?” Then she regretted the idiocy of the question.
    Ambler ignored it. “What can I do for you?”
    “There was an accident. Somebody gave Sam some drugs.”
    There was a pause. “Is he all right?”
    “He’ll be okay. But I can’t make it today.”
    “Of course. I understand. What kind of drugs?”
    “Heroin, it looked like.”
    “Are you sure?” His voice sounded flatlined. As if he hadn’t even heard her.
    “That’s what the doctor said.”
    “Where did he get it?”
    Meg hesitated. “I have no idea. He claims he found it.”
    “Will he be okay?”
    “The doctor said he would.”
    He spoke again slowly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have been there.”
    She said, “Yes, that would have been good.”
    Static growing on the line. She guessed he was on a cordless phone and had moved into a den, or outside. He spoke more freely. “When can I see you? I—”
    Then he stopped talking and—his housekeeper undoubtedly approaching—said, “Those prices are a little high.”
    “I want to talk to you,” she said. “There’re some things we should talk about.”
    She was thankful Ambler wasn’t alone and wasn’t free to ask the questions that she didn’t want to answer right now, certainly not over the phone. She heard the frustration in his voice. “I understand. It’s a mutual situation. Day after tomorrow?”
    “Probably.”
    “Have you thought any more about my proposition of the other day?”
    “I don’t want to talk about that now.”
    “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’ll look forward to seeing you day after tomorrow.”
    Meg found she was answering as if Keith were in the room, which he was not. “Those would be acceptable terms.” She hung up.
    “ HOW YOU FEELING , skipper?” Keith asked his son.
    “Pretty good, Dad.” But Sam’s voice was weak and he was huddled in his bathrobe and blanket onhis bed. Heartbreaking, the way he was lying, so small and fragile.
    The computer’s fan whirred softly; the screen was blank except for the C prompt, waiting for instructions. Keith thought about shutting it off but didn’t; he figured Sam had left it on for whatever comfort the sound of the machinery might provide.
    Keith sat on the edge of the bed and tucked the blankets around the boy. “How’s the stomach?”
    “I liked the ice cream. It didn’t make me feel icky.”
    Keith nodded and remembered to look the boy in the eyes. Meg had once told him that he looked away from people too much. He’d explained to her that his mind wandered; he couldn’t help it. She’d told him that was no excuse. When you had children, you had to give them a hundred and fifty percent of yourself.
    There was a lot he wanted to say. About how he knew he wasn’t as attentive as he ought to be, how he didn’t like sports the way most of Sam’s friends’ fathers did, how he kept putting off vacations. About how if he hadn’t been working today this probably wouldn’t have happened. But he thought that talk like that now would just upset the boy, make him think that the incident with the drugs was worse than it was. He told himself that he simply would make it up to the boy. Not after the expansion at the factory was completed, not after the first of the year, not after the cold-season rush, but soon, very soon.
    “I’m sorry about what happened, Daddy.”
    “We don’t blame you, Sam.”
    “I was like pretty stupid.”
    “Sam,” Keith leaned forward. “It is very, very important that you tell