"Yes, go ahead, dear. Perhaps he did have some sort of freak accident on his way over here. At any rate, we'll all feel better if we can rule out that possibility." So Neal and I rode our bikes into the village, and Mother had been right; the trip served no purpose. Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose I had a picture of Jeff in the same situation as Helen, lying injured and helpless along the roadside, but there was no sign of him, and there wasn't even any area where an accident might reasonably have occurred. Beach Road was smooth and flat, lined with nothing more threatening than sea oats and beach grass. Any danger spots were along the cliff walks, many yards away. The village, when we reached it, was like a ghost town with the shops closed tight and no one on the streets or sidewalks. Neal and I pedaled home feeling as though we were the only two people in the world. It was almost noon when we arrived back at Cliff House. We put away the bikes and entered through the back door. The clack of Dad's typewriter told us that he was busy making up for the time he had lost the previous evening. I found myself resenting the fact that he could divide his life up so easily. When he was writing he wasn't worried about anything or anyone except the people in his book. Mother was in the living room feeding Christmas wrappings into the fireplace. She answered my question before I could ask it. "No, Mr. Rankin hasn’t called back." "Do you think I should can him?" "No, I don't," Mother said. "When there's news, he'll let you know, and until then it's better that his line stays open in case Jeff tries to reach him." There was sympathy in her voice. "There's nothing to do 154
"Yes, go ahead, dear. Perhaps he did have some sort of freak accident on his way over here. At any rate, we'll all feel better if we can rule out that possibility." So Neal and I rode our bikes into the village, and Mother had been right; the trip served no purpose. Somewhere in the back of my mind I suppose I had a picture of Jeff in the same situation as Helen, lying injured and helpless along the roadside, but there was no sign of him, and there wasn't even any area where an accident might reasonably have occurred. Beach Road was smooth and flat, lined with nothing more threatening than sea oats and beach grass. Any danger spots were along the cliff walks, many yards away. The village, when we reached it, was like a ghost town with the shops closed tight and no one on the streets or sidewalks. Neal and I pedaled home feeling as though we were the only two people in the world. It was almost noon when we arrived back at Cliff House. We put away the bikes and entered through the back door. The clack of Dad's typewriter told us that he was busy making up for the time he had lost the previous evening. I found myself resenting the fact that he could divide his life up so easily. When he was writing he wasn't worried about anything or anyone except the people in his book. Mother was in the living room feeding Christmas wrappings into the fireplace. She answered my question before I could ask it. "No, Mr. Rankin hasn’t called back." "Do you think I should can him?" "No, I don't," Mother said. "When there's news, he'll let you know, and until then it's better that his line stays open in case Jeff tries to reach him." There was sympathy in her voice. "There's nothing to do 154
Stranger%20with%20my%20face.docx