All Things Cease to Appear Read Free

campus, park your car, go up to the office. Meanwhile, back at home, somebody’s murdering your wife? Lawton waited a minute. Do you accept that scenario, George?
    What choice do I have?
    That’s what you said, isn’t it? It’s what you told us.
    George just looked at him.
    Somebody broke that window. Somebody came up those stairs. Somebody came into your room. And your wife didn’t wake up?
    So?
    That doesn’t strike you as odd—a young mother like her?
    She was sleeping, George said. The pain in his head sharpened. He feared it might make him blind.
    Somebody brought an ax into your home, Lawton said, slowly rising from his chair. They carried it up the stairs. They entered your room. They stood over the bed, looking down at your dreaming wife. They raised the ax like this—he raised his arms over his head—then brought it down, and bam! He slammed his hand down on the table. One blow. That’s all it took.

    George began to weep. Can’t you see? I’m sick over this. Can’t you see?
    Just when he thought he’d secured Lawton’s sympathy, the sheriff walked out.
    It occurred to him that he needed a lawyer.
    —
    WHAT THE SHERIFF PROMISED would be a brief interview had turned into five hours. Lawton and Burke took turns asking him the same questions over and over again, hoping George would break down and confess to murdering his wife.
    We’d like to interview your daughter, Burke said.
    We’ve got people who know how to talk to kids in these sorts of situations, his partner added gently.
    And get the answers they want, George thought. I don’t think so, he said.
    Burke scoffed. She was in the house. She might’ve seen something. I’d think you’d want to know.
    George didn’t like the look on his face. It’s not happening, he said. I won’t allow it.
    The cops exchanged a look. Burke shook his head and got up and walked out. A moment later, the phone rang.
    Yell-o, Lawton said a bit too happily. He listened and replaced the receiver. Your parents are here. Apparently, your daughter’s tired. He looked at George carefully. She wants to go home.
    Yeah, George said. Me, too. And he meant those words with all his heart. But neither of them had a home now. That was over.
    Your folks got you all a room at the Garden Inn.
    He nodded with relief. He couldn’t imagine going back to that house tonight—or ever.
    Lawton walked him out. In the anteroom, his parents were waiting on plastic chairs. At first glance, he hardly recognized them. They looked old. Franny was squatting on the floor, playing with a rubber stamp that declared Official Business across a piece of scrap paper.
    She’s getting ink all over her hands, his mother said, displeased, her French accent more pronounced than usual. Frances, come up from that dirty floor.

    She pulled Franny onto her lap. It was only then, with the child between them, that she looked at him directly.
    Mother, he said, and bent to kiss her. Her face was cold. His father stood up, grim, and shook his hand. They looked at him; they would not look.
    Daddy, Franny cried, reaching out, her little fingers straining, and he suddenly remembered who he was. He pulled her up into his arms, grateful for her affection, and when she clung to him it somehow gave him the strength to say good night to Lawton, to be a gentleman.
    We’d like to see you here first thing in the morning, he said.
    What for?
    We need to finish this.
    I don’t have much else to say, Travis.
    You could think of something else. We’ll expect you at eight-thirty. If you want, I’ll send a patrol car around to pick you up.
    That’s all right. I’ll be here.
    They crossed the parking lot in silence and got into his father’s brown Mercedes, an older model that smelled of cigars. His mother had brought a bag for Franny, clementines and Lulu biscuits and a couple bottles of milk. Catherine had gotten her onto a cup, but she still took a bottle at night. Thinking about it now made his eyes water. He didn’t