An Incidental Reckoning Read Free Page B

long.
     
    Jon got up to stretch, and then stood listening to the rush of the fast but shallow stream fifty yards away, closed his eyes and smelled the earth and pine and odor of decaying leaves exhumed from their recent burial in the snow, allowed these present sensations to flood his being, forcing out the memories that had come on too thick for comfort.
     
    He heard the sound of a car slowing on the road and recognized Will through the driver's window as he passed by to the entrance. Jon smiled, glad that his friend had arrived, ready for a few days of nature, relative solitude, and welcome companionship. He waved as Will drove slowly down the dirt track that led to their campsite.
     

     
    “Do you ever think about him? Where he is now?”
     
    “Who?” Jon asked, but he knew.
     
    “Stape.”
     
    “No. Not really. Well, maybe I’ve thought about it, but really who cares?”
     
    Jon stared at his line during the exchange, avoiding Will’s eyes and the indication of something beyond idle curiosity. Since Jon had taken care of the tent and firewood, there hadn’t been much more set-up required, so they had driven down lonely dirt roads navigable only by the DeLorme’s atlas that Jon kept in his trunk, looking for a trout stream. They found it difficult to determine whether the waters discovered were legal for live bait or lures only, finally deciding to take their chances, doubtful that a Fish Commission officer would fight the boggy ground and thick rhododendrons to check up on them. Jon had detected pensiveness to Will after the initial greeting and slaps on the back. He had said little and stared at nothing as though weighing something of substance in his thoughts. Now, bringing up Stape in such a direct manner portended something Jon didn’t know if he wanted more information on.
     
    “He was just released from prison. Got ten years...and he did all ten.”
     
    “For what?”
     
    “Possession of heroin with intent to sell."”
     
    “Oh.”
     
    Jon hoped that it would end there, that a trout would derail the conversation by making a run at one of the redworms pierced through with their hooks.
     
    “Do you ever think about getting even?”
     
    “Not with anything approaching seriousness. Why are you asking about this, Will? Are you planning to do something?”
     
    “I already have.”
     
    Jon paused, waited for more, and then sighed and allowed himself to be drawn in further. He couldn't deny his curiosity or the trepidation that held its hand.
     
    “What are you talking about?” he asked.
     
    “He doesn’t live that far from Tanville now. A house out in the sticks where his parents lived when we were in school. I went there last summer. Sorry I didn't stop by, but I had...business."
     
    "What did you do, Will?" Jon asked, but afraid of the answer. "Did you kill him?" The last part came out as a near whisper.
     
    "Kill him? No, I didn't kill him. Jeez, Jon. What do you think I am?"
     
    "Sorry."
     
    Jon turned back to his line that stretched over the water and disappeared through a small ring where it broke the surface. A dragonfly had landed on it, searching for prey, its wings catching the sun and shattering the light into the colorful parts of its whole. They had chosen a spot where the stream made a small turn and widened out, the main current rounding against the far bank to scoop away the gravel and create a deep hole. The creek bottom dropped sharply in front of his feet, disappearing into dark waters in which Jon imagined dwelt some trophy brook or brown trout. The trouble with trout, though, was that either they were biting or they weren't. No trouble if they were, but so far in twenty minutes his repeated casts to settle his worm near the far bank where a tangle of roots provided perfect cover had proved fruitless. He decided not to ask Will anything more. He would get to it, or he wouldn't.
     
    "I trashed his car. An old Mustang sitting in the driveway. I drove by a few