People Who Knock on the Door Read Free Page B

around the downstairs hall on his own, or might be with a nurse. Arthur had seen the Beverley Home several times. One might think the children were his mother’s own, or related to her. His father called it “highly commendable work,” and Arthur wondered if his father had urged his mother to do it? She’d been working there about four years, and Arthur couldn’t remember how it had begun. Was his mother too easily pushed around? Sometimes she could be independent and high-spirited, in contrast to his father who never seemed happy, and she’d hold her head up and say, “I want to have some fun in life before it’s too late!” and she would persuade his father to take a vacation to Canada or California for a week or so.
    The next day, Saturday, Robbie was worse instead of better. When the hospital telephoned during the morning, Arthur was the only person in the house, as his mother was out shopping and his father was visiting a client in town. The female voice informed Arthur that Robbie could not go home today and maybe not until Monday.
    “Oh? Well, how serious is it?”
    “He has a fever. Your parents can call back if they want to.”
    Arthur went back to his bike in the garage. He was cleaning a bit of rust off, but the bike was in fine condition, because Gus was a good mechanic. Gus had no doubt earned by the sweat of his brow enough money to buy a better secondhand bike, though Gus’s father let him use the family car now and then, Arthur recalled with a twinge of envy. Arthur knew how to drive, and driving was allowed at seventeen with a test and a permit, but his father wanted him to wait until he was eighteen in September. Arthur recognized the sound of the Chrysler at a distance. His mother was back. Arthur stood by the open garage door as his mother drove in.
    “Hospital called,” said Arthur, opening the hatch where the groceries were. “They said Robbie can’t come home today, maybe not till Monday.”
    “What?” Alarm was all over his mother’s face.
    “They said he has a fever and that we could call back.”
    His mother went into the house to telephone, and Arthur began unloading the groceries. Robbie’s condition probably wasn’t serious, Arthur thought, but Robbie was the type who resisted every pill and tied himself in knots at the approach of a needle for an injection.
    His mother came back from the living room. “They say it’s an unusually high fever and they’re giving him antibiotics. We can visit after four.”
    His father came home at noon. When they telephoned again at 2, the hospital reported no change.
    His parents were still not back from the hospital at a quarter to 7, when Arthur set out on his bike for Maggie’s house about a mile away. The Brewsters’ house was finer than his family’s with a bigger lawn and a tall blue spruce to one side in front, a couple of burning-bushes of a lovely red color, and a handsome front door painted white with a short roof over it. He set his bike at the side of the front steps.
    Maggie opened the door. “Hello, Arthur! Come in.—It’s cooler, isn’t it? Raining a little?”
    Arthur hadn’t noticed.
    “Mother—Mom. Arthur Alderman.”
    “ How do you do, Arthur?” said her mother, who was kneeling in front of a record shelf in a corner of the living room. She had light brown hair like Maggie’s, but with a wave in it. “I’m not going to play anything, just looking for a record I’m sure is here somewhere.”
    “Cold drink, Arthur?” Maggie asked.
    Arthur followed Maggie across a dining room with a large oval table and into a vast white kitchen. “Your father’s here, too?” Arthur somehow feared meeting him.
    “No, he’s away now.”
    “What does he do?”
    “He’s a pilot. Sigma Airlines. He has odd hours.” She was opening a can of beer.
    Maybe Maggie’s father was over Mexico now, Arthur thought. “You can leave it in the can. Stays colder.”
    A few minutes later, they were in the car, Maggie driving,