The Staked Goat - Jeremiah Healy by Jeremiah Healy Page A

. . . I mean this is Pittsburgh, you know, February?"
    "What are you two doing in here?" said
Martha, coming in, her coffee cup chattering a little against the
saucer she carried under it. Dale followed.
    "Just getting acquainted, Mart," Carol
replied.
    "Good, good," said Martha.
    I heard Larry padding down the stairs. He appeared
with his coat over his arm. Dale, as if
on
cue, retrieved his from the chair and tugged it on.
    "Oh, Dale, Larry," said Martha in a hostess
voice, "do you have to go already?"
    Larry stifled a yawn. Dale gave his short laugh.
    "Yes, yes. Larry has half the early shift at the
bookstore, and my first lesson is at eight o'clock." He turned
to me with a smile. "A lawyer who wants to learn how to play. To
surprise his wife." He winced as soon as he said it. Martha
seemed to notice nothing, neither the gaffe nor the wince.
    "Thanks for the ride in. Ah," I said
remembering my suitcase but not feeling I could leave yet.
    Dale, anticipating me, covered his faux pas by
fumbling out a house key and pressing it into my palm as we shook.
"This'll get you past the front door. No alarms. Just be sure to
put on the deadbolt and leave on the front light."
    "Thanks. I'll try not to—"
    Dale waved me off. Larry was already on the doorknob.
Dale walked to the door, turned with a serious look. "We'll see
you here at one-thirty tomorrow."
    We all nodded and they left.
    "Well, now, John," said Martha. "How
was your flight?"
    "Fine," I said, "clear weather, no
delays."
    "A1 hated flying, you know. Ever since the war.
He always preferred taking trains, so he could read, you know."
    "Al liked to read."
    "Were there trains in Vietnam?" Martha
asked. I glanced at Carol, but she was focused on Martha.
    "Yes," I said. "There were a few.
Mostly Vietnamese used them. They would be crowded, unpleasant. We
never rode them."
    "Funny," said Martha. "Al preferred
trains."
    "Martha, has anyone—"
    "Oh," she interjected, standing, "your
coffee. It must still be in the kitchen. I'll just-—"
    "No, Martha," I said, trying to keep the
protest out of my voice. "I don't take coffee."
    "Oh," she said, still standing, "how
about tea then? Soda? We have plenty of everything, really."
    Her repetition of hospitality sounded so brittle I
thought she would break.
    "No, really," I said, motioning for her to
sit down.
    "Martha, we have to talk about things here. Have
you—"
    "Things here," she said with a smile. "I
have a list already. I'll just be a minute."
    She bustled off into the kitchen.
    I looked at Carol. "How long has she . . ."
    "Since your phone cal1."
    I rested my chin on my chest. Dale had already told
me that. I must be more tired than I thought.
    "One of us should stay with her," I said.
    "I went back home and got a bag. Kenny and I
will sleep here tonight."
    I stood up. Carol started to push my coat off her
shoulders. "Keep it," I said. "I'm just going across
the street."
    "Macho man." She frowned. "It's
probably five below outside."
    "I'll keep my hands in my pockets."
    Martha came back into the room, list and pencil in
hand. "Oh, John, are you going already? Are you sure I can't get
you anything? Tea . . ."
    "No, thank you. Martha, I'm fine. I'll see you
tomorrow."
    "Right," she said, coming over and giving
me the same aloha peck and hug. "See you tomorrow. Sweet
dreams."
    Carol followed me to the door, insisting I take the
coat. I saw slivers of china out of the corner of my eye before I
registered the breaking sound and Martha's voice.
    "'Damn you!" she yelled, "damn you to
hell." She had followed through like a major league pitcher
after smashing her cup against the wall. She was yelling at the stain
running down the wall. "How could you, Al, how could you? After
all the scrimping and saving. All the . . . pain and sacrifice and .
. . no vacations and no clothes and no . . . Oh God, oh my God, oh
God, God." She sank down to her knees, then sat back on her
ankles rocking and clutching her arms around her. "Oh God, the
stain,