374
L.
WOIWODE
was draped with old newspapers. Just the idea of cleaning up, the
recognition of the disorder, made Owen feel empty and fatigued. He
eased his weight onto the edge of the windowsill.
The rest of the story was simple. When he woke that night, after
his father had left, he lay awake trying to order his impressions, and
then, suddenly realizing that it might at last be within his power to
uncover the mystery of his parent's behavior, he got out of bed and
went down the steps, moving in silence past the master bedroom. A
lamp was on in the dining room. Owen went to the buffet. His
father's note was lying on its top, weighted with a book of matches.
Owen took the note and slipped it under the elastic belt of
his
pajama
bottoms and started toward the stairs. His mother was standing at
the end of the hall.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I was looking for Dad."
"At three in the morning?" Her hair was haloed by the light in
the bedroom behind her, and it was difficult to see her features.
"I got scared. I had a bad dream."
"You were looking for
him
in the living room?"
"I saw the light."
"You know perfectly well that your father
is
asleep in bed."
"No, he isn't."
"What?'
"No, he isn't."
"Are you contradicting me?"
"He went to the cabin. He came and said goodbye to me and
said he was going there. He said I was supposed to tell you he went
there,
if
you didn't know."
She reached up and lifted a strand of hair from her face, and
her voice became reflective. "Oh. Then he went."
Owen nodded.
"When was this."
"I don't know. It was dark."
"Did he say anything else?"
"No."
"He didn't leave any message for me?"
"He just said he had to fix things up - the stove - and said
he'd be back in a couple days."
