CHAPTER II- Lies for Dinner


Mark was quiet during dinner, and had to be reminded to touch his food. His stomach felt like it was in a knot; a knot of lingering guilt over what had happened, confusion about what Henry had said to him, and uncertainty of what would happen next. Susan asked if something was wrong and Mark almost told her, his doubts and fears nearly winning him over. But then he caught sight of Henry, watching him calmly. Say what you like, the look said. I'm not worried. And you shouldn't be either.

After a few moments the knot relaxed a little. It felt good, and Mark felt… different. Like things were going to be okay. Nobody had died today anyhow; just a few banged up cars. Mark had never felt like this before, never even considered thinking such things before meeting Henry. There were still too many doubts, too many questions. But the knot in his stomach relaxed some, and Mark was able to honestly answer Susan.

"No, everything's fine. Henry walked us up to that tavern in town."

Susan smiled knowingly. "The one that catches all their lobster off the coast?"

Mark nodded, and Henry smiled sheepishly, adding, "We couldn't help ourselves. Just wanted to show Mark around, Mom."

Susan relaxed completely at that, not doubting it for a second. "I'm sure Mrs. McRoy was glad to see you showing Maine hospitality, Henry. But try to remember you've got one of the best cooks in town right at home, too." Henry gave that boyish smile of embarrassment again. "Yes, Mom." Mark, meanwhile, was stunned. Not at Susan or even Henry, but at himself.

Did he just help Henry tell a lie? No. He just told a lie. Henry helped him. Mark could hardly believe the words he'd spoken. But spoken them he had, regardless.

Why?

All through dinner Mark thought about what had happened; about Henry and what to do about him. Anything? Nothing? Henry clearly wanted to be a friend still, and Mark, reluctant as he was to admit it, was painfully aware of how badly he needed friends right now. His father and Alice Davenport were hardly good substitutes, and Susan, no matter how wonderful a person she clearly was, was still a mother. Henry could be a different kind of friend than any of them. Henry would glance at Mark from time to time, but when Mark looked back, it was with a calm enough face.

Henry didn't seem worried from the start, but even so he might have relaxed a little. Once Mark saw Henry smile at him, and not in a cold or mocking way, but in a warmer, almost reassuring manner. As if he had read, or at least sensed Mark's conflicted thoughts, and was silently saying, "It's all right. You're doing just fine."

After dinner, Mark went into the kitchen and helped with the dishes. Susan was standing at the sink wearing an apron and yellow rubber gloves. She was rinsing the dishes and putting them into the dishwasher. Mark joined her, scraping the leftovers off the plates and into the garbage disposal.

"Oh, Mark," Susan said, "you don't have to help."

"I want to." Mark said.

"Why don't you go play with Henry?"

Mark shrugged, but only a little. Susan glanced at him and frowned. "It seems like something's bothering you. Is it because your father's only called once since he went away?"

Henry appeared in the doorway. "Oh, Mom, we must've forgot to tell you- Uncle Jack called and told Mark when he landed in Tokyo that he might not be able to call for the next few days."

Susan looked at Mark for confirmation. Though a little irked at Henry just inviting himself into the conversation he was having with Susan, Mark did appreciate Henry helping cover for him. He couldn't tell her the real reason he was feeling- not gloomy, just off balance, for now at least- so he decided to use his father as an excuse.

"Sort of." Mark said.

Susan nodded sympathetically. "It must be difficult for you right now."

Mark nodded back. It was strange how his other problems had receded in the face of this new… problem? Situation. That was Henry. A situation wrapped in a cloak of mystery. Mark was really tempted to tell her about it. But how could he? Even though he felt a strong bond with Susan, he hardly knew her. And she hardly knew him. What would he say to her, anyway? Mark couldn't even decide what part of this to tell her about.

"When did he say he'd call again?" Susan asked.

Henry stepped in again. "When he had time. Mark was really understanding about it, Mom. It's hard for Uncle Jack out there, and he's got a lot to do while he's in Japan. Mark told Uncle Jack all that."

Mark looked at Henry, surprised. Was his cousin almost proud of him? Knowing Henry, he was faking it. But even if he was, for once Henry seemed to be faking it to help Mark, not just to get some kicks himself. And Mark appreciated that.

But where Henry might have been faking, Susan was entirely sincere. She looked at Mark, smiling with almost a sense of wonder. "You really are a good son, Mark. It's good that you understand that; a lot of boys your age wouldn't."

Henry smiled, still leaning against the doorframe. "Like me, huh, Mom?"

Susan laughed, feigning irritation and ordering Henry to pitch in with work on the dishes. Once they were all loaded in and the dishwasher humming away, she shooed them out of the kitchen with a plate of cookies. They were a mix of sugar and chocolate chip, some of the best cookies Mark had ever had. He and Henry finished them over the kitchen table, reading some old Sunday comics. Henry talked now and then about the older comics and even brought Mark some newer ones, but Mark wouldn't say much. For now, he really just wanted to avoid the whole issue of what had happened that day, and since Henry was part of the confusion that included him too. When Mark quietly told Henry this, he simply nodded, stood up and bowed gracefully to Mark, and left the room, leaving Mark with best old and new comics to be found in the house.

Susan and Connie sat at a window seat near the kitchen window. Connie was cuddled in her mother's arms, and together they watched the snowflakes float down through the lights outside, Connie exclaiming in delight whenever they were pushed into beautiful swirling patterns by gusts of wind.

Susan had a small color TV in the kitchen, and she usually listened to the local evening news while she cleaned. Mark wasn't even paying attention until he heard something about a four-car accident closing down all lanes of a highway.

Four cars? They'd only thought it was three. Henry would be pleased.

Mark looked up and felt the blood drain from his face. Why had he just had that thought? Where did that even come from?

On the TV was the same view from the bridge he'd had earlier that afternoon. As the camera looked over the highway, first Mark saw the wrecks intermingled with police cars, emergency vehicles, and tow trucks. Then behind that there were three lanes of backed up traffic, waiting for the highway to reopen.

The TV crew must have shot it from up on the bridge.