Free The Body Of Jonah Boyd by David Leavitt Page A

delusions of maturity. “Anyway, a few hours in Compton would probably do them some good. Let them see how the
     other half lives, while we stuff ourselves with turkey.”
    “Maybe I should call the highway patrol—”
    “Just give them another hour. They could have stopped for lunch.”
    “On Thanksgiving?”
    Little Hans started to bark. “Oh, I hope that’ them,” Nancy said.
    “It could be Glenn,” Daphne said, adjusting her hair. “He said he might come early.”
    We all hurried to the front hall. Little Hans had his paws on the stained glass of the door, which Nancy opened. Outside a
     man and a woman in heavy East Coast coats were pulling luggage out of the trunk of a red Chevrolet.
    “Anne, thank goodness!” Nancy cried, and ran to embrace her. They kissed and wept, and Anne introduced Jonah Boyd. Nancy reached
     for his hand; he pulled her closer and kissed her on both cheeks, which seemed both to fluster and please her. “Kids, come
     help with the luggage!” she yelled, and Daphne and Ben shuffled over to the car, pretending annoyance but obviously curious
     and not unhappy to see Anne again, and to meet her new husband. At first Anne held them at a distance, expressing astonishment
     at how much they had grown. Then, that convention dispensed with, she hugged them both.
    Burdened with luggage, the group made its way into the house, Little Hans picking up the rear.
    As for me, I hung back. No one had yet asked me to do anything.
    I was introduced. Jonah Boyd appeared to be about forty-five. He had pink cheeks and a carefully groomed, salt-and-pepper
     mustache. His hair, given his age, was surprisingly luxuriant, his clothes immaculate—dark suit, white shirt, and striped
     tie. By contrast, Anne was wearing a wool coat that had been torn near the pocket and then clumsily restitched, and she carried
     an enormous, shapeless handbag. She had shaggy red hair that was graying at the roots, nicotine-stained teeth, a thick middle.
     Also, her eye makeup was smudged in a way that suggested she had been weeping.
    All at once a sensation of misplaced triumph welled up in me. This Anne was a far cry from the willowy creature Nancy had
     described. Certainly they could never have shared clothes! I admit, my rival’ sordid demeanor—not to mention the expression
     of concern and disappointment that claimed Nancy’ face as she gave Anne the once-over—sparked in me an unexpected confidence,
     and I shook Anne’ hand heartily. “I’m Denny, Dr. Wright’ secretary,” I said. “Welcome to California.”
    “So you’re the new four-hand partner.”
    “Why yes,” I answered with surprise. Until that moment, I’d had no idea that Nancy had even mentioned me to Anne.
    “We all rely on Denny,” Nancy said. Then she said, “Let me show you to your room,” and led the Boyds down the hall. Daphne
     and I followed. “Ernest’ in his office. He has a new office above the garage. He should be down in a few minutes.”
    “This is a wonderful house,” Boyd said, in a rich, slightly cracked baritone.
    “Oh, thanks. It’ nothing fancy, but we like it. And here’ the guest room.”
    Daphne winced.
    We crossed the threshold into the newly made room, which indeed looked quite guest roomish. “Very nice,” Boyd said.
    “Wait a minute—” Anne stopped in her tracks. “I knew someone was missing. Where’ Mark?”
    “Oh, he’ in Vancouver.”
    “Vancouver!”
    “Yes. He went in July to assert his opposition to the war.”
    “You mean he’ a draft dodger?”
    Nancy’ smile collapsed into a sort of tremble of the lips.
    “Sweetheart, that’ not a very nice way of putting it,” Boyd said, resting a hand on his wife’ shoulder in a gesture that might
     have been protective and might have been a warning. “Anyway, I, for one, stand completely behind the draft resisters. I fought
     in Korea, you know. A brutalizing experience. If I were in his shoes, I’d do the same thing.”
    “Thank you, Mr.