Free The Train of Small Mercies by David Rowell Page B

wanted to listen in? What if the sister, whom he only vaguely remembered, thought it would be neat to watch?
    He’d keep it simple with Jamie in the beginning. How did it feel to be back? What were his plans now? Had he gotten fully used to his injury? And then, depending, he’d attempt to more fully explore Jamie’s psychological state. How did he see his life now? In what ways did he feel changed, besides missing the leg? He’d also ask him, since the funeral train was passing right through town, did he have any thoughts on the Kennedy assassination—perhaps as a way to gauge Jamie’s view on the politics of the war. Kennedy had made passionate arguments for America’s withdrawal from Vietnam, and Roy wondered what Jamie thought of that. That summer Roy had already learned that questions that weren’t obvious could have their own payoffs, and he had become skilled at moving a subject into offhand lines of questioning with little difficulty or awkwardness.
    On the Wests’ front door—dark green and peeling—was a little wooden plaque that said “Welcome,” the lettering slightly crude; Roy wondered if this was something Jamie had done as a kid with a wood-burning set. He knocked once, then stepped away.
    Mrs. West pulled the door back, balling up her apron. “Hello, hello,” she said brightly. “Come in. I’m Ellie West. Welcome.”
    â€œRoy Murphy,” he said, putting his hand forward. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. West.” By the way she turned her head, he could see that she recognized his face. He let her study him as he stepped in, and before he could speak again, she said, “You look very familiar. I don’t know if I’ve seen you in town before or what it is. You’re not new in town?”
    â€œNo, ma’am,” Roy said. “In fact, I went to Burton.” He took a moment to scan the long hallway. He could hear someone listening to the radio in one of the back rooms.
    â€œWell, how about that?” Ellie said. “Then you know Jamie? And his sister, Miriam? She’s four years younger. She’ll be a senior next year.”
    â€œI did know Jamie,” Roy said. “I mean, I knew him just a little bit. We didn’t have any of the same classes, I don’t think. I was a friend of Claire Payton’s.”
    â€œOh, Claire,” Ellie said in a wistful tone. “Pretty Claire. We were so fond of her. We were just heartbroken when she and Jamie broke up. We loved Claire to death.”
    Roy smiled in a way that said that he wouldn’t offer anything more about Claire, and when he could see that Ellie was done thinking about her, he moved his notebook to the other hand as a way of reminding her why he was here.
    â€œWell, come on in,” she said, finally. “Jamie’s here, Mr. West is here. I know Miriam’ll come out at some point.”
    As she walked toward Jamie’s room, Roy studied the framed photographs lined up on the wall. Here was Jamie in his early teens, his hair worked into a ducktail. Here was Miriam in pigtails and an unself-conscious grin of snaggled teeth. Here was the family portrait around the same time, Mr. West and Mrs. West standing behind their children, their hands firmly clamped down on their shoulders, Mrs. West’s hair swirling upward as if part of a science project. Perhaps the photograph for the church directory, Roy thought.
    Roy could see Mrs. West leaning into Jamie’s bedroom, but her voice was suddenly hushed. She looked peculiar leaning her head so far in, and it occurred to him that if she leaned any farther in without moving her feet she might topple forward. Then she turned and smiled—a smile of some relief, Roy thought. Roy could hear the sound of wooden crutches, and when Jamie moved out into the hallway, he seemed to consciously look away from Roy, conferring quietly once more with his mother. She nodded, then eased