And then—suddenly—alongside the road was a couch. Sitting by the side of the road was a small couch with printed upholstery; it was just there, and there was a lamp laid across the seat. But the couch was sitting where another smaller road went off the Haynesville Road, and as we slowed down to look at this couch I saw the sign for the road and it was Dixie Road. “William,” I said, and he swerved the car onto this smaller road. The paper that Lois had given me said Dixie Road, last house, and as we drove down this road we saw no houses at all, and then we passed by one small house with a man standing in front of the house and he watched us drive by; he was old and he had a beard and no shirt on and he looked furious, I had not seen a stranger look at me with such fury since I was a child, and I was very frightened. The pavement ended and we passed by two small houses on our right and then after another long ride with no one around we found the last house on the road. It had been abandoned for years, it seemed. But it was the tiniest house I think I had ever seen. I had grown up in a very small house, and this one was much smaller. It was one story and looked as though it had two rooms. And next to it was a very small garage. The roof of the house sagged—it had been a flat roof, and the center of it seemed to be almost falling in—and the house was a maroon color.
And I could not believe it.
I looked at William and his face looked blank—stunned, I guess.
Then he looked at me and said, “This is where my mother grew up?”
I said, “Maybe Lois had it wrong.”
But William said, “No, I found it myself in my research. Dixie Road.”
We sat and looked at this place. A tree had spread its branches over the garage, and there were scrubby bushes that went up to the windows of the house.
The house was so—so—small.
William turned the car off and we sat in silence. Through the windows the inside of the house was dark; nothing could be seen. Only a little bit could I imagine people moving about in there. The grass had grown very high around the place, and saplings were standing close to it. Two saplings had even grown through the house, they came out of the almost-fallen-down roof.
I glanced at William and his face looked so bewildered, it made me ache for him. And I understood: Never in my life would I have imagined Catherine coming from such a place. Then he looked at me. “Ready?” he asked. And I said, “Let’s go.” And so he started the car and kept driving, the road was too small to turn around on, and it was a dead-end road, and at the end of the road, with much maneuvering, William got the car headed the right way and we took off. The man was still standing in front of his house looking furiously at us as we drove by.
The couch was gone from the side of the road.
“This is a horror movie,” William said.
* * *
Our plane was due to leave at five o’clock, and we drove along the road to Bangor in silence. We passed by a restaurant whose paint was peeled, it had obviously long been closed, but in square letters out front was a sign that said: AM I THE ONLY ONE RUNNING OUT OF PEOPLE I LIKE?
After a while I said, “William,” and he said, “What?” And I said, “Nothing.” Then I said, “William, you married your mother.” I said this quietly.
He turned his head toward me. “What do you mean?”
I said, “She was like me. She came from awful poverty and maybe a father—she was—I don’t know what I mean. But you married the same sort of woman, William. When you had so many different people in the world to choose from, you chose a woman like your mother. I—I even left my children.”
William pulled the car over to the side of the road. He stayed quiet and he looked at me. I almost looked away because it had been years since he had looked at me for such a long time. Then he said, “Lucy, I married you because you were filled with joy. You were just filled with joy. And when I finally realized what you came from—when we went to your house that day to meet your family and tell them we were getting married, Lucy, I almost died at what you came from. I had no idea that was what you came from. And I kept thinking, But how is she what she is? How could she come from this and have so much exuberance?” He shook his head very slowly. “And I still don’t know how you did it. You’re unique, Lucy. You’re a spirit. You know how the other day at that barracks when you thought you were flipping between universes or something, well, I believe you, Lucy, because you are a spirit. There has never been anyone in the world like you.” In a moment he added, “You steal people’s hearts, Lucy.”