Rabbit says to Nelson, “Bedtime, isn’t it?”

Physically, Skeeter fascinates Rabbit. The lustrous pallor of the tongue and palms and the soles of the feet, left out of the sun. Or a different kind of skin? White palms never tan either. The peculiar glinting luster of his skin. The something so very finely turned and finished in the face, reflecting light at a dozen polished points: in comparison white faces are blobs: putty still drying. The curious greased grace of his gestures, rapid and watchful as a lizard’s motions, free of mammalian fat. Skeeter in his house feels like a finely made electric toy; Harry wants to touch him but is afraid he will get a shock.

• • •

“O.K.?”

“Not especially.” Jill’s voice seems to come from further away than beside him in the bed.

“Why not?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what? Of me?”

“Of you and him together.”

“We’re not together. We hate each other’s guts.”

She asks, “When are you kicking him out?”

“They’ll put him in jail.”

“Good.”

The rain is heavy above them, beating everywhere, inserting itself in that chimney flashing that always leaked. He pictures a wide brown stain on the bedroom ceiling. He asks, “What’s with you and him?”

She doesn’t answer. Her lean cameo profile is lit by a flash. Seconds pass before the thunder arrives.

He asks shyly, “He getting at you?”

“Not that way anymore. He says that’s not interesting. He wants me another way now.”

“What way can that be?” Poor girl, crazy suspicious.

“He wants me to tell him about God. He says he’s going to bring some mesc for me.”

The thunder follows the next flash more closely.

“That’s crazy.” But exciting: maybe she can do it. Maybe he can get music out of her like Babe out of the piano.

“He is crazy,” Jill says. “I’ll never be hooked again.”

“What can I do?” Rabbit feels paralyzed, by the rain, the thunder, by his curiosity, by his hope for a break in the combination, for catastrophe and deliverance.

The girl cries out but thunder comes just then and he has to ask her to repeat it. “All you care about is your wife,” she shouts upward into the confusion in heaven.

Pajasek comes up behind him and mumbles about the phone. Rabbit drags himself up. Worse than a liquor hangover, must stop, every night. Must get a grip on himself. Get a grip. Get angry. “Janice, for Chrissake—”

“It isn’t Janice, Harry. It’s me. Peggy.”

“Oh. Hi. How’s tricks? How’s Ollie?”

“Forget Ollie, don’t ever mention his name to me. He hasn’t been to see Billy in weeks or contributed anything to his keep, and when he finally does show up, you know what he brings? He’s a genius, you’ll never guess.”

“Another mini-bike.”

“A puppy. He brought us a Golden Retriever puppy. Now what the hell can we do with a puppy with Billy off in school and me gone from eight to five every day?”