Nancy Kress - Evolution

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Evolution

by Nancy Kress

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First published in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, October 1995

Fictionwise Contemporary

Science Fiction

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---------------------------------

"Somebody shot and killed Dr. Bennett behind the Food Mart on April

Street!" Ceci Moore says breathlessly as I take the washing off the line.

I stand with a pair of Jack's boxer shorts in my hand and stare at her.

I don't like Ceci. Her smirking pushiness, her need to shove her scrawny body

into the middle of every situation, even ones she'd be better off leaving

alone. She's been that way since high school. But we're neighbors; we're

stuck with each other. Dr. Bennett delivered both Sean and Jackie. Slowly I

fold the boxer shorts and lay them in my clothesbasket.

"Well, Betty, aren't you even going to _say_ anything?"

"Have the police arrested anybody?"

"Janie Brunelli says there's no suspects." Tom Brunelli is one of

Emerton's police officers, all five of them. He has trouble keeping his mouth

shut. "Honestly, Betty, you look like there's a murder in this town every

day!"

"Was it in the parking lot?" I'm in that parking lot behind the Food

Mart every week. It's unpaved, just hard-packed rocky dirt sloping down to a

low concrete wall by the river. I take Jackie's sheets off the line. Belle,

Ariel, and Princess Jasmine all smile through fields of flowers.

"Yes, in the parking lot," Ceci says. "Near the dumpsters. There must

have been a silencer on the rifle, nobody heard anything. Tom found two .22

250 semi-automatic cartridges." Ceci knows about guns. Her house is full of

them. "Betty, why don't you put all this wash in your dryer and save yourself

the trouble of hanging it all out?"

"I like the way it smells line-dried. And I can hear Jackie through

the window."

Instantly Ceci's face changes. "Jackie's home from school? Why?"

"She has a cold."

"Are you sure it's just a cold?"

"I'm sure." I take the clothespins off Sean's t-shirt. The front says

SEE DICK DRINK. SEE DICK DRIVE. SEE DICK DIE. "Ceci, Jackie is not on any

antibiotics."

"Good thing," Ceci says, and for a moment she studies her fingernails,

very casual. "They say Dr. Bennett prescribed endozine again last week. For

the youngest Nordstrum boy. _Without_ sending him to the hospital."

I don't answer. The back of Sean's t-shirt says DON'T BE A DICK.

Irritated by my silence, Ceci says, "I don't see how you can let your son wear

that obscene clothing!"

"It's his choice. Besides, Ceci, it's a health message. About not

drinking and driving. Aren't you the one that thinks strong health messages

are a good thing?"

Our eyes lock. The silence lengthens. Finally Ceci says, "Well,

haven't _we_ gotten serious all of a sudden."

I say, "Murder is serious."

"Yes. I'm sure the cops will catch whoever did it. Probably one of

those scum that hang around the Rainbow Bar."

"Dr. Bennett wasn't the type to hang around with scum."

"Oh, I don't mean he _knew_ them. Some low-life probably killed him

for his wallet." She looks straight into my eyes. "I can't think of any

other motive. Can you?"

I look east, toward the river. On the other side, just visible over

the tops of houses on its little hill, rise the three stories of Emerton

Soldiers and Sailors Memorial Hospital. The bridge over the river was blown

up three weeks ago. No injuries, no suspects. Now anybody who wants to go to

the hospital has to drive ten miles up West River Road and cross at the

interstate. Jack told me that the Department of Transportation says two years

to get a new bridge built.

I say, "Dr. Bennett was a good doctor. And a good man."

"Well, did anybody say he wasn't? Really, Betty, you should use your

dryer and save yourself all that bending and stooping. Bad for the back.

We're not getting any younger. Ta-ta." She waves her right hand, just a

waggle of fingers, and walks off. Her nails, I notice, are painted the

delicate fragile pinky white of freshly unscabbed skin.

* * * *

"You have no proof," Jack says. "Just some wild suspicions."

He has his stubborn face on. He sits with his Michelob at the kitchen

table, dog-tired from his factory shift plus three hours overtime, and he

doesn't want to hear this. I don't blame him. I don't want to be saying it.

In the living room Jackie plays Nintendo frantically, trying to cram in as

many electronic explosions as she can before her father claims the TV for

Monday night football. Sean has already gone out with his friends, before his

stepfather got home.

I sit down across from Jack, a fresh mug of coffee cradled between my

palms. For warmth. "I know I don't have any proof, Jack. I'm not some

detective."

"So let the cops handle it. It's their business, not ours. You stay

out of it."

"I am out of it. You know that." Jack nods. We don't mix with cops,

don't serve on any town committees, don't even listen to the news much. We

don't get involved with what doesn't concern us. Jack never did. I add, "I'm

just telling you what I think. I can do that, can't I?" and hear my voice

stuck someplace between pleading and anger.

Jack hears it, too. He scowls, stands with his beer, puts his hand

gently on my shoulder. "Sure, Bets. You can say whatever you want to me.

But nobody else, you hear? I don't want no trouble, especially to you and the

kids. This ain't our problem. Just be grateful _we're_ all healthy, knock on

wood."

He smiles and goes into the living room. Jackie switches off the

Nintendo without being yelled at; she's good that way. I look out the kitchen

window, but it's too dark to see anything but my own reflection, and anyway

the window faces north, not east.

I haven't crossed the river since Jackie was born at Emerton Memorial,

seven years ago. And then I was in the hospital less than twenty-four hours

before I made Jack take me home. Not because of the infections, of course --

that hadn't all started yet. But it has now, and what if next time instead of

the youngest Nordstrum boy, it's Jackie who needs endozine? Or Sean?

Once you've been to Emerton Memorial, nobody but your family will go

near you. And sometimes not even them. When Mrs. Weimer came home from

surgery, her daughter-in-law put her in that back upstairs room and left her

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