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ambulance. Call her
     folks, Bill said again. Ide, on Brightridge Avenue. The cop went to the phone by the cash
     register. I couldnt see
    Bethany from the waist up, blocked as she was by the great belly of Bill.
    Bethany? I called softly.
    Bill looked away from her and saw me. Hed played ball with Pop for years and sometimes
     even gave us rides home from the games in the blue cruiser.
    Jesus, he said almost to himself. Why dont you stay over there. Shell be all right.
    What . . . ? She had a spell. I think it was a spell, volunteered Mr. Allenizio. Shes all
     right, Bill said. Dont worry, kid. One minute shes showing a woman a new facial cream, and
     the
    next minute shes talking some odd language. Shes screaming things. Shes saying chay and
     chee and dampers, and she runs to the back of the store and climbs up on the counter and
     takes her fingernails
    Dont worry, kid, Bill said. Dont worry. Shes a good girl. Were calling your old man.
    Ide? the cop by the phone yelled. Ide! On Brightridge Avenue! Bill yelled back. Bethany
     had been quiet, but now she whispered my name. Hook. Oh, Hook. She sobbed quietly, trying
     to catch her
    breath. Im here, Bethany, I said, moving toward her. Kid, please, Bill said holding up his
     hand. Im all right, I said. Bill released his grip on Bethany slowly, then stood up. Hook,
     she sobbed again. Im right here, Bethany, I said, moving to take Bills place. I stood over
     my sister and wobbled. I closed my eyes tightly, then
    opened them again and felt my head blur. I knelt down next to her and brushed her black
     hair away from her face, back toward the floor. She opened her eyes and looked up at me.
     She actually smiled a little smile.
    Hook, she said.
    I smiled back to my sister, and that beautiful, sweet face, ripped and torn by her
     fingernails. The jagged scores bone deep. The amaz- ing quantity of blood such little
     veins could carry.
    Im here, Bethany, I said. Hooks here.

The Memory of Running
    7
    Polly Sutter was a small, brown-haired woman, around forty, with two black moles on her
     temple the size of quarters. She wore a long black jacket that hung almost as low as her
     black pleated skirt. She smelled exactly like a Camel cigarette.
    Hows it going? she said, nodding a condolence as though she knew what I was going to say.
    Okay. Good crowd last night? Good showing? Went well? This was the second and last viewing
     of Mom and Pop at the fu-
    neral home of Polly and Dick Sutter. They were brother and sister, offspring of the late
     Richard Sutter, original owner of Sutter Rest, and grandchildren of Bob Sutter, who had
     written a book about Virginia ham, called Salt, Keep Meat Fresh Without Ice. Polly had had
     a date the first viewing night and was anxious for news.
    It was fine, I said. Tonight? Many? I dont know. Life, she said, lighting a cigarette with
     the last spark of her pre-
    vious one, life is a funny thing. We go through ups and downs, win- ters and summers, but
     somewhere, sometimes, its good. I want you to think about all those good times.
    Polly coughed, a juicy rumble deep inside.
    Jesus, God. She coughed again and looked at her cigarette. I got to stop this.
    I looked at Polly and wondered if Dick would fix his sister up when it was her time. I
     wondered if Dick and Polly had fixed up their father.
    Aunt Paula and the Count stood next to me at the foot of Mom and Pop, and we shook hands
     with the people as they filed past. Most of them were friends from school or Masons or
     church or baseball,
    but there were some enemies, too, like Mr. Mayeo who kept a ken- nel of yapping mutts, and
     Mr. Viera with his accordion, and even the horrible Liz Fox who bumped Mom from Altar
     Guild to Hymnal Distribution. Everybody came. Everybody comes when you die. Old Jimmy
     Boylston came.
    Jimmy had played with my pop in the early days. He was much older than his teammates, but
     he had grit, Pop said. You had to re- spect him. Jimmy lived