21
SHE PUT THE WET PREGNANCY stick in the pocket of her shorts. She had no idea what to do. I suggested we go back to my house.
In the car she sat with the back of her head against the window and the gun pointed at my face. I scraped the doors of the Dodge against the branches of the dead trees that flanked the road back up the canyon. She flinched like it was an affront.
I imagined a little cream bubble swimming in my blood. I imagined calling him up. Is this John Ford? Do you remember me from Marfa? I’m the woman that you held against a wall. I am fairly confident you didn’t fuck anyone else on that trip, and I for certain did not. The reason I’m calling is that I’m pregnant with your child. Shall we raise it together? Are you in Virginia? Shall I come to you or would you like to come here? I forgot what you do for a living but there are lots of industries in Los Angeles.
—Slow down! Eleanor yelled. I hadn’t been going over twenty-five miles an hour.
At the top I saw that Kevin’s car was not there, but Alice’s Prius was. I’d forgotten she was coming.
Alice wasn’t inside her car. She could have been walking around the place, down in the ravines. I didn’t know what I would do when she found us.
—Whose car is that? Eleanor asked.
—My friend.
—You knew she was coming?
—I forgot. The events of this morning. I hope you might forgive me for forgetting.
I saw Alice at the door of River’s yurt. Then I saw River in the doorway. His arm was raised, his hand against the top frame of the door, right over her head. The nearness was unsettling.
—Get in the house, Eleanor hissed, before they see us.
—She’s going to come and knock on my door because my car is here. What do you want me to do?
—Tell her I’m your friend!
I felt Eleanor put the gun in her pocket. I called down to Alice. It was strange to say her name. Her head snapped up. She was startled. She ran up the ravine. I wasn’t imagining the guilt. Its concentration was like a skunk smell in the air. River, nonplussed, waved and went back inside.
—Hey, she said. She was out of breath. She wore a red dress that could twirl. She was breathless and extra pretty.
I smiled, trying to act normal.
—I was asking if he knew where you were. You know what’s crazy is that I know River. From my yoga class.
—Small canyon, I said.
Alice turned toward Eleanor.
—Hi, she said, I’m Alice.
—This is my friend Eleanor, I said. I bought my car from her. She was the first person in LA who asked me how I was.
Was Alice smart enough to know that Eleanor was Vic’s daughter? I hadn’t told her the girl’s name.
—Nice to meet you, Eleanor. Joan and I were just about to go on a mini road trip.
I was pregnant and standing before a young woman who wanted to kill me and yet all I could think about was Alice inside River’s doorframe. The way his arm was arched over her head.
Eleanor seemed on the verge of tears. God, how she looked like her father, especially when her expression was one of pain. Vic was either jovial or in pain, but toward the end it was almost always pain, and then rage. Eleanor was infinitely more attractive than her father, but the night he killed himself he looked better than he ever had.
When Vic shot himself, all the servers stopped in their places like they were playing a game of freeze tag. His large body slid down the wall. A few droplets of blood got on our table, landing specifically in the folds of the bufala mozzarella that Big Sky and I were sharing. It looked like a bit of berry compote. Every time we ate together, the food was perfect, the drinks were perfect. I had so much to give. His wife had scarves, so what.
And that night it had been so long since we’d seen each other. I could tell he had missed me. More accurately he had completely forgotten about me and now, seeing me again, he was confused and captivated. I was distant. My dress was not revealing at all. In the past I’d always dressed too seductively. But now I understood what a man like him wanted.
I took a bite of bufala just before Vic came in, and Big Sky watched me eat it like I was a curiosity. He watched me with his face in his palm, shaking his head.
—Who are you? he asked in that roping-steer accent.
It was the same question he’d asked me at the very beginning of us. But this time it had a positive connotation. I didn’t smile. The cheese felt like chilled silk in my mouth. I was the loveliest I had ever looked. That was the moment I felt something good might happen to me.
And that was the same moment Vic walked in. Oftentimes I would see him in the streets, either the real him, trailing me, or the wraith of him I saw in every man with a combover in a nice suit. For several months I’d been worried he would kill me. My building had a small but well-appointed gym with Woodways and the latest ellipticals. They all faced the giant bay window where you could look out at the glassy buildings shimmering in the sun. My back would be to the door, so I’d find myself turning around all the time. Each time I heard someone enter the room, I’d whip my head around to see if it was Vic.
Now here he was. The gun appeared like a magician’s trick. The more I think of it, the more certain I am that it was for me. But he couldn’t kill me and stay alive. He could not, in every sense, live without me.
He said nothing. His eyes were wet, he smelled good and wore a pin-striped suit I’d never seen before. He looked at me in a way I’ll never forget.
Then he turned the gun to the side of his head, blinked, and pulled the trigger. Pink brain and sharp bits of skull went flying. Big Sky did not jump back. He held his arm in front of me like a gentleman. He tried to cover my eyes, but I wanted to look. I wanted to look at the next man who had come along to ruin my life. I wanted to see him bleed.
—I don’t think Joan is going anymore, Eleanor said to Alice.
22
THE NIGHT MY FATHER LEFT us in the Poconos, my mother slept with her arms folded in an X across her chest, her hands gripping the opposite shoulders. She was protecting herself from everything, it seemed, including the blind-vole need of her only child.
I was angry with her, but God how I loved her. My need and hate were twins in my nervous belly. I stood in the doorway of her bedroom and watched her back and the digital clock that read 11:47 in electric red. It felt like the latest and most terrifying hour. Maybe she knew I was in there. Little by little I inched toward the bed. I can still recall the way I did it. There could be nothing worse in the world than being rejected by her, than her telling me I couldn’t sleep beside her.
It took perhaps three minutes for me to reach the bed. During that time I concentrated on the ridges of stucco in the ceiling. I gasped when I spotted a spiderweb in one corner. I was shocked my mother had missed it. She didn’t miss anything. She was the most diligent cleaner. The most observant woman in the world.
I spent another few minutes working up the courage to lift the cover and press one knee on the mattress. Even though I laid my weight down one teaspoon at a time, there was no way to do this perfectly. All of a sudden, she whipped around. I jumped back and nearly wet myself.
—What are you doing here? she said. I felt like something large and ungainly. My mother had the power to make me feel the opposite of a little girl.