by Amos Gunner
CHAPTER 10: ADAM
A red smear, the embryo of a future masterpiece, shined in the center of the canvass. Beside the easel, Brenda leaned over a sketch pad, crumpled sheets at her bare feet on the garage floor. From the stairs, I traced at the red pony tail curving down the back of her overalls. I drank in her image like it was the nectar of the gods because I know life is fleeting and the Now is all we have.
No I didn’t. I can’t even pretend I did? I can’t.
“No work today?”
Ignoring my question, she asked how it went. I said terrible. She sighed. I left her alone.
I crashed on the bed. I didn’t care if I messed my hair. I stared at the ceiling. Out of the chaotic plaster, Zeke’s face emerged. That chunk was his bulbous nose, those lines his crooked lips. Several lines converged to make his hair and one straight line became the point where the back stopped before the hair became a full-on mullet. Once the portrait was complete, it looked down on me full of malice and deceit.
Can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Why couldn’t I tell he was bad? No. He fooled many people. It’s okay.
The face fell apart and faded. It was a plaster ceiling again. My cell rang. It was Zeke.
Why call exactly then? Did he know? How did he know?
“What happened? Why’d you disappear?”
“It’s my wife’s day off.”
“Oh. That’s okay. Your interview went fine?”
“Yeah. I told you. Fine.”
There was a long pause. “Aren’t you going to ask about mine?” Another pause. “It went fine, too. He’s a charmer, isn’t he? We’re going out this Friday.”
“Look, I have to go.”
“Cool. Let’s do dinner.”
“Sure.”
I turned off my cell’s power and put it on the night stand. I got out of my tie and dropped it on the floor. I rolled on my stomach. I heard the gentle pats of Brenda’s bare feet approaching.
“Are you in trouble?”
I rolled over and undid my top button. She grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser and sat on the bed.
“No.”
“Then let’s not do this.”
“Do what?”
She waved her hand over me, over the bed. “This. This lying around.”
I rolled on my stomach and talked into the pillow. “It’s not simple. Besides, kid’s still dead.”
Didn’t mention Zeke. Didn’t have anything to tell her. The interviewer was mean to Zeke? Said things I didn’t get?
“Which isn’t your fault. Don’t put the weight of the world on your shoulders, Adam. You can’t handle it. You know you can’t.” The bed jostled as she got up.
“Leave me alone.”
“Done.”
She was gone.
I screamed at her in my head, so loud I couldn’t hear where she had gone.
Wait. But. She never saw the body. Oh my God. Never saw the body. Any body. Not the kid. Not the charred remains at Fourth. The victims are all abstract. Unreal. And good. That’s how it should be. She should be protected from the ugly. Brenda’s insensitive? Isn’t she hypersensitive? Isn’t her aloofness a defense against the world’s horrors? And I wanted to shove her face into the atrocities? Sick. Sadistic. Sick. As if she was the cruel one? I’m sorry. If I know anything, I know when I’m wrong. I’m so sorry. I don’t forgive you because there’s nothing to forgive. So much wasted time. I wish I knew then. I wish. I wish.
The hornet’s nest in my head settled. I told myself I better apologize. Not because I understood, but to make life with Brenda easier. Apology minus forgiveness equals lie. I’m the stupidest man ever.
She wasn’t painting down in the garage. The car was still in the drive. I went to the kitchen, the deck. I walked around the corner of our home. Brenda was bent over a flower bed.
A few plants in the flower bed still lived. The wild haired dahlias were the healthiest. The rest were ready to whither, tired of fighting so late into the season. A fish (wide-eyed, yet dead) lay on some newspaper.
“I’m sorry. I was rude.”
Brenda worked her small shovel into the dirt. “It’s just I thought everything was fine.” She talked to the ground. “At least, that’s how I interpreted your grunts.”
“It is fine. It is. But no matter what Internal Affairs decides, I know I could’ve done more. And I can’t forget what I saw.”
“But the kid ran. And anyway, you didn’t pull the trigger.”
I might as well have. I didn’t say it. I thought it. I think it now.But I didn’t say it.
She picked up the fish by its tail.
“What’re you doing?”
“My grandma’s trick, to fertilize the ground for next year. I’ve never tried it.” She dropped the fish into the fresh hole. “Look at the hollyhocks. They’ll die. I know it. They know it. I hope you know it, too.” She pushed a small hill of dirt over the fish and patted the earth. “Yes it’s sad what happened, but sad things happen everyday. Especially in your line of work. Do you know why they call it ‘unnecessary force?’ Because the rest of the time it is necessary.”
“I know, I know.”
“Well? Why suffer?”
“I know, I know.”
She brushed dirt from her hands. “Besides, when you suffer, I suffer.” She stood and zeroed in on a weed, bent and yanked it out. “Your problems become my problems. It’s not fair. And you seem to like your problems. You wallow in pain and make no attempt to avoid it or get rid of it. Let me put it this way: if you don’t get a shrink, then I’m going to need one.”
I told her I had to. And she almost smiled. Almost. Before she could form the smile, a puzzled look came over her. She pointed to my crotch. “Did you have an accident?”
Before dinner, I made an appointment for Monday.
Monday. No sooner slot? Would’ve changed everything. I would’ve loved to have received the healing power of simple talk. But it’s not to be. Should’ve sought help a long time ago. Scared of tarnishing my record. I want to start over.
“So what are you doing tomorrow?” She made vegetables somersault in her frying pan. She always had a talented wrist, the secret to her cooking and more. “You’re not going to wallow and mope. I won’t allow it.”
“I won’t mope.”
“Good. Then what?”
I made sounds. None made enough sense to answer her question. She came to my rescue.
“You could volunteer somewhere. Or start a stamp collection. Get rid of that old furniture in my studio. Or call my dad.”
Illumination.
The noble Don Singer. More than a man with a reputable, even honored, construction company. Heck, he might be more than a man. The most coveted traits (wit, wisdom, benevolence) that we lesser mortals nearly achieve during special moments are constant and effortless aspects of Don’s being. Why Brenda ever turned her back on him was a mystery. Why she had reconciled with him was obvious.
Brenda called after our meal and chatted with her mother for a minute. I always felt sorry for Marianne, living under Don’s great shadow, inevitably considered second best by everyone, maybe even by herself. Always anxious and distracted, as if a small pin was forever pricking at her shoulders. She’d get relief if just once Don got drunk, picked up a prostitute, and landed in jail. That’d never happen. The price paid by those surrounding great men is a painful self-consciousness of their own failings. Did Brenda ever suffer next to me? I’m sorry if she did.
“Is dad around?”
“Oh, always your father.” Marianne’s nervous laughter was her only defense.
I paced the kitchen as I explained to Don I was taking a break from work and I needed to keep my hands busy.
“Else the devil will find work for you.” Strong yet friendly, Don’s voice anchored his charm. The sound of a man strong enough protect you and happy to do so.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but you’re right, Don.” I wondered if I could help out at a site. To sweeten the d
eal, I didn’t even want a paycheck. He said he was confused by who was doing who the favor, but he agreed and told me where to go the next morning.
Standing over a pot of water, Brenda asked, “So this can end. Right?”
“I hope.”
She kissed me on the cheek, then poured boiling water over bags of chamomile tea. The kiss sent a nervous flutter through my belly. I touched her hand and we locked eyes, but my stomach settled and nothing came from the moment.
I wore a flannel shirt and an old pair of jeans to the site. I wanted Brenda’s advice on the outfit but I was afraid to wake her.
My hammer skills gave the men a good chuckle. I chuckled too. The super had enough and pulled me away from reinforcing the header and asked me to move a pyramid of pipes across the site. I barely touched the top pipe and the pyramid tumbled. The crew was done laughing. It was only nine thirty.
First of all, those clothes didn’t fit right. Second, they didn’t know what I was going through. (Or did they?) Third, my job was to save people, not build a house. Fourth, Brenda had been irritated and frustrated, so I couldn’t relax myself. Fifth, I was there to forget. And it worked. At some point, I became aware that I hadn’t been obsessing about the case or Zeke. But then, in thinking I hadn’t been thinking much about the case or Zeke, I necessarily thought about the case and Zeke. So, sixth, it was hard to concentrate on anything.
We broke for lunch. A few of the men took off but most grabbed a bag from their car and formed a circle on makeshift benches. I went to my car for my lunch, but ended up sitting and watching the men. They wore pretty much what I wore, but the clothes seemed to fit them better. Maybe from use. It didn’t look like they spoke much with each other, yet every now and then one or two would break into a hardy laugh. I wonder if I would’ve gotten the jokes. One of them opened a newspaper and my stomach did a backflip.
Don’s blue pickup rolled onto the site. He wore a dark blue button-up shirt and khaki pants because he had mastered the fashion space between casual and professional.
The super pulled him aside and blustered and flailed his arms. Don patiently listened and nodded. When the super cooled off, Don patted his shoulder. The super dropped his arms and stomped off.
Don surveyed the site. I got out of my car and approached. I held my lunch in one hand and brushed sawdust off my jeans with the other.
Don saw me and lit up. I had already been beaming. “Let’s do lunch.”
I looked over at the circle of crewmen. “Should you single me out?”
He waved his hand. “Bah, I don’t give a damn.”
There’s no way Don raised himself so far in the world by not giving a damn. I’m sure Don gave a damn every second of his life.
I studied the ground as I followed Don to his pickup. Don drove us from the site without hinting where we were off to. His pickup groaned at every turn.
“How’s your day been going?”
“Good. Great. Thanks for the job. You’ve always been generous with us.”
“Oh, stop it. You’re the one working for free. Everyone treat you decent?”
“Yep.”
“Hm. I’d think they’d take a dislike to you, considering the car you drive. Those people can be like that.”
I had the nicest car. Don’t deny it. And I love my Lexus. I’ll never drive her again. The ES 300. ES sounds like yes.
We got the small talk out of the way: both couples were fine, money was fine, life was fine. Don pulled into a park, found a spot under an oak, and took out a paper bag from under his seat. I rolled down the window and sucked in the air. It was fresher than the dirty air at the site. It was chilly in the shade, so I rolled up the window. A few dogs led their owners over grass field, a middle-aged woman in pink spandex jogged the track, a young couple talked at a bench.
Don munched on a turkey sandwich. His temples rolled with each chew. The slick hair above his temple (his temple!) was gray, the color having been burned away by intense thought. No. Don’s brilliance shines without strain.
I picked at the leftover stir fry from a Tupperware container.
How did I expect to heat it up at a construction site? I never think ahead, not even one minute. Like, I hadn’t anticipated Don would bring up the case. As soon as I did, I thought, of course he would. He did. He was concerned, but I couldn’t talk about the dead, so I said the story was boring. He believed me. He wanted to know more about Zeke. I hated to answer, but Don was so good to me I decided to give him something.
“I don’t know. He’s slippery. Tough to get a grip on. He treated me like dirt at first, but the case has brought us together. I don’t know. He’s been on the force a while. Okay record. No suspensions, at least. I don’t know how this’ll all play out for him. I really don’t. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to avoid him.”
“Oh, don’t do that.” Don popped open a small bag of potato chips. “You know I once had a partner? Yep, back in the old days, once upon a time, my old outfit was called ‘Singer and Lewis Construction.’ Lewis was an old pal. We both liked building. We gave it a go. You know, you observe people deal with all sorts of situations and you think you know them, how they handle themselves. But then a new situation comes along and you might find out you were wrong.
“Anyway, long story short, I find out Lewis was a crook. He was into some illegal stuff, stuff that had my name on it. He thought he was keeping it under wraps but I caught on pretty quick. I knew what I had to do, so that’s what I did. Jiminy Christmas. I don’t know if he’s still in jail but he should be.” Don crunched a mouthful of chips. “Keep your enemies closer.” Bits fell from his mouth.
“Well, he’s not my enemy exactly.” I sealed the Tupperware.
“Don’t get me wrong. He might be a fine fellow. My point is, the safest move is to stay close to both friends and enemies. Watch him but keep your thoughts to yourself and make sure not to act on any hunch you’re not a hundred percent sure of. Chips?”
“No thanks. It’s so complicated. I thought narcotics would be simpler than cold cases. There are good guys and bad guys and the line between them is so obvious. Now this.”
“Best laid plans. Why’d you transfer from cold cases anyhow? We never talked about that.”
“Too many ghosts.”
“You don’t say. Why narcotics?”
“Well, it seemed like a good way to get my career going in the right direction. I’m working my way up, you know.”
“As well you should.”
“Also, this’ll sound corny, but I want to help people in the here and now. I worked property crimes, but that wasn’t entirely satisfying. Then I worked cold cases, but I couldn’t tell how much good I was really doing. So when this chance came, I took it.”
“You’ve always been good at that, doing the right thing. Did right for my daughter and that’s good enough for me.” Don bunched his trash into a ball, rolled down his window, and pitched the ball into a nearby trash can.
Don, you always gave me the credit, but Brenda did the hard work. All I did was support her. All I did was try. Then again, if I hadn’t tried, who knows where she’d be. Oh my God. Where is she? Zeke said she was safe, but Zeke’s a liar.
“Yes, well Don, you did a lot for us, too, when we started out.”
He shrugged. We both leaned back and fell into that meditative mood that follows a meal. After a while, Don sat up and scattered some kernels of his acquired wisdom for my benefit, pausing between each to belch or clear his throat or nose.
“If you want to do the right thing, you’ve got a lot to do. Don’t expect congratulations for nothing because even a mosquito has to work before it gets a slap on the back. Don’t be too cheap but don’t be too flashy and you’ll get along with everyone. Better to be perceived a fool than to prove it.”
He didn’t break new ground, but it was good to hear those things. If I didn’t hear them from Don, I wouldn’t hear them at all. Besides, I think there are only a few great lessons anyw
ay, but they are so big, we need to hear them over and over and repeat them ourselves a few times before they sink in.
An acorn banged on the hood. He gave me a smile and a pat on the knee. “Look son, if you ever want to come to church with Marianne and me--”
“I appreciate that Don. I do. I’m sure you know--” My cell rang. I read the caller ID. Zeke. I smiled but I didn’t answer.
Don gave me one more lesson on the way back.
“There was a man who wanted to get to Heaven. That’s all he wanted. So he decided at a young age to do nothing. Not a thing. He’s afraid of sinning, understand. If he does nothing, he can’t sin, right? So he goes through his life as isolated as he can be. Sure enough, he never really hurts anyone or anything. One day, he dies. Turns out, he’s not allowed into Heaven. This is crazy, as far as he’s concerned. He says to Saint Peter, ‘I didn’t do anything bad.’ And the saint says, ‘Yeah, but you didn’t do anything good either.’”
“Thanks Don. For everything.”
“See you in the funny pages.”
The crew was back at work. I took out my cell and read the time. I was ten minutes late. The men glared at me.
What did they care? My butterfingers would’ve slowed them down anyhow. It’s not like my pay was going to get docked. It’s not like the boss was going to fire me.
I listened to Zeke’s message. He wanted to have dinner and suggested eating at our place.
The super kicked up dirt as he rushed towards me.
