by Ben Farthing
Tears would come. Ugly, snotty tears.
But this emptiness threatened to swallow everything.
It had the same flavor as four years of career failure.
Last summer, after he'd completed the beach cottage design, his therapist subtly dropped the word "situational" from Chris's "situational depression." He felt empty and numb and Sherri leaving was just more numbness.
And now he was in an empty house full of Sherri's things.
The couch where he laid his head on Sherri's lap while they watched The Great British Baking Show. The counter where Sherri cooked a hazelnut and chocolate licquer birthday cake and sang to Chris by herself. The table where Chris set Sherri's sunny-side up egg on wheat toast each morning, before she went off to calculate risk for State Farm drivers.
But those memories were numb. He thought that in this moment, he should be desperately pining to fry an egg and season it with his tears while he wished he could serve it to Sherri one last time. Or watch British people make "biscuits" and wish he could hear Sherri cooing over the playful piping.
But he didn't. Her leaving stabbed him in a place that was already empty.
Chris rolled over.
He'd ran a couple half-marathons as a teenager. The effort it took to push hard that last few miles was nothing compared to the effort it took to get up off that bed.
But he did it.
And with that momentum, he left the bedroom.
"Eddie? Do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes?" It'd be one more task to add those, but he could commit now, and then force himself to do it afterwards.
Chris pushed aside thoughts of Sherri to pull the skillet from the cabinet and set it on the stove. "Eddie?"
The house was too quiet. Chris walked back down the hallway. Eddie's bedroom door was open. Nobody inside.
He went back to the front room. Eddie's shoes weren't by the door. His coat wasn't on the rack.
Chris stuck his head out the front door. A neighbor a few doors down was pulling out of their driveway. But Eddie wasn't out there.
Eddie stood in the living room. He breathed deep. There was no need to panic. He looked around the room.
Three years ago, he'd sat on this couch with a nervous lump in his gut the day CPS had brought Eddie over for the first time. He'd crouched down to embrace the underweight six-year-old. Eddie glared like Chris was the one who'd uprooted him. But he relaxed a little when he saw his race-car bed, freshly painted with Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s number.
There at the kitchen table Chris had cried tears of confusion when CPS said Eddie could go home to his birth mother again.
There was the low spot in the carpet from Chris pacing for three months, worrying about Eddie, already knowing that the state's attempt to send him back home would never work out.
There was the brown stain on the carpet by the TV, when they'd ordered Vocelli's with extra cheese, because Eddie was back again, but in the three months he'd been gone, he'd lost twelve pounds.
There was the shelf full of chapter books that Chris read out loud at night. At first, Eddie complained he could read himself and that Chris's voices would only be funny to a five-year-old. Now he giggled when Chris attempted a French accent while reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
There was the old 32-bit console under the TV, that Chris had found at a yard sale, on which he and Eddie had spent countless Friday evenings.
Where was Sherri in any of those memories? Nearby, surely. But not involving herself enough to cement herself in his memory.
Thinking of Eddie gave substance to the empty space that swallowed Sherri's dagger. Not properly, not completely, but it centered him.
A small corner of his mind recognized he wasn't being fair to Sherri. He walled it off. He needed the anger to avoid collapsing into a pile of defeat.
Chris breathed deep again.
Eddie was probably just in the bathroom.
Chris went to knock, but on the way he found a note on the kitchen table. It was scrawled in a fourth-grader's crooked, looping lettering.
I'll find the treasure.
No.
It was just breaking-and-entering. It would probably be a slap on the wrist for a 9-year-old. More likely Chris would face greater legal jeopardy for letting him out of his sight.
So why did Chris feel like Eddie had jumped headfirst into a snakepit?
That was stupid. He didn't know how it went up overnight, but it was just a building. No need to panic.
He'd just catch up to Eddie and bring him home.
Chris jogged back outside. With his coat, this time.
He ran to the corner, but didn't see Eddie. How far could the kid have got in ten minutes?
If Chris hadn't spent so long lying on his bed, this wouldn't have happened.
He needed to bring him home.
Chris suddenly remembered dropping Eddie back off with the social worker. He'd been afraid of what his bio mom--or her boyfriend--might do this time. So he downloaded a ride sharing app to Eddie's phone and added his credit card.
Chris pulled up his credit card app, and sure enough, there was the pending charge.
Eddie was taking an Uber to the impossible skyscraper.
Chris grabbed his keys to go after his son.
8
Eddie hopped out of the Uber. He left a big tip with Chris's credit card. He had to promise that for the driver to pick him up, since he was just a kid.
It was normal houses around him. They were old like his old mom's house, but clean and bright like Chris's house.
He craned his neck to look up at the office building in front of him. It was clean, too. But not bright. It felt cold. Like the chilly November morning was only chilly because the building was like an inside-out refrigerator.
To Eddie, this new building was creepier than the rest of the city.
He had the strange thought that this building wasn't for him. But buildings were just places. They were for whoever worked in them.
The angles and corners were all "janky" like Mom would say. It looked like someone had a done a bad job stacking up the toy blocks that Chris bought him the first time Eddie stayed over. Even though they were a little kid toy, Eddie liked getting the present.
The whole side of the building was glass windows. Mirrors that showed the cloudy sky.
He never knew they could build a skyscraper like this so fast.
His phone buzzed. Probably Chris texting again. Eddie ignored it. As long as he didn't look at the texts, he wouldn't see Chris telling him to stop and come home.
But he looked enough to check that they were from Chris.
Chris had changed the contact name to "Dad."
Eddie liked calling him "Dad," when he remembered to.
That's why he was here, after all.
Sherri left because Eddie's chore this morning wasn't good enough.
The man that Chris - Dad - was talking to afterwards said that Dad had to find the money inside the new building, or Dad couldn't keep the house.
Eddie had already messed up today. Made it all a "cluster" like Mom used to say, except she'd also say that other word Eddie wasn't allowed to say.
He made the house a cluster, and so Sherri couldn't see that he was helpful. That's why she left.
And now Dad needed the treasure that the old man said was inside this new building. But Dad didn't want to get it.
So Eddie would get it for him. It was the best chore he'd ever thought of. He'd be so helpful, that Chris would want to be his dad forever.
He knew it wasn't really money inside, like a suitcase full of dollar bills. It'd be something that cost a lot of money. Treasure. A whole box full of Nintendo Switches, or maybe jewelry like in the glass counter at the pawn shop that had $1 DVDs.
Now that he wouldn't see his old mom anymore, he wondered if Chris would still take him to the pawn shop.
He leaned his neck way back to look up at the tippy top of the building.
It was farther up than he could see
.
Eddie got a butterfly in his belly. Not a happy one, like before the pizza guy knocked on the door. But a yucky one, like the time Mom found his rock collection in the closet.
This building was huge.
Maybe he should just go home. If he did a bunch of small chores, Dad would still see how useful he was.
But then he'd have to explain why he used the Uber account that was only for emergencies.
As long as it took, Eddie had started this big chore. He'd have to find the treasure.
It wouldn't be so hard. It was just like the third stage of Treasure Hunter X for Dad's Playstation. Sneak in and grab the treasure.
He just had to find a way in the first floor. Then check all the hiding spots. The treasure moved each time you played, but Eddie knew all the spots it could be.
He hoped the front door was unlocked.
He looked across the street at the bottom floor. A teenage girl was peaking in through the glass door.
Eddie felt some relief. He didn't want to explore this building by himself.
"Hey," he yelled, hurrying over, "I can help you."
The girl jumped. She spun around, then laughed when she saw Eddie.
He stopped. Did he look funny?
She had a wheezy laugh. Her braided hair click-clacked. "Ooh boy you scared the shit out of me. You move real quiet, you know that?"
"Yeah." Eddie was the best at sneaking. "Do you want to look for the treasure together? I have to find it for my Dad."
She raised an eyebrow. "How'd you get here? The only white families for six blocks don't have any kids your age. You just move in?"
"No."
"Your parents let you play with friends in Barton Heights?"
"What's that?"
"The neighborhood you're standing in. The proudest neighborhood in Richmond. Lowest crime rate in Northside. Highest property values. The one black neighborhood they couldn't destroy."
Eddie knew she meant that black people lived here, but the houses were so colorful, it was weird to call it black.
"What's the matter? Forget how to speak?"
"No, I remember. At my old house when I lived with Mom my friend Tommy was black."
"You're what? Eight years old, already talking about 'My best friend is black.'" She raised her eyebrow and laughed again.
"I'm nine."
"What's your name?"
"Eddie. What's yours?"
"Cam. You don't live with your mom no more, Eddie?"
He shook his head. "I live with Chris now. Sherri left today since I wasn't helpful enough, and I think Chris can't pay rent unless he find the treasure the man in the driveway told him about..."
He noticed that Cam was smiling with her mouth open now.
"One thing at a time. First, why are you talking to me?"
"I can help you. Are you looking for the treasure, too?"
"We'll come back to that. Who's Chris? Do you like him? Is he nice?"
Those were the sort of questions that Mrs. Vicky at school asked him when he first stayed with Chris. "He said I can call him Dad."
"Yeah, they tell you that. I hope you got a good one. When I was your age, my Mom got a shitty boyfriend so I got sent to foster homes for a year. Then she kicked him out and I went back home." Cam breathed in quick. "But that doesn't always happen. Don't get your hopes up, I mean."
"They said Chris is my dad now. I used to see my old mom sometimes, but I won't anymore."
"At least he's nice." Cam looked back through the glass doors. "Your new dad, he knows about this building?"
"He designs buildings. But I don't think this one. The man in the driveway just said he has to find the treasure inside."
"You know this wasn't here last night."
"Yeah." Eddie pressed his face against the glass next to Cam. Inside was a dark room with a bunch of doors. Little windows in each door were lit up. The real inside must be on the other side.
"What do you mean by 'treasure'?" Cam asked.
"I don't know. Maybe gold coins. Or like a dead pirate's sword with diamonds on the handle."
"How do you know there's treasure inside?"
"The man in the driveway said it'd pay for Dad's house."
Cam nodded. "It's a big building. Do you know where this treasure is supposed to be?"
Eddie had memorized every hiding spot in Treasure Hunter X. This would be the same. "I know all the hiding places it might be."
"Because the man in the driveway told you?"
"He didn't tell me anything," Eddie said. "I was being sneaky and listening. He was talking to my dad."
"That's what's up. You sneaky as hell."
Eddie felt proud. "I'm helpful, too."
Cam crouched down. "I'm not a specialist or anything, but you talk a lot about being helpful. Your mom did a number on you, huh?"
He looked at his shoes. He shook his head. "I like being helpful."
"You'll learn when you're older, you don't have to go crazy for other people. You can be the shit all on your own. Hell, look at me."
Eddie looked up. "Is shit good?" He felt a little thrill at saying a bad word.
Cam threw her head back and laughed. "The shit. Like 'you the man.'"
Eddie nodded. He understood what she meant, but she was wrong. Even though she was older than him, she wasn't an adult. Adults wanted you to be helpful.
He changed the subject. "Are you looking for the treasure, too? We can split it. We save my dad's house, and you can have the rest."
"I gotta look for my own treasure first. This was an empty lot yesterday. My mom's got another new boyfriend and he's always stealing from my purse. So I got a hundred-eighty dollars buried next to a rock somewhere in there. That's halfway to affording this real estate class, so I can have a real job as soon as I'm eighteen."
"I can help you find it." Eddie searched the grass between the building and the road. He didn't see any rocks.
"No, it was in the middle of the lot. Then this skyscraper appeared last night. So my money's gotta be in the basement or somewhere. At least, I hope. You tag along, and then after we find my real estate money, you can show me where this treasure is."
Eddie felt a big smile coming on. Cam saw how helpful he was. Now he didn't have to go treasure hunting by himself. This building was creepier than the one in Treasure Hunter X.
Because it wasn't for him.
That was a weird thing to think.
Eddie pushed the thought from his mind.
"Is it unlocked?" he asked. He pulled on the handle. It didn't budge. "Nope."
Cam tried it, and the door swung open. Comfortable heat drifted out into the chill September day. "Let's go find our treasure."
"Wait," Eddie pulled out his phone. He opened his text messages. He still avoided reading Dad's messages, but he typed and sent: I'm going inside to get the treasure. I'll text you after. He tucked his phone back into his pocket.
"Okay, I"m ready."
Cam patted Eddie's shoulder and led the way inside.
9
Chris's rusty Chevy rattled up the interstate.
He ignored speed limits, but it was rush hour, so he could only go so fast. He wished he knew how far ahead Eddie was. That depended on how long Chris had been lying on the bed, which he wasn't sure of.
I-95 swung him around downtown, and the new skyscraper came into view ahead.
It was blocky, like Brutalist era design. But predominantly glass, like the International Style which was on its way out due to terrible cooling efficiency. Its tiers rejected any regular progression in their sizes, which fit with postmodern designs.
Chris was grasping at straws.
It was a hodgepodge of architectural eras. Dr. Terry's plan to figure out the architect was nonsense. Today's leading architects were all about going green. That, and architectural psychology. Design the outside for energy efficiency. Design the inside to motivate, calm, excite, or whatever the purpose of the building was.
Nothing like th
is impossible tower.
Chris's phone buzzed.
Finally, a text from Eddie. But Chris's relief was short lived.
I'm going inside to get the treasure. I'll call you after.
Frantic again, Chris texted back, one eye on the road. There's no treasure!
He waited for the his text to be marked "delivered." It didn't happen.
He was too late. Eddie had gone inside, and the new building was blocking cell service.
Chris stomped the accelerator to pass a slow truck, then had to swerve back over to make his exit.
He didn't have an address for the tower, but he could see it.
He was in Northside somewhere. An old black neighborhood they'd chopped in half with the interstate.
Normally, he'd be inching along, admiring the architecture. Today, he didn't notice it.
A couple wrong turns and circling back around blocks, and he found the new building.
It took up most of a block. Chris didn't take time to admire it. He parked on the street and hopped out.
That jealous feeling of ownership flooded back through him. From this low angle, the building filled the sky. Glass sides reflected the gray sky.
Chris ran to the doors. Locked. He shook the handles.
It couldn't be locked. Eddie had got inside.
He wouldn't have locked the door behind him, would he?
Chris jogged around to the next side of the building. No doors here, so he ran on to the opposite side. His lungs burned with the cold air.
He wanted to step back and inspect every detail of this impossible skyscraper, but first he had to stop Eddie.
He found an identical bank of doors, also locked.
He pounded his fist against the glass and shouted Eddie's name.
He cupped his hands on the door to look through. He could see another bank of doors. It was a vestibule to keep the inner doors from opening directly to the outside, two layers of doors meant to isolate the inside temperature from the outside. Now it was isolating Chris from his son.
He stepped back and looked for something to break the glass.
Nothing but the cement walkway and landscaping beds waiting for mulch.
He walked back to the street. There had to be something. The old Victorian revival homes were well kept, and painted in bright colors. But their landscaping was grass--no stone planters that could smash a glass door.
