The View from Mount Joy

by Lorna Landvik

  “Don’t be afraid, Little Red Riding Hood,” she said, smiling. “In fact, come closer and give Granny a kiss.”

  I leaned forward and brushed her forehead with my lips.

  Sitting back up, I looked at her, thinking how frail she looked and then realizing she didn’t look frail at all; she just looked different. Cleaner, somehow. Softer.

  “It’s the makeup,” she said, reading my face. “I’m not wearing any.”

  “Oh,” I said, and coughed.

  She laughed. “I don’t mean to scare you.”

  “Actually, you look good. I mean, for getting shot. Wow. That’s a big deal. I’m so sorry.”

  Looking down at her fake, still plump breasts, she said, “You’d better believe I’m going to do a commercial for the bra company that left these babies intact.” She laughed again, or started to, but then her eyes teared up and she forgot what was so funny.

  I took the hand on her lap and held it, repeating how sorry I was.

  Kristi shook her head. “I thought I had some deranged fans,” she said. “Never did I think it’d be one of my husband’s who’d get me.”

  I kneaded her hand, her big diamond digging into the skin of my hand.

  “Ouch.”

  “I’d take it off,” said Kristi, “but I’m supposed to keep my other arm still.”

  “Why would you want to take your wedding ring off?” I asked.

  The tears made a reappearance in her eyes.

  “Because I don’t think I’ll have a husband much longer.”

  I didn’t understand. “Kristi, Tuck’s fine—he didn’t get hurt.”

  “I know that,” said Kristi with some of the old fire in her voice. “What, do you think I’ve got a head injury too?”

  “It’s just…I…”

  Kristi’s chest rose with one short laugh. “I’m sorry, Joe, you’re the last person I want to yell at.” She exhaled sharply. “I know Tuck didn’t get hurt. I know I’m the one who told him to stay in Washington so he could ‘continue to do our good work.’” Her voice sweetened in sarcasm as she said the last few words. “I know everything, which in this case is way too much.”

  I looked around the room; it was too hard to look in her eyes. I was used to seeing many things in them, but never such naked pain.

  “Joe, he pushed me.”

  Her words hung in the air like a ripe fruit I didn’t want to pick.

  She stared at me, scraping her teeth against her bare lips.

  “He didn’t push me away from the shooter, he pushed me toward her.”

  “Kristi, I—”

  “Well, not really toward her, I guess. But to the side near where she stood. As soon as she jumped up from behind the car and we saw she had a gun, he pushed me as he ducked behind a car.”

  Tears leaked out of the sides of her eyes.

  “Oh, Kristi,” I said, “I’m sure he tried to push you out of the way. Out of the way from her.”

  Kristi shook her head. “I wish you were sure, Joe, but you aren’t. Because that’s not what he did. He acted purely on instinct, and his instinct told him to get out of the way, however he could. Even if he put me in the way.”

  “Have you…what does Tuck say?”

  “Tuck knows what he did. I don’t have to remind him. And he’s sick…sick with fear that I’m going to tell someone.”

  “Well, you just did.”

  Kristi wiped her eyes with her fingers. “I told you, Joe. Because I can always tell you anything. But nobody else is ever going to know.”

  My blood suddenly seemed hot inside my head.

  “Now, wait a second, there’s no way I’m not going to tell what that bastard—that coward did.”

  Kristi smiled. Even without lipstick, or maybe because of the absence of it, her smile was radiant.

  “You’re not going to tell anyone, Joe. Please. I am going to divorce him, but this shooting’s not going to be why. Or at least I’ll make sure the public doesn’t know it’s why.” Her sigh was so long it was almost comical. “I really loved him, Joe. It surprised me that I could love someone like that. He made me feel safe, if you can believe that.” She shook her head. “The page I told you about?”

  I nodded, pretty certain where the conversation was headed.

  “He was sleeping with her. And one of his top fund-raisers. And a lobbyist for a company that makes artificial hearts, for God’s sake—how’s that for some lousy irony? There were probably more, but I stopped trying to find out.”

  “Kristi, I am so sorry.”

  “I know you are, Joe. I am too. Sorry about so many things, there aren’t even numbers to count them with.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Find a new presidential candidate I can support.”

  We both gave her joke a little laugh and then she shrugged.

  “I know my life is going to—has to—change drastically, but for my own sanity, I’m not thinking past anything but when I can use my right hand again.” She waved her left hand. “Try as I might, I can’t put my makeup on with this one.”

  There was a knock on the door and Kirk opened it a crack.

  “Kristi, Tuck’s on the phone again.”

  “Tell him I’ll call him back in five minutes.”

  Like a discreet valet, Kirk closed the door noiselessly.

  We locked eyes then, and Kristi’s welled with tears.

  “I…oh, I hurt so bad, Joe.”

  “Can I get you something?” I asked, reaching for the bottles on the bedside table. “Is it time for another pill?”

  Kristi managed a smile. “None of those are going to heal the hurt I feel, Joe.” With her good hand, she rubbed her chest. “It’s way down here.”

  “Kristi, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  Her smirk told me what she thought of this easy bromide, but after a moment, her face softened and she stared off at the window, as if she could see the poolside view even though the curtains were drawn.

  “Maybe that’s what it took to make me figure things out,” she said after a long moment. “Although I think I could have handled a slightly less dramatic wake-up call.”

  I squeezed her hand. “So what are you going to tell Tuck?”

  “Good-bye. Good riddance.” She smiled. “That’s the censored version.”

  “Thanks for sparing me.”

  She puckered her lips and, recognizing a signal to scram when I see it, I gave her a chaste little kiss and stood up.

  “I’ll come and see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Thanks for everything. But remember, you can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”

  My little bow made her laugh, but then she grimaced, cupping her still-intact silicone breast.

  I was the only one having breakfast on the patio, the gusty winds that whipped napkins across tables and tossed the palm fronds side to side having driven in the other hotel guests. Determined to enjoy Florida in February, I dodged the pecan bits that flew off the top of my waffle as a section of my newspaper skittered across the tile. I tried to ignore the first few drops of rain, but seconds later they multiplied in volume and intensity, and the busboy and I practically knocked each other down in our race inside.

  “The paper said there was a slight chance of afternoon showers,” I said on the phone to Kirk. “It didn’t say anything about a morning deluge.”

  “I’ll admit to many talents, but unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about the weather.”

  “Speaking of your many talents, I hope you’re going to make up another batch of those martinis at lunch.”

  “Who invited you to lunch?”

  “Since when have I needed an invitation?” I said with a laugh. “But I thought as long as I was coming to see Kristi, I might as well get a free lunch and liquor out of the deal.”

  “Kristi’s gone.”

  In our little verbal spar, this was not a comment I was expecting.

  “What? Where’d she go?”


  “Back to Washington. Tuck and his entourage blew in at six o’clock this morning and they blew out by six-thirty.”

  Even though my mouth was open, there were no words coming out of it.

  “Kristi didn’t tell Nance and me much more than what we heard on the news, but we both got the impression that she wasn’t at all happy with Tuck. It surprised the hell out of us that she went back to Washington with him. Did she tell you anything?”

  I grimaced, grateful he couldn’t see my face.

  “No,” I lied, trying to sound perplexed. “She told me about the shooting…but nothing more. I mean, not a lot of details. We mostly talked about old times; I thought I should just try to cheer her up.”

  Finally my mouth closed and the blathering stopped.

  “Are you sure?” said Kirk after a moment.

  My loyalties were at war; I had a belief in the sanctity of a secret, but it was a selective one. Still, I wasn’t ready yet to tell Kristi’s, so I lied again.

  “’Course I’m sure.”

  At lunch, Nance tried to pry more information out of me, but I played dumb.

  “Well, you two know her better than I do, but I just got the sense there was something she wasn’t telling us,” she said as she poured me another cup of coffee to offset the martini.

  “There’s probably a lot Kristi doesn’t tell us,” I offered.

  “It’d probably blow our minds if she did,” said Kirk.

  I nodded in agreement while thinking, If only you knew.

  My flight was delayed due to the weather, and I sat in the terminal, slogging through a paperback—a supposed thriller. I had given it three chapters, but thoroughly unthrilled, I dog-eared the page and was about to browse through the magazine racks when the name Kristi Casey rose up over travelers’ chatter, businessmen’s conversations, and flight announcements.

  I looked up at the television monitor to see Kristi leaning into Tuck Drake as they stepped up to a podium.

  “Yeah, well, make sure it’s defrosted, because if you put it in—”

  My glare was successfully fierce, quieting the woman giving out cooking instructions over her cell phone.

  “As you know,” whispered a reporter, “Mrs. Drake has been in Florida, recuperating from her gunshot wounds, and it is a bit of a surprise to see her at this hastily called press conference….”

  Big blond Tuck Drake had one of his big beefy arms around Kristi, who looked like a yoked ox resigned to work the fields. Tuck leaned into the metal bouquet of microphones.

  “Thank you all for comin’,” drawled the cowardly sack of blond shit as flashbulbs flared and blazed, “but most of all, I’d like to publicly thank the beautiful brave woman next to me for being my wife…and hopefully your next vice president.”

  The collective gasp that was heard on the TV was echoed by one in the terminal.

  “Now, I’m a little emotional, considerin’ all that’s happened, so I’d like to turn things over to my wife and running mate, and let her explain things to y’all.”

  Kristi turned on her beautiful, camera-ready smile and then let it fall, as if it couldn’t be sustained under the weight of emotion but then—there! yes!—she summoned the strength to show us that not only were her teeth white and sparkly but everything was all right.

  “It’s been a tumultuous week,” she began, her voice so soft that everyone seated in the terminal leaned forward. Kristi began to speak again, but sat back, blinking back tears as she wrestled with the emotion that seemed determined to pin her. But Kristi, being Kristi, was able—of course—to persevere, and when she leaned in toward the microphones, her eyes glittering with tears, all of America knew what a strong woman we were dealing with.

  “But I’ve always felt when God tests us, the only thing we can do is try to get an A plus!”

  Her husband squeezed her shoulder, and I saw her wince. Unlike everyone else, I understood that wince, how she had to recoil from the touch of that big slab of cowardice, but she quickly recovered and, smiling bravely, touched her chest, as if it hurt to be jostled.

  “After much prayer and meditation, Senator Drake and I decided that we were not going to let an act of violence ruin our lives. In fact, it was our duty, as Christians and patriots to rise above the violence, to use this act of violence for the greater good. And so when Tuck asked me to be his running mate I thought: Yes, I will not serve the violence; instead, I will serve my country and serve my God.”

  As Kristi spoke, I have no memory of breathing, of blinking, of doing anything but stare at that television monitor, feeling as if there was life on Mars and I was witness to it.

  “Oh, I know there will be outrage from some corners—‘There can’t be a husband and wife team running the country’—but surely you history fans know that the First Lady is often the first one the president goes to for counsel and advice. Drake and Casey Drake will just make it official. Others might holler about the separation of church and state, but let me tell you right here and now that the only thing I’ll try to convert as VP is this country—convert it to the loving, moral, and righteous nation it can and should be! Others might scream, ‘Are we ready for a woman second in command—especially one who has no experience in politics?’ and my answer is, we’re overdue. Women don’t need degrees in political science or years shuffling paper as a city council member to know how the world turns. We’re in trouble, people, and the old ways haven’t been working. With your support, Tuck and I hope to pick up the hammer and the nails, the wrenches and the pliers, and get to work.”

  Tuck Drake’s big meaty hand squeezed Kristi’s shoulder, and then he offered his own white and shiny teeth for the cameras.

  “All I’ll say to that, ladies and gentlemen, is amen!”

  The next day, on Jenny’s birthday, I asked her to stop at the store.

  “I left your present there,” I said. “In my office.”

  “Oh, Joe, can’t we pick it up after we eat? I don’t want to lose our reservations.”

  “We’ll dash in and dash out.”

  “We?” she said. “I’ll wait outside. It’ll make you hurry more.”

  My mind whirred. “Well,” I said, “I’ll need your help to carry the present.”

  “Can’t you get someone in the store to help you?” she asked, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she smiled. “Oh, Joe, the present you’re giving me doesn’t happen to be a musical instrument, does it?”

  I smiled enigmatically. She had mentioned recently that it might be fun to learn the cello, but I had paid no attention to it; she often said it would be fun to play an instrument other than her own.

  She pulled into the lot. There were some cars parked there, but that wasn’t unusual, as the store was still supposed to be open for another hour. To allay any suspicions a full parking lot might cause, we had arranged car pools and taxi rides for our friends and customers.

  When we entered the store, Eileen looked up from her register and waved. This was our signal that Stan, standing behind a bakery display, saw, and he in turn waved to Ben, who was sitting up in my office with the lights off. His job was to send Conor down to the basement and tell everyone we had arrived.

  “Okay,” said Jenny, rushing by Banana Square. “Let’s go get my present!”

  “Hold on,” I said, pulling her toward me. I kissed her. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, honey, it is.” She pushed herself away from me. “Come on, let’s hurry.”

  “Look at these,” I said, picking up a piece of fruit from a display. “Coconuts. Who’d ever think people would want to buy real coconuts—but they do. I mean, they taste nothing like the sweetened stuff in bags.”

  “Joe, what do I care about coconuts? Now come on, let’s—”

  “Surprise!”

  Jenny stood frozen, staring at the flood of people that streamed up the aisles. It was only when Conor and Ben and Flora cut through the crowd and raced up to her that she seemed to realize what was go
ing on. She covered her mouth with her hands and then opened her arms wide to let her children in.

  It was a great party. Joe and Sons wowed the crowd with our electric-guitar version of “Happy Birthday.” Jenny cried when “All Busy Mothers” played, and cried again when Flora accompanied Nick as he sang the song he wrote for his mother-in-law at the Darva Pratt Performance Center. Contests were held and all the answers had something to do with Jenny, and all the prizes were new Belgian chocolates that Flora had discovered on a buying trip.

  When the caterers started circulating among the crowd with their trays, I stole up into my office. Ben had left on the radio and I sat in the dark, listening to the news program that was documenting Kristi’s career.

  “After listening to that particular broadcast of On the Air with God, Kristi, I’d be interested in knowing how you would plan to govern a country made up of many different religions—and nonreligions for that matter.”

  “First of all, it would be my husband, Tuck Drake, who as president would be governing, and second of all—”

  I switched off the radio, which, along with the television, had been playing all Kristi all the time.

  “Sorry, Kristi,” I said out loud, “but you’re not allowed to intrude upon this particular party. Or any future party, for that matter.”

  I took my chair and sat in the dark, looking out the window.

  Seeing Ben flirting with one of the new cashiers, I could see Kirk at his age, doing the same thing with the college girls in their miniskirts. I saw my aunt Beth, laughing and talking with Linda and Swanny Swanson, and thought of how she had made the suggestion, all those years ago, that I go put in an application at Haugland Foods. I saw Len kiss my mother as Shelly Erickson fetched a plate for old Mrs. Brady. I saw Clarence Selwin in conference with Millie Purcell and remembered when he had first met Martha, his wife-to-be, while reciting Walt Whitman at Banana Square.

  I saw Stan, my loyal assistant manager, sweeping up a spill, and thought of Ed and all he had given his own assistant manager.

  I saw the newlyweds, Flora and Nick, showing their wedding rings to Eileen, the queen of cashiers. I saw Conor in the candy aisle, helping himself and another boy to less sophisticated chocolate than the Belgian stuff.