Ghost Light
Page 25
Now, however, all he felt was irritation.
His stomach was sour and queasy, roiling like a witch’s cauldron; his eyes felt like someone had doused them with battery acid; his head was pounding like a drop forge; and he couldn’t stop shaking as he held the warm mug with both hands and tried to take another sip of hot coffee. He knew the workers at Denny’s were used to seeing people in his condition—and worse, especially on weekends—but he was angry at himself because he didn’t want to do anything that would draw any undue attention. He could just imagine, if he was ever nailed for messing with Cindy, seeing Brenda on the evening news, snapping her gum as she spoke into the newscasters’ microphones, saying, “Oh, yeah, sure. I remember him. He used to come in here early in the morning, just about every day, looking like he’d been on a week-long binge. He always looked like trouble to me.”
No, if things were going to work out the way he wanted them to, he was going to have to start controlling himself better than he had last night, that’s all there was to it.
He glanced at his watch, thinking it was taking too damned long for his food to show up. He knew he wasn’t going to start feeling better until he had something in his stomach besides sour acid, but right now, the thought of swallowing even a bite of plain white toast made his stomach churn. Maybe what he should do was go back to the motel, chop down a handful of Turns, and get some sleep first. After all, he wasn’t on anyone’s timetable.
He decided to give Brenda another few minutes to get the food in front of him, mostly because he didn’t feel like getting up and walking out just yet. Groaning loudly, he closed his eyes and rotated his neck, trying to work out some of the kinks. Damn, he wished he’d thought to buy a bottle of aspirin before coming in here. Denny’s should be used to having customers with hangovers. Didn’t they have an aspirin dispenser somewhere? Maybe in the restrooms.
Yeah, the restrooms, Alex thought, suddenly aware of the aching pressure in his bladder.
He spun off the counter stool, surprised that his legs supported him as he headed for the men’s room. He took halting steps and dragged one hand along the wall to help him maintain his balance. Bursting through the bathroom door, he kicked it open so hard it slammed against the tile wall with a rumbling reverberation. The stab of bright fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. His vision swam as he looked at the array of open toilet stalls and smelled the sharp sting of disinfectant, which made the bile in his stomach kick up into his throat.
Oh, shit… oh, shit! I’m gonna puke!
Suddenly panicking, he lunged forward, trying to make it to the nearest toilet stall, but his stomach squeezed like a fist and a hot flood of vomit shot out of his mouth, splattering onto the tile floor. He twisted to one side, hoping at least to make it to the sink before the second wave came. He slipped in the wet puke and almost fell but, grabbing the edge of the counter, pulled himself up. Dizzying waves of nausea made him double over as another fountain of vomit spewed onto the floor.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! he thought.
Snorting loudly, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as hot flashes made a sheen of sweat break out over his face. He was trembling like a man with epilepsy and couldn’t believe what he was seeing when he looked into the mirror over the row of sinks and saw the pale, sick man reflected there. Nearly blind with misery, he fumbled to turn on the cold water faucet, but it was the kind that automatically shut off as soon as you let go of it. That may help save on the water bill, but there was no way he could fill his cupped hands to wash his face. Leaning down into the sink, he did his best to fill one hand and splash the water against his cheeks. He slurped up a mouthful or two of water, hoping it would wash away the sour taste in his mouth, but a third wave of sickness took hold of him, shaking him as a thin, yellowish fluid shot into the sink and splattered the counter top.
You fucking moron! he thought. He wished he’d had the sense not to drink so much last night or at least to go back to his motel room if he was going to be this bad off.
He leaned forward and, resting his head on his forearm, ran the water so he could flick it up into his face. Alternating waves of chills and fever shook his body, but now that his stomach was empty he did feel marginally better. At least there was nothing left in his stomach to spew out. He lost track of time and almost forgot about his breakfast, which must be on the counter by now, as he waited for his stomach to settle. The after taste in the back of his throat was terrible, but as he started to calm down he was filled with sudden violent surges of anger. He didn’t even consider why or against whom his anger was directed—whether it was at Cindy, his dead wife, his fucking children, or himself; all he knew was a blinding red rage that made him want to destroy something.
Sputtering, with water still dripping from his face, he straightened up and looked around the bathroom. The bright, clean tiles and empty toilet stalls seemed almost to mock him. He clenched his fists tightly and watched the veins in his arms fill with blood. Muscles and tendons stood out on his arms like knotted strands of rope. A low cry started to build inside him, and before he knew what he was doing he lunged forward and punched the mirror as hard as he could. It shattered and spilled broken glass onto the counter. Spinning around on his heel, he punched the door of the nearest stall. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his hand, but he was satisfied when he saw the cratered dent he made. Lashing out wildly, he kicked and punched his way down the line of stalls, not caring where his blows landed. The restroom echoed with deafening booms like pounding drum rolls as he flailed around, smashing anything he connected with. A spinning kick knocked the paper towel dispenser off the wall. It clattered on the floor, echoing as loud as a car accident.
The outburst didn’t last long, no more than half a minute. When it was over, Alex stood there in the middle of the restroom floor, leaning over with his hands on his knees and panting heavily as he scanned the damage he had done. He saw the gigantic spider-web crack in the mirror but didn’t even remember doing. Looking at his fists, he expected to see that they were bruised and bleeding from cut glass, but, except for a bone-deep ache, they seemed fine… for now. The pain might come later. The doors of the toilet stalls, especially the one closest to him, looked like someone had been pelting them with barrages of rocks. One door was hanging from a single hinge. There were streamers of toilet paper strewn all across the floor like there had been a ticker-tape celebration in the room.
“All right, goddamnit,” Alex whispered, wincing as he wiped the sweat from his upper lip on his forearm.
He went over to the sink and washed his face again as best he could, then dried himself with a handful of paper towels he picked up off the floor. His whole body was vibrating with tension as he started for the door, feeling equally exhilarated and close to physical collapse. He was mildly surprised that no one from the restaurant had heard what he was doing in there and had come in to investigate. Either they were all deaf, or else they were used to shit like that happening now and again.
What the fuck!
It didn’t matter.
As he stepped out into the hallway and headed back to the counter, Alex decided that he wasn’t very hungry. His plate of eggs and bacon sat steaming on the counter, but he simply nodded at Brenda and walked past her for the front door. Over the waitress’s shouted protests that he couldn’t stick her with his tab he went outside, got into the van, and drove away. He had decided that what he needed right now was about twelve hours of sleep, then he’d see what he wanted to do about Cindy.
And so what if he couldn’t go back to Denny’s any more. He was getting tired of their fucking food, anyway!
2
Now that school had started and the kids weren’t around the apartment for most of day Cindy had no idea what to do with herself. Every day, rain or shine, Billy chose to walk the mile or so to and from school with his friends, Chris and Michael. Rather than have Krissy ride the school bus, Cindy picked her up from school around two o’clock. That still gave her almost six hours a d
ay where she had absolutely nothing to do. After the first full week of school, she realized that she could clean the apartment and do laundry only so much. Starting with the second week of school, she spent a lot of time shopping at the Maine Mall and wandering around downtown on Exchange Street, looking at all the quaint shops.
Although money wasn’t a problem—not yet, anyway—Cindy considered applying for a part time job, if only so she’d have something to do with her time. The biggest obstacle was that there was no way she would be able to supply references from her bank job back home in Omaha. She considered lying about her experience, saying that she had been out of the work force for the past ten years while she raised her children, and now that her youngest was in school all day she was ready to start a career. She also realized the best thing she could probably get would be a job bagging groceries at the local Shop ’n Save. Besides, it had been risky enough opening a bank account and renting the apartment under her own name; there was no sense in advertising who she was to the police or anyone else.
In all this time, she still hadn’t stopped thinking about Harry and wondering why she hadn’t heard from him. She had long ago given up trying to call and leave a message on his answering machine. His total silence confounded her. Even if he intended to abandon her he should at least have been in touch with her so they could begin divorce proceedings, if it had come to that. Didn’t he owe her that much? She just couldn’t believe that, after all the years they’d been together, he could just drop her without a word. Even if he was hurt or in some kind of serious trouble, maybe with the business, she expected that he would at least call or contact her somehow.
She wracked her brain trying to think of some way to get in touch with him, but everything she came up with seemed too risky. Contacting an old friend in the area was out of the question because she didn’t want to involve anyone, no matter how worried she was. She knew that he would have to sign for a registered letter if she sent one, but she didn’t want anything going to Omaha with her new address on it. She had considered asking Alice if she could use her name and address for such a letter, but after the night when she had unloaded her whole story on her, Cindy didn’t feel at all comfortable asking Alice to get any more involved. It was one thing to know what was going on, but quite another to ask for help with this complicated business.
No, as painful as it was, it was best to leave things as they were and just hope… yes, hope, even after this long, that he would eventually get in touch.
Friday morning started out chilly and foggy, but by eleven o’clock, the sun broke through, and a surprisingly warm current of Indian Summer heat blanketed the city. Cindy thought it might be fun to pack a lunch and drive out to Fort Williams, near Portland Headlight, for a picnic, but waves of loneliness rippled through her as she got ready. She found herself wishing that Alice wasn’t at work so she could invite her along, but she told herself that she had to get used to doing things by herself. Even if she ended up keeping Krissy and Billy until they grew up and moved away to college or whatever, she could see that they were starting to develop attachments here, lives of their own. She could almost envision them staying right here in Portland, making new lives for themselves—Cindy without her husband, and the kids without their mother and father. The pain of all of their losses would go away… eventually.
She drove across town and took Shore Road in Cape Elizabeth out to the lighthouse. With every mile, she felt her nervousness slowly unwinding. She kept telling herself to believe that everything was going to be all right; they had made it through the roughest part. Now all she had to do was wait a few months and then contact a lawyer so she could begin working to gain legal custody of Billy and Krissy.
Everything was going just fine, she told herself, even though a small whispering voice in the back of her mind told her not to believe it.
Summer, apparently, was giving one last strong kick before allowing Autumn to settle in. There weren’t many people at the park, only a few mothers with preschoolers and a few groups of men and women dressed in business suits and dresses, obviously taking advantage of the nice weather during their lunch hour. Cindy parked the car, took her lunch, and walked over to one of the picnic tables close to the, cliffs that looked down at the rocky shoreline. Having spent her entire life in the midwest, she was astounded by the power and beauty of the ocean. Close to the shore, strands of kelp and seaweed swayed in the green pull of the tide like loose tangles of hair. Further out, the ocean was a shade of brilliant blue that she was sure she had never seen before in her life. Small boats, mostly lobster and fishing boats mixed with a few pleasure crafts, dotted the inner harbor while far out to sea, moving imperceptibly along the horizon line, was the dim silhouette of what looked like an oil tanker. Seagulls wheeled high overhead, calling out their harsh cries as they were buffeted about like stringless kites in the strong, salty breeze that blew in off the water.
Cindy ate her lunch slowly and in silence, often closing her eyes and leaning her head back to allow the sunshine and fresh air to work at soothing her nerves. After she was finished, she threw her trash away and wandered along the network of narrow paths that wound through the thick stands of scrub pine, sumac, and wild roses that clung to the rocky cliffs. The chilly nights had already started to change the color of the leaves, so mixed in among the bright green were shocking explosions of bright yellows and fiery reds. Cindy found the damp, woodsy smell mixed with the ocean air unbelievably refreshing. She was surprised when she glanced at her watch and saw that she had already been here walking around for almost an hour. There was no hurry, but she would have to leave within the next half hour or soil she were going to be in time to pick up Krissy from school.
She followed the trail out to the crumbling ruins of the old fort, which commanded a beautiful view of Casco Bay. After looking around awhile, soaking in the view while trying hard to ignore the bright splashes of spray-painted graffiti, she hiked back up the slope to where she had left her car. Breathing heavily from the unaccustomed exertion, she started up her car and headed back through South Portland. The brief respite from her worries seemed to have passed by in a flash. In no time she could feel the familiar dark gloom pressing down around her, enveloping her like a blanket.
Jesus, this isn’t any good, she thought, sighing heavily and chewing on her lower lip as she drove. This isn’t good at all to let things get me so down… It’s not good for me or the kids.
She drove through Cape Elizabeth and South Portland, and was just rounding the long curve after crossing the Million Dollar Bridge into Portland when a loud thump sounded from underneath the car.
“Oh, shit!” she shouted.
For a split second, she thought she had hit something in the road that she hadn’t seen, but then she recognized the sound and realized it was a flat tire. The car swayed heavily around the turn, the steering wheel almost pulling from her grip, but she held onto it, fighting hard to keep it under control. For a terrifying instant, the guard rail loomed close, but in spite of the dragging pull, she negotiated the curve and pulled off the road into the first available space she saw. After shutting off the engine, she took the keys from the ignition, slid across the seat, and got out on the passenger’s side.
“Goddamnit!” she shouted once she was standing on the roadside and staring at the fiat. For a flickering instant, she felt a curious dissociation, as if this couldn’t really be happening to her; but there it was. The tire was squashed flat, looking like it had melted into the roadside.
Heaving a trembling sigh of frustration, she glanced at her watch and did a quick mental calculation. If she could get the tire changed within five or ten minutes, she’d still be on time to pick up Krissy. She wished she had a car phone so she could call the school and tell them what had happened. She swore again, louder, when she opened the trunk and saw that the spare tire was flat, too. Sputtering with anger, she hauled back and kicked the side of the car, denting it slightly.
“Goddamnit!”
A sudden blast from a car’s horn drew her attention, making her yelp with surprise as she shook her head and looked around for the source. A white van had just come around the curve, moving slower than the rest of the traffic. Cindy squinted, unable to see the driver through the sunlight glaring off his windshield, but she saw a hand rise up and wave to her as if he recognized her. The brake lights flickered as if he were about to stop, so she waved, hoping this was the help she needed, but the driver—whoever he was—drove right past her, turned left at the next intersection, and was gone, leaving behind a thin haze of exhaust.
“Shit! Fuck! Damnit!” Cindy cried, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
3
Krissy came slowly down the school walkway, her eyes flicking quickly back and forth as she scanned the schoolyard trying to spot her aunt’s car. All around her, laughing and yelling kids streamed from the school building to the buses and the cars that were waiting at the curb, but she didn’t see her aunt’s light blue one anywhere. On the street in front of the school, more cars and trucks whizzed by, their tires making loud tearing sounds on the road. As her tension mounted, everything seemed to start moving in dreamy slow-motion as Krissy’s hands clenched into fists and she looked around, expecting to see… something else—Like maybe the blue lady, she thought, feeling a clammy ripple go through her.
Is she around here somewhere?