Harold felt badly about flipping the man off. Then, he thought the driver was trying to communicate that something was wrong with his car. Maybe a seat belt was hanging out or a wheel was shimmying or a tail light was out of commission. Harold could barely see the man’s face through the window, it was too dark of glass but he was sure he saw him smile. Then, all at once the SUV took an impetuous swerve toward his car. The mayor jerked the steering wheel nervously to the right and almost crossed the line into back-to-back traffic in that lane. The mayor looked angrily over to the black SUV. What the hell was wrong with this guy? The SUV’s window rolled slowly halfway down to reveal a large dark-haired man with black sunglasses. Even from the distance he could see the man’s mottled skin. The man motioned at Pyle to lower his window.
Stopping himself from another too-quick-to-act decision, Harold decided to take a couple of deep breaths. He would apologize to this volatile creature then be on his way.
Harold pressed on the window control his eyes darting in-between the cars in front of him and to the man beside him. But, before he could get out his apology, the guy yelled out something that he couldn’t quite make out. From the rush of the cars, the wind took the breath of the driver’s voice away along with the speeding cars.
“What?” The mayor yelled louder. The mayor directed his eyes between cars in front, in the mirror behind, to the passenger side-view and back to the driver of the S-UV. Each time the mayor could glance at the man, he was looking at the traffic as well. Finally, the man and he looked at each other catching their timing just right. The man smiled strangely and shouted again something once again inaudible. “You’re… man.” But again, the rushing wind swept his words away.
“I’m sorry! I apologize.” Harold yelled as loud as his voice could manage. There. That should do it. The mayor began rolling up his window but the man began his incessant honking again.
Then, he yelled louder and the mayor barely could understand the man’s entire statement. It was drummed out by other honking, tires whirring, engines rolling forward, forward, forward, and sirens in the distance.
Harold repeated his regret. “I said, ‘I’m sorry! I apologize!” The mayor’s voice was even louder this time. As loud as he believed he could yell.
“You’re a D-E-A-D man!” The driver’s voice boomed out the threat. The mayor couldn’t believe what he was saying. He looked into the rear view at his face in doubt. Maybe he’d misunderstood. The noise was thunderous. He could have been mistaken. Harold looked once again at the man.
Then the driver repeated with a boom and nodding his head. “You’re a dead man, Mayor!”
Pyle’s eyes widened and he rolled up his window.
He sped up and drove into the next lane to his right. The man followed and sped up onto his tail. The mayor pushed onto the accelerator and slipped into the left lane, then again to the left lane next to that one. The man did the same. The mayor sped up again now cruising close to 85 m.p.h. and swerved with less control to the furthest lane he could without entering the high occupancy lane. The man copied his every move. Speeding up, changing lanes, speeding up again. The mayor began to panic and slipped quickly without looking into the H-O-V lane and almost cut off a woman with a toddler in a child’s seat in the back. The mayor quickly yanked his steering wheel in order to compensate but his Avalon drifted a little too far to the right and slipped luckily between two other cars. Traffic peeled away from him as he snaked to the left then the right. His head was beaded in a profuse sweat and it trickled into his wide eyes. He grappled at something, anything to wipe his brow. The man in the black car showed up again this time on his passenger side, he rolled down his window. Harold did likewise. He’d talk this guy down. The man sneered with a cigarette hanging out of his glowering lips. Before Harold could say a word the man bellowed out of the car. “Having fun, Mayor?”
The mayor realized this wasn’t coincidence at all. He’d been set up. This goon was Pinzer’s henchman. But Pyle stared far too long at Tweeter and didn’t see the brake lights in front of him before it was too late.
CHAPTER 23
“Well, Georgie, you’ve been more than hospitable to me and I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“Not at all, Helen. Don’t be silly. I’ve enjoyed your company, actually. Since Bobby died I don’t get a lot of visitors.” I thought back and realized I’d never gotten a lot of visitors even when he was alive, but decided to keep it to myself.
“Well, Harold should be back soon and I don’t want to be late with his dinner. Thanks again, Georgie. Can we do it again sometime?”
“I’d love to.”
“Then, till next time.”
“Bye, Helen.” Helen got into her car then drove off and Gangster ran outside between my legs.
“You be careful, cat. You’re coming back in again in a little bit so don’t go too far!” My yelling sounded like some insane mother with a reckless toddler. I wondered if the neighbors ever heard me.
While cleaning up after our wine, my thoughts turned to Helen, having her stop by felt good in one sense and odd in another. She seemed very closed-off, cool. Even so, it was nice to have a friend and I figured they came in all shapes, sizes, colors, and moods. I chalked off Helen’s distant personality to acting the wife of a politician and felt a little sorry for her.
***
The digital display on my phone read: Pyle, Harold. When I picked up the phone she sounded overly cool like when there’s the sudden drop in temperature before a thunder storm.
“Helen, what time is it?”
“I’m sorry to wake you. Oh, Georgette, call me back when you get up. It can wait until tomorrow.”
I looked at the clock, it was just minutes before midnight. I knew if she was calling this late it was because she felt the need to. “No, it’s fine. What’s up, Helen?”
“Oh, how do I say this?”
“What Helen?” She had gotten my attention by sounding more worried about the situation than the time. “What is it?” I pressed her harder.
“It’s Harold. It seems he’s gotten himself into an accident—on the freeway, leaving Phoenix.”
“Oh my god , Helen.” I adjusted myself up into a sitting position. “Is he okay?”
“Well, that’s just it, Georgie. The doctors say that I should just wait to come down till tomorrow. That he’s not responding neurologically. He’s stabilized. He’s out of immediate danger. But, he’s not responding neurologically. That’s what they said.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Harold is in some sort of coma.”
“I’ll be right over.”
I pushed the cat out of the way and jumped up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, called Vanessa explained the situation and told her to meet me at the Pyle’s.
It hadn’t been so many weeks since Bobby had died and I understood how fragile you become when submerged in a crisis. The crying, pulling yourself together, putting on a strong front, the eventual acquiescence into emotional upheaval, but mostly the crying, the crying, the crying.
***
The night had taken on a misty feel like one normally found around coastal settings. White, red, yellow, and green halos wrapped around stoplights and looked eerie against the dark sky. Each changing light blurred in the humid air, glowing orbs wrapped in undulating haze. Odd for the desert. I looked up at the moon and saw an expanding ring around it. Rain’s coming. A spring rain looked like it might be headed our way.
As I drove up to Helen’s, only one fragmented light was lit, the one she kept on her kitchen table. The one with yellow red and blue glass. The one that looked like a Picasso painting—her writing lamp.
I could see two bodies inside as I made my way into her drive. Helen’s car was visible in her garage which was opened and looked like a big dark yawning mouth. When I got out of my car a motion-sensing light clicked on that flooded the front of her house and lawn. It glared unnaturally. Knowing Helen by now, I figured this must h
ave been one of Harold’s ideas. Helen wouldn’t dare add anything that garish to her environment.
The meandering walkway of the house took on blackened hues between the night sky and the bright spotlight that angled off of bushes and trees and bent like a lurking monster in the dark. By the time I got to Helen’s front door she was standing inside it behind the screen.
“You really didn’t have to come over, Georgie. It’s way beyond the call of duty, really.” She spoke quietly as she let me in.
“It’s nothing.” I grabbed her around the shoulders in an embrace and she held me tight while we stood in the open door. For the first time in a long time someone held me longer than I’d held them. When we pulled away from each other I could see Helen’s eyes had been closed from the hug. She was opening them slowly.
“Come in. Have a glass of wine.” She closed the door behind me and I heard someone getting another glass from the cupboard and heard the glug of wine being poured into it.
“This is becoming a habit.” The voice, the unmistakable voice, offered commentary to the evening.
“Hi, Van.” I said.
“Hey. Helen and I decided to partake. So, you’re going to too.” She never asked permissions, only gave orders but they were mostly kind orders.
“Line me up.”
Helen seemed a bit out of kilter, which I’d expected she would. Her floral purse sat on top of the counter and was unlatched. There was an envelope sitting next to her purse with the flap side up and when I walked in she moved ahead of me and slid it into her bag, then latched it, and hung it off the back of her wooden chair. “Here.” Van handed me a glass.
“How’d you get here? I didn’t see your car.”
“I walked. Felt like I could use the fresh air.” “Looks like rain.”
“Wouldn’t that be a sign the gods cared about the little town of Sunnydale”
We fell in around the table. They took their respective seats and I pulled out an unclaimed chair and sat down in front of my wine glass.
“Hear anything more, Helen?” I lifted my glass and took a sip.
“No. I’ve been waiting. Waiting and writing. This seems so familiar. Like when Bobby…” Her thought trailed off and she looked out the window onto some remembered
past within the arms of the black scene outside.
Van and I made an unnoticeable exchange.
“You just don’t worry. Sometimes head injuries are like that.” Vanessa spoke with authority. “Miraculous things have happened. The brain is an amazing piece of machinery. Try not to worry.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” She looked in our direction again. “More concerned than worried.”
We waited for her to continue.
“I’m tossed. Tossed between him dying and… oh, god save my soul for saying this…” Her hands came up to cover her mouth. “And, me living.” She covered her eyes and wept.
What do you say at a confessional? Well, I’d never been much of a churchgoer, that’s for sure! But I knew that although you might beg God for forgiveness, he might not always grant it. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Vanessa said something like, “There, there. You’re just upset.” But then the words just fell out of my mouth. I’d neither the inclination nor the desire to hold them back and it was only after I’d spoken I realized how harshly they sounded.
“If it’s so bad Helen why don’t you just get a divorce?”
I was quick to anger and my chin tightened and I could tell it was quivering.
They both looked at me stunned. Vanessa particularly. I went on anyway. “Well really, Van, Jesus. You and I both know things can get bad but I never wished Bobby dead, not once. Did you?” Even as I spoke the words my thoughts whipped back to my and Bobby’s last fight, our last night. Anger can make a person wish the worst.
“Georgie, quiet.”
“Well, did you?” My eyes glared at Vanessa, if for no other reason but some misplaced validation for this worst of human emotions. Even so, I turned my ire back to Helen and went on. “You should be ashamed of yourself Helen for even thinking something like that, let alone saying it. I thought we were here to console you not devise some catch-net in hopes of Harold’s passing. And, you Van, to accept this as “okay” is beyond my sense of understanding.” I paused but only for a beat and started up again.
“Did you ever wish Bobby were dead during your divorce?” I looked at her demanding an answer.
“You want to go at this now?”
My response was to stare her down.
“Okay, okay. Let’s do it. Yes! There I said it. I wished he were dead instead of with another woman. Yes.” Her face softened and looked at Helen. “Yes, god damn you, Georgette. I’m so ashamed of it now. When he did die all I could think was that I’d brought it on somehow. I know it’s ridiculous, but…”
Then, Helen chimed in. “How did this evening get to be about the two of you?” She stood and when she did her chair scuffed noisily on the tile floor. “How dare you judge me.” She glared at me. “How dare you.” She turned her wrath on Vanessa. “Bob was a good man.
You two had been having trouble for a long time Vanessa. Why do you think you have the right to wish him dead? He was a good man. Honest. Caring. Gentle. “I knew a man like him once.” We both looked up as she continued her tirade. “Yes, after I was married to Harold. We had an affair, a one-night stand once. It all happened so suddenly and sweetly. I told Harold— asked him for a divorce.” When she said divorce she looked at me sternly. “He wouldn’t hear of it!” Her arms flew up. “I thought it was my way out. Then, Harold starting laying down laws, new laws—that I ‘must be home by three in the afternoon and that I wasn’t to go out ‘with the girls’…” As she continued Vanessa sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. Her mouth had dropped slightly in what I took as her disbelief in Helen’s sudden burst of backbone. “So, don’t either one of you decide what you think is right and wrong for Helen. Little Miss Helen Pyle can make her own decisions, don’t think otherwise.” She sat stiffly and abruptly back into her seat. Her arms like her mood were crossed. “Now, I think it’s time you both leave.
I’m up early tomorrow to go to Phoenix.”
Apologizing at this point would have seemed sleazy, teenage. I pushed my chair in under the table and smacked Vanessa on the arm. She seemed to be taking too long to stand.
“Helen, honestly, I’m sorry.” Vanessa said it as sincerely as she could under the circumstances. I knew she was trying to think of how badly Helen was feeling at the moment. But, it still sounded cheap.
“Jesus, Van, come on.” I hit her arm again. This time she moved.
Outside the night had become windy while we sat inside discussing life and death and our husbands. You could feel the mugginess wrap around your skin like a wetsuit. The air smelled of creosote and honeysuckle. It smelled as though someone left a sprinkler on a dry dusty road. I could almost taste mud pie.
We were definitely in for some bad weather.
CHAPTER 24
The next night ended like a bad dream, with monsters and spiders, a horrible recurring nightmare. But, this time it was worse, much, much worse.
It had been pissing down rain ever since around seven in the morning. Roads were flooded and there had been a rumor they might even close the school until it cleared up a bit.
The diner was closed and Vanessa went A-W-O-L.
Everyone was looking for her. I’d called her house, Roberta, the diner, the only places Vanessa seemed to frequent these days and she was nowhere, it was like she’d vanished. I even called Helen. But, after the phone rang and rang I remembered she had planned to go see Harold in Phoenix. When Roberta got my call it must have upset her because she started on a search of her own. José called me that morning too and I told him if he saw her anywhere to tell her to call. He was going in to check on the garden and he said if she came by he would relay the message.
The morning sun lifted high into the sky and began its descent. By then
, around two o’clock, my inner voice began to tell me things I didn’t want to hear.
Something is wrong, go to her house, start walking the streets calling her name like you would if you lost Gangster, just do something!
When I drove up and Roberta’s car was already parked in her driveway. She came out of the kitchen door and walked slowly up the walk toward me. She was shaking her head and looking down as she walked. My heart started to pound.
Roberta leaned into the window. “She’s not here.”
“Oh, Christ, Roberta. You scared me, shakin’ your head and all. I didn’t know what to think.”
“Sorry.” Roberta answered curtly. She never talked kindly to me.
“Well, I guess we better keep lookin’, huh?”
“She’ll turn up.”
“She’s never been gone this long without telling someone.” Roberta sneered at my whining voice.
“You’ve known her now for how long? And, you’re telling me, her daughter, she’s never done this before. Is that it, Georgette?” She hated me.
“I didn’t, I didn’t mean…” My head was shaking and I was trying to think up something to say.
She stood up straight and looked down on me.
“If I hear from her I’ll tell her you’ve been looking for her.” I moved out of the way as she walked between me and her car. She opened it and got in.
As I stood by the driveway I realized I’d lulled myself into believing Roberta was accepting me somehow but had forgotten how deeply the divorce cut her. I was the other woman, deeply imbued in her mother’s life, her life. The hum of her motor buzzed in the background of my thoughts. She pushed her horn, just once, short. It jolted me from my thoughts. My car blocked her. I hurried to get in and I pulled out far enough for her to pull out in front of me. She did and drove off.
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