Hot Springs

by Geoffrey Becker

  Robin went over to the Scrabble board and began to put the pieces away. “Listen,” she said. “This is really nothing to do with me. I think maybe you guys need to go someplace and talk. Obviously, you’ve got stuff to work out. A little talk never hurt anything.” She paused, then looked up. “I still say calzone is illegal.”

  “Our daughter was kidnapped,” Tessa said. “Or abducted. Taken away.”

  Robin put the bag of tiles down onto the table.

  “We don’t know where she is.”

  “Is it about money? Do you think it was about money?”

  “No,” said Tessa. “It’s not.”

  “That’s enough,” said David.

  “Was there, like, a note?”

  “You see, we know who took her. We just don’t know where.” She looked at David, who had shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, ones she had washed for him just last night. She peered down the hall toward where she figured the bedroom was. Had they done it already? Were they getting ready to do it? Was Scrabble some sort of turn-on for them? She didn’t know anything. The energy she’d felt moments ago was draining from her like water. She had the idea that she must be hungry, and she thought about asking for a sandwich. Nothing seemed real anymore.

  “You’re not going to faint, are you?” asked Robin.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  David came toward her again and put his arms out in a gesture that indicated he was going to hug her. At the last moment, she suddenly brought her hands up to cover her face—she didn’t want his hug—and her right hand came in sharp contact with his nose, her finger actually traveling some distance up his nostril.

  “Ow!” he said, jumping back. “What the hell?”

  “Are you OK?” She tried to see past his hand, which he held tight against his face. There was blood coming out from underneath it. “You should lie down. We need a paper towel. Can he lie down someplace?”

  “There,” Robin said. “Why don’t you use the sofa? But try not to get a mess all over, huh? I’ll get the paper towels.”

  David found his way to the sofa and lay back. Tessa arranged an embroidered pillow—she liked Robin’s things—under his head. “Serves you right,” she said.

  “You hit me.” His voice was muffled by his hand.

  Robin brought over the towels, which she’d dampened under the faucet. Tessa took them and put them in David’s hand, tearing one off and using it to clean some of the blood off his cheek. “Noses can really gush if you bump them right,” she said. “You just keep applying pressure and don’t change position.”

  “I’m going out for a cigarette,” said Robin. “You want to come?”

  “I don’t smoke,” said Tessa, looking with concern at the figure of her husband clutching a wad of bloody towels to his face.

  “I didn’t think you did. You could still come out.”

  She stood and followed Robin into the evening air.

  Robin closed the door behind them and lit her cigarette. Tessa’s parents had smoked, and she’d always loved the toasty, fresh smell of her dad’s Camels or her mom’s Marlboros right after they lit them. She had this thought, and then wondered at the way her mind was wandering these days. She might be going crazy.

  “Do you think you broke it?” asked Robin, after a while.

  “Nope. Though maybe I should have.”

  Robin took another long drag on her cigarette. Her fingers, Tessa noticed, were long and bony. She could hear the sounds of a baseball game on someone’s television coming from across the street. “I’m really sorry about this,” said Robin.

  “Thanks.”

  “There’s Chinese food coming in a little while.”

  “Ah,” said Tessa.

  She took another drag and exhaled. “Did you know that your husband doesn’t pay income taxes?”

  “No, I didn’t. What do you mean?”

  “I mean that he thinks he’s exempt.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I’m the office wife, right? IRS sends stuff all the time. He ignores it, mostly. We talked about it one time and he launched into this whole explanation about taxes being illegal, anyway. I think he believes it, and maybe he’s right, but so what? The U.S. government believes we’re supposed to pay them, and when you get right down to it, they’re the ones with the guns and badges.”

  Tessa listened to the baseball game, thought how calm it sounded, how much like summer. “I don’t get involved in the finances.”

  “I didn’t figure you did. That’s why I’m telling you. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and it really does bother me. It’s you he’s hurting, too.”

  “I have other worries.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your daughter. Really. I can’t even imagine. I had a cat that ran off once, and I was busted up about it for two weeks. Made me swear off pets, actually. But, look, there’s another thing. Sort of bigger.” She paused. “I met the guy who took her.”

  “What?” said Tessa. “How?”

  Robin pushed her hair back from her forehead. “I bartend part-time, and he came in. We got to talking and I invited him to a party.”

  “How many boyfriends do you have?” asked Tessa.

  “None. Zero. I have no boyfriends. I’m currently playing the field.”

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I can explain it to you, then. I think maybe I don’t even like men that much. Sometimes I think that, anyway. But this guy was pretty nice. Name’s Landis.”

  Tessa watched the ember of Robin’s cigarette write script in the air. A gust of wind brought with it some pinpricks of rain. She thought again of the man she’d seen downtown. “Did you sleep with him, too?”

  She shook her head. “Uh-uh. But we did talk a bit.”

  “About Bernice?” said Tessa. “About Emily?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t realize it was your kid.”

  Tessa closed her eyes for a second, then opened them. “Did he tell you anything about where they took her? Is she still here in town?”

  “No.”

  “Well, where are they?”

  Robin stared at her. “I don’t know.” Tessa felt as if everything about her betrayed her weaknesses. Her outfit, tan pants and a matching top she’d ordered from J. Crew, and her necklace, three pieces of amber on a leather strap she’d bought at a boutique downtown, all of it spoke to the fact that she was a big phony. She’d actually dressed up to go meet her husband’s lover. What a loser.

  “Please?”

  “Honestly,” said Robin. “I don’t. If I did, I’d tell you. I didn’t even know you guys had adopted. Hey, was that about him or you? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I was—I had problems. I’m barren.”

  She took another drag and exhaled. “That sounds kind of biblical.”

  “I don’t see why. It’s just a word.”

  “What kind of problems? Do you want to say?”

  “Does it really matter?”

  Robin flicked her ash and peered in through the front window. “He’s still on the sofa,” she said. “I can see his feet sticking out.”

  “I need her back. Do you know what this is like? It’s like my heart was taken from me.”

  “Me, I’d be angry,” said Robin. “I’d want to kick some ass.”

  “I’m not like that,” said Tessa.

  “I guess I’d want to kick my ass, too. We didn’t do anything, incidentally. We were just waiting for the food.”

  “Thank you,” said Tessa.

  Robin nodded. “This Landis, he’s no criminal. I’ve known plenty of criminals. It would be a shame for him to end up in jail just because he tried to help his girlfriend do something she was convinced was right.”

  “She could have come and talked to us,” said Tessa. “For some reason, she hates us. She made sure we knew it from the moment she moved in. Living with her was like living with a piece of radioactive material.
I never did anything to her, never said an unkind word—nothing. In the beginning, I tried to think of it as my own pregnancy, but I gave up on that—I suppose it wasn’t fair to try. But she could have shared. One time, I found her eating ice cream in the kitchen at 2:00 AM, right out of the carton. I just stood, watching. She pretended she didn’t know I was there, which of course she did. She stood with her back to me, eating, taking her time. I kept thinking of things I could say, little conversation starters, but I heard them in my head and they sounded foolish, and so I kept quiet. After a while, she put the carton back in the freezer and tossed the spoon in the sink. Real loud. I wish now I’d said something. I wasn’t mad. I wanted her to eat ice cream. If only she’d given me a chance, I’d have liked to eat it out of the carton with her.”

  “The old fuck-you spoon toss.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t know where they are,” said Robin, “or where they went. He was careful not to tell me actual details, because then I’d be involved.” She bit her lip. “And yet here I am, involved. But I gave him my number. He might call.” She stubbed out her cigarette. “You can come stay with me if you want to. I have a spare room. I hate to see someone so beaten up like you are.”

  Tessa just looked at her.

  “Dumb idea?”

  They were joined on the porch by David, still holding a paper towel to his nose. “We should go,” he said.

  “You could have told me about this stuff,” said Robin. “I can’t believe you didn’t.”

  “It’s none of your business,” he said.

  “Oh, right, because I’m just your employee.”

  He took Tessa’s arm and steered her off the porch, and Tessa did not resist. It was raining harder now, and she could taste it, and there was a hard, mineral smell in the air. “I could use you Friday,” he said to Robin.

  “Use me how?” she shouted.

  David walked Tessa to the door of her car. “She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said, leaning close.

  “Is that supposed to make it better? That makes it worse.”

  “Hey.” His voice was soft—flirty, even. “Let’s not go home. Let’s do Bear Canyon.”

  “Why? Why would we do a thing like that?”

  “Shhh,” he said. “I think we should go.” He touched her cheek. “I think we need to.”

  “It’s late.” She heard how the word hung in the air. Late in lots of ways. Possibly too late.

  “Please?” He had a plug of paper towel up one nostril. In spite of everything, she found herself listening to him. Who are you?she’d have said, if this were a romance, or a made-for-TV crime movie. Who are you, David Harding?But she knew. She knew exactly who he was. She’d watched him struggle into his socks in the morning. She’d prayed with him before morning coffee and Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and before take-out fried chicken. Even as the eye behind the camera that had taken those pictures of Robin, she knew him.

  One of God’s children.

  She followed his taillights through town, down Tejon, west on Boulder. Eventually they worked their way out of the densely populated areas, and the bungalows gave way to development housing, some of it military, and that gave way to rocky, open terrain as they headed up into the mountains. They finally parked just short of the trailhead, her car nosed right up behind his bumper. Bear Canyon was a one-mile hike, nothing too strenuous, that culminated in a summit with good views and a few big rocks suitable for a picnic, something they’d done back in the days when they were still dating, before they’d bought the house.

  “It’s kind of dark for this, don’t you think?” she said when they were both out of their cars.

  He flicked on a small flashlight, then flicked it off. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just remember to pick up your feet.” Then he began hiking up the trail at a fast clip. Within moments, his white shirt disappeared ahead of her. He was an athlete—on weekends he ran the abandoned Incline Railway in Manitou, climbing the old ties like steps. She wasn’t wearing the right shoes for this sort of thing, but at least she hadn’t worn heels.

  A couple of times she managed to catch up, but then she lost sight of him again. After a while, it was hopeless. She didn’t know where he was. She could no longer hear his breathing up ahead, and the path had a thick covering of dead leaves on it, so his footfalls were inaudible. It even occurred to her that he might be playing some sort of trick—that he had circled around and was now actually behind her and planning to sneak up and surprise her. For a moment she felt panicked and wondered why she was doing this. She could only see a few feet in front of her. And yet, she was closer to the top than the bottom at this point, and she’d certainly been up the trail enough times in the light, so it wasn’t particularly scary. Her own breathing sounded deep and labored as she hurried upward, sweat pooling on her brow and dampening her underarms. It was unusually humid out, and the chill air emanated from both sides of the path, as if the trees were refrigerated.

  Finally, she emerged at the summit. David was seated on a rock, playing the beam of the flashlight around on the boulders and trees. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. She went to him and took it. He stood and together they walked over to the edge. Tessa had never liked heights much. She didn’t even particularly like looking down a flight of stairs. Below and across from them, Seven Falls was lit by a series of colored floodlights. In the dark, it almost seemed like something she could reach out and touch with her hand, though she knew what was in front of her was a deep canyon.

  “You haven’t been fair to me,” he said. “This hasn’t been right.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m the one in charge. I’m the head of the family, I make our decisions. You know that. Understand that we are always under his watchful eye.” He moved behind her and grasped both her arms tightly. “I’m going to do something now, all right?”

  “What?” She tensed, suddenly afraid.

  “A test. For both of us. You need to trust me. That’s your job. Even now, knowing that I’ve been unfaithful to you, you need to trust me. Can you do that?” His hands were squeezing her so hard that her arms hurt.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered. “OK.”

  She closed her eyes and waited for him to throw her off the cliff—she felt certain that that was what was coming. Trembling, she anticipated the weightlessness, the initial collision with something—would it be a tree first? a boulder?—the few moments of confusion mixed with pain, and then the surrender of thought. That part might be just the ticket. She was tired of thinking so hard. The past week had eaten away at her until she barely knew what she was anymore, or who. Perhaps the problem was her pride, her inability to surrender. If God was truly in charge, who was she to argue? She’d been keeping Emily in her mind constantly, feeling that somehow this gave her control, but wasn’t that just vanity? What control did she have over anything?

  She should never have hit him in the nose.

  She was being lifted up, and she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and heard the crunching of gravel, felt the world turn, smelled piñon pine. Every wise woman buildeth her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her own hands.

  “Here,” said her husband. He had lowered her to the ground, away from the precipice. She wasn’t falling, she wasn’t dead. This was the thing she’d needed to be reminded of, that only in giving herself completely to Jesus could she ever truly find salvation. She was on her knees, and David was in front of her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was pulling down his zipper. She shook her head. He took a handful of her hair and it was suddenly not her decision. “You want to,” he said. “Right here, where anyone could see us. Where he can see us. Say it.” He had his other hand in there, moving around. The one gripping her hair tightened.

  She was silent.

  “Say it,” he whispered.

  “I want to.”
/>   “I am your master,” he said. “You can never forget that.”

  She felt as if she’d opened a broom closet only to find a desert inside. As hard as she’d been clutching the past, she now understood that there was no going back, no regaining the state of innocence they’d been living in for the past five years. It hadn’t been real anyway, at least she didn’t think so. It was a holographic garden, all smoke and mirrors and piped-in scents.

  There was another insistent tug. She leaned forward and did as she was told.

  TWELVE

  They had been talking about naked people. You don’t see them like that, she’d told him. You look at lines and curves, light and dark.

  But isn’t it, like, distracting? Even a little bit?

  Not if you don’t let it be. Everything in the world isn’t about sex, dumbass.

  It was Christmas week, and Bernice had dropped in with her gift for her mother, a book of poems by the writer-in-residence at her school that she’d started to read, but found just made her squirmy. The school was private, in a northwest suburb, paid for by her grandmother. Bernice understood that she was seen as troubled—possibly even dangerous—by her classmates there, most of them rich kids who smoked and drank at least as much as she did, and this was fine with her because it meant that, for the most part, they left her alone. She didn’t know how people wrote poems like that, ones that admitted to things like longing and loneliness. Plus, it seemed so easy to fake. The book had been a gift to her, and she didn’t want it because she didn’t like the way the poet had looked at her when he’d said, Here, have this, as if she were something good to eat, after she’d come to his office to talk about the paper she was supposed to be writing on A Farewell to Arms but wasn’t. She had in fact thought about cutting the book up into pieces to use in a collage.

  Her mother was out—shopping, CC said. He’d only gotten up recently himself. His eyes were still puffy, and he needed a shave, and the denim shirt he wore was unbuttoned. He was feline, of the big-cat variety, mysterious, dark, sudden. Did she want coffee? He’d just made some. She said no, just some water. They sat at the kitchen table. She’d never been there before. When she and her mother got together, generally on weekends, and only about once a month, her mother always picked her up and took her out somewhere. It was dim inside the house, even though outside there was a cold, sunny day going on just a few feet away. Ballpoint-pen drawings of CC holding his guitar were tacked up on the wall and they made Bernice feel depressed—this was high-school-girl-crush stuff, not art. She saw cobwebs over the refrigerator, a blackened banana in a blue bowl next to the sink. I’ll bet you’ve got some boyfriends, he said. I’ll bet they’re all over you at that school of yours.