“You sure you’re okay?” Hank asked as they put their tools in Oscar’s garden shed.
“Yeah, yeah.”
He biked home, ate a dinner he didn’t notice. Afterwards he stood in the atrium for ten minutes fidgeting, then walked over to Ramona’s house. He couldn’t help it.
Hesitantly he knocked at the kitchen door, looked in. Pedro, Ramona’s father, was in there washing dishes. “Come on in,” Pedro said.
“Thanks. Is Ramona home?”
“I don’t think so. She didn’t eat here.”
“Do you know where she is?”
“Nope. Actually I thought she was at your place. I haven’t seen her today.”
“Oh.” Kevin shifted uncomfortably. Part of him wondered how much Pedro knew, but mostly he was thinking where is she? He found he couldn’t talk very well. Pedro was shorter than Ramona but he had the same coloring, his black hair now sprinkled with white. A handsome man. The way he spoke reminded Kevin of Ramona, obviously the daughter had imitated him in years past. Now there was just the same crease between his eyebrows, a mild frown of concern as he chatted.
“I guess I’ll try back tomorrow,” Kevin said. “Will you tell her I dropped by?”
“Sure. Do you want me to have her call you when she gets in?”
“Yeah,” he said gratefully, “do that.”
But that was a mistake, because he spent the evening waiting for the phone to ring. Well into the night, in fact. And it never rang.
The next day he worked in the morning, and then spent the afternoon up at Tom’s, working on the pump, which had broken. While he was there Tom got a call, and spent half an hour inside.
When Tom came back down to the pump he said, “My friends think there may be an outside connection in the Heartech-Avending deal.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means Avending or Heartech might have an illegal source of capital. It might be here or it might be in Hong Kong, they’re getting signs of both.”
“Hong Kong?”
“The Chinese are using Hong Kong to generate money—they overlook all kinds of black conglomerates there, even though they’ve agreed to the international protocols that should make the conglomerates illegal. Then the Chinese zap them for a good bit of whatever profit they make.”
“So we might have something. That would be nice.”
“Nice? If my friends can pin it down, that would do your job for you! What’s bugging you, boy?”
“Nothing. I’m just wondering how it will all turn out, that’s all. Say, where’s Nadezhda?”
“She’s down at her ship. They’ll be leaving before too long—I guess they’ve got a delay. Waiting for some stuff from Minnesota.”
Kevin listened to Tom talk about it for a while, but there was grit in his thinking, and he kept losing track of the conversation. Finally Tom said, “Go home, boy, you must be tired. Get some rest.”
* * *
Then when he got home he found Ramona sitting in the kitchen, helping Denise and Jay with their homework. She looked up at him and smiled, and he felt a rush of relief so powerful that he had to sit. Until that moment he hadn’t known how anxious he was.
Ramona set the kids to work on their own, led Kevin into the atrium. He caught her up in the dark and gave her a hug. She hugged back, but there was a stiffness in her spine, and she avoided his kiss. He pulled back frowning, the knot back in his stomach.
She laughed at his expression. “Don’t worry!” she said, and leaned up to kiss him briefly.
“What happened? Where have you been? What did he want? Why didn’t you call?”
Ramona laughed again, led him by the hand to poolside. They sat on the low chairs.
“Well, I’ve been talking to Alfredo,” she said. “I guess that answers all your questions at once. He came over yesterday morning to talk about things, apparently. Then when he found you there and realized we had spent the night together, he—well, he fell apart. He needed to talk anyway, and the more that sank in, the more he needed to.”
“About what?”
“About him and me. You know. What happened, what went wrong.”
“Does he want you two to get back together?” Kevin asked, hearing the strain in his voice.
“Well.” She looked away. “Maybe so. I’m not sure why, though, even after all the talking we did. I don’t know.”
“And you?” Kevin asked, pressing right to the point, too nervous to avoid it.
Ramona reach over, took his hand. “I … I don’t know what I want, Kev.”
He felt his diaphragm seizing up, getting tighter with every breath, every absence of breath. Oh my God, he thought. Oh my God.
“I mean,” she said, “Alfredo and I were together for a long time. We went through a lot together. But a lot of it was bad. Really bad. And you and I—well, you know how I feel about you, Kev. I love you. And I love the way we are together. I haven’t felt the way I have the last week in a long time.”
I’ve never felt like I have in the last week! Kevin wanted to say, and he only just bit back the words, suddenly frightened of speech.
“Anyway,” Ramona said, still squeezing his hand, “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I feel about things with Alfredo. He says he wants to get back together, but I don’t know.…”
“Seeing us together,” Kevin suggested.
“Yeah, I know. Believe me.” And suddenly she was blinking rapidly, about to cry. What was this? Kevin’s fright grew. “I don’t know what to do,” she exclaimed painfully. “I can’t be sure about Alfredo, and I hate having anything happen between you and me, to get in the way when we were just beginning!”
Exactly, Kevin thought, squeezing her hand in turn. Don’t let it! Should he say that, or would it just be more pressure? He shifted his chair closer to hers, tried to put an arm around her.
“But,” she said, pulling herself together, putting a hand to his arm and forestalling him. “The fact is, it’s happened. I can’t just ignore it. I mean that’s fifteen years of my life, there. I can’t just tell him to leave me alone, not after all that—especially—well, especially”—losing it again, voice getting desperate—“especially when I don’t know what I feel!” She turned to him beseechingly, said, “Don’t you see?”
“I see.” He couldn’t swallow well. His diaphragm was as hard as if a block of wood had been inserted under his ribs. “But Ramona,” he said, not able to stop himself, “I love you.”
“Ah,” she said, as if he’d stuck her with a pin; and suddenly he was terrified.
She threw herself up out of her chair as if to run away, collapsed against him as he stood, embraced him, head against his chest, breathing in convulsive gasps, almost sobs. Kevin held her against him, feeling her warmth, frightened in a way he had never been before. Another new feeling! It was as if he had been exiled from a whole enormous world of emotion, and now he was in it—but he wasn’t sure he wanted to be, because this love that caused him to clutch Ramona to him so tightly—this love made him so vulnerable.… If she left. He couldn’t think of it. Was this what it meant to be in love, to feel this horrible fear?
“Come upstairs,” he said into her hair.
“No,” she said, muffled into his shirt. “No.” She composed herself, sniffed hard, pulled away from him, stood fully. Eye to eye she faced him, her wet eyes unblinking, her gaze firm. “I’m not going to sleep with anybody for a while. It’s too … it’s too much. I need to know what I think, what I want. I’ve got to have some time to myself. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” he said, barely able to form the words. Such fear …
“I do love you,” she said, as if she had to convince him of it, as if he were doubting her. Horrible!
“I know,” he said weakly. He didn’t know what to say. He was stunned. A new world.
She was watching his face, nodding. “You should know,” she said firmly. Then, after a pause, “I’m going home now. I’ll see you at the gam
es and the street work and all. Please. Don’t worry.”
He laughed briefly, weakly. “Don’t worry.”
“Please?”
He took a deep breath. “Oh, Ramona…” His voice was unsteady, his throat suddenly clamped. “I won’t be able to help it,” he got out.
She sniffed, sighed. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got to have some time!” she cried softly, and darted forward to peck him with a kiss, and was off, across the dark atrium and out the door.
* * *
The following days were long. Kevin had never known this kind of tension, and it disagreed with him. At times he found himself wishing that Ramona and Alfredo had never broken up, that he had never thought of her as free, or gone up in the ultralite with her, or walked into the night hills with her, or spent the night in her room. Any of it. Better to leave him the way he had been before, happy in himself, in his own life! To have his happiness, even his ability to function, dependent on someone else … he hated it.
Two or three days passed, and he found out that Ramona had gone to San Diego to stay with friends. She left a short note on his house screen. Jody was substituting for her at school, and she expected to be away a week. Damn, he thought when he read the note. Why didn’t you tell me? Why are you doing this? Make up your mind! Don’t leave my whole life hanging like this!
Still, it was somewhat easier knowing that she wasn’t in town. He couldn’t see her, and didn’t have to decide not to try. Alfredo couldn’t see her either. He could try to pretend that everything was normal, go on with daily life.
That Wednesday’s town council meeting, for instance. It was an ordinary agenda on the face of it, fire-fighting equipment expenditures, the fate of the old oak on Prospect and Fairhaven, the raccoon problem along Santiago Creek, permission for a convenience store, et cetera. Alfredo led them through these matters with his usual skill, but without aplomb. To Kevin he seemed distracted and remote, his face still pinched. He never looked Kevin in the eye, but addressed him while tapping a pencil on his notes, looking down at them. Kevin for his part tried to appear as relaxed as he could, joking a bit with witnesses and the like. But it was an effort, an act. In reality he felt as nervous as Alfredo looked.
He wondered how many people at the meeting knew what was going on. Certainly many in town knew he and Ramona had been getting close. Oscar, over at his table with his moonlike impassive face; he wouldn’t be telling people about it. Nor Hank, nor Tom and Nadezhda. Jody? Gabriela or Mike? It would only take one leak for the story to spread everywhere, that was town life for you. Were some of the audience here tonight to see Alfredo and him pick at each other? Ach … no wonder Alfredo looked so guarded. Oh well. Not worth worrying about, not with the agenda in that department already full.
He remembered something Tom had said. “Every issue is related to this zoning change issue now, because you’re on a council of seven, and your ability to act is determined by your working relationship with the other six members. Some will be your opponents no matter what, but others are in the middle, undecided. Those are the ones you have to cultivate. You have to back them on the things they care about most. That’s the obvious angle. But then there’s the unobtrusive stuff, following up their remarks with something that reinforces what they said—asking them questions to defer to their areas of expertise—that sort of thing. It has to be subtle—very, very, very subtle. And continuous. You have to think, Kev. Diplomacy is hard work.”
So Kevin sucked on his coffee and worked. Hiroko Washington was impatient indeed with the witnesses who wanted the Santiago Creek raccoons left entirely alone. “Just where do you live? Do you have kids there?” she demanded of them. Jerry Geiger seemed down on the raccoon fans as well. It was doubtful Jerry could be influenced by anything, his memory was only one agenda item long, but still, both him and Hiroko …
“Have we got a population count on them?” Kevin asked the Fish and Game rep.
“No, not a recent one.”
“Can you guess reliably from the data you have?”
“Well…”
“Aren’t there maximum populations beyond which it’s bad for them?”
“Sure.”
“So we may be near that number, and killing some would be good for the remaining raccoons?”
“Sure.”
“How long would it take to make a count?”
And so on. And once or twice he saw Hiroko nod vigorously, and it was she who moved that a new population count be made. And Jerry who seconded it.
Good. Diplomacy in action. One hand washes the other. Kevin pursed his lips, feeling cynical. But it was a cynical business, diplomacy. He was beginning to understand that.
And then they were on to the convenience store, and he lost his close focus on it, and it all seemed trivial. My God, is this what it meant to be a citizen in a democracy? Is this what he was actually spending the evenings of his only life doing? His whole existence stood in the balance, and they were arguing over whether or not to give permission to build a convenience store?
And so the tension came and went, obsession then distraction.
* * *
How slowly time passed. Hours dragged like whole afternoons. He had trouble sleeping, nights seemed unbearably long. So much of life was wasted lying down, comatose. Sometimes, unable to sleep, he hated the very idea of sleep, hated the way his body forced him to live.
At work he kept forgetting what the next task was supposed to be. The June overcast extended into July, clouds rolling in from the sea every day. And he found himself standing on Oscar’s roof shivering, staring up at clouds, feeling stunned.
Hank and Gabby, who knew now what was going on, left him alone. Sometimes Hank brought along some dumpies of beer, and at the end of the day they sat down on stacks of two-by-eights and drank them, not saying much of anything. Then it was home for another long night.
Kevin took to spending a lot of time at the TV, talking with the house’s sister families around the world, catching up on what they were all doing. Awful the way people tended to ignore these humans who appeared on their screens once a month, in a regular rotation. Oh sure, there were occasional conversations over meals, but often the people on both sides of the screens avoided the commitments these screen relationships represented. Still, it only took paying attention, an inquiry, a hello; the translating machines went to work and there he was in another place, involved in distant lives. He needed that now, so he turned up the sound, faced the screen, said Hi, asked how people were doing. The Indonesian couple had just had their third child and were facing killer taxes. The South African family was complaining about their government’s bungling trade policies. The big Russian household near Moscow was building a new wing onto their complex, and they talked to Kevin for almost two hours about it. He promised to be there next month to check in on how they were doing.
And then every night the screen would go blank, and he’d be left with his own household, whatever members of it were at home. They were a distraction, though he would have preferred to talk to Tom. But Tom was usually out with Nadezhda. So he wished his sister would call. He would try calling her, but she was never in Dakka. He didn’t want to talk about it with his parents. Jill, however … he wanted to talk to her, needed to. But she was never home. He could only leave messages.
Life on pause. His hitting streak, going beyond all laws of chance and good fortune, began to seem like a macabre joke. He hated it. And yet it seemed vitally important that he keep it going, as if when the streak broke, he would too. Then he went to bat afraid, aware of the overwhelming likelihood of making an out. In one game, in his first at-bat he nubbed one but managed to beat it out. The next time he took a pitch on a full count, and Fred Spaulding called it a ball despite the funny bounce to one side that it took. The third time up he nubbed another one, directly in front of the plate. He took off running to first base thinking it’s over now, it’s over. But, as they told him afterward, the Tigers’ catcher, Joe Sampson, slipped on the st
rike carpet and fell face first into the grass, fingers just inches from the ball. And since the fielder had never touched the ball, it couldn’t be scored an error. It was a hit, even though the ball had traveled less than four feet.
“Holy moly,” Hank said afterwards. “That was the lamest two-for-two I ever expect to see in the life of the universe!”
Kevin could only hang his head and agree. The streak was a curse in disguise. It was mocking him, it was out to drive him crazy. Better if it were ended. And nothing would be easier, actually. He could just go up to the plate and whiff at a couple and it would all be over, the pressure gone.
In the next game he decided to do it. He would commit streak suicide. So in his first at bat he squeezed his eyes shut, waited, swung, missed. Everyone laughed. He gritted his teeth, feeling horrible. Next pitch he squeezed his eyes shut harder than before, groaned, swung the bat hard. Thump. He opened his eyes, astonished. The right fielder was going to field the ball on a hop. His teammates were yelling at him to run. He jogged to first, feeling dazed, as if he had jumped off a building and a safety net had appeared from nowhere.
Of course he could keep his eyes open and miss for sure. But now he was scared to try.
When the inning was over he went to the dugout to get his glove, and Jody said, “Pressure getting to you, eh?”
“No!” Kevin cried.
Everyone laughed.
“Well, it’s not!” Kevin insisted, feeling his face flush.
They laughed harder.
“That’s all right,” Jody said. “I’d be crazy by now. Why don’t you just go up there next time and take two whiffs and get it over with?”
“No way!” Kevin cried, jumping away from her. Had she seen his eyes squeezed shut? Had all of them seen?
But they all were laughing cheerily. “That’s the spirit,” Stacey said, and slapped his shoulder in passing. They ran out onto the field chattering, Kevin’s stress-out forgotten. But Kevin couldn’t forget, couldn’t loosen up. Here he was in a softball game, and his diaphragm was a block of wood inside him. He was falling apart.
Pacific Edge Page 21
