by T. Greenwood
“Merry Christmas,” Jeanine said, and stumbled as they made their way upstairs.
Ben changed into his swim trunks and went out to the back patio. He walked around to the diving board and climbed the ladder. He walked to the edge of the board and dove into the pool. The water enclosed his body in a cold liquid embrace. When he emerged, he blinked the water from his eyes and flipped onto his back. Christmas lights were strung in all of the palm trees and birds-of-paradise. They twinkled like constellations as he stared up at the sky. His skin prickled.
Luckily, Martin Bello hadn’t recognized Ben’s name. He didn’t realize that he was the guy who had chucked his son’s cell phone at a wall. And thankfully, Frank didn’t bring up anything about his job at NAU. Instead he’d said, “Ben’s going to be running the new shop. Make this a real family business.” And Martin Bello had nodded approvingly.
Apparently, he and Frank had met at ASU when they were getting their MBAs. They’d both been in the same fraternity, at different schools, as undergrads. Ben wondered if Martin Bello had any idea what an ass his son was. About the assholes he was friends with. He wondered if he knew anything about what happened that night, though he doubted it.
Ben knew that most kids at school kept their parents pretty insulated against their collegiate activities. Just a year ago, a girl had died from alcohol poisoning after some party off campus. Her parents were fundamentalists and had no idea, until they saw her MySpace page, how very bad their good little girl was. He knew from his own experience that the stuff that happened behind closed dorm room doors was not usually included in the phone calls to Mom and Pop. And something of this magnitude was not something to write home about.
As he bobbed and dipped in the cool water, he thought about how he could possibly meet Shadi in the short amount of time he had left in Flagstaff. He’d promised he’d be there. He imagined the investigation would be under way by now. He wanted to know if they were making progress. But he and Sara weren’t going back to Flagstaff until New Year’s Eve Day to pack up, and they were moving on New Year’s Day. One week from tomorrow. Now that the decision to move had been made, Sara seemed hell-bent on spending as little time in Flagstaff as possible.
Ben pulled himself out of the pool and dried off. He quietly went into the house, locking the doors behind him, and made his way to Sara’s room.
The Flagstaff house was empty, the U-Haul full by five o’clock on New Year’s Eve. Ben walked through the bungalow, with Maude at his heels, looking at all the empty spaces. Sara and Melanie were sitting in the kitchen on two folding chairs. Sara was crying. Their voices sounded hollow, echoing in the empty room.
“Maybe we’re making a mistake,” he heard her say. “I don’t have a single friend down there anymore.”
“You’ll have your mom and dad,” Melanie comforted. “And Ben.”
Sara cried some more, and Ben lifted up a box labeled Bathroom.
“I’ll be down every other weekend,” Melanie said. “I’ll be there so much, Ben will want to kick me out,” she said and laughed as Ben came into the kitchen.
Sara’s face was streaked with tears, and Melanie was holding both of her hands.
“She okay?” he mouthed to Melanie and she nodded.
“Listen,” Ben said. “There are only a few boxes left. Why don’t you girls go into town and get some lunch. I’ll finish up.
Melanie nodded. “Good idea. What are you craving?” she asked, squeezing Sara’s hands. “What does the baby want to eat?”
Sara shrugged.
“Crystal Creek sandwiches?”
Sara shook her head.
“Beaver Street’s Southwest chicken pizza?” Melanie tried. It was like watching a mother negotiating with her child.
Sara smiled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “And lemonade.”
“Okeydokey,” Melanie said. “Ben, you want to meet us at Beaver Street when you’re done? I’ll buy you a pint?”
“Sure,” Ben said. “Give me about a half hour.”
“Just a half hour, Ben,” Sara said. “We’ll be waiting.”
They were going to watch the midnight pinecone drop at the old Weatherford Hotel one last time and then drive down to Melanie’s in Kachina for the night. The next day they’d drive the U-Haul down to Phoenix and move into their new house.
After Melanie and Sara drove away in Melanie’s car, Ben picked up his cell phone to call Shadi. He scrolled through the messages, looking for the text he’d gotten down in Phoenix. Nothing. It wasn’t there. He clicked up and down through the list. It was gone. Had he erased it? Shit. Jesus, what if Sara had seen it? He took a deep breath and cracked his back. What had it even said? Something about Lucky. Something about the gift. It’s not like it was anything incriminating. Crap. Sara wouldn’t have looked at his messages, would she? He wasn’t sure what she was capable of anymore.
Regardless, the message was gone. Her number was gone. Now if he wanted to talk to her about Lucky, he’d have to drive up to her place. She didn’t have a landline, so he couldn’t look up her number. But this also meant that he’d have to see her again. And as much as he wanted to see her, he knew it would just make all of this that much harder. He shouldn’t go. He should just go to the police and tell them what he knew. On the morning after Halloween, he had found a man dying in the snow in front of his house. Later he heard a rumor there was a kid from the university who was bragging about beating him up. There was someone who saw what happened, who watched the kid, Mark Fitch (who drove a blue Mustang), beat Ricky up and throw him out into the cold. There was a witness. His name was Lucky and he worked at Beaver Street. Ben could remain anonymous. Because Ben had no place in this. Not anymore.
“Come on, girl,” he said to Maude as he glanced around the house one last time.
When he and Sara moved into this house, they were so in love with each other. Every time Ben saw her, a surge of happiness had pitched inside of him. It was October. The first night in the house, they hadn’t unpacked anything yet. They had no furniture except their mattress, nothing in the fridge except a bottle of wine. It was autumn and cold. He’d tried to make a fire in the woodstove. He hadn’t known what he was doing though, forgetting to open the damper first. And so the small fire he’d managed to light went out, leaving the house freezing. They’d found the box labeled Linens and pulled out every blanket they had to stay warm. They drank the bottle of wine and curled around each other, skin to skin, the heat of their bodies its own furnace. He remembered thinking then that he had never been more content. That if he could hold on to just a fraction of this feeling, he would always be happy.
Now something panged in his chest. Something primitive and vivid. He used to love Sara. His blood and skin once felt for Sara the way it did now whenever he allowed himself to think of Shadi. But over time, that feeling for Sara had dulled at the edges. Softened. Sometimes it slipped away entirely. And if this dissolution were possible, maybe it was possible that one day these feelings he had for Shadi could disappear too. They could fragment, until there was nothing left but slivers that would scatter and be lost. Though, while this should have comforted him, should have given him hope, it didn’t. Instead it made an ache that started somewhere deep in his gut and spread through his limbs.
He got in the U-Haul and drove to the end of his street. If he turned right, he would be headed into town, to Sara and Melanie and a waiting pint of beer. If he turned left, he would be headed to Shadi’s. He sat in the truck for five minutes until someone drove up in a car behind him and gently tapped on its horn. He glanced in the side-view mirror and waved an apology. Then he signaled left and pulled out onto the road.
A half hour later, Ben pulled the U-Haul into the parking lot at Beaver Street Brewery and sat for a few minutes before cracking the window for Maude and opening the door. He was shaky, unsteady, as if he had the flu or a bad hangover.
When he got to Shadi’s, she had come out of the trailer and held both of her hands up,
as if in surrender, shaking her head.
He’d gotten out of the truck, slammed the door, and gone to her, even as she backed away from him.
She shook her head over and over again.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “Shadi, what’s wrong?”
“You can’t be here,” she said. Her soft, deep voice cracked.
“I just wanted to talk to you about Ricky. About what happened that night. If Lucky goes to the police, then they can get that kid. Isn’t that what you want? He can’t get away with this.”
“Ben,” Shadi said. Her voice was suddenly stern.
“I can make a statement about what I heard. And Lucky, if we can convince Lucky to talk, then they can arrest him, Mark Fitch.”
By then, Ben had come close enough to Shadi to touch her. She pressed both open palms against his chest and the mere contact, the simple pressure of her hands against his body, was enough to bring him to his knees.
“What’s the matter?” he said, feeling something hook into his heart like a fishing lure. Snagging and pulling, sharp and painful. “Shadi, what is it?”
“Sara,” she said. It was the first time she had said her name. It made Ben catch his breath.
Ben shook his head. Sara. Sara.
“Sara called me, Ben. From your cell phone. And I thought it was you.”
Ben stepped back. Sara. She had seen the message. She’d read his messages. And she’d called Shadi.
“I thought it was you,” she said angrily, hitting him now even as he backed up. Her hands curled into fists and she hit him hard against the chest. “What are you doing to her, Ben? What are you doing to me?”
“What did she say?” Ben asked softly.
“She didn’t say anything. I just kept saying your name, waiting for you to say something, and then I heard her crying.”
Now, at the Brewery, Ben locked the U-Haul and walked briskly across the parking lot, glancing quickly at the restaurant’s kitchen door, which was open. There were two guys sitting on buckets, smoking cigarettes. Neither one of them was Lucky. Ben took a deep breath and opened the front doors, the warm air coming at him in a rush. Enclosing him. He concentrated on every step. He couldn’t let Sara know that he knew what she’d done. If he did, she would know that he had gone to see Shadi. She would know that it wasn’t over.
He said to the hostess, “I’m meeting my fiancée and her friend?” and the words were bitter in his mouth.
And then he saw Melanie waving her over and Sara sitting at the table, smiling knowingly, expectantly, at him.
On opening day for Frank’s new dealership, Ben’s new dealership, Sara was up at fiveA.M. making pancakes in the kitchen. It was her first day at work too; she would be working the seven-to-three shift until the baby came. She had the radio on and was singing softly to some pop song. Ben came out of the bedroom bleary-eyed and still exhausted. He’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to get comfortable, disoriented by the new sounds, the new silence, of the house. Maude was also uneasy and refused to leave the foot of the bed, the sheets and blankets weighted down by her warm body.
They hadn’t talked about what happened, though what they each knew hung in the air between them like a ghost. But Sara had won, and she must have known this, because there was a certain smugness about her now, as she flipped the pancakes in the frying pan and put the syrup in the never-used microwave. She had busted him, and now, without a word exchanged between them, she had him completely under her thumb.
“Are you nervous for your first day?” she asked Ben.
He stretched and yawned, shook his head.
“Daddy’s going to be with you this week, right?”
She knew Frank would be there. And he couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever be alone again, or if what he had done now meant that someone would always, always be watching him.
“Yeah, he’s got to show me the ropes, I guess,” he said.
The microwave beeped and she pulled the hot syrup out. She handed him a plate stacked high with pancakes and bacon and pointed to a seat at the counter separating their dining area and the kitchen. There was a cup of coffee waiting there, a glass of juice.
“I’ll get spoiled if you keep this up,” he said, but his attempt to be lighthearted fell flat.
Sara frowned and came to him. She kissed him on the forehead and then on the lips. When she pulled back, she seemed to be waiting for his response.
“I love you, Ben Bailey,” she said, her voice quivering a little.
“You too,” he said and looked down at his plate. He could feel her eyes, could feel her expectation and disappointment. He lifted his face and looked at her. “I do,” he said. And he reached for her to come closer. He willed his arms around her, and as he did he felt, for the first time, the soft swell of her belly. Just the smallest bump, so small he might not have noticed it if he weren’t absolutely familiar with every nuance of her body.
She pulled away, satisfied it seemed, and he reached his hand out and touched her stomach. She looked down at his hand, hesitated, and then covered it with her own. She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a second and then opened them wide.
“Well,” she said and straightened herself up. She was wearing a pair of scrubs he’d never seen before. They were blue and littered with tiny little trucks and cars. She had brand-new white Crocs on with crisp white socks.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
He tried to picture her working in the Oncology Department of the hospital and couldn’t. Her job at Dr. Newman’s was tame: checkups and shots, nothing worse than chicken pox and strep throat. The children here would be sick. Really sick. She assured him she was ready for this. That she was a nurse, a professional.
“I am,” she said. “Nervous. But it was time for a change.”
He nodded. “Are you going to eat?” he asked.
“Too queasy,” she answered. “I’ll get something at the hospital. And I’ll be back by four or so to make dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Ben said and wondered if she’d taken this shift to make sure he was never at the house alone.
The dealership was beautiful. Glossy and bright. The air conditioner blew cold air across the onyx floors, and everything gleamed.
“What do you think?” Frank asked.
“It’s gorgeous,” Ben said. “Really, I had no idea it would be so … so spectacular.”
Most of the cars on the showroom floor cost more than Ben had made in his entire working life.
The morning was spent orienting Ben to the facility and the staff. As far as he could tell, his job would be behind the scenes. There was a sales team, a finance team, a service team, and then the administrators. He was in charge of them all, though what this meant exactly was ambiguous. He had an office with a comfortable chair, a computer, and a view of Camelback Mountain. There was a water cooler in the corner that glug-glug-glugged and a flat-screen TV suspended from the wall like a dream. There were papers to process, databases to maintain, and calls to take. Frank rattled off his daily tasks and Ben scribbled furiously on a yellow legal pad.
By noon, his brain was full of information, overloaded with car talk.
“Let’s get some chow,” Frank said.
They got into Frank’s car and drove across the street to Chili’s, where the hostess winked and flirted. They ordered burgers and beers, and Frank wolfed down an entire basket of onion rings before Ben had even started his meal.
“You think this is going to work out for you, Dr. Bailey?” Frank asked.
“Frank, I really do appreciate this. I know it’s not my area of expertise, and you’re taking a real chance with me,” Ben said.
Frank stopped eating and wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “As much as I love you, Ben, this isn’t about you, and you know it. Sara is my only daughter. She’s my baby. And she deserves to be happy,” he said. “If being with you, making a life with you, makes her happy, then I’m on board. And I will do whatever it takes
to make sure that life is a good one. A comfortable one. I have no idea if you can do this job or not. And I have no idea if you’ll be happy working for me. But I do know that it’s my job to take care of my little girl. And this is the best way I know how.”
Ben nodded. And felt like a total shit.
“And if you can just hang in there, there are perks. Free lunch is one,” he said when he got the bill that had charged him only for the two beers. “And there are others. I’m thinking in particular about a certain vintage Mercedes I saw you looking at. You give me the old college try for a full year and it’s yours.”
Ben shook his head. “That’s not necessary, Frank.”
“Shut up,” Frank said. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
The rest of the day went smoothly, and everyone Ben met was very friendly. He actually started thinking this job might not be so bad. It sure was a hell of a lot less exhausting than the bar, and not nearly as dirty. And unlike teaching, when he pulled out of the lot, he had no work to come home with him.
He was pretty sure this kind of job would not keep him up at night. And it was so far from the life he’d had in Flagstaff, it almost seemed like he’d woken up in someone else’s body. In someone else’s life.
He pulled into the driveway of the town house at six thirty. The sun had already gone down, and the air was cooler. He went into the front door and could smell marinara. Garlic and oregano.
“Sara?” he called, setting down the new attaché case Sara had bought him for Christmas. It was almost exactly like the one they’d wound up giving to George. He figured now she’d been planning all along to see what kind of bag he wanted by having him pick one out for her brother. Little did she know he had just picked the cheapest one after blowing fifty bucks on the drive-in speaker.
“I’m up here,” she said.
He slipped off his loafers and went up the stairwell to the bedroom. The door was closed. “Sara?”
“Just a minute.”
When she opened the door, he barely recognized her. She was wearing a dress and heels, her hair was down, and her eyes were made up. She smelled good too, the tea rose perfume she used to wear when they first met.
