Into Thin Air (26 page)

She slept through the nights now. He sat on his porch and listened restlessly to the night. Maureen was over less and less these days. She was learning to play tennis with Mel; she said it was better for her marriage to be a sport with Mel than to sit out on Jim's porch with him so often.

Jim understood it. He didn't blame her. He began to want to be central in the life of someone other than a child. He wanted someone of his own. He was suddenly, violently angry with Lee. He had a right to a life; he had a right to fill the endless time she had left him with some comfort.

Idly he began to look around. The women around there knew his reputation. He saw the way women looked at him at school, how all he had to do was walk by and the whispering would start. The only women who seemed to want him were the crazy ones, the ones who handwrote him letters telling him that all he needed was a little understanding, the ones who sent him smashed apple pies that he always threw out, because his detective had told him you never knew what might be in there.

The evening Jim would run into Lila again was one when he was looking for Lee. He had driven an hour away from his home to follow up a lead a phone caller had whispered to him. “A blondie is singing at the Sky Bar and Grill,” the voice rasped, so low he couldn't tell if it was male or female. “I saw the pictures, I know who's who. If I'm right, I want the reward.”

“Who is this?” Jim said.

“What's that got to do with anything?” the voice said, surprised, and then hung up.

Jim had driven to the Sky Bar. The worst moment for him was always right before he opened any door, that second when anything might be possible, when miracles could happen. He pushed at the door with the flat of his hand. The bar was brightly lit and half-empty, and in one corner a young woman with a long blond braid in a tight red sparkly dress was standing by a piano, a microphone in her hand, singing “Blue Bayou.” She belted it out, but no matter how she kept speeding her words, she was always a bar or two behind the man who was playing the piano, a lanky blond who kept glowering at her. She fanned long red fingernails into the air for emphasis, and she ignored Jim as much as she ignored the piano player and every other customer there, and finally he got up and left, swinging the door behind him. He had been too depressed to go right home, so he stopped at a Thrift-T-Mart to pick up some groceries, to wander the aisles a bit. He remembered when such a thing had made him miss his father, but now he found it a comfort.

He was buying baby food and cheese. He picked up three kinds of chocolate cookies and a packaged apple pie. He probably wouldn't eat half the things he had bought for himself, but he liked having them in the house. It made it seem as though he were living. He felt tired, worn out. He rounded the aisle and saw a man in a blue denim shirt tilting a woman's face up to his, kissing her over a loaf of family-size rye. She held out a can of cat food to one side. Jim's stomach plummeted with longing. Swiveling his cart, he went down another aisle, past a young woman singsonging her grocery list to her toddler riding in the cart. At the far end two women were laughing. Both, Jim thought, were beautiful. One had a very long blond ponytail that reminded him of Lee. She was small and thin, and she looked up and saw Jim, and her gaze became suddenly hostile. Jim suddenly felt as if he were in a foreign land. He turned down another aisle. He thought about going back to an empty house, studying for an exam he already knew cold. He had three numbers posted by the phone that he could call, and only one of them belonged to anyone he could consider a friend. He thought how nice it would be just to share a burger with someone, to go to a movie and forget everything but what you wanted on your popcorn.

He was rounding the corner toward the frozen pot pies when he felt someone staring at him. For a moment there was that dazzling second of hope. He was stunned in place, certain he'd turn and find Lee. He sipped a breath and then turned. A woman with straight red hair grazing her small chin, a sheath of bangs nearly hiding her eyes, dressed in baggy white painter's pants and a white T-shirt, stood staring at him. She had a cabbage poised in one hand, and she smiled at him uncertainly. She nodded. He felt himself deflating. He was used to stares. Women used to follow him, wanting the danger they were sure he had in him, wanting to be the one who would right whatever wrong was in him. Disgusted, he started to turn, but the woman walked toward him. “
What?
” he said, annoyed.

“Lila Gleason, remember?” she said. “I was one of your nurses. Last year.”

“The nurse,” he said, a memory flickering.

“You look all healed,” she said.

“You look all different,” he told her.

“I know, I know, the red threw you off,” she said, pointing to her bright sneakers.

There was a moment of silence. A woman in a blue silk dress bumped her cart into Lila. “I'd like to get to the cauliflower,” she said politely. Lila sidestepped.

“How's your baby?” Lila said politely.

Jim beamed. “Joanna? She's great,” he said.

“How's your wife?” He still wore a wedding band.

“My wife?” Jim said.

“Uh, how's Maureen,” Lila said quickly.

Jim started. “Maureen's fine,” he said, surprised.

Lila glanced at the bruised-looking melons. “Please,” he had cried. “Well,” she said, embarrassed. She picked up a melon, rolling it in her hands.

Something moved in Jim's face. He remembered her in the hospital, a slim flash of white through his room. He remembered waking to Mothra on his TV screen, waking to her sitting beside him quietly even though her shift was already over. He watched her rocking on her sneakered heels, her red hair sweeping toward her face. She was wearing these earrings, small silvery-and-blue Saturas dangling from sparkling chains, like stars you might wish upon. “So listen,” he said, “Have you had dinner?”

8

Lila told herself that she was having dinner with Jim the way she would with any friend she hadn't seen in a long time. If her palms were prickling, if her face seemed flushed, it was probably just the over-air-conditioned supermarket or the fact that she had skipped lunch again.

She told herself no one was fooling anyone. Anyone could see the gold band Jim wore, so large it nearly covered his knuckle. Anyone could see how any light in his eyes stayed dimmed, how his gaze danced around. And anyone could see just how little he could offer.

They ended up walking to a cafe five blocks away from the market. They sat in a brightly lighted red booth and ordered burgers and shared a basket of fries. Lila sifted salt across her share of fries, stopping only when she saw Jim watching her.

“That your favorite food?” Jim grinned.

“No, sugar is,” Lila said. She pronged a fry with her fork. “You must be almost finished with pharmacy school,” she said. “Are you going to practice around here?”

Someone glided past the table, and Jim looked up, his face intent. Lila, baffled, followed his gaze until he refocused on her. “Yup,” he said.

“How come you didn't choose to be a doctor?”

“How come you didn't?” Jim said.

“Hey, I
like
nursing.”

“Hey, I
like
pharmacy.”

She beamed at him. “What a pair,” she said.

A couple walked past them. The woman in a red chiffon skirt scowled. “Because I don't want to, that's why,” the woman said. The man beside her shook his head. “You always got to argue, don't you,” he said. Jim looked over at him.

“I'll go to the ladies' room if you like, then you can scope out the room all you like,” Lila suggested.

“I'm sorry,” Jim said. “I don't know what to tell you except I just can't help it.” Lila sighed. Jim looked uncomfortable. “I keep thinking I might see my wife.”

Startled, Lila pushed the fries away from her. “Is she supposed to be here?” she said.

“She's not here,” he said. “I mean, I don't know where she is.” He looked at the table miserably. “Look,” he said. He laced his fingers into a kind of fist and lightly bumped it against the Formica tabletop. “She disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” said Lila.

“Two years ago.” He unthreaded his fingers and stretched them on the table, studying the nails. “It was in all the papers,” he said. “You must have read about it.”

Lila studied him thoughtfully. “No, I didn't.”

“You didn't?” He looked at her askance. “You must have. It got a lot of coverage. It was terrible.”

“Maybe I did,” she said slowly. “I don't know. There's lots of terrible stories in the news.”

“How could you not remember? There were all these pictures. There was my picture.” He drummed his fingers across the Formica.

She stared at him. “Look, I said I didn't know,” she said finally. “You don't have to look at me like that.” She ringed her hands about her frosty glass. “So what happened?” she said quietly.

He spoke so quickly, she had to lean forward to hear him. He didn't use past tenses when he spoke but told the story in the present. He didn't seem to be remembering; his stories about Lee were as immediate as Lila was. His pain seemed so newly minted, it almost hurt her to hear it.

Lila pleated the top of her straw uneasily. She sucked at the Coke, which was flat and syrupy. Once, he dipped his head, and she was abruptly struck by the curve of his neck.

She didn't venture her opinions. She didn't know any more than Jim did why his wife might have vanished. Fascinated, she tried to imagine a young woman on the road, her thumb out, but all she saw was herself, sudden and new in that old scene, and Jim was racing after her. She didn't think Lee was coming back. A woman that young, alone on the road, without any skills, didn't stand a chance. And if Lee wasn't dead, then how else could you explain a two-year silence other than a clear indication of disinterest?

The more he spoke of his love for Lee, the more lost and confused she felt. She couldn't figure out what it was Jim wanted with her, and it made her uncomfortable. She didn't much like this. He talked in a rush; he didn't see her.

Finally he slumped back against the red vinyl booth. He put two awkward hands flat on the counter. “I shouldn't have told you,” he said.

“Oh—” She shrugged.

“I tell myself, You're not going to talk about Lee, I'm determined, and then before I know it, it just spills out.” He retracted both hands into his lap. “I just can't figure out why I can't find her,” he said helplessly. He looked suddenly less vivid to her.

“You're falling asleep,” she said.

“No, no, I'm fine,” he said. He squinted myopically at his watch, a black face on a sturdy brown leather band. “But maybe we should just get the check.”

He walked her back to the market in a silence so complete, she felt smothered by it. By the time they reached the parking lot, she was exhausted from the lack of sound. The air around her seemed to be vibrating. “Well, I'll see you,” she said, trying to sound airy.

He looked at her, surprised. “Don't be silly,” he said. “I'll walk you to your car.”

They wound in and out of lanes of bright Chevys and sedans, edging past mothers juggling kids and groceries, men loaded down with bags. “My car,” he pointed out, and Lila stared at a rusting sedan in such terrible shape that she was surprised someone hadn't towed it away. She peered in. The seats were peeling beige vinyl, although his was covered with some sort of fake beige fur that was much too hot for the summer. In the back was a red baby seat. She told herself it was just as well they wouldn't see each other again, that it was foolishness to expect even as simple a thing as friendship from a man who couldn't seem to properly groom the car he depended on.

“There I am,” she said, pointing to a little white coupe.

He laughed. “Of course your car would be white.”

“Pure accident,” she said.

He shifted weight from one black sneaker to another. He listed in the thick stubborn heat, and then he moved toward her, smoothing her collar flat, making her start from his touch. Awkwardly he stepped back. “So thanks for sharing dinner with me,” he said.

“Thanks yourself,” she said. She turned, opening up her clean car, and scooted inside. She could watch him through the window. He was hunched over, hands hooked into the belt loops of his jeans. No one had said anything about anyone seeing anyone again, including her. She pushed the car into reverse. He didn't move when she backed it out of the spot.

She turned toward the exit, her mood plummeting. She got to the exit sign and pressed her foot on the gas, speeding through the exit back onto the highway.

Lila might have felt nothing was possible between them, but Jim knew he was going to call her. It pleased him a little that he could suddenly be in control over some aspect of his life, Lila was bright and funny and pretty, and he liked it that they shared at least a little history. She had seen him bruised and dull in the hospital; she had neither recoiled nor showed the kind of yearning interest other dates had when he told them about Lee.

Telling her had been a release. Sometimes he thought if he told the story of Lee's disappearance enough times, if he made it real enough, he might be able to script a different ending. While he was talking about Lee to Lila, he tried to lock eyes with her, to gauge what she was thinking. He couldn't really tell, but it was strange how there were moments in the conversation when he saw how her eyes were flecked with chinks of green light, how her freckles were the color of the honey he sometimes spooned into his tea.

That night, when he slept, he dreamed about her. He was in a strange city, looking for Lee. Suddenly, walking toward him, was Lila. Her hair was so red, it looked like crayon. Her skin was so white, it was nearly blinding. She looked almost like a cartoon. She came right up to him, wearing her starchy nurse's uniform. “We're almost there,” she said, and her voice was so soothing, he took the hand she gave him. She led him down a side street, over a rocky ground. “This way,” she said cheerfully. “See it?” She pointed to something shimmering in the distance. “Look closer,” she suggested, and then, abruptly, he woke up.