Road to Paradise (42 page)

Through it all, Candy stared open-eyed at the little towns on the banks of the Idaho rivers, and I stared, too, trying to see what she might see, to imagine what she might imagine. Could I live here? I wondered when we had driven through Smoot, a tiny western town on the northern edge of the Wind River Range. Car lots and industry, smokestacks and run-ons, a banner advertising a pig race and a county fair. No department stores, shoe stores, Baskin-Robbins or pizza parlors, no McDonald’s even. Just bars and windows.

I couldn’t live here.

But could I, if I
had
to?

Other people did. Other people maybe not like me, but like Candy? And who was like her?

“Candy,” I asked in blisteringly sunny Logan, Utah, when Salt Lake City was within a hundred miles. “Could you take the baby and live with your dad?” He is sanctuary, I thought, in the full sense of that word.

“You know I can’t. Tara’s five. What happens in six years when she turns eleven? They gonna boot her out, too?”

“So don’t live in New Melleray. Live in Dubuque nearby.”

“In Iowa?”

“As opposed to Idaho?”

She didn’t answer. “I can’t live that close to him,” she said at last. “You know that I’m no good. And I don’t want him to know it, to think of me like he thought of my mother.”

“Your God knows it,” said Gina, piping into the conversation.

“God has inexplicable and undeserved grace,” Candy replied. “And infinite patience. I don’t want to put such an undue burden on my poor old dad. Besides,” she added, “I think the earthly things weigh him down, bring him to a place he wants to get away from. He didn’t join the Trappists, that divine refuge, to be dragged down into ice-cream parties, pig tails and time-outs.”

“How do you know that’s what your kid is up to?”

“Because Mike told me. He said she was a handful. He said I should feel lucky I wasn’t dealing with her every day,” Candy said, and, turning away from the bright, green and beautiful Logan so I wouldn’t hear her, groaned in despair.

Salt Lake was at least a city. It had gas stations and McDonald’s, it had department stores, restaurants and coffee houses. There were mountains in the distance for beauty and the blood-orange sun melting into the mountains for awe. It was pristine, swept clean, in-ground-sprinkled, impeccable, tailored, and green. We found the address of the hotel manager Candy knew, on Seventh, at the Omni. He remembered her from his business trip to Huntington; he was mortified but happy to see her. He gave us a fantastic, ridiculously expensive room for free with a view of the Mormon Temple, and two queen beds with down quilts and pillows. He let us have room service “on the house”—which ended up costing twice the room by the time we were done ordering champagne and filet mignon. “Well, it’s not on the
house
,” said Candy. “But I know what you mean, Sloane.” That night Gina and I went for a walk through town to look for life in Salt Lake while Candy stayed behind at the hotel. I didn’t ask, didn’t want to, didn’t even want to think about what it was costing someone to get us down quilts, champagne and steak for one night.

There was no life in Salt Lake. But the thousands of flower beds in Temple Square were illuminated and impressive. “Let me tell you what I like about Salt Lake for Candy,” said Gina. “It’s
in the middle of nowhere. No one would think to look for her here. It’s counterintuitive. It’s a big city—easy to hide. It’s got stuff for her to do. It’ll have schools for her baby, friends for them both. I think this may be just the ticket.”

“You’re not thinking it through, Gina,” I said, and while strolling thus we argued about the merits and demerits of Candy’s possible move to Salt Lake.

When we were done discussing her future life, we went back to the hotel and found her in the room getting ready to go for a drink with the off-duty bell boy. “He’s my little Mormon friend,” she said, grinning.

“I thought Mormons don’t drink?” said Gina.

“They don’t. I do.” She was getting dolled-up. She had only two skirts, one bright blue, one denim, but every time she put one on, it looked like a different outfit. She had cheap jewelry that she alternated for effect with her pink and yellow halter tops, she varied her lipgloss and eye shadow, and managed to seem like a different girl, especially now with her cheap blonde hair. We watched as the mascara went on layer after layer.

When Gina told her about our plan for her future, Candy listened, looking at us both like she knew something we didn’t. “You girls are cute,” she said, her eyelashes black and fake-looking, her blonde hair short and fake-looking. “You’re adorable. But I can’t move here. The eagle at the gates to the city stands atop an upside down star. That may be all right for some, but not for me.” Then she left.

“What did that mean?” I asked blankly.

“Damned if I know,” replied Gina, turning on the TV. I tried to read, but the volume was too loud, “Mary Tyler Moore” reruns followed by the “Odd Couple.” I fell asleep with Felix Unger still on. Gina and I could’ve talked about things, but we didn’t. I didn’t want to, and I suspect she didn’t either. She just wanted all this to be over, I think, like me. I don’t know what time Candy came in, but near dawn I woke briefly to find her lying next to me under the covers.

The next morning, Candy wouldn’t wake up, no matter how much noise we made. “Check-out’s at noon,” I said into her ear. She turned her head away and pulled the blanket over her head. “In Reno by sundown,” I tried with an upward inflection, thinking the reminder of Reno would be enough to get her going. Not so. Gina and I went downstairs to get a bagel and a coffee. It was a blue-sky morning, so hot and sunny that coffee and bagel in hand, we decided to walk to Temple Square. I didn’t like my new hairdo. I attracted entirely the wrong kind of attention to myself.

The marble-like towers of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints soared against the perfect sky like statues. But there was no cross anywhere—not on the doors, not on the cupola. The Temple also had no windows. No windows and no cross. Hmm. “Should we go in?” I asked, standing amid the glorious impatiens.

“Why would we want to?”

“I dunno. Just to see. We went in at New Melleray.”

“Yes.” Gina threw out her coffee. “Okay. But then I really want to get going. We’re so close to Bakersfield.”

If by close she meant eight or nine hundred miles through Reno, then yes. We walked up to the doors. But the church was closed, the door was locked. A man said into our back, “They won’t let you in if you’re not a member.”

Swinging around we faced him. He was a businessman in a suit, on his way to lunch perhaps, standing at the foot of the stairs.

“How do you know we’re not members?” I asked.

“Members don’t try to break down the doors of the Temple when they know the Temple is closed.”

“When does it open?”

“Sunday. Still can’t go in. They’ll card you.”

He walked off. There was a wedding in the square; we watched for a while, the bride in white standing next to her black-suited groom smiling for the photographer. She was dazzling, as were the blue and yellow roses behind them. I wondered if Candy had woken up. We walked out of the square and down the street past
the John Smith House and Museum. “Should we stop in at the museum?” Gina asked. “Learn a little about John Smith?”

“You want to?”

“No,” she said. “I’m kidding. We have to get going.” At the corner of Temple and State, we stood a polite distance away from Eagle Gate, a metal arc with an eagle perched on it. This must be what Candy was talking about. “I think it’s hard to tell about the star, though,” Gina said. “Don’t you think?”

I squinted. “Star has five points?”

“Yes.”

“It stands on two legs, with two arms outstretched?”

“Yes.”

“And the fifth and remaining tip points up?”

“I guess.”

We squinted some more. The star, heck, the whole gate started swimming in our eyes. We couldn’t tell anything. Except this. The eagle’s two clawed feet clearly stood on two upwardly pointing tips of the star. “Why is this significant?” I asked. “What does it mean to have the star upside down? Is that symbology or something?”

“Why don’t you ask our resident theologian? She must be awake by now.”

Not only was she awake, she wasn’t in the room. Her stuff was gone. The room key still worked, and the maid had not been in, though it was nearly
two
. Where was she? And whom to ask? I wondered if she left a note. Gina said, “Maybe she’s split.”

My legs turned liquid. Just at the suggestion of it. “Stop it. She probably went looking for us. We didn’t tell her where we were going, why should she?”

Where to look for her?

We went downstairs; the bellman and the valet were standing outside in the sun near the double doors, chatting. While the valet retrieved my car, I asked the bellman if he’d seen our friend.

“Who’s your friend?” He was not friendly.

I looked Justin up and down. Was he pretending to be dense? Yesterday he sure noticed her. “You know, the one in the blue mini-skirt, the one you had a drink with?”

He turned red. “She went out earlier.”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Before noon.”

Gina and I studied each other dumbly.

My car was brought, and before I got in, I asked Justin if there was another way to get to Reno.

“Another way than what?”

“Than the Interstate.”

“Uh—no. Why would you? It’s a straight line in. And it’s not an easy trip anyway. Five hundred and seventy miles of nothing. Don’t fall asleep.”

“There must be another road, no?”

“In—Nevada?” He said Nevada the way someone might say the seventh circle of hell.

“Maybe a scenic route?”

He stared at me like he had never heard the words Nevada and scenic in the same sentence. “South Utah,” he finally said. “That’s one of the most beautiful places in all the world. I’m from there. From St. George. But Nevada, I know nothing about it. I go through Nevada only when I have to go to Reno.”

“Oh yeah?” I sized him up. I took a chance. “I didn’t know Mormons gambled.”

Boy could he turn red. “I just go there with my buddies,” he said quietly, backing away from me into the revolving doors. “Have a good day.”

We got into our car. “We can’t go anywhere,” I said. “We can’t do anything.”

Gina’s face soon changed, got harsh suddenly. She pointed down the street. “While we’re busy not doing anything, look what your little Candy’s doing.”

And sure enough, there was Candy walking down the street. Next to her was a young blonde woman and a little boy. As they
got closer, I saw that the woman wasn’t that young, and the boy not little, but almost the size of the woman, who seemed smaller because she was pulling a suitcase. “Candy, where’ve you been?” Gina asked sharply, rolling down her window.

“Sloane, can you pop the trunk?” Candy cut in.

“Who’s this?” That was me, leaning out, my casual elbow resting on the door. “We got no room in the trunk.” I popped the trunk anyway. Gina cast me the dirtiest of looks while Candy and her companions struggled outside.

I didn’t see and didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to ask why this woman, or this woman’s suitcase or this child was getting into my car.

“Are you
kidding
me?” Gina hissed.

At first I said nothing. Then I spoke. “Gina, let them get in.”

The trunk managed to slam shut, and the three of them piled in, boy first, packing into the miniature backseat that had been barely big enough for two Pomeranians and now, no less incongruously, was cramming in three people, to a varying degree all strangers.

“This is Lena,” Candy said, behind my seat, a big smile on her face. “And her son Yuri.”

Lena, sitting in the middle, stuck out her hand. I shook it. Gina didn’t. She wasn’t even looking in the back. Her arms were crossed.

Candy announced she and Lena were hungry. “I’m not hungry,” said Lena. “I’m thirsty.” She had a heavy Slavic accent; Russian maybe? While I drove around unfamiliar Salt Lake streets, they decided they were more in the mood for a sandwich than a bagel. “Gina,” Candy said, with an ill-received poke, “is a bagel a sandwich if you put ham on it?” She chuckled. Gina did not grace Grace with a reply.

Candy wanted eggs and hot oatmeal. And milk. This in addition to a good cup of coffee. Lena, who knew her way, badly, around Salt Lake, directed us to a sandwich place on North Temple that apparently had a bit of everything. Gina and I stayed in the car while the three of them bounded out and inside.

Whirling to me, Gina said, “Are you ever going to ask her what the hell she’s doing?”

“Whoa. What’s with the tone?”

“Shelby!”

“Gina!”

She swung her arms crossed on her chest nearly hitting herself in the nose. “You clearly have stopped caring a damn for what I think,” she said. “I’m not going to waste my breath.”

“Thank you. What will it matter if I ask? They’re in the car. A mother and a child. What do you want me to do?”

“I wish I weren’t here. From Ohio onward, I regret every second I didn’t take a bus to Bakersfield. I should have put my foot down. Then. Now.”

“Candy will tell us soon enough,” I said, disengaging. There was no point. What was I going to do, threaten her again with the bus station at Salt Lake City? It was getting so old.

“Could we go anymore out of our way?” she barked.

“I don’t think so.”

“We put ourselves at risk every second. And now we’ve got Russians in the car! Tell me, will we be safer with them?”

“I think so.” I smiled. “Russians are badasses.”

Gina growled in anger.

“Would it make you happy if I asked who they were and what they were doing in my car?”

“Happy? No!”

“So why should I ask, then?”

They came back, carrying their hot coffees and milks, bagels and egg sandwiches, foiled squares, and potato chips. For people who weren’t hungry, they sure were carrying a lot of food. Half of it spilled out as they were getting in.

After they were finally settled, I turned around in my seat to face them. The woman was a better bleached blonde than me or Candy, in her late forties, with heavy eye makeup and red lipstick. Her beige business clothes were tight, and her skirt too short for a grown woman. Her slight son was gray and wiggly. He had sallow
teenage skin as if he didn’t go outside, and unwashed pin-thin black hair. Lena smiled at me. I gave her a perfunctory smile back. My eyes were on Candy, who had obviously been shopping because she was wearing a new pink halter, so thin it was see-through, and a white mini-skirt. Every time she moved, I could see her skimpy white underwear. She was holding five things in her hands, trying to figure out where to put the coffee while she ate her egg sandwich. I waited. I raised my eyebrows.