This Glittering World (18 page)

A
fter Sara finally got up, they all went to MartAnne’s Burrito Palace for brunch. It was a cramped restaurant, with only a handful of tables and one cook working behind the small counter. There was art by local artists hung crookedly on the deep red walls. It smelled like refried beans, like cilantro and onions. After brunch, the girls were going to go get pedicures at the mall and go shopping for maternity clothes.

Melanie and Sara both ordered huevos rancheros, but Ben wasn’t hungry. He ordered coffee, drank cup after cup. The wait was long; they had been sitting at their table for nearly an hour by the time the waitress brought them their food. Maude was outside, napping on the cold pavement. Ben kept bringing her water while Melanie and Sara caught up. He hadn’t seen Sara this happy in a while. She missed Melanie; he knew this.

“Hey, do you mind if I run up the street to Jack’s while you guys eat?” he asked.

Sara was telling Melanie about the hospital, about Emma. She looked at him as though she’d forgotten he was there, and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. She nodded, though he knew this meant she was worried. That she didn’t trust him. He took her hand."I promise I’ll be right back.”

He drank the last swallow of his coffee and put his coat back on. He kissed the top of Sara’s head and went outside. He untied Maude from the bike rack and said, “Come on, girl, let’s go see Hippo.”

Jack’s was empty except for Leroy from upstairs, who looked like he’d already tied one on. “Hey!” he grumbled at Ben.

“Hey, Leroy!” Ben said, smacking him on the back.

“Where you been?” Leroy said.

“I’m down in Phoenix,” Ben said, sitting next to him at the bar.

“Whatcha wanna go and do that for?” he said, scowling at Ben.

Ben laughed. He looked around the bar; nothing had changed since he left.

Hippo came through the swinging kitchen doors with a giant breakfast burrito, which he put down in front of Leroy.

“This ain’t got no goddamned guacamole, does it?” Leroy asked.

“No guac, Leroy,” Hippo said and shook Ben’s hand across the bar. “Bailey! How’s P-town?”

Ben stretched and yawned. “Hot.”

“How’s Sara?” he asked. “When’s she due again?”

Ben had waited until he gave his notice at the bar before he told Hippo and Ned about the baby. He’d felt then like he had to have some sort of explanation for ditching his life in Flagstaff. Surprisingly, neither one of them had seemed shocked.

“July,” Ben said. And then smiling, he said, “It’s a girl.”

“Right on,” Hippo said. “You still waiting on the wedding?”

God, the wedding. With all of the fuss about the baby, Sara had barely mentioned the wedding. They’d set the date for the end of August, but they hadn’t done anything beyond setting the date and reserving Hart Prairie Lodge.

“End of the summer. I’ll let you know.”

“Emily and I are getting hitched too,” Hippo said.

“You are?” Ben said. Emily and Hippo had been together for ages. He figured they’d be one of those couples who lived happily ever after without ever getting married. “That’s great!”

Hippo turned around and poured three shots of tequila, lined them up on the bar: one for each of them. “Well, cheers all around!” Hippo said and they all held up their shot glasses. It was ten o’clock in the morning. Shit. But the tequila felt warm and good. Maude curled up at Ben’s feet and fell asleep.

“You read the news about that kid?” Hippo asked.

Ben’s chest tightened. “I saw something that said they’re questioning the frat guys at that party. Looks like Lucky might have tipped off the cops.”

“Damn, you
have
been gone,” Hippo said.

“Huh?”

“Lucky got the shit beat out of him. He’s been at the hospital since last weekend.”

“What?”

“He was leaving work last Friday night and got jumped in the parking lot. The produce delivery guys found him a couple of hours later behind the Dumpster.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ben said. The tequila had made his chest hot, his head thick.

“Guess somebody didn’t appreciate his tip,” Hippo said. “One of the kids in that fraternity has a dad in politics. Probably some of his fucking goons.”

“Bello,”
Ben said. “The kid’s name is Joe Bello.”

S
omehow, Ben convinced Sara that he needed to stop by school to deal with some paperwork in Human Resources, tax stuff, while she and Melanie were at the mall. Despite what Melanie had alluded to during their walk, neither one of them seemed remotely suspicious as he dropped them off at the mall entrance.

“Just call when you want me to come get you,” he said through the open window. “It shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”

“You sure you don’t need a pedi? A manny mani?” Melanie asked, smiling.

“I probably do, but maybe the next time,” Ben said, laughing. He rolled up the window and pulled out of the parking lot.

He knew he couldn’t call Shadi from his cell phone. He was pretty sure his cell had become public domain, and any calls, especially calls to an unfamiliar cell number, would sound the alarms.

Before this, his plan had just been to get Shadi to cancel the appointment with Sara. It would have been simple enough. A call from a pay phone, a message left on her voice mail.

But as he drove back through town, he thought about Lucky walking out of the restaurant, not suspecting anything and then getting pummeled. Anyone who could do that, or have that done, probably wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. To anyone who knew more than they should about that night. To him. To Shadi.

He needed to go to her, to let her know that she might be in danger. He needed to warn her. He needed to make sure she was safe. That was all. And then he would go.

Traffic was slow on Fort Valley Road. Melanie had said there was some sort of festival going on at the museum. And a zillion skiers were headed to the mountain. He was behind a pickup truck with about five guys in full Native costume sitting in the back with several large drums. One of the men, wearing a feathered headdress and knee-high moccasins, beat slowly on his drum. Ben rolled down his window and listened. They were chanting, singing. It was haunting, beautiful. The San Francisco Peaks rose up ahead of them like monoliths. As the cars crawled, Ben closed his eyes for just a moment, listened to the slow, aching music.

He felt something buzzing in his pocket and remembered he’d set his phone to vibrate when he and Melanie went out for their walk. He pulled the phone out. It was Melanie’s number. Shit. He’d just dropped them off twenty minutes ago.

“Hello?” he said.

“It’s Melanie. You need to come pick us up.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Ben, just get here.”

B
en pulled up to the front entrance to the mall, and Sara and Melanie were sitting outside on a bench. Melanie ran to the car and Ben opened the door. “Come help me,” she said.

Sara’s face was colorless, her eyes wide and terrified. She stood up slowly, and Ben’s stomach dropped. There was blood on her pants. Not a lot, but it was a bright red blossom.

“Here, sweetie, get in the backseat and just lie down,” Melanie said.

Ben got in the driver’s seat, and his head started to pound, blood rushing in his ears like the sound of drums.

In the emergency room, they whisked Sara away into triage, and Melanie and Ben stayed behind in the waiting room.

“Was she having any pains?” Ben asked, pacing.

Melanie shook her head, glanced at the TV that was blaring from the wall mount. A basketball game. She scowled at the man who had turned the volume up, and he clicked the remote to bring the volume back down.

“Do you think the baby is okay?” Ben asked. Melanie was a nurse. She would know. She’d probably seen this before. He waited for her to assure him that everything would be okay. With the baby. With Sara.

“She’s only twenty-three weeks. It’s too early,” she said. Her voice was cracking. “If she loses this baby, it’ll kill her.”

The nurse came into the waiting room and said, “Mr. Bailey?”

Ben and Melanie both stood up.

Dr. Chandra, a soft-spoken Indian woman with tiny hands, sat Ben down in the room where Sara was now in a hospital gown, lying on a bed with an IV attached to her arm.

“Usually what happens during pregnancy is that the placenta moves away from the cervix as the uterus grows. If it doesn’t happen, the cervix can become blocked by the placenta. We call this
placenta previa
.”

Sara’s hand fluttered near her mouth.

“In your case, Sara, the cervix is partially blocked. Your OB/GYN in Phoenix is going to need to monitor your pregnancy very closely, because there are a lot of complications that can arise from this, including premature birth. He may want to put you on bed rest until your due date. Because you’ve had some bleeding, I am going to keep you overnight to make sure we’ve got it under control. And I want you to see your doctor in Phoenix on Monday morning so that he can begin to monitor your condition.”

Ben reached for Sara’s hand and squeezed it. Her skin was cold.

“Am I going to lose the baby?” she said quietly.

The doctor frowned. “This is serious, but the good news is that now we are aware of it. It’s most dangerous when it goes undiagnosed. We know you’ve got the problem, so we can take all the necessary precautions before you go into labor.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sara said.

“We’re going to take good care of you and your baby. It’s important for you to understand that this can be just as dangerous for you as it is for the baby. Your only job is to rest.”

Melanie drove the Camry back to Kachina to get pajamas and Sara’s toiletry bag, leaving Ben with Sara at the hospital.

Sara was restless, fidgety. “I’m scared, Ben,” she said.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything will be fine. We just need to do what the doctor said. When we get home, you’ll rest. We’ll set you up by the pool for the next few months. Just think of the tan you’ll have.” He smiled at her.

“What if we lose her?” she said, her voice breaking as she stared at her hands, which were folded across her belly.

“We won’t,” Ben said. And suddenly, for the first time it struck him: The baby might not survive. Even Sara might not survive this. “I won’t let anything happen to either of you. I promise.”

Sara looked up at him, her face worried and pale. He stood up from his chair and went to her, lay down next to her in the bed and held on to her. After a while he pulled away and pressed his hand gently against her stomach.

It felt like a wave, like some slow-moving current beneath her skin. He pressed his palm just a bit harder, thinking he must have imagined it. His heart was in his throat.

“Did you feel her?” Sara asked, her eyes brightening.

“I don’t know,” Ben said. He leaned down and pressed his cheek softly against her belly, and closed his eyes. Like a current of electricity, like a shiver. He turned his face so that his lips were grazing the cool cotton hospital gown. “Hi, baby,” he said and felt his throat swell. “I love you, little one. Everything’s going to be okay.”

B
en stayed.

He didn’t leave Sara’s room even to get dinner. Melanie brought some Mexican food from Ralberto’s and he ate while Sara slept. He was ravenous and devoured the chili relleno burrito in just a few bites. The nurses set him up with some blankets and a reclining chair, and surprisingly, within moments after Sara closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, Ben felt his own eyelids grow heavy as well.

He dreamed a game of hide-and-seek. A memory pushed through the narrow tunnel of sleep, distorted and compressed, but vivid. Twisted, but real enough to make his hands twitch, his eyes dance behind closed lids.

During the school year, the bus would drop Ben and Dusty off at home an hour before his mother got home from work. They, and all the other latchkey kids, would go straight from the bus stop to the woods by the creek, dropping their backpacks on their respective porches on the way. In the winter, the woods seemed small; in the absence of leaves, you could see all the way through the plot of land to the main road beyond. But in the late spring, when the foliage grew in, dense and green, it became larger, deeper, both disorienting and enormous. It was a place with a thousand spots to hide.

The air smelled of summer: honeysuckle, grass, breeze. The sun was hot, and his T-shirt stuck to his back. Ben was in the fifth grade and Dusty was in kindergarten. It was June; school was almost over for the year.

Before Dusty had started school and their mom went back to work, Ben played with Charlie and Ethan, dragging big sticks around, pretending they were swords or lightsabers. They’d dig holes in the dirt, looking for treasures, like Indiana Jones. They built forts out of the trash they found: hubcaps and car doors and cardboard boxes. Now, Ben was in charge of Dusty after school, and so she came along.

Dusty loved the woods. She loved the gnarled roots and twisty trees. She was a good climber, a real monkey. She could shinny up the flagpole at school, up the doorways at home. She was tough, as tough as Ben. She never cried when she got hurt; she picked herself up when she fell down, brushed herself off, and kept playing. While the other neighborhood girls played with their Barbies at the edge of the creek, Dusty only wanted to play hide-and-seek with Ben and his friends. And because it was Ben’s little sister, because it was Dusty, they relented.

Dusty pressed her hands against her eyes, and her whole body against the trunk of a tree, and counted.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi …
And they scattered and hid. Dusty was good at hiding but terrible at seeking. It always took her forever to find the boys who disguised themselves in the limbs of trees, behind giant rocks, and inside bushes. “You’re it!” she’d squeal at Ben, who inevitably had to give himself away to somehow end her turn.

Today, Ben counted extra slowly to give Dusty time to find a good spot to hide.
One Mississippi
… he drawled.
Two Mississippi …
When he got to
Twenty, ready or not, here I come …
they were all gone.

He found Charlie first, who had gotten distracted by an anthill behind a tree. It took longer to find Ethan; he was in the upper limbs of a giant oak tree, his face hidden by the leaves.

“I wonder where Dusty is,” he said loudly. “I can’t find her anywhere…. ” He pretended to look under rocks and behind twigs, just in case she was watching.

“Dusty!” he hollered after he’d looked in all of her usual spots. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” He waited, anticipated her popping out from behind a tree, swinging down through the branches, bounding through the brush, gleeful that she’d managed to elude him. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” he yelled again. Ethan and Joe had gone onto other things, tossing a Frisbee, smacking it against the trees.

“Dusty!” Ben hollered again as he retraced his footsteps, searching all of the spots he’d already found empty.

The air was humid, thick. He was really sweating now as he ran deeper into the woods. His mother had said they were allowed to play in the woods as long as they stayed away from the creek and the place where the woods opened up to the main road. “Dusty!” he cried out, the faint trace of fear starting to spread through his arms and legs, slowing him down. He didn’t know which way to go: to the creek or to the road. Bad things could happen at both places. His throat was swollen.

“I give up!” he yelled. “You win!”

The air was still and heavy, but there was so much noise. He listened for her voice, but all he could hear was the racket the birds made, the rushing water of the creek, the remote hum of the traffic in the distance.

Now that he’d stopped running, his heart was thudding in his chest like beans in the coffee can shakers they made in music class. It felt as if his heart had come loose and was rattling around inside his torso.

He started running again, toward the creek first to see if she’d gotten bored and found the other little girls who had set up their Barbies at the edge of the creek to pretend it was the beach. He imagined how he’d reprimand her for going where she wasn’t supposed to. But the twins, Amy and Anna, shook their heads when he asked if they had seen her.

The road. His sneakers pounded against the earth like drums, the air whooshed in his ears, and his temples pounded with each footstep. His mind began to race, shuffling the possibilities like cards. She’d broken a leg, encountered a bear, gotten trapped under a rock. She was lost. She was stolen.

His class had gone to the “Stranger Danger” assembly early in the year, but the kindergartners didn’t go. She didn’t know about strangers yet. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His vision blurred again, and he pictured a man, the Stranger. When he thought about Strangers, they wore dark hooded sweatshirts, masks over their faces, even though Principal Pendergast told them that strangers look just like everyone else. Dusty wouldn’t know not to get in someone’s car. She wouldn’t know to scream as loud as she could.

By the time he got to the far end of the woods, it felt as though his head might explode with all the bad thoughts. His lungs ached. His heart ached.

Then he heard her. It could have just been a bird, the sound was so small.

“Ben,” it said.
She
said.

And Ben started running toward her.

“Look,” she said as he saw the flash of red of her T-shirt. “Look what I found.”

She was standing near the edge of the woods, and cars were rushing past them just beyond.

She held out her hand as he ran toward her, and he could see that she was holding a tiny pink pebble in her hand. “Look, Ben, isn’t it pretty?”

Ben was shaking now, with relief and happiness and anger.

“You’re so stupid!” he yelled at her. “Mom said we’re not supposed to go this far in the woods. See those cars there! A stranger could have taken you in their car and we’d never see you again.”

Dusty looked up at him from the tiny pink pebble. Her bottom lip trembled, and tears started to roll down her cheeks as Ben continued to yell.

“I looked everywhere for you! Mom is going to be so mad. God, you’re so stupid.” But even as he yelled at her, the buzzing current of anger and fear shorted out.

“I’m sorry, Benny,” Dusty said. And then she extended her hand out to him, opening her palm with the little pink stone, offering it to him. “You can have this if you want. Just don’t be mad at me anymore.”

Even as Ben’s heart pinged with happiness and relief, he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him all the way back home. She cried and stumbled and tripped, and he just kept pulling. By the time they got to their backyard, her face was streaked with tears, and they were both drenched in sweat.

“Don’t you ever, ever scare me like that again,” he said.

“I won’t, Benny. I promise,” she said, crossing her heart. “Hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.”

The next morning, when he woke up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the first thing he saw was the pink pebble sitting on his nightstand next to his geode from the Natural History Museum and his baseball mitt.
Hope to die.