Vegas Sunrise (35 page)

Fanny reached for the bed rail to support her unsteady legs. She shook her head. “I'm not a nurse, but this is a hospital. How do you feel?”

“Not so good. Can I go home?”

“Where do you live, Marcus?” Fanny asked.

“I live . . . I live . . . in a house,” he said triumphantly. “Should I go to sleep now?”

“That might be a good idea,” John Noble said.

“Will you come back?” Marcus asked. The question was directed to Fanny, not to John.

Fanny didn't trust herself to speak. She nodded as she ran from the room.

Outside in the cool sunshine, Fanny looked upward. “I never really asked You for anything. When I did ask, it was for other people. I'm asking You now, fix it or give me the strength to handle this. I can't do it on my own. I know I can't.”

In the car, Fanny lit a cigarette. Earlier she'd had a plan. She was going somewhere to do something. She couldn't remember. All she could think about was Marcus and what lay ahead of her.

The engine turned over. Sunrise! She was going to Sunrise to talk to Iris, but she couldn't remember why. Then she remembered the ugly pictures in her purse. She was going to do something else, too. She had to think about Marcus and what would be best for him. Not her. But then she'd known that. Why else would she have spit and snarled at John the way she had?

Somewhere, some place, it had been ordained that she was to end up like Sallie Thornton. What had John said? It is what it is. Ash said she couldn't swim against the tide.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Fanny drove out of the parking lot.

No matter what she did or didn't do, life would go on.

Ash and Simon had always said life was made up of winners and losers.

Fanny howled her despair as she turned off the road that would take her up to the mountain.

Was she a winner or a loser? Even a carnival fortune-teller could give her the answer to that question.

 

“I can't do any more, Harry. My hands won't move. I can't feel my fingers.”

“We're going to die out here, Sunny.”

“Like hell we are,” Sunny blustered. “What number are we on?”

“This is stupid, Sunny. How do you expect me to count dominos and dig out this snow?”

“The same way I am. If I can do it, so can you. All I said was I was tired, and that I couldn't feel my arms and fingers. We have one space dug out and the other one is almost complete. We just need to rest and resume counting. I was up to 1844, so that means give or take a few, you're with me. We can't go to sleep, Harry.”

“What time is it?”

“Does it matter? We aren't going anywhere. I'm going by touch because I can't keep my eyes open. I know what we can do, Harry. We can plan Thanksgiving dinner. Then we'll plan Christmas dinner. We'll decorate the tree. I have a really good memory, so I'll describe all the different ornaments and you'll pretend to hang them on the tree. This is all going to happen at Sunrise.
After
we finish building the domino bridge. I promised Dad, and I hate to break a promise, Harry. Break's over, time to get back to work. Start counting.”

“One thousand eight hundred and forty-five. One thousand eight hundred and forty-six . . .”

“I can't do this, Dad. I'm too tired. I need to sleep. I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you. I want to do it, but I can't. Don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad, Sunny. I'm pissed. The one thing that was always a constant in your life was that you weren't a quitter. I was so proud of you. Maybe I should have told you more often how proud of you I was. I told you to keep your eyes open.”

“My eyelids and my eyelashes are full of ice. I can't keep them open. What difference does it make as long as I don't go to sleep? I can't wait till I get this goddamn bridge built. I only have one thousand four hundred and eight more dominos to go. I am going to sleep for a week.”

“Oh, no, you are not going to sleep. When you finish the bridge, you have to dismantle it, counting backwards. Then you can go to sleep.”

“That's a pretty sleazy trick, Dad. That's not what you said in the beginning. You didn't say anything about taking the bridge down. What do you think the odds are of me doing all that?”

“Damn good. You have guts, Sunny. You're the only one who had the guts to stand up to me. I respected that even if I chewed you out. I damn well expect you to do this, Sunny. That's a direct order! I don't want to hear you whining either. Keep going. Help is on the way.”

“Harry needs to rest, Dad.”

“No, Sunny, Harry can't rest. Listen to me, prod him, poke him, he's dozing off as he scoops out the snow. Do it, Sunny. Yell at him. Curse him if you have to. Make him fighting mad. Tell him you're stronger, tougher than he is. Men hate hearing shit like that. He's nodding off, Sunny.”

Sunny poked Harry with the snow shovel. “Wake up, Harry. If you die on me out here in the middle of nowhere, I'm going to leave you. I'll cover you up with snow and say you got lost. Don't give me any shit that you're tired. I'm a girl, and I'm more tired than you are. My condition is worse than yours to boot. What number are you on? Don't tell me you can't remember either. I don't want to hear anything but numbers coming out of your mouth. Do you want to get married over Christmas, Harry? I'm tired of living in sin.”

“One thousand eight hundred and fifty-seven. I'll think about it. You're too damn bossy. Would you really leave me out here?”

“Damn straight I would. I told you not to go to sleep. You're nodding off. You're slacking off, too. Look, if we scrunch we might be able to squeeze into that opening. Just a little more, Harry. I think we can finish the bridge and then start to take it down.”

Harry jerked upright. “What?” he squawked.

“After we build it, we have to dismantle it, counting backwards.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. So, are we getting married or not?”

“I won't be any good to you. My balls are frozen.”

“I feel certain they will unthaw or defrost. Which sounds better, Harry?”

“Forget about my balls. Let's get back on the bridge.”

“My father said we have to dismantle it. He said he respected the fact that I was not a quitter. What do you think of that, Harry? Because I'm not a quitter, means you can't be one either. How will that look if you cave in?”

“All right already. Crawl in there now. Is there room for me? There better be because my right hand just went out on me.”

“It's okay. If either one of us weighed one pound more, we wouldn't fit in here. It's tight, but it's okay. They're going to find us, Harry. I know they will. Why are you breathing like that?” Sunny asked fearfully.

“I don't know,” Harry gasped. “I think I breathed in too much cold air. Just let me sit here quietly for a minute. You do the counting.”

“Okay. Pull the collar of your jacket up over your mouth. I think it's about nine o'clock. Birch and Libby are up, and I know they're out here looking for us. I just know it. I feel it in my bones. I can't feel anything else, but I feel that. We survived so far, Harry. When it stops snowing we can get back on the snowmobile and head back for the lodge if no one comes to find us. There is still a little gas left. I love this igloo. I mean it. If my dad was here, he'd be so proud of us. We might do dumb things but we aren't stupid. Two thousand four hundred and sixty-nine. I never saw so much snow in my life. It has to let up soon. The snow's melting on my eyelashes. I don't feel so cold anymore. Two thousand four hundred and seventy-two. I wish I had a fried-egg sandwich and a hot cup of cocoa with melted marshmallows. When we go back to the lodge, that's the first thing I'm going to ask for. What are you going to ask for, Harry? Two thousand four hundred and seventy-five. Are you feeling better? Just nod?”

Harry nodded.

“Good. Let's suspend the construction of the bridge and start our Thanksgiving dinner. I'm making the stuffing. You're peeling the potatoes. We made the pies yesterday. We're drinking wine as we work. Wine warms you up. It's mind over matter. If you think warm, you will be warm. Two thousand four hundred and seventy-nine. They're going to find us, Harry. Jiggle my arm if you think they will.”

Sunny almost fainted with relief when she felt the small jiggle to her arm. Of course they would be found. The big question was, would they still be alive?

 

Fanny was halfway up the mountain when she jammed her foot down on the brake pedal, tires screeching. She turned around in the middle of the road and roared back down the mountain.

Radio blaring, the windows wide-open, Fanny talked to herself as she tried to reassure herself that Marcus would improve. The doctors could be wrong. They'd been wrong where Philip was concerned. Doctors weren't gods. Back at the medical center she'd been in shock and had reacted to that shock. What did those stoic men in the white coats think? As if she cared. It was her life, hers and Marcus's future and what was going to be best for both of them, especially Marcus.

It was a beautiful day, she noticed. The air was crisp and clear, but then the air was always crisp and clear on the mountain. In just a few weeks it would be Thanksgiving and then Christmas. Would her family celebrate Thanksgiving together? They had much to be thankful for. Surely her children would want to be together. Birch and Sunny would be home for the holidays. Ruby would invite Metaxas Parish. Marcus could carve the turkey. If he wasn't up to it, then perhaps Metaxas would take over. Birch and Sage preferred to gouge the turkey opposed to carving it. If Metaxas begged off, then the job would be given to Chue. She needed to give some serious thought to her newest daughter-in-law and her extracurricular activities.

The sun was so bright today. More so of late, she thought. For some reason the mountain always seemed extra bright. Maybe that was the reason they called it Sunrise Mountain. She reached up to retrieve her sunglasses from the visor and slipped them on. The world around her took on an amber hue.

Fanny settled back, her thoughts jumbled. She wished she knew who she was. Right now she felt like a stranger to herself. That wasn't Fanny Thornton Reed back at the medical center. And who was that person who committed a crime back at the casino? Who was this jittery person behind the wheel? Ash would say she was someone who didn't know her ass from her elbow. “Oh, yeah, then why do you always come to me when things go awry? If I'm so damn terrible, why am I the one who always gets the short end of the stick?”

“It's your lot in life, old girl. You're dependable. You never let anyone down. You work overtime at being solid, dependable Fanny. You set that precedent early on, and we all succumbed to it. Things aren't always what they seem on the surface, Fanny. I shouldn't have to tell you that. The Fanny I know, the Fanny the world knows, will never turn her back on Marcus. He needs you. Even when I was at my worst and needed you the most, when you hated my guts, you came through for me. You can't do less for Marcus. He is a good, kind, gentle man. He really needs you, Fanny. You can't stick him in one of those halfway houses or some institution. Remember when you went to see Jake the gambler's old friends. He'd be in a place like that. You promised to love and honor him. It pains me to say this, but he deserves everything you have to give him. He deserves more than I did, and yet you came through for me. That's who you are, Fanny. So what if you entered the penthouse and took a few things. You did it for all the right reasons. You can and will make that come out right if you use your head. You have Billie on the right track. I have no doubt that she will falter once or twice. You need to be a step behind her so you can catch her. Put her on a skimpy allowance, take over her bills. Sage will do the rest.”

“Why is it, Ash, that you have the answers to everything? I can't fathom any of this. When are you going to go away and . . . and, you know, rest in eternity? If anyone sees me talking to you, they'll lock me up. When, Ash?”

“When you don't need me anymore. You'll know when that time comes.”

“Will you say that final good-bye? Sometimes I am stupid.”

“I'm not big on good-byes. You know that, Fanny. By the way, thanks for getting those wings back.”

“You know what, Ash, it was my pleasure. I'm really sorry about screwing up like that. I'm on my way to the jewelers now. Are you going to hang around and watch?”

“Nah, I got things to do. The kids need me.”

“That makes me feel so good, Ash, knowing you're watching over them. I'm worried about that storm, but I know they're safe in your hands. I need to thank you for that. How come your voice sounds so froggy and hoarse? Are you crying, Ash? You are, aren't you? I didn't know you had emotions and stuff like that up there.”

“It's not me, Fanny, it's you. See you around.”

Fanny reached across the console for a tissue. She cleared her throat before she wiped at her eyes and blew her nose.
Damn, he was always right.

Twenty minutes later, Fanny held out Ash's aviator wings to Herbert Rothstein. “I'd like you to take the clasp from the back of these wings and attach it to this one. I'd like to wait, Mr. Rothstein. It's very important to me to take them up the mountain today.”

“I can do it right now. Go to the café and have breakfast. By the time you get back I'll have them ready.”

Fanny withdrew Simon's wings from her pocket. Later she would bury them at Simon's grave. She should have done that in the beginning. However, if she'd done that she wouldn't be standing here now, having Ash's wings repaired. Everything in life, she was learning, had a reason.

When Fanny returned, Ash's wings had been cleaned, polished, and now rested in a small, velvet-lined jeweler's box. Simon's wings were in a tiny plastic bag. “I'd like the same kind of box for these, too, Mr. Rothstein. I'd appreciate it if you'd glue a clasp on the back of these, too.”