Chapter 5
~ midnight knocks ~
Grace awoke with a start. She had been dreaming of red, hazy moonlight and round ripe fruit dropping from thick green trees. She was trying to catch the oranges and lemons and purple plums, but they kept falling through her white nightgown. In the distance, she could hear the constant strum of hoof beats. White stallions galloped and charged toward her back gate. She was spinning, trying to catch the sweet, spherical fruit that was always just out of her reach. She was helpless at it crashed to the desert floor with a sick thud, bursting open and revealing long, thin maggots. It was then that she started to wretch in her dream. She was just about to throw up, doubled over in the place that resembled her back yard, when she woke with a start. Her heart raced. Grace could have sworn she heard knocking. It was probably just the pounding in her chest that woke her.
She took a deep, staccato breath, trying to calm herself. It had been three days since Jack had left for his California trip. He had called her only twice – short phone calls that didn’t leave much time for questions or kind, sweet nothings.
When she heard the noise again, it was unmistakable. Someone was banging on her front door. She looked at the green glow from the bedside clock. 12:24. No one she knew would be at the front door at 12:24.
She dove for the gun in Jack’s bedside table and clicked off the safety. She’d go to the window in the front bathroom and peer out. She didn’t even have to pass the front door for that.
She quickly crept down the hall, her thin shift damp with nervous sweat. Through the bathroom window, she saw a crumpled frame, an arm she knew. It was Aaron.
Securing the safety on the 9mm in her hand, she dropped the gun next to the toilet and ran to the front door. She slid the latch open.
“What the hell, Aaron. You scared me to death. I almost shot…” Grace flicked on the entry light and stopped mid-sentence. Aaron was bent, folded like he was injured. When he looked up at her, his face was crumpled, old.
“Aaron? What’s the matter?” Grace pulled him into the house and latched the door behind her.
He didn’t speak, just looked at Grace and sank into the padded white chair in the corner of the living room.
“Aaron?”
“Where’s Jack?” Aaron was nearly whispering, his voice was so low.
“California. What’s wrong?” Grace was shivering now even though her blood was running faster.
“She’s gone, Gracie. Gone.” Aaron didn’t look up.
“Who?”
“My mom.” He looked up then, the tears threatened to break free.
Grace felt her heart drop into her stomach. Lucia Verrado was the nicest woman she had ever met. She felt hot tears build in her eyes.
“What? Are you… how? When?”
“Just now. I just left St. Patrick’s. She was pronounced…I had to leave – I couldn’t stay.” She hugged him as her tears flowed.
He continued.
“She was coming home from Tucson – Art Council meeting – he didn’t see her. It was a truck, Gracie. A semi.”
Flashes from her own childhood accident came streaming forth like a forgotten movie. Her mother’s gasp, her father’s tight grip on the steering wheel. The yelling. The squeal of the overwrought brakes. Then, the earsplitting crunch. The wailing of the sirens. The coal black night. The shocking blues and reds of the emergency vehicles. The noise in her head that she heard for weeks upon weeks after the crash.
She knew what Lucia saw before dying.
“I’m so sorry, Aar,” she sobbed.
His grip was stronger than death. She felt hot tears cascade down her bare shoulder, leaving wet streaks that marked her flesh before drying. His cracked aura pulled at her, consumed the hope that this was unreal. He continued to spin and drown, breaking off pieces of words like unfair and death and scream.
He sat in the chair, Grace half draped across his lap, until his body stopped shaking and he could breathe without crying. He drew himself partially upright and leaned forward. Grace let go of his back and kneeled on the floor. She pressed her cheek against his and whispered another apology. She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, only that she wished someone had said to her when her parents died.
Aaron nodded.
“Let’s go call Jack. He’ll want to know.” She took Aaron’s hand, pulled him from the chair and led him to the kitchen.
“Where’s the damn phone?” She was forever leaving the phone in random rooms. She hit the call button and Aaron poured himself a short glass of brandy.
Grace motioned for him to get her one too as she went to the back sitting porch to retrieve the handset. He followed her out. She was already dialing.
She tried Jack’s cell phone first but it went straight to voice mail.
“Goddammit Jack.” She went in to retrieve the number for the hotel from the refrigerator and returned to the porch.
“Westin La Paloma, how may I direct your call?”
“Room 801, please.” Grace reached for her emergency pack of Marlboro Lights. Aaron took the pack from her hand, tapped out two, and lit them.
“I’m sorry; there is no answer in that room. Can I try a different extension for you or would you like to leave a message?”
“Yes, please leave a message to call home as soon as possible. Thank you.” Grace hung up the phone. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. Jack was not in his room.
“Not there.” She inhaled the cigarette deeply and looked over at Aaron’s face.
He looked up at her through red-rimmed eyes. Through the tendrils of smoke curling toward the sky, she saw shades of Lucia in his gray eyes, the honey brown waves at the curve of his neck. Her eyes misted over again. Lucia’s face swam before her spilling eyes. She shouldn’t be dead. And Jack should know about it.
Her control diminished. She began to sob. Her tears were as caustic as acid rain. She wept for Lucia, Aaron, their family. She wept for her parents and her family and the crash that separated them from her so long ago. She wept for her dying marriage.
Grace had to move. She crushed out her cigarette in the orange, kidney shaped ashtray. She was unbalanced as she climbed out of her chair. The sky was filled with pinpoints of stars, the waxing moon. It was nearly full.
Aaron followed her out the desert path into the cool grass. He gulped from the bottle of brandy and handed it to her before dropping down, cross-legged, next to her. He brushed his hand down her calf to rest at her left ankle. His hand was smooth, piercing her senses.
“I just don’t understand, Gracie. She left this morning – she stopped by my office on the way to Tucson. She came in, laughing, arms outstretched, begging for coffee with cream. I joked with her about her caffeine addiction. She told me that dad was going to go with her but had a client meeting come up at the last minute. It was so normal…” His voice trailed off. A pack of baby coyotes yelped and sang in the near distance. They moved closer with every breath. The moon continued its bright, translucent stare.
“I know how you felt now – when your parents were killed.” The night was so still. Aaron took a deep breath before finishing his statement. “They were there, then gone, in a matter of seconds. Right at the end of an ordinary day.”
The words pricked her insides. Simple words stung like a thousand bees.
She took a swig from the bottle and sat beside him on the grass. The pack of coyotes moved closer until they paused outside the back gate. Rich mewls and synchronized yelps became louder as they harmonized their instinctive cries.
Grace’s heart beat faster. “They’re babies. Can you hear? They’re looking for food.”
For a brief moment, peace fell onto his face. He needed to feel calm, composed. He took the bottle from her and swallowed a few more mouthfuls of the hot liquid. She took a sip, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the coyote symphony. The breeze carried their song through the valley; she could hear echoes off the mountain walls.
Seconds slipped into minutes; the coyotes moved further and further away. Her head was light from the brandy. The rest of her body felt limp, heavy. One more gulp and she’d let Aaron have the last of it.
He took the bottle from her and tilted it back. The coyotes were at least a mile away now; Grace couldn’t make out their distinct voices in the rabble.
Aaron exhaled.
“Thank you, Grace.” His gravelly voice was low and still.
She nodded at him and put her clumsy arms around his neck. “We’re always here for you, Aaron. Jack and me.”
It felt weird to say his name. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be reached. He didn’t know that during this instant his best friend and thinly-clothed wife were tangled in the grass together. That thought sliced through Grace, making her shiver slightly.
“Cold?” Aaron’s face was less than an inch from hers. She was thinking of his emptiness, how it echoed her own.
“C’mon, Gracie. You’ve got goose bumps. Let’s go.” His words were only slightly slurred.
Aaron stood up and extended his hand to her.
She stood awkwardly, willing her nipples to warm and not poke through the thin fabric of her gown. She trailed behind him toward the patio. The moon had already passed its peak in the sky and was reaching for the western horizon. It was well past 3:00, but she felt like the night had slowed. She felt connected to everything she touched – the green-brown grass under her heels; the cool, pressed metal of the gun; the level surface of the iron door handle; Aaron’s smooth hand on her ankle; the warm brandy as it slid down her throat; her rolled, burning cigarette; the flat, thin paper with Jack’s scrawled writing of the hotel phone number. But there was no connection to Jack, just a dial tone and a message to call home.
Grace grabbed the empty brandy glasses off the porch table, clinking them together. The sound broke the dark thoughts that clouded her mind.
“You can stay here, if you want.” She colored slightly. “In the guest room, I mean. We have a guest room.”
Inside, Grace dropped the glasses into the clean, stainless sink.
“I’m ok.” His frame was slightly askew.
“Come help me put sheets on the bed.”
The hallway to the guest room was on the opposite side of the house. She pulled the sage linens and a down comforter from the closet. Aaron excused himself to the bathroom.
She was just finishing her struggle with the last corner on the thick, padded mattress when he appeared in the doorway, gun in hand.
“Do you always keep your gun by the toilet?”
“Only when someone knocks on the door in the middle of the night.” She paused and finished the corner. “Sorry, you don’t have a light in here. Jack was going to replace before Lughnasadh but didn’t get to it.”
“The moon is bright enough for now.” He reached behind her grab the comforter, knocking her onto the bed.
He tossed the comforter onto the end of the bed and pulled her up.
“You ok?”
She felt his gray eyes on her in the semi-darkness. No. She wasn’t ok and neither was he. What she wanted in that instant wasn’t ok. Nothing was ok.
“Yes – fine.” She hugged him quickly and moved toward the door. It was an intimate dance around desire, fidelity and need.
“Stay.”
The music in her head stopped. They were not waltzing anymore.
“Aaron.” She didn’t want him to stop, but knew that was wrong.
“Sorry, Gracie.” She heard him sink onto the bed. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just lost and sad and hurting – and know you are too.”
The sheets rustled. She was quiet until he was safely tucked away, unable to jump up and devour her. She turned to face him, needed the possibility of him to drown reality out for her. Grief was hard to hear in the midst of static.
“I know, Aaron.” She stepped back into the room. “I can’t believe Lucia isn’t here – it isn’t fair to you. Selfishly, I’m angry because Jack hasn’t called. And I’m embarrassed for feeling…” She didn’t finish her thought.
Aaron raised the covers on the bed and patted the space beside him. “All innocent, Gracie.”
She laid down beside him. He tucked her against him and closed his eyes. The moonlight was all but gone now. Somewhere in the distance, the coyote pups sang.
Grace awoke with a start. She had been dreaming of red, hazy moonlight and round ripe fruit dropping from thick green trees. She was trying to catch the oranges and lemons and purple plums, but they kept falling through her white nightgown. In the distance, she could hear the constant strum of hoof beats. White stallions galloped and charged toward her back gate. She was spinning, trying to catch the sweet, spherical fruit that was always just out of her reach. She was helpless at it crashed to the desert floor with a sick thud, bursting open and revealing long, thin maggots. It was then that she started to wretch in her dream. She was just about to throw up, doubled over in the place that resembled her back yard, when she woke with a start. Her heart raced. Grace could have sworn she heard knocking. It was probably just the pounding in her chest that woke her.
She took a deep, staccato breath, trying to calm herself. It had been three days since Jack had left for his California trip. He had called her only twice – short phone calls that didn’t leave much time for questions or kind, sweet nothings.
When she heard the noise again, it was unmistakable. Someone was banging on her front door. She looked at the green glow from the bedside clock. 12:24. No one she knew would be at the front door at 12:24.
She dove for the gun in Jack’s bedside table and clicked off the safety. She’d go to the window in the front bathroom and peer out. She didn’t even have to pass the front door for that.
She quickly crept down the hall, her thin shift damp with nervous sweat. Through the bathroom window, she saw a crumpled frame, an arm she knew. It was Aaron.
Securing the safety on the 9mm in her hand, she dropped the gun next to the toilet and ran to the front door. She slid the latch open.
“What the hell, Aaron. You scared me to death. I almost shot…” Grace flicked on the entry light and stopped mid-sentence. Aaron was bent, folded like he was injured. When he looked up at her, his face was crumpled, old.
“Aaron? What’s the matter?” Grace pulled him into the house and latched the door behind her.
He didn’t speak, just looked at Grace and sank into the padded white chair in the corner of the living room.
“Aaron?”
“Where’s Jack?” Aaron was nearly whispering, his voice was so low.
“California. What’s wrong?” Grace was shivering now even though her blood was running faster.
“She’s gone, Gracie. Gone.” Aaron didn’t look up.
“Who?”
“My mom.” He looked up then, the tears threatened to break free.
Grace felt her heart drop into her stomach. Lucia Verrado was the nicest woman she had ever met. She felt hot tears build in her eyes.
“What? Are you… how? When?”
“Just now. I just left St. Patrick’s. She was pronounced…I had to leave – I couldn’t stay.” She hugged him as her tears flowed.
He continued.
“She was coming home from Tucson – Art Council meeting – he didn’t see her. It was a truck, Gracie. A semi.”
Flashes from her own childhood accident came streaming forth like a forgotten movie. Her mother’s gasp, her father’s tight grip on the steering wheel. The yelling. The squeal of the overwrought brakes. Then, the earsplitting crunch. The wailing of the sirens. The coal black night. The shocking blues and reds of the emergency vehicles. The noise in her head that she heard for weeks upon weeks after the crash.
She knew what Lucia saw before dying.
“I’m so sorry, Aar,” she sobbed.
His grip was stronger than death. She felt hot tears cascade down her bare shoulder, leaving wet streaks that marked her flesh before drying. His cracked aura pulled at her, consumed the hope that this was unreal. He continued to spin and drown, breaking off pieces of words like unfair and death and scream.
He sat in the chair, Grace half draped across his lap, until his body stopped shaking and he could breathe without crying. He drew himself partially upright and leaned forward. Grace let go of his back and kneeled on the floor. She pressed her cheek against his and whispered another apology. She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, only that she wished someone had said to her when her parents died.
Aaron nodded.
“Let’s go call Jack. He’ll want to know.” She took Aaron’s hand, pulled him from the chair and led him to the kitchen.
“Where’s the damn phone?” She was forever leaving the phone in random rooms. She hit the call button and Aaron poured himself a short glass of brandy.
Grace motioned for him to get her one too as she went to the back sitting porch to retrieve the handset. He followed her out. She was already dialing.
She tried Jack’s cell phone first but it went straight to voice mail.
“Goddammit Jack.” She went in to retrieve the number for the hotel from the refrigerator and returned to the porch.
“Westin La Paloma, how may I direct your call?”
“Room 801, please.” Grace reached for her emergency pack of Marlboro Lights. Aaron took the pack from her hand, tapped out two, and lit them.
“I’m sorry; there is no answer in that room. Can I try a different extension for you or would you like to leave a message?”
“Yes, please leave a message to call home as soon as possible. Thank you.” Grace hung up the phone. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. Jack was not in his room.
“Not there.” She inhaled the cigarette deeply and looked over at Aaron’s face.
He looked up at her through red-rimmed eyes. Through the tendrils of smoke curling toward the sky, she saw shades of Lucia in his gray eyes, the honey brown waves at the curve of his neck. Her eyes misted over again. Lucia’s face swam before her spilling eyes. She shouldn’t be dead. And Jack should know about it.
Her control diminished. She began to sob. Her tears were as caustic as acid rain. She wept for Lucia, Aaron, their family. She wept for her parents and her family and the crash that separated them from her so long ago. She wept for her dying marriage.
Grace had to move. She crushed out her cigarette in the orange, kidney shaped ashtray. She was unbalanced as she climbed out of her chair. The sky was filled with pinpoints of stars, the waxing moon. It was nearly full.
Aaron followed her out the desert path into the cool grass. He gulped from the bottle of brandy and handed it to her before dropping down, cross-legged, next to her. He brushed his hand down her calf to rest at her left ankle. His hand was smooth, piercing her senses.
“I just don’t understand, Gracie. She left this morning – she stopped by my office on the way to Tucson. She came in, laughing, arms outstretched, begging for coffee with cream. I joked with her about her caffeine addiction. She told me that dad was going to go with her but had a client meeting come up at the last minute. It was so normal…” His voice trailed off. A pack of baby coyotes yelped and sang in the near distance. They moved closer with every breath. The moon continued its bright, translucent stare.
“I know how you felt now – when your parents were killed.” The night was so still. Aaron took a deep breath before finishing his statement. “They were there, then gone, in a matter of seconds. Right at the end of an ordinary day.”
The words pricked her insides. Simple words stung like a thousand bees.
She took a swig from the bottle and sat beside him on the grass. The pack of coyotes moved closer until they paused outside the back gate. Rich mewls and synchronized yelps became louder as they harmonized their instinctive cries.
Grace’s heart beat faster. “They’re babies. Can you hear? They’re looking for food.”
For a brief moment, peace fell onto his face. He needed to feel calm, composed. He took the bottle from her and swallowed a few more mouthfuls of the hot liquid. She took a sip, closed her eyes, and concentrated on the coyote symphony. The breeze carried their song through the valley; she could hear echoes off the mountain walls.
Seconds slipped into minutes; the coyotes moved further and further away. Her head was light from the brandy. The rest of her body felt limp, heavy. One more gulp and she’d let Aaron have the last of it.
He took the bottle from her and tilted it back. The coyotes were at least a mile away now; Grace couldn’t make out their distinct voices in the rabble.
Aaron exhaled.
“Thank you, Grace.” His gravelly voice was low and still.
She nodded at him and put her clumsy arms around his neck. “We’re always here for you, Aaron. Jack and me.”
It felt weird to say his name. He wasn’t here. He couldn’t be reached. He didn’t know that during this instant his best friend and thinly-clothed wife were tangled in the grass together. That thought sliced through Grace, making her shiver slightly.
“Cold?” Aaron’s face was less than an inch from hers. She was thinking of his emptiness, how it echoed her own.
“C’mon, Gracie. You’ve got goose bumps. Let’s go.” His words were only slightly slurred.
Aaron stood up and extended his hand to her.
She stood awkwardly, willing her nipples to warm and not poke through the thin fabric of her gown. She trailed behind him toward the patio. The moon had already passed its peak in the sky and was reaching for the western horizon. It was well past 3:00, but she felt like the night had slowed. She felt connected to everything she touched – the green-brown grass under her heels; the cool, pressed metal of the gun; the level surface of the iron door handle; Aaron’s smooth hand on her ankle; the warm brandy as it slid down her throat; her rolled, burning cigarette; the flat, thin paper with Jack’s scrawled writing of the hotel phone number. But there was no connection to Jack, just a dial tone and a message to call home.
Grace grabbed the empty brandy glasses off the porch table, clinking them together. The sound broke the dark thoughts that clouded her mind.
“You can stay here, if you want.” She colored slightly. “In the guest room, I mean. We have a guest room.”
Inside, Grace dropped the glasses into the clean, stainless sink.
“I’m ok.” His frame was slightly askew.
“Come help me put sheets on the bed.”
The hallway to the guest room was on the opposite side of the house. She pulled the sage linens and a down comforter from the closet. Aaron excused himself to the bathroom.
She was just finishing her struggle with the last corner on the thick, padded mattress when he appeared in the doorway, gun in hand.
“Do you always keep your gun by the toilet?”
“Only when someone knocks on the door in the middle of the night.” She paused and finished the corner. “Sorry, you don’t have a light in here. Jack was going to replace before Lughnasadh but didn’t get to it.”
“The moon is bright enough for now.” He reached behind her grab the comforter, knocking her onto the bed.
He tossed the comforter onto the end of the bed and pulled her up.
“You ok?”
She felt his gray eyes on her in the semi-darkness. No. She wasn’t ok and neither was he. What she wanted in that instant wasn’t ok. Nothing was ok.
“Yes – fine.” She hugged him quickly and moved toward the door. It was an intimate dance around desire, fidelity and need.
“Stay.”
The music in her head stopped. They were not waltzing anymore.
“Aaron.” She didn’t want him to stop, but knew that was wrong.
“Sorry, Gracie.” She heard him sink onto the bed. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Just lost and sad and hurting – and know you are too.”
The sheets rustled. She was quiet until he was safely tucked away, unable to jump up and devour her. She turned to face him, needed the possibility of him to drown reality out for her. Grief was hard to hear in the midst of static.
“I know, Aaron.” She stepped back into the room. “I can’t believe Lucia isn’t here – it isn’t fair to you. Selfishly, I’m angry because Jack hasn’t called. And I’m embarrassed for feeling…” She didn’t finish her thought.
Aaron raised the covers on the bed and patted the space beside him. “All innocent, Gracie.”
She laid down beside him. He tucked her against him and closed his eyes. The moonlight was all but gone now. Somewhere in the distance, the coyote pups sang.
posted by Roxy at 10:13 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home