“But you’re not.” Chuck’s blue eyes filled with tears, and I remembered that this was the most annoying thing about drunk Chuck. He got so emotional over nothing.
He started muttering again. He was speaking in fragments. “Yoga teacher,” he said. “Jacuzzi,” he said. “All the time,” he said. “Don’t even make shepherd’s pie anymore,” he said.
“What?”
Chuck’s head rolled back and forth on the futon. His eyes were closed now. “All the time.”
Nancy, don’t. There’s no point. “Well, you’re at work all the time, Chuck.”
“All the time,” he said again, with the effort of his whole body this time. His arms and legs contorted into a very uncomfortable-looking shape. “All the tiiiime.”
Other things I was remembering about drunk Chuck: he told you things he didn’t have the courage to say when he was sober, and he made you feel like a single mother of three.
Chuck had rolled onto his side, so he probably wouldn’t die from choking on his own vomit.
“Go to sleep, Chuck.” I flicked the light.
18
Chuck crept into the bedroom before dawn to get his work clothes. I pretended to sleep. He changed quickly. He made coffee quietly. His car engine started just as the sun peered over the horizon and the black leaves turned green in the light.
I got up right after he left. I made the boys lunch, which I hadn’t done for at least a year. Maybe two years. Fat turkey sandwiches and Sun Chips for Cam and Doritos for Jed. Not that this would make up for last night, I thought, as I folded the tops of the brown paper bags. Not that it was my job to make up for anything, I thought, as Cam entered the kitchen. Because it wasn’t my fault, I thought, as I guiltily said, “Good morning.”
“Hey.” Cam frowned. Then he looked down the hall, so I knew Jed was there.
“Jed?”
No answer.
And then Jed appeared. His face was puffy. He’d been crying. He put his sunglasses on. “We’re leaving.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry about your dad. He’s—I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out, okay?”
Jed wasn’t listening. He was checking his phone.
Cam sighed.
“I made you lunch,” I said, pushing the lunch bags across the counter.
Cam reached for his. He knew it was his because I’d written their names on the front like they were still in preschool.
“Don’t take it, dude,” Jed said.
Cam’s shoulders slumped. He left the lunch and walked to the door. Jed followed him. They slipped on their flip-flops and kept walking.
“Love you!” I called after them.
They didn’t answer. I went out and stood on the lanai, waving good-bye as they drove away. I didn’t expect them to wave back, but I still hoped they would.
?
My morning routine wasn’t working. I tried to push through, but I just couldn’t do it. I kept looking at the driveway like I was waiting for someone to appear. Who? Chuck? My imaginary conversation with Chuck was on repeat in my head: “I am not with my yoga teacher all the time.” / “And who cares if I am.” / “And you need to grow up, Chuck.” / “And make your own shepherd’s pie!” I was spinning. I had to leave the house.
I found myself at the Old Airport walking path, walking in circles. Circles and circles and circles. When I needed water, I kept going. When my legs hurt, I kept going. When it started to rain, I kept going.
Far away across the runway of the old airport was our picnic table. Our initials, pounded by the rain. This was the start of their decay.
Then my phone rang. I expected it to be Chuck with his first of many apologies. I was surprised he hadn’t left a note already.
But it wasn’t Chuck. It was Ana.
“Ana,” I said.
“Nan.” She didn’t sound happy. “Remember how my stomach hurt yesterday?”
I said yes, of course, and she said it had been hurting like that for a little while. Why hadn’t she told me?
Two weeks ago she’d gone to the doctor and taken some tests. “And the results came back today,” she said. “The cancer’s back. Pancreatic.”
I gasped.
“I’m going to die soon. I’m cornered.”
“No.”
“I guess our karma game was bullshit. You can’t bargain with God.”
“But—”
“But you can sure as hell fight her!”
“What do you need? Do you want me to come over?”
“I need a few days to process this alone. But thanks, Nan, you’re a good egg.”
“So are you.”
“No I’m not. That’s why I’m going to die.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“In case anything happens, I want you to know you are loved, Nan. Because I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I’ll call you soon, friend. Good-bye.” She hung up.
I looked up. Where was I? I was standing in front of the drowning dog statue, watching rain pound down on its frantic face.
Fire
19
Two days later the police called. The boys had been arrested for arson. They’d burned down an abandoned shed in the middle of the afternoon. When the battery of their getaway car wouldn’t start, they had called AAA. When the police arrived, they were still waiting. “Just on the street there, watching the smoke,” the police officer said.
I turned off the stove. My healthy snack of mushrooms sizzled in the pan. “Please tell me this is a joke.”
“No ma’am,” the officer said, “this is real.”
?
The police station was a plain, cream-colored building down in the lava fields. It was the only building for miles. Random, I thought, as though fallen from space. Or not random at all, I rethought. If criminals tried to escape, there was nowhere to escape to.
I sat in the car with the AC on high while I waited for Chuck. I turned on the radio.
“This is a civil defense message. This morning’s assessment shows minor advancement of the downslope flow area. Residents and businesses downslope will be informed of any progression in flow activity and advancement, but there is no need for evacuation as of this afternoon.”
I turned off the radio. I felt lonely. I told myself to own my solitude. But I still felt lonely.