Read The Reconstructionist Online
Authors: Nick Arvin
The eastern sky, in his mirror, lay awash in shades of pink and lilac. ‘I’m not exactly sure,’ he said. ‘Does it matter?’
Flat land streamed by. She said, ‘Pull over.’
‘Here?’ He let the car slow and stop on the shoulder. She looked decided: the muscles around her eyes relaxed, her lips set – a look that pushed him down like a hand on the head of a swimmer. She stood out and closed the door and walked away, a figure diminishing, then vanishing, under the blush of dawn light.
He watched the traffic and the road and the landscape – the
road
ran straight to disappearing in either direction and on either side the land opened, the trees a distant effect clutching the horizon, except, across the highway, a single old oak, like a thing that would be there forever. He went through everything again. Could he be wrong about Christopher’s accident? An error in multiplication, a detail missed in a photograph, a cop sliding seats around – it was possible. Could she be right? Could he have been in Christopher’s car? It was insane to think so. If that were true, anything might be true. But perhaps anything might be true.
He discovered that he was sweating and he ran down the windows, which alleviated the temperature only a little and brought into the car all the furious noise of the highway, the wheels beating on the asphalt and the trucks clanking and the air pushed before one vehicle and sucked behind another so that at times it howled as it was torn in two directions.
Not knowing what to do he waited. If she had said anything he would have had no hope – if she had said go on, if she had said goodbye, if she had flicked a hand in gesture, he would be without hope. But she had said nothing, and so he would wait.
A double-trailer truck went by, the air shuddering behind it. A series of silver sedans passed one after another like a beaded necklace dragged over the ground. Midday, he stood out of the car and went a little distance off the side of the road to pee. And then examined the roadside gravel, with greater and greater care, studied it stone by stone. But if traces of her steps were there, he could not see them.
Had Boggs foreseen all of this, or something like this? His gaze drifted to the oak across the highway, to its intricate, indifferent manner of occupying space. A cement truck passed, its barrel striped like a colossal peppermint candy. Had Christopher foreseen this? A lawless unreality hung like a purple fog at the limit of vision. How long should he wait? He thought of trying to follow her, as he had tried to follow Boggs. But Boggs had wanted him to follow. She did not. Yes? Or, was he only too tired? Of course, she would be right to leave him. For a time he cried out amid the roaring traffic noise and swore he would wait until he saw her
coming
– a figure resolving out of the far distance. He would wait. He would wait and wait and wait. He could only wait.
He waited into the afternoon with a headache scraping his eyes. He was also hungry – a dull, ridiculous sensation.
If he sat here long enough, he thought, he would see an accident occur.
For a long while he watched the oak, its solidity flickered by passing vehicles, and when he turned forward again he saw her.
He held his breath. He could see her. Coming out of the wavering distance, beside the flashing traffic. Stooped a little. Limping a little. Watching him as she came.
When she reached the minivan she opened the door and sat beside him. Smelling of sweat and exhaust and faintly sweet and of herself. Scarred. Without eyelashes.
Not saying anything. But here.
‘Love?’ he said, and abandoned all the rest, turned the key and began to drive again.
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781446440353
Published by Windmill Books 2011
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Copyright © Nick Arvin 2010
Nick Arvin has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
First published in the United Kingdom in 2010 by Hutchinson
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9780099538073