The Weight of Heaven (23 page)

might no longer be a mother herself, but she would always be somebody’s child, and at this moment, Ellie was profoundly grateful

for that fact. She would call her mother tonight once they reached

home.

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 5 7

Satish turned a corner, and for a second the sun peeked out from

behind the heavy clouds, bathing the countryside in an artificiallooking white light. Ellie barely noticed it. Instead, she took in the

shivering trees, their leaves battered by the relentless violence of

the rain, and the occasional cow, emaciated and wet, seeking shelter

below one of those trees. Although it was warm and safe in the car,

Ellie felt one with those living things outside, beaten by the rain,

unprotected and unsafe in a dangerous world.

Her heart full of misgivings, Ellie eyed the road stretched out

in front of them. She imagined it looked like her future—dark and

endless and lined with ominous, threatening rain clouds.

Book Two

Summer and Autumn 1993

Ann Arbor, Michigan

Chapter 14

He wanted to buy her.

Later, ashamed of his initial reaction, he would try to remember

the truth differently, tell himself that his first reaction upon seeing

Ellie had not been that crass or politically incorrect. Later, he would

amend that to believe that upon first setting eyes on Ellie he had felt

a strong urge to possess her or even that he had known in that first

instant that he wanted to marry her. But the fact was, before his

mind could censor his thoughts, he had wanted to buy that beautiful

woman in the sleeveless black shirt and baggy pants who was bent

over her cello, her straight dark hair falling across what he thought

was the most finely sculpted face he had ever beheld. Wanted to buy

her, the way one would want to buy a delicate bone china vase in an

antique store or a painting one fell in love with at an art gallery.

He turned away, embarrassed by his own thoughts, but the next

second he turned back, mesmerized this time by the men’s watch that

she wore and by the improbably rich blue veins running down her

thin, tanned wrists, enchanted by the way she was cradling the awkwardly large cello, those long fingers coaxing the instrument into

doing her bidding. He had a sudden flash of what this woman would

be like in bed, how she would hold her lover lightly but firmly, how

1 6 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

those fingers would coax from him a different kind of melody. He

imagined himself kissing the inside of her wrists, kissing the narrow

strip where her watch had left a band of white against the rest of her

tanned flesh. He imagined her body like a cello, a rich, golden instrument, her long, delicate neck, the smooth, polished torso, imagined plucking at her small, firm breasts with his lips, holding those

narrow hips against his. He told himself to memorize this woman’s

face and body in case he never saw her again, so that the next time

he was tempted to sleep with the pretty, inconsequential girls who

seemed to be everywhere at the University of Michigan, he would

remember what his ideal woman looked like.

Aware that he was staring, Frank forced himself to look away and

at his surroundings. It was a beautiful afternoon in June. Ellie was

playing in a string quartet hired by Wilfred Turner, whose parents

were throwing him a belated graduation party on their large family

estate. Wilfred was a year ahead of Frank in the MBA program at

the University of Michigan.

The quartet was working through the Brandenburg Concerto

No. 2, but Frank scarcely heard the music as he rummaged his way

through the guests milling around the enormous backyard, looking

for Wilfred. “Good party, big guy,” he said. “How you doing?”

Wilfred made a face. “I’ll be better after all these folks leave, and

we can go down a few beers at McLarry’s. Most of these are mater’s

friends.”

Frank nodded noncommittally. He pretended to look around.

“Nice music,” he said, keeping his voice light. “Where’d you find

them?”

Wilfred laughed. “Forget it, kiddo,” he said. “You’re the sixth

guy who’s asked. From what I hear, she has a boyfriend.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Oh, knock it off, Frank. You’re not fooling me. Either you’re

suddenly interested in classical music or you’ve developed a sudden

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 6 3

fondness for middle-aged men,” Wilfred said, pointing his chin in

the direction of the three other musicians.

“Fuck you, Wilfred,” Frank said, walking away.

He heard Wilfred laugh behind him. “For what it’s worth, they

call themselves the Moonbeams.”

He spent the next hour prowling around the lawn, making small

talk with the other students, avoiding Wilfred and his mother, picking up an occasional hors d’oeuvre from a passing waiter’s tray and

sipping white wine. Finally, the musicians took a break, and Frank

made a beeline for where the cellist was standing, stopping long

enough to grab a fresh glass of wine.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Frank. And you must be exhausted. Care for

a drink?”

She accepted the proffered glass without so much as glancing at

him. “Thanks,” she said and began to walk away.

“Wait,” he said, and as she stopped and looked at him quizzically, he found himself saying, “A friend of mine is looking for a

musician for a—a birthday bash he’s having. Do you have a card or

something?”

She gestured with her head. “You should talk to Ted. He does all

the bookings.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank could see the other guys

milling around, waiting for a chance to talk to the girl. “Well, the

thing is, my friend’s place is small. He only wants to hire one musician.” Even to his own ears this sounded lame. “Do you happen to

know someone who can perform solo? You know, classical guitar

or something?”

“Well, I play the harpsichord.”

“Harpsichord? Why, that would be perfect. He—my friend—

has a small place. So, let me call you. Do you have a card?”

She looked amused. “Sorry, no card. I just do this on the side, to

earn some extra money. Grad school’s not cheap, you know.”

1 6 4 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

Frank’s eyes lit up. “You go to U of M? Music school?”

“Nope. I’m starting on my Ph.D. in psychology in the fall.”

“Oh, wow. That’s cool.” Frank saw Wilfred waving to her as he

approached them. “So let me get your phone number,” he said, pulling out a pen. Wilfred was almost up to them now. He scribbled it

on his palm as she recited it.

Wilfred walked over and kissed the girl once on each cheek in

the European way. Frank felt a surge of jealousy run through him.

Goddamn pretentious prick, he thought. “How you doing, sweetheart?” Wilfred said. “Is my buddy here bothering you?”

Frank spoke before she could. “I should let you two chat,” he

said. He smiled at her. “Nice meeting you.”

He nodded to Wilfred and held up his hand as if to scratch his ear

so that he could see the phone number written on his palm. “Good

party, Wilfred,” he said. “I think I’ll go chat with your—mater.”

He had to control the lift in his step as he walked away. It was

only when he had gone to the bar to get another drink that he realized that he didn’t know the name of the woman he had just lost his

heart to.

Which made it awkward when he called her the next day. He could’ve

asked Wilfred for her name, of course, but he didn’t want to give him

the pleasure of lording it over him, teasing him, or worse, lecturing

him. He didn’t want to talk to Wilfred at all. In fact, he didn’t want

to talk to anyone except the girl, the girl, the girl who had slithered

her way into his dreams the previous night, the one who was responsible for the thudding of his heart and for the dampness of his

pajamas when he woke up. The girl who had reduced him to being a

callow teenager again, who had no control over his own body. Like

a love-struck teenager he had copied her number down on a piece of

paper when he got home from the party and then traced its outline

again on his palm, not wanting it to fade away.

He tumbled out of bed at nine the next day, brushed his teeth

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 6 5

to get rid of the morning hoarseness, and dialed her number. She

answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” she said, and the single word

made Frank’s body ache with longing.

“Hi,” he said. “This is Frank. We met at Wilfred’s yesterday? I

talked to you about playing at my friend’s party?”

There was a slight pause and then she said, “Yup, I remember.”

Couldn’t she sound a little
glad
or something? Frank thought.

But hey, at least she remembers. “Great,” he said. “Well, I was calling to follow up on it. He definitely wants to hire you.”

“What date is the gig?”

Date? Shit. “He doesn’t know yet. That is, it’s sometime in July,

but he’s not sure when.”

“Well, he should let me know as soon as he knows. July’s a busy

month. Everybody wants to get married then.”

Had he detected something in her voice? Some edge, some sarcasm? Was she against marriage? Against love, romance, men in

general?

“Hello?” the voice at the other end said. “You still there?”

“I’m here,” Frank said. He thought fast. “You know, before I

introduce you to my friend, you and I should come up with a list of

dates when you’re available and go over the musical arrangements.

Are you free to meet for coffee or something this week?”

“You want to go over what music I’ll play?” This time there was

no mistaking the bemusement in her voice. But before he could respond, she said, “Okay. I’ll bring my calendar with me, and we can

pin down some dates. I can also show you a list of selections. But

shouldn’t your friend meet with us?”

Damn. This lying business was treacherous. He was already beginning to feel like a dirty old man. “Don’t worry about that. I—

we’re sort of cohosting this party together.”

“But I thought—” she started before changing her mind.

“Whatever.”

“Listen,” he said. “I have an idea. I was gonna grab a quick lunch

1 6 6 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

at Ali Baba’s at one o’clock today. You know where that is, on State

Street? Would you like to discuss this over lunch?”

The slightest of hesitations and then, “Sure.”

Sure? It was that easy? Frank exhaled and realized that he had

been holding his breath the whole time they’d been on the phone.

“Great,” he said hoping she hadn’t heard the slight tremor in his

voice. “See you at one.”

The instant he hung up, he realized he still hadn’t asked her her

name.

At noon, he caught himself changing his shirt a second time and

stopped himself. Enough preening, already, he told his reflection in

the mirror. Either she’ll like you or she won’t. You’re not auditioning for a part. The way he was behaving brought back memories of

lingering on the front porch of the house in Grand Rapids, dressed

in the suit he wore to church every Sunday, looking for his father

to return. For five months after his father left, he kept a vigil after

church every Sunday, wanting to be dressed in his finest when his

dad came back. And then one day he
saw
himself, a twelve-year-old

boy dressed in his brother’s hand-me-down suit, rocking himself on

the big white rocker, his heart jumping every time a car came down

the quiet street. Saw the futility of the hope that burned in that boy’s

chest. And he went inside and got out of that suit as quickly as he

could.

He had grabbed an outdoor table at Ali Baba’s and was paging

through a library book when he looked up and saw her standing in

front of his table. And he knew that she had seen the look of stunned

pleasure that crossed his face when he spotted her. She wore a simple

white dress with wide lapels and big black buttons in the front, her

sunglasses resting on her head. Surrounded by men and women in

T-shirts and shorts, she stood out like a flower in the desert. Frank’s

mouth went dry as he stood up to greet her.

“Hi,” she said.

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 6 7

“Hey.” He smiled, knowing that his smile was too deep for the

occasion but not really caring. He was happy to be sitting across

from this lovely woman and he didn’t care who knew it.

“I grabbed an outdoor table. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect.” She looked around and flung one arm out. “It’s a

gorgeous day.”

“It is,” he said. “A perfect day.” And she must’ve heard something in his voice because she looked at him before lowering her

eyes.

She ordered an iced tea and a felafel sandwich. Frank ordered a

chicken pita and hummus for them to share.

“Okay, I have a confession to make,” he said when the waiter

left. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Ellie.”

Ellie. He tried it out in his head and decided it was like swirling a

rich, red wine in his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Ellie,” he said.

“You, too. So. Shall we look at our calendars?”

He tore a piece of pita and dipped it in the hummus. “Let’s wait