This Glittering World (14 page)

Y
ELLOW
W
ORLD

B
en dreamed the sunset colors of Shadi’s woven blanket: the amber, gold, and rust. The mahogany sky and golden mountains. In the dream, he was parched, walking across a barren desert spotted with cacti and shrubs. The ground scorched his feet, and the air burned his lungs. The air before him was thick and distorted, making mirages. He was lost. He was thirsty. But in the dream, he knew that if he could just find blue, he could drink. Yellow. Gold. Orange. Not a drop of blue in sight. And he knew, as his feet blistered and his chest burned, he would die of thirst.

He woke up sweating, his legs twisted and tangled in the sheets on Sara’s childhood bed. It took a minute to orient himself. Sara slept peacefully next to him. Oblivious. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, stared at the wreckage in the mirror. His cheeks were hollow, his chin nicked with cuts from the last shaving attempt. His eyes were swollen, with dark shadows looming beneath.

It was Christmas Eve, and they were in Phoenix. It was Christmas Eve, and in less than five hours they would be the owners of a brand-new town house in a brand-new development only two blocks from Sara’s parents’ place. It was a modest home with three small bedrooms, one and a half baths, a kidney-shaped pool out back, and a sprinkler system already installed. Every house on the street was the same, only some of them flip-flopped, their architectural plans mirror images of each other.

A week before, Ben had walked through the empty shell and tried to fathom living there. Tried to imagine coming home to that white kitchen, those white walls, the white carpet.

Sara had gone to the never-used refrigerator, and leaned into the cold, clean air. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Ben?” Sara asked. “It’s so new!”

Their house in Flagstaff was a 1920s bungalow. The hot water heater didn’t work very well, the dishwasher was always on the fritz, and some of the windowsills were starting to rot. But it felt like home, like a real home. It had a smell, like ash and musk. It had a history.

“It’s so …
white,”
Ben said.

“We can
paint,
silly,” she said. “Look.” And she pulled a folder out of her purse, full of paint chips, shades of yellow and gold and peach. She pressed a chip against the wall.

“The baby’s room is up here,” she said, pulling him by the hand up the stairs and down a short hallway. She opened the door to a small bedroom with two windows and pale yellow carpeting. “Can’t you picture it?’ she asked, touching her stomach.

And he tried. God, how he tried. But there was nothing but white, a blank space where the crib and changing table and glider should be. The air conditioner whirring through the vents, and the distant sound of a lawn mower, were like a pale suburban lullaby.

Frank had offered them the down payment as a Christmas gift. He said that when the house in Flagstaff sold, they could take the equity and put it in an account for the baby. He was with them at the signing, standing at the white tiled counter in the kitchen, going over the papers with his realtor as Ben and Sara watched and waited to be asked for their signatures. Frank was dressed for golf. He planned to take Ben out for a quick nine holes after the signing while Sara and her mother prepared for Christmas dinner.

“Thank you, Frank,” Ben said, handing him the pen. “This is very generous.”

Frank smacked Ben on the back and said, “S’my pleasure.”

It was a hot day for December. Almost eighty degrees, and Ben was sweating. They were on the last hole and Ben had been playing like shit.

“Didn’t bring your ‘A’ game today, huh, Benny?” Frank asked as he parred. Ben had duck-hooked, shanked, and trapped his ball twice on number 9, which was also, unfortunately, the number he posted.

“Jesus,” Ben said, wiping his forehead with his golf towel.

“Let’s finish up and go to the clubhouse. Get ourselves a little Christmas cheer.”

It took another fifteen minutes for Ben to hole his ball, and he was relieved afterward to be in the golf cart, headed off the course and to the bar.

In the clubhouse, Frank ordered a couple of drinks for them while Ben went to use the restroom. He figured he’d check in with Sara while he was in there, make sure she and her mother were doing okay. Her brother and his wife weren’t due to arrive from Tucson until tomorrow. There were no messages from Sara, but there was a text message from an unfamiliar number. He scrolled quickly through the message:

Lucky contacted me. Took your advice, called PD. Need to talk to you. P.S. Thx for the gift.

Ben’s hands started to shake, and he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

Ben had brought the drive-in speaker to Shadi’s house the morning after Sara told him about the job in Phoenix. Luckily, she hadn’t seen it in the back of the truck. He’d hoped to find Shadi there, so that he could at least say good-bye, but she wasn’t home. He’d set the post up by the door to her trailer and slipped a note into the chrome grill:
Found this treasure from the Tonto Drive-In in Winslow and couldn’t resist.
There were a thousand other things he wanted to say, but he knew it would only make it worse, and so he just wrote,
Merry Christmas. —Ben. As
he drove away, he looked at the speaker in the rearview mirror and knew that this would be,
had
to be, the last time he drove away. He was going to be a father. A husband. He would not fuck this up. He would not ruin any more lives.

Now, in the cold, clean restroom of the country club, he felt a rush of heat through his body and he started to sweat. He used the restroom and then pulled his phone out and looked at the message again. If she contacted the police, then the investigation might be reopened. If this were the case, the police would probably want to talk to him. He couldn’t believe that Lucky had sought out Shadi. Ben smiled at the thought that his conversation with him had made any sort of impact. Maybe this meant he was ready to talk to the cops about what happened that night. If he did, it could mean they might catch that asshole Fitch and put him away for what he and his buddies did to Ricky.

Tomorrow was Christmas. He and Sara weren’t moving their stuff out of the house in Flag until New Year’s Eve. In the meantime, he was supposed to get started with Frank at the new shop. Sara was starting her job at Children’s right after the new year. Their new life was supposed to begin. Right now.

He looked at the message again, and thought about Shadi’s fingers tapping out the words. About the way her fingers had traced the line of his jaw, the trail from throat to chest to belly button and lower. He thought about her fingers intertwined with his and neither of them wanting to let go.

He glanced around the empty restroom and looked back at his phone. And then he hit
REPLY
and wrote:
In PHX for X-mas, will be back
ASAP.
Promise.

When he got back to the bar, Frank was slapping some guy on the back.

“Ben!” he said loudly. “I want you to meet somebody.”

The guy, who looked like an aging Ken doll in a yellow golf shirt and duck pants, thrust out his hand and shook Ben’s firmly.

“This is my future son-in-law,” Frank said. Proudly, Ben thought. “And this is the future governor of Arizona.”

“Ah, Frank, don’t get ahead of yourself,” the guy said. “I haven’t even officially announced that I’m running yet.”

“Mister Modesty,” Frank said, shaking his head. “He’s been like this since college. How about some ice cream with that humble pie?”

The guy laughed heartily.

“Ben Bailey.” Frank smiled. “Marty Bello.”

B
en’s mind was racing.

Sara went to bed right after Christmas Eve dinner, and not long afterward, Frank and Jeanine excused themselves as well.

“Get some sleep so Santa can come,” Jeanine said. She’d been hitting the eggnog pretty hard and her words were slippery.

“Mind if I take a swim?” he asked. He needed a few minutes to be alone, to think things through.

“Enjoy,” Frank said. “And the Christmas lights are on a timer, so you just need to turn out the overheads.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jeanine said, and stumbled as they made their way upstairs.

Ben changed into his swim trunks and went out to the back patio. He walked around to the diving board and climbed the ladder. He walked to the edge of the board and dove into the pool. The water enclosed his body in a cold liquid embrace. When he emerged, he blinked the water from his eyes and flipped onto his back. Christmas lights were strung in all of the palm trees and birds-of-paradise. They twinkled like constellations as he stared up at the sky. His skin prickled.

Luckily, Martin Bello hadn’t recognized Ben’s name. He didn’t realize that he was the guy who had chucked his son’s cell phone at a wall. And thankfully, Frank didn’t bring up anything about his job at NAU. Instead he’d said, “Ben’s going to be running the new shop. Make this a real family business.” And Martin Bello had nodded approvingly.

Apparently, he and Frank had met at ASU when they were getting their MBAs. They’d both been in the same fraternity, at different schools, as undergrads. Ben wondered if Martin Bello had any idea what an ass his son was. About the assholes he was friends with. He wondered if he knew anything about what happened that night, though he doubted it.

Ben knew that most kids at school kept their parents pretty insulated against their collegiate activities. Just a year ago, a girl had died from alcohol poisoning after some party off campus. Her parents were fundamentalists and had no idea, until they saw her MySpace page, how very bad their good little girl was. He knew from his own experience that the stuff that happened behind closed dorm room doors was not usually included in the phone calls to Mom and Pop. And something of
this
magnitude was not something to write home about.

As he bobbed and dipped in the cool water, he thought about how he could possibly meet Shadi in the short amount of time he had left in Flagstaff. He’d promised he’d be there. He imagined the investigation would be under way by now. He wanted to know if they were making progress. But he and Sara weren’t going back to Flagstaff until New Year’s Eve Day to pack up, and they were moving on New Year’s Day. One week from tomorrow. Now that the decision to move had been made, Sara seemed hell-bent on spending as little time in Flagstaff as possible.

Ben pulled himself out of the pool and dried off. He quietly went into the house, locking the doors behind him, and made his way to Sara’s room.

T
he Flagstaff house was empty, the U-Haul full by five o’clock on New Year’s Eve. Ben walked through the bungalow, with Maude at his heels, looking at all the empty spaces. Sara and Melanie were sitting in the kitchen on two folding chairs. Sara was crying. Their voices sounded hollow, echoing in the empty room.

“Maybe we’re making a mistake,” he heard her say. “I don’t have a single friend down there anymore.”

“You’ll have your mom and dad,” Melanie comforted. “And Ben.”

Sara cried some more, and Ben lifted up a box labeled
Bathroom.

“I’ll be down every other weekend,” Melanie said. “I’ll be there so much, Ben will want to kick me out,” she said and laughed as Ben came into the kitchen.

Sara’s face was streaked with tears, and Melanie was holding both of her hands.

“She okay?” he mouthed to Melanie and she nodded.

“Listen,” Ben said. “There are only a few boxes left. Why don’t you girls go into town and get some lunch. I’ll finish up.

Melanie nodded. “Good idea. What are you craving?” she asked, squeezing Sara’s hands. “What does the baby want to eat?”

Sara shrugged.

“Crystal Creek sandwiches?”

Sara shook her head.

“Beaver Street’s Southwest chicken pizza?” Melanie tried. It was like watching a mother negotiating with her child.

Sara smiled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “And lemonade.”

“Okeydokey,” Melanie said. “Ben, you want to meet us at Beaver Street when you’re done? I’ll buy you a pint?”

“Sure,” Ben said. “Give me about a half hour.”

“Just a half hour, Ben,” Sara said. “We’ll be waiting.”

They were going to watch the midnight pinecone drop at the old Weatherford Hotel one last time and then drive down to Melanie’s in Kachina for the night. The next day they’d drive the U-Haul down to Phoenix and move into their new house.

After Melanie and Sara drove away in Melanie’s car, Ben picked up his cell phone to call Shadi. He scrolled through the messages, looking for the text he’d gotten down in Phoenix. Nothing. It wasn’t there. He clicked up and down through the list. It was gone. Had he erased it? Shit. Jesus, what if Sara had seen it? He took a deep breath and cracked his back. What had it even said? Something about Lucky. Something about the gift. It’s not like it was anything incriminating. Crap. Sara wouldn’t have looked at his messages, would she? He wasn’t sure what she was capable of anymore.

Regardless, the message was gone. Her number was gone. Now if he wanted to talk to her about Lucky, he’d have to drive up to her place. She didn’t have a landline, so he couldn’t look up her number. But this also meant that he’d have to see her again. And as much as he wanted to see her, he knew it would just make all of this that much harder. He shouldn’t go. He should just go to the police and tell them what he knew. On the morning after Halloween, he had found a man dying in the snow in front of his house. Later he heard a rumor there was a kid from the university who was bragging about beating him up. There was someone who saw what happened, who watched the kid, Mark Fitch (who drove a blue Mustang), beat Ricky up and throw him out into the cold. There was a witness. His name was Lucky and he worked at Beaver Street. Ben could remain anonymous. Because Ben had no place in this. Not anymore.

“Come on, girl,” he said to Maude as he glanced around the house one last time.

When he and Sara moved into this house, they were so in love with each other. Every time Ben saw her, a surge of happiness had pitched inside of him. It was October. The first night in the house, they hadn’t unpacked anything yet. They had no furniture except their mattress, nothing in the fridge except a bottle of wine. It was autumn and cold. He’d tried to make a fire in the woodstove. He hadn’t known what he was doing though, forgetting to open the damper first. And so the small fire he’d managed to light went out, leaving the house freezing. They’d found the box labeled
Linens
and pulled out every blanket they had to stay warm. They drank the bottle of wine and curled around each other, skin to skin, the heat of their bodies its own furnace. He remembered thinking then that he had never been more content. That if he could hold on to just a fraction of this feeling, he would always be happy.

Now something panged in his chest. Something primitive and vivid. He used to
love
Sara. His blood and skin once felt for Sara the way it did now whenever he allowed himself to think of Shadi. But over time, that feeling for Sara had dulled at the edges. Softened. Sometimes it slipped away entirely. And if this dissolution were possible, maybe it was possible that one day these feelings he had for Shadi could disappear too. They could fragment, until there was nothing left but slivers that would scatter and be lost. Though, while this should have comforted him, should have given him hope, it didn’t. Instead it made an ache that started somewhere deep in his gut and spread through his limbs.

He got in the U-Haul and drove to the end of his street. If he turned right, he would be headed into town, to Sara and Melanie and a waiting pint of beer. If he turned left, he would be headed to Shadi’s. He sat in the truck for five minutes until someone drove up in a car behind him and gently tapped on its horn. He glanced in the side-view mirror and waved an apology. Then he signaled left and pulled out onto the road.