Ruin Falls (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

S
he was surprised when Paul swung off at the exit; then she noticed the tilt of the needle on the gas gauge. Paul pulled up at the pump.

“Honey?” she said. “The kids are really hungry. I think we should get them something to eat.”
Super hungry
, she had heard Ally say.

“I made some sandwiches,” Paul said, indicating a small cooler at Liz’s feet. “But if we dip into them now, dinner might get a little tight. I doubt there’ll be a decent restaurant.”

Paul got out to pump the gas, and Liz let down the window. She leaned over to talk, surprised by the sodden heat in the air. At some point during their entry into western New York, the whole climate had changed. “I’ll take them in, okay?”

Paul looked at her as if she’d suggested bringing the children to Mars. “There’s nothing here but fast food.”

The kids seemed to be gearing up for a rare opportunity. In the backseat, Ally looked at Reid, and both kids unbuckled their belts.

Liz nodded quickly. “Just this once.”

“You already gave them candy,” he said.

“Not candy,” Liz corrected. “Fruit snacks.”

For a topic as inherently light and pleasing as sweets, this was actually dangerous territory for them. Liz knew that both kids secretly ate food Paul would’ve forbidden. Reid, as the older child and
the one who tended toward self-assertion anyway, pilfered packs of gum from the knapsacks of seatmates. But if Paul had known that, he would’ve felt the need to enlighten them all about the history of gum, its origin as a natural component of the beech tree to today’s manufacturing outrages, and by the end none of them would be able to split open a package of Trident without worrying that they were ingesting something akin to cyanide, not to mention contributing to the exploitation of the working class.

And the thing was, by the time Paul had finished, Reid and Ally and Liz herself would all be left feeling grateful they’d gotten a chance to join his crusade.

Her husband shook his head. “Fruit snacks aren’t much better than candy. You may as well just go ahead and have them chew gum.”

Liz hid her smile.

“What’s funny?” Paul asked, and Liz smiled again.

“Just thinking that you can be very convincing.”

The pump clicked off.

“Dad?” Reid said, leaning over the front seat to talk through the open window. “We’re hot.”

“Yeah,” Ally said. “Super hot. Look, Daddy. I feel like one of those pansies.”

Liz looked when Paul didn’t. There were planters here, someone’s nod to beautification, but they’d been filled without a care to conditions, and the blotches of color were shriveled and blistered. Liz’s fingers itched to uproot the bedraggled clumps, offer the dirt a mix of zinnia, snapdragon, and rudbeckia instead, blooms that could withstand the assault of the sun.

“Can we get something to drink?”

“And eat?”

Paul replaced the pump in its slot, studying the array of signs on the building behind them. “You might be able to find some fruit at the Starbucks,” he said to Liz. “Fill the water bottle. I’ll park the car.”

Liz hustled the kids away from the car, thinking, Muffins. Muffins for Reid and Ally, and a grande for me, and Paul would have to be satisfied with that.

She was standing on a long, snaking line, welcoming the air-conditioned cool and watching for Paul, when she realized that while one kid still hovered right beside her, the other didn’t.

“Al?” she said. “Where’s your brother?”

She’d gotten used to the fact that the kids kept better track of each other than she ever could, unless she wanted to be one of those gluey moms who never let her children out of her sight. The teachers told her that even at school, Reid checked up on Ally and vice versa.

Liz took hold of Ally’s hand and began looking around. People pricked the soaring, two-storied space; it was difficult to make out the head of an eight-year-old. Paul entered the building and she called out to get his attention. She didn’t want to stray too far in case Reid came back to find her.

Ally gave a little yelp and Liz realized how hard she was squeezing her daughter’s hand. She wasn’t all the way to worried yet—the kids had plenty of independence on the farm—but this cavernous network of fast food offerings presented all too much temptation to a kid unused to them. Plus Liz’s nerves were still jangled by their near miss on the highway.

“Christ,” Paul said, as soon as he understood the situation. He scrubbed his face. “I’m tired. Reid!”

People in the crowd began to take notice, pulling their own kids close.

“I’ll check the bathroom,” Paul said, scooping Ally up.

It hit her like an
aha
. How had Liz been annoyed earlier by Paul’s sensibility and competence? Her husband leveled her out every time. The restroom was where Reid had to be. After all, it was the kids who had polished off all the water, those sugary fruit things making them thirsty.

But a few seconds later, Paul was headed back from the men’s room, Ally still hooked to his hip. He didn’t have Reid.

Just then Liz’s peripheral vision caught sight of a man’s face, plum-colored and angry. The irate sound of his voice followed a second later. The man held Reid by one bony wrist, and Liz felt her own instinctual surge of outrage along with relief.

“Hey!” she cried. “Let go of my—”

The crowd was parting now, some studiedly ignoring whatever situation had developed, others observing it avidly.

“He yours?” the man called out to Liz.

She suddenly felt hollowed out and weary, spotting the fat leather wallet the man held in the hand he wasn’t using to grasp Reid. Papers bulged out; the wallet’s contents were disarrayed.

“I’m so sorry,” Liz said, walking forward, knowing what must have happened, but feeling no ability to deal with it. “If you look, I think you’ll find that nothing’s missing.”

The man let go of Reid, who shuffled in Liz’s direction, eyes downcast. The man’s frown appeared less angry now than bewildered.

“He likes to see if he can take them,” Liz tried to explain. There was no good explanation, of course, although she had often been compelled to give one. “He’s not actually trying to steal anything.” She paused. “He always gives it right back.”

The man kept silent for a beat. “Boys will be boys,” he said at last.

Liz secured Reid by the arm, imprisoning him only a little less tightly than the man just had. They went to join Paul, who had come to a resigned halt a few feet away.

CHAPTER THREE

“O
ne near car crash, one child almost arrested,” Liz said, a parody of a checklist. “I’d say we’re on vacation.”

The Starbucks seemed less tempting behind her, its aroma slightly sickening. The children were standing in front of a machine that dispensed toys in plastic bubbles. Their expressions looked both dazed and dazzled by the unfamiliar carnival wares, but any minute now they were going to run back, asking for quarters.

Paul was distracted. He looked at her, and when his reply came, it was half-scoffing, half-joking. “Come on. That driver was just a little reckless. And Reid is still a free man.”

But Liz felt too tense to laugh.

When Reid was two years old, he’d begun taking things out of Ally’s nursery. They’d chalked it up to jealousy over the new baby, but the practice hadn’t stopped with time. In fact, it’d gotten worse, or perhaps a more accurate way of putting it was to say that Reid had gotten better. Instead of impossible-to-conceal stuffed animals and blankies, an ear or corner of which always protruded from wherever Reid stowed his booty, small objects such as bracelets and billfolds started disappearing. He had a gift for sleight of hand. He’d once removed his teacher’s earring as she bent down to grade his test.

The littlest pickpocket, they called him, during the time when all this seemed funny.

Liz and Paul had taken their son to a psychologist, and then a psychiatrist. Both doctors terrified them with a list of warning signs to look out for: fire-setting, cruelty to animals. They didn’t seem to grasp, even after observation, that Reid was basically a sweet boy, protective of his sister, still innocent himself. The professionals seemed to regard Liz and Paul with a mute sort of pity whenever they sought to describe their son.

But Reid honestly seemed more gifted than sociopathic to Liz. She supposed anyone would say the same of their child. Everybody had a gift these days; no one was average. Well, Reid had his problems, and he certainly wasn’t on top of his compulsion to relieve objects from their owners. But he never kept the things he stole, save for the occasional stick of gum, or the fruit snacks he’d swiped from Liz’s purse earlier that day. Reid seemed more interested in practice, in diligently perfecting his craft.

Liz made a mental note to propose magic again. It had been the therapist’s suggestion—a way to channel Reid’s passion into something a little more appropriate. In the past, Reid had dismissed the idea with a decidedly teenaged snort.
Magic isn’t real
, he’d said.
You just make things disappear for pretend
.

The return trip across the parking lot felt like an Olympic sport given the completely unanticipated heat. The air was like wet towels upon them, and the kids dragged their feet. Only the promise of turning on the air-conditioning, an oddity where they came from, got Reid and Ally to move. At home, Liz worked outside all summer long. She was unprepared for how a thirty degree leap in temperature, going from indoors to out, could make your body instantly sag.

Their car gave off a baking heat despite having rested for only ten minutes under the sun. Liz dabbed her forehead and vented her underarms in her tee. The kids looked flushed and overheated.

When she opened the door, Ally let out a little shriek, dropping her seatbelt buckle, and Liz took over so that the children didn’t burn their fingers. She pulled spare shirts out of the suitcase and placed them behind each child on the blistering seats. Then she sat down herself.

Paul got in without making a move to turn on the engine.

“Paul?” Liz said. “It’s pretty hot in here.”

Her husband didn’t reply.

“You tense, honey?” Liz asked. “Nervous about seeing your father?” She reached across the seat to touch her husband’s shoulders, then started. “My God. Your back is like an iron rod.” She began to rub.

Paul’s face had gone similarly steely. Liz continued to compress the flesh by his neck, although his expression made her hand falter.

He seemed to sense it, deliberately softening his gaze. “I’m sorry.” The two words sounded strange, as if he had pills in his mouth. “Maybe I’m feeling like I guilted you into this trip. Played the parents-getting-old card.”

“No, honey.” Liz shook her head. “You didn’t. I’ve never gotten to see where you grew up. And it will be good for the kids to see another kind of farming.” She didn’t often think of what she did as farming, but the goods grown in her gardens had acquired a unique value compared to what she was seeing on this drive.

“A crueler kind,” Paul said ruefully. “The rainbow chard you put in at Roots dies a lot more peacefully than my father’s cattle.” His mouth twisted, a sudden spasm.

Paul almost never talked about his father. They rarely saw the man, and the times they had, he and Paul didn’t speak. It was going to be a strange vacation, although Liz imagined the children would run interference, along with Paul’s mother.

“Swiss chard,” Liz corrected gently. “I didn’t put any rainbow in this year. Remember what happened last fall?”

Paul was quiet.

“Paul?”

“Ah yes,” he said. “It wasn’t much of a rainbow. More like monochrome chard.”

Liz laughed. It had been a while since her husband had made her laugh, but this was now twice in one day. Her earlier flash of anger began to ebb away.

“I have an idea,” he said.

“All ears,” Liz said.

She turned around, surprised they hadn’t been asked yet why they
weren’t moving, or pelted by demands for the promised air-conditioning. Both kids were woozy and drifting toward sleep. Liz tipped her head back, but the upholstery produced an instant slick of sweat. She leaned forward, fanning her neck.

“We got a late start. The kids are going to be cranky, and I don’t want them to greet their grandparents that way.”

Unspoken was the fact that neither child had seen Paul’s parents for years.

“Okay …” Liz said.

“Why don’t we drive a little while longer, then get a hotel room? We’ll have one less day at the farm, but everyone will arrive in better shape.”

Paul typically railed against the environmental impact of hotels. All that laundry, the waste involved in the free breakfasts he wouldn’t eat anyway. His making such a suggestion had to be a sign of how the prospect of seeing his parents was throwing him.

He placed a hand suggestively on her leg. “We could even get a suite.”

Something else they hadn’t done much of lately.

Liz lifted her head. “That would be nice.”

“Nice?” Paul finally started the engine. Baked air gusted through the vents. “What is that, monochrome wife?”

She laughed again. Three for three. “Okay, okay. That would be loin-stirringly good. Let’s do it. Let’s go to a hotel.”

CHAPTER FOUR

P
aul made the reservation from the car. A chain hotel, whose name appeared on yet another of those blue signs, and thus wasn’t far off the road. The parking lot shimmered with heat, and light glared off the windows as the building rose, but there was welcome shade under an overhang at the entrance.

They let the kids sleep a few extra minutes, engine running, air on, while Liz fetched a trolley from the vestibule, and Paul got their bags out of the trunk. Perspiration appeared on his brow and in ovals under his arms as he worked; Liz leaned limply against the car, chiding herself for the position of ease when there was much to be done.

The temperature hardly seemed to drop despite the dying sun in the sky.

Paul squinted into it, slamming the trunk shut, and Liz went to nudge Ally awake. Her daughter’s eyelids shot up like shades; Ally had this way of reentering the world from sleep as if she had never left it. She would slip into conversations mid-breath.