Authors: T. Greenwood
The Hungry Season (29 page)
A
lice sits next to Finn, clutching his hand under the table. His mother has made a feast. She does this when she’s upset—cooks as though they’re having the queen of England over for dinner. He wonders what could be wrong. She’d seemed so happy that morning. He wonders if she suspects anything, if they’ve figured out his plan to ditch them and head back to California.
lice sits next to Finn, clutching his hand under the table. His mother has made a feast. She does this when she’s upset—cooks as though they’re having the queen of England over for dinner. He wonders what could be wrong. She’d seemed so happy that morning. He wonders if she suspects anything, if they’ve figured out his plan to ditch them and head back to California.
Four plates circle the table. Candles glow warmly in the center. They smell like cinnamon. Avgolemono, his favorite soup, in four steaming bowls. Bread, hot from the oven.
Alice smiles nervously and squeezes his hand.
“So you have family in California?” Mena asks Alice, loading her plate with shrimp and rice and handing it to her.
Alice nods, ladling some of the soup with her spoon. “My mom’s aunt. She lives in Barstow. We’re just going to stay with her for a while, until all this stuff with my dad gets straightened out.”
His dad seems distracted. He keeps glancing out the window, like he’s expecting somebody.
Finn has stashed his backpack in the barn. He packed some T-shirts and jeans, boxers and a toothbrush. Enough cash for a bus ticket and a credit card he stole from his father’s wallet. The plan is that in the morning he’ll offer to take Alice on his bike to the bus station. He’ll ditch the bike there and get on the bus. He hasn’t thought too far past this. Of course, he’ll call them once they’ve been on the road for a couple of hours. He doesn’t want them to worry. A part of his heart snags a little when he thinks of what his mom will do when she figures out he’s gone.
The soup is so good. They eat quietly.
“What was the name of that Mexican restaurant in Barstow, Sammy?” Mena asks.
“Hmm?” he says. He’s out of it. Totally distracted.
“Remember that time we took the Forty to Flagstaff and drove through Barstow with the kids? They had this burrito, a chile relleno burrito ... it was so decadent. A chile relleno wrapped up inside a burrito,” Mena explains to Alice. “Remember, the kids got the chicken pox? We didn’t realize until we got to Barstow, to that
restaurant?
” His mom seems exasperated.
restaurant?
” His mom seems exasperated.
Sam nods. “I don’t remember.”
“God, Sam.
Remember?
It was that restaurant with the giant fake cactus out front? I took Franny to the bathroom, and her whole stomach was already covered with spots.” Finn should have known whatever was going on that morning wouldn’t last. They all look at Sam.
Jesus, Dad, just say you remember
.
Remember?
It was that restaurant with the giant fake cactus out front? I took Franny to the bathroom, and her whole stomach was already covered with spots.” Finn should have known whatever was going on that morning wouldn’t last. They all look at Sam.
Jesus, Dad, just say you remember
.
“I remember the chicken pox, Mena. But I can’t remember the name of the restaurant,” he says.
Mena shakes her head, as if clearing it. She rubs her temples. Shit, it looks like she’s getting one of her headaches again.
“Anyway,
Alice
.” She forces a smile, reaches for Alice’s hand. “Look for the place with the big fake saguaro cactus out front. And, oh, the sopapillas and fried ice cream. So good.”
Alice
.” She forces a smile, reaches for Alice’s hand. “Look for the place with the big fake saguaro cactus out front. And, oh, the sopapillas and fried ice cream. So good.”
Alice nods.
Finn is mortified. His family is a bunch of freaks. He can’t wait to get the hell back to California.
“What was that?” Sam asks, standing up, walking across the living room to the window that faces the water.
“What’s the matter?” Mena asks. She rubs her temples again.
“I thought I heard something outside.”
“It’s pretty windy out,” Mena says. “The radio says there might be a thunderstorm tonight.”
Sam is pacing, looking out the windows.
“You okay, Dad?” Finn asks.
D
ale gets in the Bug and starts the engine. A plume of smoke billows out behind her. The lights are out in the motel room next to hers. The Mercedes is still gone. She feels around under the seat to make sure the manuscript is still there. She pops in one of the Books on Tape and takes a deep breath. She looks at her reflection in the rearview mirror and smoothes a crease in the yellow dress. It won’t flatten though, no matter how hard she presses. But she keeps pressing and pressing and pressing until her leg hurts, and then she stops.
ale gets in the Bug and starts the engine. A plume of smoke billows out behind her. The lights are out in the motel room next to hers. The Mercedes is still gone. She feels around under the seat to make sure the manuscript is still there. She pops in one of the Books on Tape and takes a deep breath. She looks at her reflection in the rearview mirror and smoothes a crease in the yellow dress. It won’t flatten though, no matter how hard she presses. But she keeps pressing and pressing and pressing until her leg hurts, and then she stops.
She drives through town, follows the turn-by-turn directions she printed out. She passes the library, the Town Hall, the cemetery. As she drives past the public pool, she notices the way the air glows green around it. For a minute she thinks about how nice it would be to stop and take a swim. How she and Sarah used to sip Bartles & Jaymes cranberry wine coolers and swim in her pool at night. She slows down at the pool’s gated entrance but doesn’t stop, even to get out of the car for a second.
No.
She has to remember why she’s here, what she’s doing. She has to try to quiet her mind, stay focused.
No.
She has to remember why she’s here, what she’s doing. She has to try to quiet her mind, stay focused.
By the time she gets to the turnoff that will lead to the lake, the air feels heavy, buzzing. The sun has set, but the sky is luminous. The stars pulsate in the peacock blue sky. She studies the tops of the trees, which lean eastward. The Bug lists across the road with the steady wind. She’s at the mercy of the breeze. It feels almost strong enough to pick the little car up and toss it across the road.
The houses begin to thin out, and soon there are wide expanses of pastures dotted with cows, all lying down. The moon hangs like a marionette in the sky.
Up ahead she sees a gas station, a little convenience store. The neon OPEN sign is on, and there are a few cars parked in the lot. The gas gauge in the Bug is broken, but she’s pretty sure she should get some more gas. She pulls into the lot and turns off the engine.
It’s one of those places where you have to pay before you pump, so she rifles through her purse. She’s almost out of cash, and the credit card is nearly maxed out. It’s a good thing she’s finally here. She laughs out loud, plucking a forgotten crumpled ten-dollar bill from the depths of her bag.
“Five dollars, please,” she says cheerfully, and grabs two Kit Kat bars from the rack below the counter.
She unwraps the first chocolate bar as the tank fills. She cracks one Kit Kat off and pops the whole stick in her mouth. It’s so sweet, it almost brings tears to her eyes. She quickly devours the remaining pieces and stuffs the empty wrapper in her pocket. She’ll save the other one for later. The wind wraps around her like an embrace, and the pump clicks off.
It would be easy to miss the turnoff. The dirt road is obscured by thick leaves. Someone has hand-painted a sign and nailed it to the trunk of a tree. If she didn’t have her high beams on, she would have missed it.
It says: GORMLAITH →
She grips the steering wheel tightly; she’s a little dizzy, and this helps ground her. She turns slowly onto the road, and as the gravel and dirt crush under her tires, the air rumbles. There is a flash of lightning in the distance, and it illuminates the whole sky. She feels the shock of it pass through her body.
The road is winding and narrow. She is surrounded on either side by towering trees that bow in deference to the wind. The passenger side window doesn’t close all the way, and there is a steady whistle as the wind winds its way in through the crack.
She looks at the map, but it is too dark to see. She knows the road she is on circles the lake, but there is no lake in sight. How long has she been driving on this road? The map had said it was two miles from the turnoff to the lake, but the odometer, like everything else in this stupid car, doesn’t work. She’s about to pull over to look at the map again when another flash of lightning reveals the glistening surface of water through a thick patch of trees and brush. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest.
Now she just has to slowly circle the lake until she finds the station wagon from the photo, the one she’d seen in town. She’d left Sam a note, though she was too afraid to sign her name. She wanted to surprise him, but she couldn’t resist giving him a little hint that she was here.
She passes several cottages. Some of them are lit up inside, their inhabitants’ silhouettes moving behind the windows. There is one cottage with a swing out front, stained glass windows splattering color across the dark grass. Thunder cracks like a slap, and her heart jumps to her throat. She creeps slowly forward, studying every driveway. Searching.
The tape in the tape deck is almost over. It is
Small Sorrows
, her least favorite of all of his books. But the end redeems the rest of the novel. And what a coincidence that this is what is playing now:
He wades into the water, looks at the girl floating luminous in the lake. It could be just the moon’s reflection in the shape of a girl. What do you do with the remains of a human life? With the perfect geometry of ribs? Build a castle of eyelashes, a fortress of bones, a quilt of flesh sewn together with hair? What do you do with what’s left when a life is gone?
Dale’s eyes sting. With the next flash of light, she can see the entire lake before her, spread out like a dream.
Small Sorrows
, her least favorite of all of his books. But the end redeems the rest of the novel. And what a coincidence that this is what is playing now:
He wades into the water, looks at the girl floating luminous in the lake. It could be just the moon’s reflection in the shape of a girl. What do you do with the remains of a human life? With the perfect geometry of ribs? Build a castle of eyelashes, a fortress of bones, a quilt of flesh sewn together with hair? What do you do with what’s left when a life is gone?
Dale’s eyes sting. With the next flash of light, she can see the entire lake before her, spread out like a dream.
She wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand and grips the wheel. She squeezes her eyes shut, and when she opens them again she sees something running in front of the car. She slams on the brakes and yanks the wheel to the left. There is a terrible squeal followed by a series of horrible yelps.
Oh God, it’s an animal. She’s hit an animal.
The car teeters and then dips down into a ditch, and her head smashes against the steering wheel.
No, no, no,
she says, and opens up the door of the car. Underneath the car, cowering and wailing in the dark, is a dog. Its eyes are glowing, and it is still making that awful sound.
No, no, no,
she says, and opens up the door of the car. Underneath the car, cowering and wailing in the dark, is a dog. Its eyes are glowing, and it is still making that awful sound.
She looks all around her for help. She runs back down the road in the direction from which she came, but the only cabin in sight is pitch black. There are no cars in the driveway except for a truck propped up on concrete blocks. She touches her forehead when she feels something warm. It’s blood.
No, no, no.
No, no, no.
She goes back to the Bug and peers under the car again. She’s afraid to try to get the dog out; she knows it’s probably dangerous to move a wounded animal. She has to get help. She needs to find Sam. She glances around again, looking for someone, anyone to help her figure out what to do next. The dog moans and cries. She covers her ears, shakes her head, and then starts to run.
I
t’s getting stormy outside. No rain, not yet, but the
wind
. Branches keep knocking against the windows; Sam feels as though he might jump out of his skin. He sits back down at the table, and every noise outside makes his pulse quicken. He’s waiting for the knock on the door.The one that will send their entire world into yet another tailspin.
t’s getting stormy outside. No rain, not yet, but the
wind
. Branches keep knocking against the windows; Sam feels as though he might jump out of his skin. He sits back down at the table, and every noise outside makes his pulse quicken. He’s waiting for the knock on the door.The one that will send their entire world into yet another tailspin.
His plan is to burn the plants. He’ll tear them up and burn them until there’s nothing left. No evidence. Nothing to incriminate him, to incriminate Finn. As soon as he can escape the house, he’s going to go to the field and tear them all up, put them in Hefty bags and bring them to the barn. When he mowed the lawn that afternoon he saved all of the grass clippings; thank God he hadn’t mowed in two weeks, so there was enough to fill three barrels. He’ll bury the plants in the clippings, and then tomorrow, he’ll incinerate them. Folks burn their grass clipping and leaves around here all the time. He’s got three barrels waiting and plenty of lighter fluid.
Mena is talking to Alice about Barstow. About some giant saguaro, some giant burrito. About chicken pox. His mind is spinning. He keeps waiting to see the blue and red lights flashing in the window. He can’t eat. He pushes the shrimp back and forth across his plate as the wind howls outside.
Finally, Mena stands and says, ��Does anybody want dessert?”
They all shake their heads. Alice says, “There’s no room!” grabbing her belly and laughing.
“Okay if Alice and I take a walk?” Finn asks.
“Where you going?” Sam says.
“I don’t know. Maybe just around the lake.”
“I don’t know, it looks like it’s going to rain,” Mena says. She’s getting a headache. Sam can tell by the way her eyelids weigh heavy on her eyes, the way her forehead crimps.
“They’ll be fine,” Sam says. If he can get them out of the house, he’ll have an easier time getting to the field. He figures if he works quickly, he can get all the plants into the barrels within an hour. Though it will likely take more than one trip. “Mena, why don’t you go lie down?” He reaches across the table and brushes her hair out of her eyes.
She peers at him and sighs.
“You guys go ahead,” he says to Finn and Alice.
After they have left, the screen door slamming with the wind behind them, Sam goes to Mena and touches her hair again. She leans into his hand, looks up at him, her cheeks tear-stained.
“Did you get rid of them?” she asks, and he is startled. How could she know?
“What?”
“The
pictures
. Those awful pictures,” Mena says, closing her eyes.
pictures
. Those awful pictures,” Mena says, closing her eyes.
He thinks about the pictures. If they had seen them earlier, read her blog or whatever that was, read that little diary, would it have saved her? God, they’d tried to get her help, but it all happened so quickly. Last September, when the ballet studio called and said that Franny had fainted during practice, they took her to the doctor again the very next day. She’d filled out their questionnaires. The doctor had taken her blood, looked at her teeth, at her skin, at her hair. They had appointments scheduled for an electrocardiogram, for Franny to see a therapist, a specialist. They’d done exactly what they were supposed to do. He’d gone to the library and taken out books, which he and Mena poured over at night in bed, hoping they’d find something in the pages to explain why she was doing this, if she was indeed doing this, to herself.
They’d asked Franny to tell them. They pleaded with her to tell them the truth. But before they even had a chance, before she did, she was gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. None of the books warned them that this could happen so quickly. All of the books were about the struggle. About the survivors. They didn’t even get a chance to fight.
“Go lie down,” Sam says, helping Mena stand up. “I can take care of this.” He motions to the dirty dishes littered with fleshy shrimp tails and rice, but he means everything. He will take care of this.
“Come with me?” she asks.
A branch smacks against the kitchen window, and his glance darts to the door.
“I’m just going to go check on Finn and Alice. You’re right. They shouldn’t be out with this storm coming. Go lie down. Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when I come back.”
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