The Klaatu Terminus (4 page)

Resignedly, Kosh paid the bill. He’d half expected that things would go that way. They always did, with Ronnie.

It took them an hour to find Ronnie’s guy’s apartment, a beat-up fourplex a mile off campus. They parked their bikes under a tree across the street. Ronnie unstrapped his backpack from the bike and threw it over his shoulder.

“Let’s do it,” he said.

“How about I just wait here,” Kosh said.

“What, you want me to go in alone?”

“You get cracked, you’re on your own.”

For once, Ronnie couldn’t convince him otherwise.

“Okay then, but you don’t get a cut.”

“When was I ever going to get a cut?” Kosh said.

Kosh waited by the bikes as Ronnie entered the building. Half an hour later, he was still waiting. He checked his pocket watch. Two thirty. He had to be at work by five, and it would take him a couple of hours to get back to Hopewell.
Another ten minutes
, he thought,
then I’m out of here
.

Ten more minutes passed. Kosh straddled his bike and put on his helmet. Ronnie was probably sitting in the guy’s living room, drinking beer and talking. But if he was in some kind of trouble . . . “Aw, crap,” Kosh muttered. He got off his bike and started across the street.

He was halfway there when a cop car rounded the corner. Kosh turned and walked back to his bike, trying to act casual. A second squad car appeared from the opposite direction. Four policemen, two from each car, ran into the building. Kosh started his bike. He rode halfway down the block, then pulled over and watched. Five minutes later, the police emerged with Ronnie and another guy, in handcuffs.

Kosh dropped his bike into gear and took off for Hopewell. Apparently, lunch was on him.

E
MILY
R
YAN FEARED SHE WAS GOING MAD
.

Seated on the edge of her bed, she stared fiercely at the big white dress hanging on her closet door. Greta had extracted it from a trunk in the attic three days ago. It still smelled faintly of mothballs. Emily had not yet summoned the courage to try it on.

She shifted her gaze and watched a purplish afterimage form on the white wall. Like a ghost.

Emily did not want to believe in ghosts.

But she kept seeing them. She had been seeing them ever since she could remember.

She looked back at the wedding dress, at the intricate beadwork and lace on the upper bodice and at the ends of the long sleeves. How many hours of a seamstress’s time did that represent? She tried to imagine Greta — her small, round, buxom mother — fitting into it. Of course, that had been fifty years ago.

The dress was in extraordinary condition. It had only been worn once. The taffeta skirt was crisp yet pliable, the beads still had their original sheen, and there was no yellowing whatsoever. Greta had stored it carefully in tissue paper in its original box from Dayton’s downtown store in Minneapolis. The only flaw was a wine stain above the left breast.

“A perfect place for a lovely corsage,” Greta had said when Emily pointed out the stain. Greta had been pestering Emily to try it on ever since. “I know it will fit you, dear. I was just your size when Hamm and I got married.”

Emily’s only thought at that moment had been that she would never let herself go like Greta.

She stood up and ran her fingers across the beaded bodice. The slick hardness of the beads made her think of chain mail, as if the dress could deflect a bullet. She turned the dress to look at the back. Getting into it would not be easy. She would need help with the loop fasteners — again, like donning a suit of armor. Getting it off would be just as difficult. The thought of being trapped inside it made her shiver.

Emily thought she knew what love was. Hamm and Greta loved each other. But theirs was a gentle, daily, practical love. They loved her, as well, with the tender, protective love that parents have for their children. And she loved them back.

But what of Adrian? She had seen the sudden, melodramatic love that swept away many of her school friends — almost a parody of the burning, all-consuming love depicted in movies and on television — but she had never experienced it for herself. Did she
love
Adrian? She cared for him, certainly. She was attracted by his self-confidence, his masculinity, his harsh good looks, and most of all by his desire for her. Sometimes she could feel it coming off him, that hunger. But did she
love
him?

When they walked through town arm in arm, she felt proud.

When he fixed his eyes upon her, she felt beautiful.

When he spoke of his dreams and plans, she felt inspired.

If that was love, then, yes, she loved him.

Still, the thought that there might be something more, something missing, something she had never experienced . . . gnawed at her.

A few days after Adrian left, Emily had tried talking about it with Karen Jonas, her best friend from high school. Karen, who had gone out with more boys than Emily could count, had laughed at her.

“You want something that doesn’t exist,” Karen had said. “Look at me. I’m going out with Stan Elkin. Chances are I’ll marry him. Do I love him? Eh. But I know I can make him into a lovable guy if I work at it. He’s going to college up in Saint Paul next year. I’m moving in with him.”

“You’re going to
live
with him?” Emily feigned shock though in truth she was not at all surprised.

Karen shrugged. “Think of it as a test run.”

“I don’t think Adrian would go for that.”

“Probably not,” Karen agreed. “Anyway, you two are officially engaged. That’s way better than being in love.”

Now, staring at the big white dress, Emily wasn’t so sure.

The three weeks since Adrian left had been the emptiest weeks of her life. Nothing but long days of working at the Economart, evenings of doing nothing at all, and endless nights of lying awake and thinking about what life would be like for her once she got married. She no longer hung out with Karen or any of her other girlfriends. Their lives revolved around their boyfriends or ex-boyfriends. Now that Emily was engaged to Adrian, she had entered another phase.

In part, she knew, it had to do with the fact that Adrian was almost a decade older than her. And that he wanted to be a preacher. Once they’d become engaged, her girlfriends had stopped talking about sex — or anything remotely sinful or interesting — in Emily’s presence. It was as if Emily had suddenly become older, alien, part of the adult world. The future wife of a future preacher. Excluded. And she was only nineteen.

A prickling sensation at the back of her neck made her turn to the window. Hovering just outside the glass was another person-shaped cloud. She squeezed her eyes closed, counted to ten, then looked again. The cloud was gone. She stepped to the window and lowered the blind. She certainly wasn’t going to change clothes with a ghost watching her. Even an imaginary ghost.

She had once mentioned seeing them to Adrian. He had suggested prayer, or an eye doctor, in that order.

That didn’t make the ghosts any less real. She had thought about talking to her doctor, but she didn’t feel sick or crazy, and she didn’t want any pills. These days, she kept what she saw to herself. Mostly. But at the train station in Winona, when she had seen another one of the strange, cloudy figures, she had mentioned it to Kosh and he had taken her seriously. He was the only one who listened.

She wished he would call. He’d said he would. She would love the distraction of a movie or a trip up to the cities for some shopping. And she
liked
Kosh. He talked to her like a regular person, and he was funny. In some ways he reminded her of Adrian, but in most ways he was so different that it was hard to believe they were brothers.

She should just call him. Emily regarded the phone on her bedside table. It would be the same phone number as Adrian, but Kosh, not Adrian, would answer. She wondered how he was doing, taking care of things on his own. He’s only seventeen, she reminded herself. Not even out of high school. But he seemed older, more mature than she was in many ways. As far as she knew, he’d never had a long-term girlfriend, but girls liked him. Even Karen had once confessed to having a crush on him. He was the closest thing Hopewell had to a bad boy rebel biker. Except for Ronnie Becker, who was just a pathetic delinquent and not nearly as good-looking as Kosh.

She’d heard a rumor that Ronnie had been arrested in Mankato a week ago. Kosh would know. She would have to ask him. She looked again at the phone, then laughed at herself for being so tentative. He was just a teenage boy. Her future brother-in-law. What was she fretting about?*

Kosh was working in his garden when Emily pulled into the driveway. He looked up and waved as she got out of her car.

“Hey!” He stood up and wiped his hands on his hips.

Emily smiled, feeling self-conscious in her red and white Economart smock, complete with name badge.

“I was just on my way to work,” she said. “Thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing all on your own here.”

“Doing fine. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Emily looked at the newly seeded row. “What are you planting?”

“Arugula,” Kosh said. “I’m growing it for the Roost.”

“You’re kidding. Red Grauber is serving
salads
?”

“Actually, it’s for a new burger. Arugula and goat cheese.”

“Now I
know
you’re kidding!”

“Seriously, I had one in Mankato. Amazing.”

Shaking her head, Emily walked down the rows, checking out his tomatoes, Swiss chard, lettuce, and summer squash. She stopped at the herb bed.

“Lavender!” She bent down and ran her fingers through the frondlike leaves. “What do you do with it?”

“I just like the way it looks.”

Emily smelled her hand. “Mmm. You could make potpourri.”

Kosh crossed his arms. “I don’t
think
so.”

Emily laughed. Kosh looked embarrassed.

“Have you heard from Adrian?” he said abruptly.

“Just a couple of postcards. He’s in Jerusalem. He sent me a picture of the Wailing Wall.”

“That sounds like Adrian.”

Emily straightened up. “I have to get going. But I was wondering . . . do you still want to see a movie?”

“Really?”

“I’m not doing anything next Friday.
Men in Black
is opening in Rochester. It’s about aliens. You like aliens, right?”

“I do,” said Kosh.

T
HIS IS NOT A DATE
, E
MILY REMINDED HERSELF
.

She was just going to a movie with her fiancé’s little brother. But it was the first time she’d been out on a Friday night since Adrian had left. Actually, since a long time before that. Adrian was not big on going to movies and so forth. He would be more likely to take her to some church-related event — a Bible discussion group, or if he was feeling adventuresome, charity bingo at the church in Ghentburg.

She checked herself in the mirror. Jeans and a plain pink T-shirt. Was the T-shirt too tight? She took it off and replaced it with a sleeveless white blouse. It was hot and humid outside, but the theater might be cool, so she draped a cotton sweater over her shoulders.

In the kitchen, Greta was kneading a ball of sourdough, as she did every other night. Emily would wake up in the morning to the aroma of fresh-baked bread. Greta looked up at Emily, askance. “What are you all dressed up for at this time of night?”

“Night?” Emily laughed. “It’s six o’clock!”

“Hmph!” Greta lifted the ball of dough and slapped it back on the butcher-block table. She and Hamm were usually in bed by eight.

“I’m going to a movie,” Emily said.

Greta pursed her lips, which caused the entire bottom half of her face to become a whorl of wrinkles. Greta was seventy-five, nearly four times as old as Emily. She’d been sixty when she and Hamm had adopted Emily, who was four then, or maybe five — her exact birthdate was a mystery. Fifteen years ago, Hamm Ryan had found her huddled in the overgrown bushes beside the boarded-up hotel in downtown Hopewell. No one had ever found out who her parents were, or how she had come to Hopewell. After some legal wrangling, Hamm and Greta had formally adopted her. Emily remembered none of that, although she had fragments of memories — or perhaps dreams — from her life before Hopewell.