Bewilderness

by Karen Tucker

  Only then did it strike me that—for the first time in a long while—I was happy. Or no, not happy. Not exactly. It was more like Luce had introduced me to my own mysterious power. The kind nobody else had ever thought to look for in me. She got in the car, hit the gas, and as the two of us rocketed into the distance, I sank back into my seat and let its intoxicating warmth ripple all through my bloodstream.

  By the time we reached the pool hall, the cicadas that had been screaming earlier had downshifted to a husky rattle. The damp air quivered around us, jellylike. Luce parked, cut the engine, and set about emptying her pockets of Ronnie Ankle’s possessions. The knife she hid in the Impala’s glove box. The keys she bounced gently in her hand, as if weighing their possibilities, before sliding them back into the rear of her jeans. She popped open his tin of breath mints. “Fucking A. I knew it.”

  “What?”

  Eyes gleaming, she held the tin out.

  At the time I had no idea what I was looking at, but inside was what turned out to be a dozen or so 30s. Carolina blue with a sturdy little M stamped on top.

  “Cool,” I said, trying to hide my confusion.

  “Here, give me your hand.” She shook half the pills into my palm and glanced at me. All at once her face went soft in a funny way I couldn’t decipher. A look of tenderness, I decided. “It’s okay, we deserve it,” she said.

  I peered down at the jumbled blue tablets. They really did look about as harmless as breath mints, and yet even I knew I was at the edge of a strange, enchanted forest. The kind of place kids thrill to in late-night stories, spooky with magic—or at least that’s how I would have described it back in those days. That night, when I met Luce’s eyes in the dim of her beat-up Impala, an old metal ballad playing low-key in the background, the stink of our armpits rising into the air, I sensed she understood me better than anyone, including my own mother. A long moment passed between us. Together we walked into those woods.

  I RODE WITH LUCE IN THE BACK OF THE AMBULANCE. The paramedic in charge of the ventilator, a dark-haired rockabilly type who kept thumbing her phone instead of watching the numbers, refused to acknowledge my questions no matter how nicely I asked if Luce was going to be okay and if she was in any real danger. Meanwhile Luce was winking and nodding at the oxygen tank that hummed alongside her as if they’d worked out their earlier disagreement and were now involved in some sort of private romance. When I tried to interrupt them, she cut her eyes at me in a way that suggested I ought to mind my own business. At last I gave up and focused my gaze on the back window. It being nighttime, you couldn’t see out of course, but I kept my face as still as possible and pretended otherwise.

  We pulled into the hospital parking lot and they hurried Luce through a side entrance I’d never noticed in all the times I’d visited. The moon had vanished, leaving nothing but a powdery blue smear across the horizon and a few scraps of light way down in the valley. I hung back for a bit, saying I was going to make a few calls, get in touch with Luce’s family, but the truth was I needed to try and get my mind right. Already the snow was crusting up something fierce and once the paramedics left I crunched my way toward the rear of the hospital where I could think stuff through a little. I leaned on the guardrail and tried to pick out the house Luce and I shared down below. We’d been burglarized a year or so earlier and ever since she’d insisted we keep the porch lamp on all night to warn off intruders. But I must have gotten turned around on the ride up the mountain, what with all the curves and switchbacks, because I couldn’t find where we lived.

  When the cold got too much I went inside to hit up the front desk for info. It took some doing, but at last I learned they planned to do a full workup and keep Luce till the end of the day, maybe longer.

  “Really?” I did my best not to sound alarmed. “How bad off is she exactly?”

  The receptionist and his big square head didn’t even bother to glance up from his paperwork. “Too early to say. Go home, get some sleep. Someone will call you.”

  His dismissive tone made my bp spike even higher. You could tell he was hiding something. Something a best friend ought to know. As calm as I could, I leaned over the counter. “Hey buddy. I’m not leaving till you give me some actual answers.”

  The receptionist looked up from his clipboard. “That right?” He picked up the phone, pushed a button.

  When the buzz of the automatic door sounded behind me, I turned around expecting to see one of those juiced-up overnight techs striding over—the kind they hire for hospital security and unruly patients. You can almost hear the Vitamin S rattling around in their pockets.

  “That was fast,” the receptionist said.

  But it wasn’t a juicer—it was Nogales, still wearing his stupid police outfit. He wiped his boots on the mat and scanned the lobby. When he spotted me by the desk, he took a deep breath and motioned me over.

  Reluctantly I made my way toward him. We were alone in the waiting area, but Nogales still went and sat on a row of molded plastic chairs way off in the corner like he thought the two of us were going to get cozy.

  I took the chair on the far end.

  “So,” he said. “How’s she doing.”

  “Couldn’t be better. Bombed out of her mind, stuck in the hospital. Boyfriend’s in the morgue, toe-tagged and cooling.”

  He held my gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  We sat there not speaking for a good bit.

  At last Nogales appeared to shake off some invisible burden pressing down on his shoulders. He straightened up, ran his fingers through his hair. “Listen, can I ask you a question?”

  “As a cop?”

  “As a friend. I’m off duty.”

  “Then no,” I said. “We’re not friends. Never will be.”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, so we’ll keep it official.”

  “Great. You got a warrant?”

  “Irene,” he said. “I came here to check on you and Luce, maybe learn a little something about Wilky’s family. We’ve got to notify them, you know. I’d be talking to Luce if she was up to it.”

  An electronic honking started up at the far end of the hallway. It sounded urgent, like someone had gone into cardiac arrest or stopped breathing, and for one terrible moment I was convinced it was coming from Luce’s room. Then I remembered ICU was on the ground level, maternity was on second, so she’d be on the third floor most likely. Even so, when a nurse in blue scrubs strode out of a room and around a corner, it took a great deal of restraint to keep from hurrying after him. At last the honks stopped and all that was left was the evil buzz of fluorescent lighting. Like someone was drilling a hole through my skull and into the soft parts.

  With effort, I turned to Nogales. “Fine. Ask away.”

  But once I agreed to talk, he turned strangely quiet. There seemed to be some unpleasant question on his mind and he was trying to dig out the courage to ask it. Or no—it was more like he’d already asked the question and it was the answer itself that kept tripping him up.

  Then he caught sight of the vending machine next to the restrooms, the one that sold little containers of sludge marketed as coffee. “I know. What do you say we perk ourselves up with a cup? My treat. We could use it.”

  Sometimes he was so pathetic you almost had to feel sorry for him.

  “Why not,” I said.

  I should have known better. Nogales was so careful about feeding coins into the slot and selecting the proper buttons you’d have thought he was trying to deactivate a bomb in the building. While we waited for the coffee to pour, he launched into this ridiculous lecture on the history of vending machines. Something about them being invented by Egyptians back during the Jesus era and how if you put in a shekel and pulled a lever, you’d get a few ounces of holy water. When he handed me my drink, he acted like he was presenting me with a sacred treasure.

  I glanced into the cup. “Yeah, I don’t like that much milk. Upsets my system.”

  Nogales’s face went slack. “Really? You used to.
Okay, hold on, let me get you another.”

  But the thought of dragging things out with him any longer made my insides feel hot and stabby. I held the cup away so he couldn’t reach it. “Never mind, it’ll do.”

  Manny Nogales and I had our own history. The short version is the two of us used to see each other sometimes, back before Luce and I quit using. I even liked him for a while there, which for me is kind of unusual. I don’t get along with just anyone. Then one night something happened and thanks to him, everything blew up in our faces. Basically he had a choice between acting like a friend or acting like law enforcement—and guess which one he chose.

  And though Luce and I managed to squeak by without any jail time, not counting the overnight, we still got our licenses suspended, big fines, and a couple hundred hours picking up trash on the highway. Meanwhile Nogales had the nerve to try and apologize. Texts, calls, notes left in our mailbox. Even showed up at the restaurant one night during the rush, holding a cone of flowers wrapped in brown paper and wanting to know if he could pick me up after work so we could talk things over. Just seeing him there at the hostess stand, chatting up customers and waving roses around like a real prince charming, made me break out in angry welts. I turned my tables over to Luce and told our manager at the time, a pro-level fuckhead in his own right, that I had to clock out early due to a family emergency. In the moment he didn’t give me any hassle, but when the next schedule got posted he’d bumped me down to lunches, a move that pretty much halved my income. It took me over a month to get back on dinners, and only after I hooked him up with a half sheet of 10s.

  I decided to get Nogales’s questions over with fast as possible. I told him Wilky was from High Point, or was it Greensboro maybe, and he’d earned a degree in business at UNCG before hooking up with the army. “Of course we all remember how that ended.”

  “Which wasn’t my fault,” said Nogales. “You know that.”

  “And afterward he decided it was time to get clean. Meetings every day. Twice even sometimes.” I hesitated. “Between us, I thought he’d be the last one of our group to slip.”

  Nogales asked if I knew how to get in touch with Wilky’s family.

  “You’re going to have talk to Luce. I’m pretty sure his parents are still around, but beyond that who knows. They cut him off after his Big Chicken Dinner.”

  “All right then, let’s check if she’s awake.” He stood and held his hand out.

  “Yeah, I tried already. They’re not letting anyone see her.”

  “That right?” There was that smug little smile again.

  I followed Nogales back to the front desk. He propped his elbows right on the counter and informed the square-headed receptionist we needed to talk to Luce. “Should we find her room ourselves or you want to escort us?”

  Now the receptionist was all polite and attentive. “I’m sorry, officer, but my supervisor said no visitors. The patient is supposed to be resting.”

  “If she’s asleep, we won’t wake her,” said Nogales. “But I know that supervisor of yours doesn’t want to mess around with law enforcement any more than she has to. If you want I could talk to her directly.”

  The squarehead’s mouth formed a hard line of anger. “Third floor. First room on the left when you get off the elevator.”

  Nogales looked at me as if to say, See that wasn’t so hard.

  When we finally found Luce’s room—we should have turned right—she was so pale and quiet my first thought was to rush over and lay my head on her chest to make sure she was still ticking. There wasn’t any machine keeping track of her oxygen or even a nurse clogging around in the hallway. The air smelled faintly of potted lilies, which set off a bunch of unhappy memories from the Anklewood funeral home. I was this close to sticking my head out the door and yelling for a doctor when Luce rolled over. Her lungs made that faint scraping noise that always sounded so painful. For once, I was glad.

  And yet as I watched her breathe, all nice and regular, I couldn’t shake the sense that she was still floating around in that dangerous realm between here and nowhere. The news about Wilky had sent her reeling in a way I hadn’t expected, as if some vital cord that kept her tied to earth had snapped. Once again I felt dizzy and soon little spots of light began swirling around me—like I too was drifting alone in the ether.

  “I knew it,” Nogales said from somewhere behind me.

  I turned back to face him. There had been a time when I thought maybe the two of us had a future, but now anyone could see that a million miles had sprung up between me and Nogales. No way we’d get past it, no matter what happened. Not even if we wanted to. There are some things from which you can’t ever recover.

  “Knew what?” I said.

  Nogales studied me for a long moment. “Nothing. Just that visiting your girl would cheer you up. See? She’s getting some rest. No reason to worry.”

  When I didn’t say anything to that, he came over and rested a hand on my shoulder. I couldn’t decide if there was something comforting about this gesture or if it felt like the work of a self-righteous blowhard who thought he understood far better than you did how to live your dumb sad life. I stared up at him, trying to will the pathetic lump of muscle that lived in my chest into submission.

  “Irene,” he said.

  “What is it.”

  “How about we get you home.”

  BY THE TIME WE GOT BACK TO ME AND LUCE’S, THE temperature had sunk so much that a lace of frost covered our front windows. The paramedics’ footprints had frozen themselves into the snow, an ugly reminder, and even from inside the patrol car you could see a slick of ice lying in wait on the porch steps. Despite the blast of the Crown Vic’s heater I couldn’t stop shivering.

  “You okay?” Nogales said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, struggling with the seat belt. “What idiot designed this thing anyway?”

  He leaned over and released me with the push of a button. “There. Now I want you to go inside and get some sleep already. She’ll be home before you know it.”

  For the briefest of moments, I considered asking him to keep me company until I calmed down a little. Despite his many faults, Nogales was someone you could count on in the worst situations and the idea of being alone in that house was making me feel weirdly off-balance. Then again, being alone with Nogales was another kind of problem. A bigger one maybe.

  He gave me a hopeful smile. “I’ll keep my phone on in case you need something.”

  “You do that,” I said, climbing out of the car.

  But inside, the house was so cold and quiet that it wasn’t long before I regretted not asking Nogales if he wanted to join me for a quick mug of hot chocolate or something. I turned on the TV thinking that would be a decent distraction, but the only thing showing at four in the morning was an old black-and-white sitcom with a bunch of creepy mechanical laughter. I turned it off, went into the kitchen, and ate some of the gummy vitamins Luce was always pushing. They didn’t do what I wanted, not by a long shot, but after a couple minutes my nerves began to settle. I breathed in and out, the way Luce had taught me to do. Then I glimpsed the photo of her and Wilky on the fridge and the room tilted hard on its axis. I had to grab the counter to keep from falling.

  Not today, I told myself.

  Once the kitchen’s seesawing slowed down a little, I made my way back into the main room, lay on the couch, and curled up with Luce’s afghan. She’d crocheted it last spring, back when we first quit using. The granny squares kept sliding all over but it wasn’t so bad if I focused my gaze on the ceiling. I thought of what they always said in the rooms: stay busy, stay out of trouble. I wasn’t any kind of crocheter, but I could at least make a mental to-do list. First up, cancel Luce’s U-Haul. Next, call our manager at work, let him know she wasn’t going anywhere and tell him to put her back on the schedule. Remind him to delete the help-wanted ad on Craigslist. Hit up the landlord in Florida and get him to refund her first month’s rent and deposit, and then unpack her s
tuff, put her clothes back in her closet, and fix up her bedroom the way she liked it. As if none of this had ever happened at all. Somehow this made me feel better and it wasn’t long before the granny squares settled into place and the walls stopped moving and even the stabby feeling I’d had since the hospital eased up into a few half-hearted twists and pinches. I pulled Luce’s afghan tighter around me. If you closed your eyes and concentrated, you could smell her strawberry-kiwi shampoo.

  Next thing I knew sunlight was burning holes in the windows. The clock over the TV said it was almost one. After scrambling around for my phone in a panic I called First Memorial to see how Luce was doing. Endless ringing and at last someone answered. As calmly as I could I explained why I was calling. “No news so far,” a cheery voice said. When I asked if I could talk to her, I was told I’d be transferred. An abrupt click followed and the phone let out another maddening series of rings that went on and on forever until in a fit of anger I hung up.

  After that I roamed around the house, jittery and restless. I needed to find someone who could give me a ride to the hospital, but ever since our licenses got suspended Wilky had always been the one to drive Luce and me around when we needed it. The thought of asking anyone else made my insides fill up with acid. Not to mention Nogales was the only one I could think of to call. I ate a few handfuls of Froot Loops out of the box, which helped a little, and then I went and stared into Luce’s empty bedroom. That didn’t work the way I hoped it would.

  I was sitting on her bed, this close to texting Nogales, when the front door whined open. “Hello?” I said. “Anyone there?” No one answered, so I called out again, louder this time.