It worked.
The man’s fist unclenched. The amber-streaked eyes widened. She never would understand their expression, although the eyes lived in her still and her adult perspective should have deciphered their mystery by now.
The door had closed, Mama on the wrong side of it. Was the abduction an affair or an assassination? Was the amber-eyed man a lover or a jailer? Papa never would say. They’d moved to America, re-created a life. Papa had died silent. Parkinson’s. Immobile at his end.
She knew as little of her mother’s crimes and passions as Ivan knew of his dedyushka’s, but then, in Russia finding answers never was the concern. Leaving forever the place where retribution was the sole portion of justice preoccupied anyone who witnessed the imbalance between why and vengeance.
“Not everyone sticks to their natures to get what they want,” Moor said as a cold breeze fluffed Ivan’s beard.
“No. But we could at least wait to see what he wants.”
“I don’t think we can wait.” Anger bloated her voice. “And I don’t think we should be giving him the message that it’s against his nature to compete.”
“Being eager to win is not the same thing as being a successful competitor, Moor.”
This was the moment, Moor thought suddenly. Not to confess. Confessions were bids for attention. What she wanted was momentum. Will wasn’t about wanting. He was about doing.
But just then Conner ran up to them, trailing wire like tendrils of wisteria, eyes shining, and the impossibility of her situation reverberated in the high happy notes of his voice as he urged Ivan to hurry up.
On Friday afternoon, Will pulled her playfully into the custodial closet and propped his head on a bleach bottle to kiss her between her legs. Moor hung on to the legs of a tippy metal shelf that rocked in time with her rhythm. The steady ping of shaking objects made her laugh as she came.
Afterward Will cradled her head in his lap, the strands of her fine hair catching on his callus-laced fingertips.
“I almost told Ivan about us last night,” she said on impulse.
“Time we came out of the closet?”
“I’m serious.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Conner interrupted us.”
He didn’t answer at once. When he finally spoke, she couldn’t read anything into his voice. “What do you want to tell him?”
“What we’re doing.”
He laughed. “Good thing Conner interfered.”
“Meaning we don’t really know what we’re doing?”
“We know exactly.” Will kissed her, upside down. The stubble on his chin scratched her nose. “We just aren’t certain we want your husband to know yet. Are we?”
“You aren’t, I guess.”
“I like our secret.”
“How secret is a janitor’s closet?”
“I always lock the door.” He grinned. “Even that’s not necessary. No one wants to go where the cleaning supplies live.”
She looked up at him. Topsy-turvy. His even teeth where his eyes should be, his hair hanging down in a straight blond fan, the folds of his brow burrowing into his skin as deeply as a smile. She sat up, dizzy from gazing at the dislocated pieces of him. “Do you have anyone to tell?”
“My ex-wife.”
Moor stared at him. She’d no idea he was divorced. What a relief it was to know so little about him. “There’s an ex?”
“She left me after the business failed. Guess she didn’t want to fuck the janitor, like some high school chick.”
Moor flushed. I’m fucking the janitor. Had Kay told him about their conversation in the bar?
But he flashed his wide-open smile and kissed her deeply before releasing her into the hallway. As she waited, she thought of Conner packing his backpack right then, perhaps enduring a shove from Terrence, recoiling from the confident curl of Terrence’s lips as he whispered, I’m gonna kill you tomorrow. Sweet Conner with a fallen mother who tomorrow would thrust him into the line of competition fire while secretly longing for her lover, and this was what felt like motion to her; like living, like love.
The bell rang, and although Conner was old enough to be embarrassed by her eager greeting, he sank into her hug, nestled his cheeks in the folds of her coat. The door to the custodial closet opened, and Will strolled out, tripping over his tangerine Crocs, exchanged with her their private look, brushed her hip with his arm as he tousled Conner’s hair; and she wished she could stay in that closet until the Olympiad was over.
The morning of the Olympiad passed in a suffocating crush of neon team T-shirts, banners and bullhorns, keyed-up kids to corral, video cameras affixed to parents’ faces like metallic noses. In between escorting teams to competition sites, overseeing the homeroom, and comforting the third grade team when their Straw Tower collapsed on the fourth story, Moor hurried to the dome gym to watch the Wright Stuff competition. She was dismayed to see plane after plane hug the dome’s curve and land smoothly at the edge of the Puff Mobiles track.
Just before lunch, dejected at a particularly amazing pair of two minute flights, she spotted Will’s orange Crocs and amused grin lurking by the bleachers, watching her. Although Kay was nearby, Moor chanced a little wave, which he returned with a salute. She’d be damned if she cared whether Kay caught the public flirtation.
But she tore her attention from him at once to brood. Conner just couldn’t compete with those lifts and landings.
Terrence could.
Maybe Terrence should pilot both turns. After all, Conner had provided the foundation for the win by rebuilding the plane. It was enough, Ivan would say. If he were here. She watched a girl wearing a droopy, concentrated frown bring her craft in for a smooth landing. Over the chaotic din of the gym, Moor heard the click of the judge’s stopwatch, and the ghost of Ivan’s low, disappointed voice: You think this competition is right for him?
She sighed. Time to round up Conner and Terrence for a quick slice of pizza before their time slot. Terrence would pilot both runs. She wanted that medal for Conner.
Just then she spotted Kay with Will. He was piloting a wheeled bucket with a wood-handled mop that she recognized from their closet. Kay was pointing out a mess at the entrance to the cafeteria. Some kid with an attack of competition nerves probably lost his lunch. She watched as Kay wagged a slender finger at the polished gymnasium floor. The fast flight of her lips Moor recognized as another tiresome lecture. As if Will needed her direction for a simple mop job. Will shrugged. Kay pursed her lips, and there it was; that smug glow, that hand on the bell curve of her hip. The farthest thing from a real friend Moor could have, wielding secret authority over Will’s mop, and job, and heart.
Over pizza, when Terrence insisted he take over Conner’s turn and Conner nodded eagerly, a dab of red sauce smearing his cheek like a gash, Moor shook her head, no.
At one o’clock, she thrust the remote into Conner’s sweat-soaked palm and murmured an encouragement she did not feel. She’d decided that Conner would make the first run. Then Terrence would know how much time he’d have to make up to win.
Terrence placed the plane on the taped X at the judge’s feet for preflight inspection. The judge, a serious young dad with narrow glasses framing a narrower face, lifted the body with his pencil, saw that the wheels were attached securely and to spec, tapped on each wing with his eraser tip, made a note on his clipboard. Terrence scampered back to Conner’s side. He snaked his fingers between Conner’s to flick the remote on. Moor suppressed the urge to slap his hand away.
“You sure you want to fly it?” Terrence said.
“Mom, do I have to?”
“You’ll do fine, sweetie.” Moor stroked his chin. Conner looked panicked as the judge gave the thumbs up to begin.
In the circle of spectators lining the ropes, she saw Tom, Terrence’s dad, flash them a grin. Next to him stood Kay, arms crossed, watching Conner taxi the plane. Conner looked ready to burst into nervous tears. Kay looked ready to leap over the rope
and yank the controller away. Moor felt her stomach lurch, and then she saw Ivan, his steady eyes on Conner. She raised a hand to wave before she realized Will was standing next to him, practically touching shoulders. What on earth was Will doing, approaching Ivan that way? Had they spoken?
But of course she was being ridiculous. Their pairing was coincidence. They’d never even seen each other before.
The plane lifted smoothly from the waxed floor, a wonderful takeoff. Terrence whooped as the plane scudded high into the dome, wings dipping, tail bucking like a barnstormer. Moor glanced at Conner. His face was pinched and pale. He bit his lower lip as he tried to tame the crazy trajectory, nudge the plane into a landing curve. But the plane looped at the top of the dome, brushed like a drunken moth against the light fixture that had doomed the first plane. The motor whined as the plane bobbed and sputtered. Any second it would stall, crash to the floor, and they’d be disqualified. Moor felt her throat constrict.
“Come on, give it to me!” Terrence hissed at Conner’s shoulder.
“Terrence, cut it out,” Moor snapped.
“Mom! It’s gonna crash.” Conner jammed the joystick.
“I’m gonna kill you if it does.”
“Don’t say kill, Terrence,” Moor said as the plane lurched, pirouetted nose down, and snagged in a light at the base of the dome. No chicken wire around the bowl. Will hadn’t caged all the bulbs.
Conner stood mortified, the controls slack in his hands.
“Jesus Christ,” Terrence groaned. “You are such a loser.”
“Shut up, you little fucker,” Moor snapped.
Conner stared at Moor aghast, two tears scuttling down his cheeks. “Don’t swear, Mom,” he whispered. “Please.”
Ivan stepped over the rope and walked briskly to Conner’s side. “It’s OK, Son,” he said as Conner hid his tears behind his hand.
“Of course it’s OK,” Moor said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I lost the competition.”
“I knew you would,” Terrence scowled.
“Don’t be obnoxious, Terry.” Tom and Kay had joined the group. Tom cut his son off with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Apologize to Conner.”
Kay interrupted. “What a bummer. I thought Will was going to rig those fixtures, Moor.” Her gaze was matter-of-fact. “Guess he dropped the ball on that one.”
“Maybe he didn’t feel covering the lower bulbs would be necessary.”
“You’d know.” Kay shrugged.
“Look, Will’s got a long hooky thing.” Conner pointed. Will was poking at the plane with the tall iron tool he used to adjust the height of the basketball backboards. “If he gets the plane out and it’s OK, will the judge let me do it over? Terrence can pilot my turn.”
“The rules say you get one shot,” Kay said.
Conner’s shoulders drooped. Moor’s cheeks burned. “We can ask the judge, sweetie,” she said, and was embarrassed to hear her voice tremble.
“Do you think so, Papa?” Conner looked anxiously up at Ivan.
“In competitions, they do not often make exceptions, Son. But.” Ivan met Moor’s eyes, saw her distress. “It is always acceptable to ask.”
“I’d rather accept the disqualification,” Kay said. “Since I’m on the district committee, it isn’t cool for me to request a do-over for my son’s benefit.”
“The plane’s cooked anyway,” Terrence added.
“Terry.” Tom squeezed his shoulder. Terrence rolled his eyes.
“Let me see.” Conner darted to Will’s side and tugged at his belt, talking a blue streak. Moor sighed and crossed to take Conner’s hand.
“Can you get it?” she asked Will quietly.
The muscles on his neck strained as he guided the hook. “A ladder would help.”
Moor told Conner not to jaw Will’s ear off and jogged toward the exit. Kay waved her down. “What’s up?”
“The custodian wants a ladder.”
“I’ll go,” Tom offered.
“Moor can do it,” Kay said. “She knows right where it is.”
Smoldering, Moor headed for the door. To her dismay, Ivan followed her. She didn’t stop to wait for him. “This is too bad for Conner,” he said when he caught up with her in the crowded hallway.
“I don’t need your criticism.”
“I am not criticizing.”
“You didn’t think this was right for Conner. You didn’t support my doing the Olympiad at all.”
“I support everything you do for our son.”
“Bullshit.”
They had reached the closet. Ivan caught her hand. “There’s no cause for swearing.”
She snatched her hand away and pushed open the door.
The ladder was leaning against the tippy metal shelf she’d hung onto yesterday afternoon with Will’s lips pressed to her. She flushed as Ivan retrieved it. As he lifted the ladder it knocked the shelf, upsetting the container of bleach Will had used to rest his head.
“Jesus. Can’t you be more careful?” The bleach rolled across the concrete to her feet. She kicked it against the wall.
“Moor,” Ivan said slowly. “When did you become so angry with me?”
He was standing before her, hefting the ladder with one arm, the other slack at his side. She looked at him and saw what she always saw. Exhaustion, and that wariness he wore. I fuck the janitor right here on this floor. It was time to say it. Ivan was expecting it.
“I’m not angry with you,” she said instead, and turned away.
When they returned to the gym, Will was leaning against the iron hook, resting his arms. The judge huddled with Kay, Tom, Terrence, and now Linda, the district committee chair. Conner tugged at Will’s shirt when he saw them. Will ruffled his hair and flashed him a reassuring grin. Moor’s eyes filled with tears.
Ivan handed Will the ladder. By now Will had guessed who Ivan was, of course. “Thanks,” he mumbled as he rammed a metal leg into the gym floor. A divot dimpled the waxed surface. Irritation shadowed his brow.
“Moor, we’ve been discussing a do-over for Conner’s turn.” Kay gestured for her to join the group. “Linda doesn’t think we can bend the rules here.”
“Is it really bending the rules, Kay?” Moor said, voice trembling. Linda was as tough as Kay, a divorce attorney who shouldn’t have a spare minute to run the entire Olympiad but managed the job brilliantly anyway.
“According to Don here,” Linda nodded at the judge, “the rules on disqualification are clear.”
“Pilot error,” Don said.
“I knew it,” Terrence broke in. Tom shook his head warningly.
“Well, Kay. I don’t think it’s exactly a case of pilot error,” Moor persisted. “Didn’t I point out the hazard posed by these lights during our test flight the other day? I think I even suggested a different venue for the event.”
“Will was supposed to fix that problem.”
“So it’s the janitor’s fault.” Kay arched her eyebrows at Moor’s cool emphasis on the word. “You said yourself he dropped the ball.”
“Moor’s got a point there,” Tom said.
Moor glanced at Ivan. True to his nature, he wasn’t paying attention to the squabble. He was watching Will stretch tall on the stepladder, a stocking foot balanced on the top platform, and reach into the fixture with the long iron hook. Conner climbed up onto the second step and threw back his head, sandy hair winnowing at his neck as he lobbed instructions up to Will. The plane wiggled, nearly free.
“Ivan.” Moor tapped his shoulder. “Can’t you add anything to this discussion, please?”
“He took off his shoes,” Ivan said. “Why would he do that?”
“What?” She took in the tangerine Crocs nested on the gym floor. “He can’t wear those on the ladder. They make him trip.”
Ivan turned to gaze at her, a wonder in his eyes.
Suddenly a bolt of blue light seared the air. Ivan croaked, “Conner!” as their boy sailed backward onto the floor.
Will flopped down nearly on top of him. The iron rod soared, struck the oak with a gunshot clatter, the hook split neatly in two. The smoldering fork ripped a black, meandering scar into the floorboards as it scudded crazily across the gym.
Screams filled the dome. In the swirl of confusion, Kay triaged calmly with Tom. “Go to our homeroom,” she instructed him. “Kaylee Tyne’s dad is a doctor. Her event’s at two ten, so they’re up there waiting.”
Tom ran off. Kay darted to Conner. At Moor’s elbow, Terrence burst into hysterical tears.
As Kay knelt next to Conner, he sat up slowly, rubbing his head. Together they crawled toward Will. Moor backed away, sick with repulsion. The swollen, panicked keen echoing in the dome couldn’t pierce the glass that trapped Conner and Will, kept them sharp and glaring, far from her.
She watched Conner lace his fingers in Will’s hair while Kay tipped his chin up, pinched his nose, and rested her lips on his.
Moor had to find a way to break through the wrong side of the glass.
But as a crowd of parents ringed the catastrophe, Moor knew she would never move, and when she clenched her fists against her trembling, she realized Ivan’s hand was clasping hers, clammy, immobile, rooted to their spot.
Adult Crowding
The Gold Star driver’s education sedan, a real tin can, needed a tune-up. A rattle behind the glove box was unnerving the student driver at the wheel. She pulled up to the stop sign east of the Brecon strip mall and brushed away a strand of golden hair curling at her eyelash. She clamped her hand back on the wheel, fielded a glance at Jerrell’s clipboard, wondered if he’d note her failure to keep her hands at nine and three o’clock. When he was a student driver, Jerrell had learned to position his hands at ten and two o’clock. Another rule he’d had to unlearn as an adult. At ten and two an airbag’s force would ram the driver’s arms into their face. Who knew that such a minor adjustment in position meant a driver walked away from a crash unhurt? Most of what Jerrell knew about driving he found out was either outmoded or just plain wrong when he trained at Courtesy Driving School. Earned his wings, Ruth liked to joke before her decline, back when his mother still could crack one.
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