by Anne McClane
The image of a wreck was particularly difficult to block out. It was a fear nested in her subconscious for as long as she could remember. When Nick had called about Fox, she’d been certain it had been a car accident. She remembered her cognitive dissonance out by the lake, trying to match up his lifeless body with his neatly parked car, perfectly intact.
Getting up with the idea to use the bathroom, she paced the house. Ambrose kept a respectful five paces behind her.
Every picture of Fox she passed seemed to be outlined in bright yellow highlighter. Maybe Nathan was right. There was the one on the side table by the door, nestled in with several other family photos. The one behind the sofa, also one among many pictures of other family and friends. Maybe the one in the hallway by the guest bathroom was a bit conspicuous. But would Nathan even have seen that one? The one in the bedroom was a dead giveaway, but she knew Nathan hadn’t seen that one.
Fuck Nathan. These pictures tell the story of who I am. I’m not going to take them down because of him. She returned to the bedroom with a renewed resolve to put all troubling thoughts out of her head. Ambrose, relieved, returned to his doggy bed in the corner.
Lacey tried to concentrate on the present. She stared at the outline of the full-length mirror a few feet away from where Ambrose slept. That freestanding mirror was the only holdover to survive the recent bedroom remodel. Everything else was new—a king-sized four-poster bed, vanity, and chest of drawers. A huge comforter in a shade of seafoam blue that was amazingly weightless. The bedroom was the one room in the house she could call completely hers. The mirror had been hers since high school. Hers since before Fox.
She looked at the clock. 3:27. Only three hours until her alarm would go off. She sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the picture prominently displayed on the vanity. Lacey in her wedding dress, Fox in a tux, standing with the grandeur of Popp Fountain behind them. Easy to assume it was their wedding day. Except the light was perfect in that picture. Everything was perfect in the picture. Her mother had been the only one to remark on the difference.
“I don’t remember that one from the proofs,” she had said as she helped Lacey box up Fox’s clothes.
“Huh?”
“This picture,” her mom had said. It had been on a nightstand then. “It’s so much better than I remember any of the other ones being. Definitely better than the ones in my book.”
Lacey had played it off. She was determined to keep the secret solely between her, Fox, and the photographer. Even though Fox was dead.
“Wow, Ma. How do you remember looking at the proofs? That was almost eight years ago.”
“Because I would have remembered this one. You held out on me!” She hadn’t said anything more about it, and Lacey had let it rest.
But at 3:29 in the morning, it wouldn’t rest. Three weeks before the wedding, Fox had shown up at her apartment, dressed in his tux. He’d stolen her breath away, all suited up like that.
“We’re going to take our wedding photo, darlin’,” he said, hands on the doorframe of her old bedroom. He filled up the space.
Lacey was in a camisole and shorts, and had been making her bed when Fox invaded. She stopped what she was doing and faced him. “No! You can’t see me in the dress before the wedding. It’s bad luck.”
“Bullshit. I’m not superstitious.”
Lacey gaped at him. “Oh my God! You’re the most superstitious person I know. Who nearly threw me overboard when I brought a banana on your Dad’s boat?”
Fox smiled his wide, crooked smile. “If I remember correctly, it was my father who nearly threw you off the boat. But your point is moot, because no bananas on a boat isn’t a superstition.”
“Please. That’s one of the biggest superstitions there is.”
Fox took three steps forward and put his hand on Lacey’s hip. “No, darlin’. It’s not a superstition. It’s a proven fact. Bananas will either sink the boat or scare the fish away. Either way, it doesn’t matter. This is not a superstition, it’s our future. Suit up.”
“Fox!” she said as he pulled down the waistband of her shorts.
“Think about it, La,” he said, lifting her camisole over her head. “You can’t ask for a better day than today. And this will be just for us. No family, no friends, no commotion. This is about us.”
He always knew just what to say to influence her. She stood naked in front of him, and he took off his jacket and laid it on the half-made bed.
“Who’s going to take the picture?” she asked.
“Nick,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. He was also never afraid to say the things that would set her off.
“Oh, Jesus,” she said, hands on her hips. “So, this will be just about you, me, and Nick? What would you say if I got Angele to take the picture?”
“I know for a fact she’s in California, working on a movie with Jeff Bridges. But it wouldn’t matter if she were here. Her, Nick, either one, they’re ciphers in this situation.” His pants were now carefully laid on top of the jacket.
Lacey looked at him. “I thought you told me to suit up.”
“We can suit up together. After I take care of something first.” He smiled. He was already tumescent.
“Not so fast, Bronc. How do you mean, cipher? I’m still seeing we’ll have this big secret between me, you, and Dickpuddle Nick.”
Fox laughed. “That’s a new one.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You like that one? Dickpuddle?”
He stroked his hand down her side. “It’s got potential. Nice shot at distracting me. But I’m focused.”
Lacey stared at the reflection of his bare ass in her full-length mirror. He was still talking to her. He didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t looking him in the eye.
“La, Nick’s there to provide a service, nothing more. It would be the same for Angele, if she were here. We’d ask them to do this, and keep it a secret, trusting in our long friendship that they would.” His hand moved to relieve her of her last item of clothing, her panties.
“Shit, Nick’s not here, is he?” Lacey craned her neck to look out the doorway.
Fox shook his head. “No. He’s gonna meet us out there.” He could talk her into anything, especially after cunnilingus, and that’s how their unscripted wedding photo happened.
Before they drove out to Popp Fountain, Fox helped Lacey into her wedding dress. She couldn’t remember what he said, only that he made her laugh the entire time. She had to catch her breath so he could work the elaborate buttons up the back of the dress. For such coarse and clunky hands, he had amazing dexterity.
Fox phoned Nick after he helped Lacey into his truck. They covered the passenger’s side with towels to try to protect the dress from the layers of swamp and sea accumulated there.
“I still have a bad feeling about this,” she said as she saw Nick pulling into the parking lot behind them.
Fox leaned in and kissed her. “It only makes you more beautiful.” High clouds skidded across the sky. The air was just cool enough so they wouldn’t sweat. “Just wait, darlin’,” Fox said. “Three weeks from now, we’ll be out here for the full smash, and it’s gonna be hotter than balls. And we can look at each other and know we’ve got it handled, because we had our secret practice run.”
“Yeah, our secret. Just you, me, and Dickpuddle.”
Fox laughed and touched his forehead to Lacey’s. Nick was just walking up and may or may not have heard Lacey’s new nickname. She didn’t care if he had.
“You must be the happy couple,” Nick said. He was playing stranger. He had a Nikon on a neck strap. Lacey had to admit he was actually a pretty good shot. They had considered asking him to be the official photographer, but his best man duties had won out.
“That’s right,” Fox said. He played along and shook Nick’s hand. “My beautiful bride here is having some cold feet, so I need you to capture all that drama. Make this memorable.”
Cold feet. Lacey had nightmares Fox would suffer from
that, and leave her stranded. Was this pre-wedding charade part of his plan to leave her at the altar?
Lacey noticed for the first time that the fountain wasn’t running. Fox caught what she was thinking and looked at his watch.
“Patience, darlin’,” he said.
“What was I saying about a bad feeling?”
“Why don’t we get some pictures by this oak while we’re waiting?” stranger photographer Nick said.
“Great idea,” Fox said. He caught Lacey up in his arms, threshold style, and took her over to the tree. Nick snapped several photos. None of them turned out.
Fox set Lacey down and looked at his watch again. He instructed Nick to go set up by the fountain. He scooped her back up in his arms.
“Fox! I’m fully capable of walking, you know.”
“I don’t want you trailing that dress on the ground. I’m sure you don’t want that, either.”
She put her hand around his neck. “You could walk behind me and carry it for me. Like a lady-in-waiting.” She tugged on his ear.
“I’d make a terrible lady-in-waiting. When have I waited for anything?” He kissed her full on the lips, and set her down on the concrete in front of the fountain. He looked at his watch, snapped his fingers, and the fountain came to life. Lacey caught her breath.
“How do you do that?” she said, laughing.
Nick snapped a photo, and Lacey knew that had been the instant, the photo she kept on her vanity, the one her mom suspected she had held out on her about. It was her and Fox, completely candid, not posed, both laughing and apparently in conversation.
The feeling that burned in her memory was a result of what had transpired between them after that moment. It was the reason she held on to that picture, kept it on her vanity, chose to believe that the Fox of the afterlife was the Fox she loved, and who loved her back.
“Do you know why I proposed to you here?” he asked during a break while Nick adjusted some filters on his camera.
Lacey looked at him, confident in her response. “This is our place, our fountain. I love that you proposed here.”
“But why is it our place?” he persisted.
“Jesus, Fox, this is unusually probing for you. I don’t know, it just is.”
“You know, out on the water, how you can tell anything’s different about a spot? When everything looks pretty much just like everything else from up on the surface?”
“I don’t know. I figure that’s what all that high-tech gear your father has is for.”
“That crap isn’t worth much without what I’m talking about.”
“What are you talking about?” Lacey asked. Fox looked about as serious as death.
“The pinging. Like on a radar, but internal.” He placed two fingers in the center of Lacey’s chest, right above the sweetheart neckline of her dress. “In here.”
“A heartbeat?”
“No. Something bigger. Something more important. Like a sign. You know you’re in a good spot because you get the ping, and for a little while after, everything is clear. You see the fish you’re gonna catch, you see what you’re going to do when you get back, you see what you mean to everyone around you. For a little while.”
Lacey tilted her head. She felt a rush of emotion. He had an uncanny way of making her fall in love with him again repeatedly, relentlessly.
Fox had an unusual look on his face. A deep earnestness masked by his typical cocky swagger. “That’s what this place,” he swept his hand toward Popp Fountain, “that’s what it is for me. For us. It’s the only place, and you’re the only person, I’ve ever felt the ping for. Coming here with you, everything is always a little clearer. For a little while.”
Lacey felt like she might burst. Here was proof that her fears were unfounded. She swallowed her emotion, determined to play it cool.
She gave him a half smile and said, “So you’re saying I’m a fish.”
They had spent the rest of that day together. Gone back to Lacey’s apartment and carefully hung up the wedding clothes. Made love again, ordered and picked up Thai food. Fox had been in an unusually sedentary mood.
At 3:34, in the very early June morning of her very present reality, a tear escaped Lacey’s eye as she sat at the edge of her bed. She took the photo off the vanity and laid it facedown in the top drawer of her dresser, atop her lesser-used underwear.
13
Lacey fixated on the Apache burden basket. It hung on the wall above her washing machine near the side door. It was a gift from Angele, acquired during a long film shoot somewhere in Arizona. The burden basket was supposed to contain any burdens you brought in from the outside, so that you didn’t infect your home with them. Maybe it could contain the trouble from inside, too, Lacey thought as she pulled the door shut and walked down the steps.
If I’m supposed to leave my trouble there, then running past the spot where Fox died is probably not the best idea, she thought.
She ignored it as she set Saucony to pavement. Nothing was going to keep her from this run. She had spent another zombie day at work yesterday—from lack of sleep, too many unanswered questions, and overloaded circuits. She needed some miles on her legs and a good sweat. Ambrose had given her a cross look when he’d seen her walking out in running attire.
“You would overheat, Bro. You can’t come because I love you too much,” she said as she patted his head.
Lacey passed Kravitz’s house and put her hand in the air in silent greeting. He was on his screened-in porch, smoking. He croaked out an unintelligible greeting. She picked up her pace as she ran underneath the overpass at Marconi, attempting to make her mind a blank. She didn’t succeed.
Looking straight ahead, willing herself not to think about the incident, the smell from Nathan’s linen jacket suddenly came upon her. It was clean and spicy. She tried to bury it, but the memory it triggered was too strong. She wanted to see Nathan again. She cursed herself for that. But she also wanted answers.
There’s nothing wrong, or immoral, with wanting answers, right?
Down, down Marconi. Past the tennis courts. It was late enough that she missed the packs of runners that took to the roads on Saturday mornings, but just in time to pose an obstacle for the packs of cyclists that came after. And the cars ferrying little soccer players to the playing fields just ahead. It would be less busy out by the lake.
This was her favorite route, she reminded herself. Was it weird that she still liked it so much? Lacey found that the more she passed the spot on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, the less painful the memory of Fox’s dead body became. That one six-foot spot of ground took on a reverential aspect. Now, when she passed, she would usually stop and say a quick prayer.
But there were several miles to go before getting there. Across the bayou, at the horse stables, Lacey could spot a horse grazing, but none were running. It was too hot.
She was hot. But nothing out of the ordinary. Her body felt like it usually did when running in eighty-five degrees with ninety percent humidity. But what was happening with those heat flashes? With Nathan, in the bathroom at Katie’s, at Mardi Gras World. Nothing about any of that felt normal. Fugue states. And all in such a short span of time.
What was she missing about all this? What was she not paying attention to? She thought of Eli. “Pay attention.” He’d made her annoyed and chagrined. She thought of her thirty-three years thus far, and wondered if all of them had been spent in ignorance of huge, important things.
Lacey approached the stop sign at Filmore. She jogged in place and waited for a car to proceed west. She thought of Popp Fountain. She had already passed it, more than a mile behind her now. Pay attention. But she didn’t want to pay any more attention to Popp Fountain. Too much of herself wrapped up in there, too much love. Too much pain.
The car moved past the stop sign. The teenaged passenger shouted something, a garbled taunt she couldn’t quite make out. The driver laughed, and then they were gone.
Even as recently as two weeks
ago, Lacey might have obsessed over that minor incident, wondering why they were laughing at her.
Not today.
She let her mind wander back to her laundry room, and the Apache burden basket. She knew there was something she needed to pay attention to, and it wasn’t the people in that car.
As her legs took her closer to the lake, she thought of another time in that laundry room.
Not quite spring, one year prior. She had just gotten home from the grocery, and was struggling to open the door while juggling the bags when her phone rang. It wasn’t Fox; it wasn’t his ring. Fox had gone to a crawfish boil, some work function, but he didn’t expect to be late. He had said he would be home by sevenish. It was not yet six p.m. She entered the house and laid the groceries on the dryer, and immediately sensed something was wrong.
Nick was calling her phone.
That unfounded fear—a car accident—filled her head. As soon as she said hello, the tone of Nick’s response confirmed her dread. “Lacey, you need to come out to the lakefront.” The only question she asked Nick was where exactly on the lakefront she needed to go.
Lacey pictured it in her mind’s eye. The sole swimming area on the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain. She was only about a mile from it now. The curve in the road, the pilings marking the swimming area, the kidney-shaped patch of grass on the bank.
Ambrose knew something was wrong too. He didn’t excitedly greet her with a nudge of the head and excessive wagging. Instead, he sat quietly in the doorway of the laundry room, a somber look on his face. Lacey put the quart of pecan praline ice cream—Fox’s favorite—in the freezer. She left the rest of the groceries on the dryer.