Inhabited

by Charlie Quimby

  “So there’s not just one perspective to consider when you try to do something good. It’s nice to believe your motives are pure and selfless, but they’re always mixed up with what’s good for you.”

  Pandora turned back to the window. “I see what you’re saying but I’m not in the mood to have this conversation right now.”

  Pandora was right to keep caring about the good. To persist in doing right. But virtuousness could veil wickedness. Not everyone was gentle and truthful and striving for the light.

  Beware of fixer-uppers. Nothing turns out the way you expect.

  —“Home” with Meg Mogrin, Grand Junction Style

  The young man went door-to-door with exaggerated precision, heading up and down driveways instead of cutting straight across the lawns. A canvasser intent upon making a good impression. Meg’s neighborhood was quietly prosperous, decent pickings for the right cause. She paused in her plant watering a moment too long and he caught her eye through the window, waved and raised his clipboard. A picture of a polar bear. She ducked out of the frame but it was too late. He was already coming up the drive. Good-looking in the unremarkable way that came with being dark and thin and in his early twenties. Idealistic young man plus eye contact plus polar bear argued for answering the door, and answering the door meant she’d soon be writing him a check. She wondered if this kid had learned how to keep people talking until they came around to what he wanted. A real estate continuing education class had covered the psychology of it. At first everyone resented the social pressure of being trapped. But once the solicitor became a person, they could redeem their resentment by making a generous gesture.

  She answered the door with the brass watering can in her hand to show she had been interrupted doing something green already. It might get her off for twenty-five dollars.

  Yes, she knew about global warming. Yes, the glaciers were shrinking and possums were heading north while polar bears had nowhere to go. Yes, powerful interests were at work before Congress and the oil companies didn’t care about the earth. Okay, she would sign a petition. Sure, he could tell her what her neighbors had said on the issue.

  He leaned toward her to share the confidence. “They told me you’ve got the biggest heart on the block,” he said. “Giving scholarships. Serving on boards. Taking in strays.”

  “Strays?” she said. “No, that’s not me. I don’t have any pets.”

  He looked down the street as if to confirm his source. “I could’ve sworn. Well, here’s the petition.”

  As she took the clipboard, he planted a foot in the threshold and grabbed her wrist, shoved inside the entry and closed the door. “Is she here?”

  “Who?”

  He dug his thumb into a point above her wrist and she followed the dot of pain into the living room. He called toward the back of the house. “Pandora! Pan?”

  “There’s no Pandora here,” Meg said. “I’d appreciate it if you left right now.”

  Cody—it had to be Cody—lowered his voice but maintained his grip. “Please don’t fuck with me.”

  At least he said please.

  “I don’t know where Pandora is. I heard she went to North Dakota with a guy she was in love with. Maybe you could ask him.”

  “That’s it!” He dragged her into the kitchen, ripping open drawers. “You got any duct tape? I bet you’d like tape better than a dish rag down your throat.”

  “I’m not a screamer.”

  “No, sarcastic bitches think they don’t have to be. I’m not going to hurt you, so just chill. Promise me you’ll behave and I’ll be nice, too.” At her nod, he released her, took the telephone handset off the charger and slipped it in his shirt pocket. “See? Now that we’re acquainted you can give me the tour.”

  She took him through—polite, efficient, the way she would treat any obvious non-prospect. Thinking ahead: when was Pandora due back? Where was her cell? How fast would 911 respond? In the bedroom where Pandora was staying, Cody checked the closet, looked under the bed and examined the t-shirt crumpled on the floor.

  “So the old lady across the street was right,” he said. “When’s Pandora due back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He came close behind her so she had to move or feel his breath on her neck. “The kitchen seems like a nice place to wait,” he said.

  Across the valley, the Book Cliffs had adopted a lavender glow. Small birds flitted in the arbor, drawn by the memory of grapes. Meg sat so Cody would have to turn away from the view in order to keep an eye on her. If Pandora came in via the patio, she might see him first and have a chance to run.

  “Not a bad neighborhood. I figured you in something fancier, though. I mean, looking at your website and you being in the business and all.”

  It made her ill to think of Cody probing her life more deeply online, reading her website, checking the value of her home, estimating her income. Doing what she did every day.

  “The real estate business teaches you to live below your means,” she said. “You see how fast the good times can turn around—for a person, a neighborhood or a whole town. It sounds like Williston was a rough place.”

  His eyes flashed agreement. “Land of opportunity but still a hell-hole. Even worse if you’re a girl, I guess. But why did she blame me there’s no Target? They have a Herberger’s in Dickinson.” He began a circuit of the kitchen, opening cabinets, flicking light switches, feeling the underside of the countertops, tapping the walls, joggling the patio door on its rail. He had to be on something. “I was taking care of her as good as conditions allowed, and I had a plan for us. I was on track to make almost fifty-thou just driving a truck, plus my paper route for some extra income.”

  “In that business, I imagine you have subscribers in good times and bad.”

  Cody checked her expression and smiled to see that Meg knew. He withdrew from his shirt pocket a green packet of gum that opened like a business card case. He thumbed up two pieces. Meg declined. His shrug said, okay, more for Cody, and he peeled off both wrappers.

  “When you get the dry mouth, the acid goes to town. Saliva protects your teeth.” Cody seemed to wait for her to thank him for this health tip.

  “Would you like something to drink?” Distract him. Slow him down. Think of a way to warn Pandora.

  “You got any beer?”

  “I only have wine. Some Chardonnay?”

  “Is that red or white?”

  “White.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Cody, I honestly don’t know when she’ll be back. Rather than you waiting around, how about if I talk to her and she can call you, no pressure. Then ask her what she wants to do.”

  Cody’s jaw stopped working the gum. “What choice does she have? We’re engaged. And her family, hah. Look where she came to—to some lady who didn’t even want to help her in the first place.”

  So that was the world according to Cody. Without a choice of men, Pandora didn’t have a choice in life. Obey and serve. It did not seem productive to argue. Not unless she was prepared to be ducttaped to a chair.

  “So what if going to school is the right thing? You can’t force her to go back.”

  “Who said anything about force? She’s upset with me, okay, but you and I should be able to talk rationally. We get how the world is. Pandora thinks it’s all about her. About her becoming a singer, like if that’s not her career, she’ll never be happy. And she thinks if I don’t say go for it, I don’t support her. As if working my ass off isn’t supporting her. If she goes to Denver, I know what happens. She meets some guitar player dude. He starts writing her love songs while I’m driving a honeywagon in fucking North Dakota. I’m not going to find another girl like her. Not up there. A little patience, a little sympathy would be nice. I’ve got shit going on, too.”

  A car stopped on the street, doors slamming. Cody shot her a look—Don’t even think about it—and stepped into the living room where he could spy through the front blinds. She should just walk out. She ha
d nothing to do with his problems. This was her home, her neighborhood. She wasn’t some browbeaten high school girl. What would he do? She’d half-risen when he returned.

  “False alarm. Now please sit,” Cody hissed. “I’m not here to harass you, so don’t get your buns in an uproar.” He strolled to the refrigerator and found a carton of orange juice, unscrewed the cap and raised it to his mouth before turning to Meg. “You have a boy-friend? You hate it when we drink out of the carton, right?”

  He set the carton on a counter, took down a glass and extracted his chewing gum. “I should drink more juice. It’s easy to eat like shit in the oil patch unless you’ve got someone fixing the meals for you. I had a girlfriend, but hey, no kitchen. She told you, right? I moved into the man camp and left her with the truck. What could I do? I needed to keep my strength up. She had all day to feed herself.”

  He drained the glass, replaced the gum and refreshed it with another tab. “Citrus has a lot of acid.” He drifted back to sit across from Meg. The lunch nook filled with an acrid smell, half sweat and half spearmint.

  “I’m saying girls aren’t the only ones who have dreams. The patch is full of guys who are doing it for their family, and their wives or girlfriends back home’re saying, screw this, I’m not moving there. So they stay where it’s fucked up or go home where there’s no work—they can’t win. Eating alone, sleeping alone, trying to stay focused so they don’t get killed on the job, trying to stay connected while they get further and further away inside. Who cares about the money then? They’ll fork over hundreds for anything that makes them feel better. Men depressed out of their gourds, there’s your moneymaker in oilfield services.

  “My dad left the family to work in Alaska and never came back. He stopped sending child support and my mom didn’t even bother reporting him. He died by himself in a fucking trailer in the pines. The funeral notice didn’t say what he did for a living, who his family was, just he enjoyed working on his Jeep and took advantage of everything the outdoors had to offer. I mean, that’s a man’s life—a trailer, the outdoors and a Jeep?”

  “Cody, it’s good you want more out of life. But did you ever consider that maybe you and Pandora aren’t compatible? That it’s not a simple matter for her to change what she wants?”

  “I do see now why she came here. You remind me of her, with your questions like put-downs I’m not supposed to notice. She didn’t give me a chance.”

  “She didn’t sign up for drug dealing and being held captive.”

  Cody stiffened. “Who said she was a captive?”

  “Maybe those weren’t her words…”

  “Fuck!” Cody slapped the table, his eyes dark. “Are you a captive? No. I just need you to stay out of this so I can handle it.” He yanked money from the pockets of his cargo pants and began throwing it on the table—rolls, wads, singles. “She wants to be a singer—fine! She can sing for me. Make recordings? How much does that cost? I’ll pay. I’m not risking my ass because it’s fun. Why doesn’t she ask me what I want?”

  “What do you want, Cody?” Pandora spoke quietly. She didn’t appear afraid. Resigned, perhaps. “I hope you’re not bothering my friend.”

  “We’ve been talking about life. You’re looking good, Pan.”

  “I look like hell,” she said. The truth was somewhere in between. She stuffed a windbreaker into the gym bag hanging from her shoulder. Her fingers touched her blistered forehead. “My whole face is going to peel off.”

  He reddened. “Where’s my ring?”

  “Your ring? I thought it was my ring.”

  Cody worked his wad of gum. His fists clenched. “We’re not talking about this here. Let’s go. I’ve got the truck parked in the next block.”

  “I saw it,” she said. “I’m not getting in that thing ever again.”

  “It doesn’t have to be back to North Dakota.”

  “I don’t care where you go.”

  “You mean we.”

  “I mean you. Pick up the money, please.”

  Cody shook his head. He stepped back to where he could watch them both. “You pick it up. I earned it for you. So you could do what you want.”

  “I don’t care. With you, it’s money first, then live the way you want. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “That’s the way it works.”

  “No, it doesn’t. That’s just the way it’s done.”

  Cody turned to Meg. We’re both in business, his expression seemed to say, help me straighten her out. But Meg fixed on Pandora. Somehow her impulse to leave had transformed into the courage to face him down.

  Cody’s attention snapped back to Pandora. “Oh, so she’s like your big protector now. You think so?” He snatched the house phone from his pocket and smashed it at Meg’s feet.

  “Cody, calm down,” Meg said. She gauged the distance to the knife block on the counter but it seemed like a very bad idea. She was no one’s protector.

  “Where’s your cell? Give me your cell!”

  “Leave her alone,” Pandora said. “She hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “You two aren’t telling me what to do.”

  “Three,” said Pandora.

  “What?”

  “Three.” She pointed at Meg, then herself. “One… two…” Her hand came out of the gym bag gripping a pistol. “Three. You said a girl’s gun would be good enough for me.”

  Cody seemed aggrieved. He took a tentative step toward Pandora. “You won’t shoot me.”

  “I won’t kill you,” she said. He moved again and she leveled the gun, letting it wander just enough to be worrisome. “Not on purpose.”

  Meg’s words jumped between them. “She doesn’t want to hurt you, Cody, and maybe you didn’t mean to hurt her, but you can’t undo the past. Now it’s about how you both go forward.”

  “Stay out of this!”

  “I’m in it. You both put me here. Pandora came to me for a safe place so she didn’t have to use that gun. You came here to force her back. Think about where that’s heading.”

  “What did I ever do that was so bad?” A demand. Another righteous man forcing her to the edge.

  “It’s not what you’re doing, it’s what you’re becoming. I hope you’ll enjoy working on your goddamn Jeep.”

  Meg saw Cody sway and she felt the gun in her own hands so acutely she had to pause. Wesley Chambers had flared up and then run off. Neulan had threatened and then surrendered. Hungerman had drifted away. Even Brian. She sensed the power of denial and condescension, how it only worked on those groping toward their better selves. She could push Cody over the edge or she could disarm this right now.

  “Whatever good thing you’re planning, you better be working on it now. Love is the work of a lifetime. Maybe you think you can start being your best self after you’re through partying, after you get established, but I’m telling you, we don’t get to choose our moment of judgment.”

  Cody grabbed the nape of his neck and crooked his head toward Pandora. “I need you.”

  Pandora had allowed the barrel to sag. “And I need myself. All the time, not just when you’re through with me.”

  “Pan…”

  “No. Go, please—out the back.”

  He turned toward the patio. The Book Cliffs had flattened to a charcoal backdrop hung beneath an indigo sky. Cody slid the door, admitting the surf of distant traffic. “You’ll be sorry,” he said.

  Pandora’s elbow twitched as if denying a fly a place to land. “Just don’t try to make me. Let me be sorry on my own.”

  He flung his arms up and back, the aggressive shrug of a drunk dismissing a fight he’d pretended to want. After he lunged out, Meg snatched her cell phone.

  “Don’t,” Pandora said. “Please. He’s not coming back. What did he do, really? He left a pile of money on your table and asked me to go with him. I’m the one who pulled a gun.”

  “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “Probably not. But I don’t want to give him another rea
son to be angry. He’s already humiliated. Oh, I’m so sorry I brought him into your home. Thank you for talking to him. I could have really screwed things up with this.” Pandora ejected the magazine and cleared the round from the pistol’s chamber. She knew what she was doing.

  “You convinced him. The gun just made him listen. I don’t believe you would have shot him.”

  “Cody thought I might, though, so what does that tell you?”

  “Do you feel you need to keep it?”

  “God, no.”

  “Then we’re taking care of this tonight.”

  All of it.

  For whatever crime-novel reason, the gun seemed to belong in the river. The Redlands Parkway bridge, only minutes away, felt too close to home. The Broadway bridge was already fraught with the memory of Brian helicoptering the baseball bat out of Neulan’s Jeep. So Meg drove them west on the old U.S. highway. They traveled without speaking until the freeway, where two spotless truck stops attached to the newly rebuilt interchange glared at each other.

  “This is where I got dropped by a semi driver,” Pandora said. “I couldn’t get a ride back into town. After I started walking, I decided it was just as close to your house.”

  Meg thought of Pandora faced with trudging five miles in those flip-flops, refusing to be pinned by a driver’s whim or another man’s unbending desires. Pandora would be dynamite at the office. Personality, wit, resourcefulness—with some guidance, she could go far. And her music? Well, there was the college here, and Meg knew the owners of two clubs.

  At Fruita, where the old highway and Interstate converged again, she turned south toward the river. Once past the bright strip mall, the McDonald’s and the Dinosaur Museum, the road plunged deep into the prior century, past trailers and a demolition-filled floodplain. Unlike the three-span iron truss bridge it had replaced, the utilitarian bridge with its knee-high guard rails afforded the disposal of evidence without the bother of slowing down.

  Pandora took the gun from her bag, gripped the barrel and backhanded it with a practiced snap of the wrist. She settled, tilted the seat back as far as it would go and cradled a newborn smile. The gun was gone and so was her connection to Cody. Could release be that easy? Meg felt the hard nodule of the glass eye in her pocket, carried like a tumor. She wanted no more reminders of malignancy.