by John Bloom
Allan will be home soon.
The first time she felt like wretching came about ten minutes into the movie. The scene took place in a blinding snowstorm. A man rode a strange creature, a kind of yak-kangaroo, across a bleak horizonless landscape until the animal fell over dead from exhaustion. To protect himself from freezing to death, the man then slit open the animal’s stomach, and its bloody internal organs spilled out onto the snow.
Candy didn’t see the man climb into the animal’s stomach for warmth, because she had already blacked out. When she came to, three or four seconds later, her eyes were shut tightly and she was holding her breath to get rid of the smell. She clenched the arm rests with both hands.
It was worse now. It was worse now because there was nothing to do, nothing except sit there and pretend to be watching the movie. There were no kids to talk to. No errands to run. She wouldn’t even be able to call Sherry that night, because the Clecklers had company for the weekend. Sherry knew something was wrong. When she had come to the house that afternoon to get the card table, she put her hand on Candy’s arm and looked into her eyes.
“What’s wrong, girl?” she had asked.
“Not a thing.”
Sherry looked at her a few more seconds, and Candy started to tremble slightly.
“As soon as I get the folks sent back to Alabama, let’s talk, you hear me?”
So Sherry knew. She was the only one who would know. She was the only one who knew Candy as well as Candy knew herself.
Jenny tugged on Candy’s arm. “Mommy, Alisa needs to go to the bathroom.”
Thank God.
While Candy waited on Alisa in the ladies’ room, she tried to collect herself. There was a deep reservoir she was trying to tap. At the center of it was a feeling beyond reason, beyond feeling, beyond thought itself. It was a kind of oblivion. She could cope if she just reached down far enough and found that sanctuary of cold comfort and hardened herself against all unwelcome thoughts. She could build a wall around memory itself if she just concentrated enough.
Black it out … you couldn’t have done it.
She was all right through most of the rest of the movie. The images passed before her eyes, but she saw nothing. Then at one point, while Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader fought with laser-beam weapons, Luke’s hand was suddenly chopped off and it went flying through space.
Candy’s body tensed again, and an image of surpassing violence and horror flickered quickly through the back of her mind, an image so terrifying that a year later the memory would still cause her to tremble and choke on her words. Her stomach churned and she thought she was going to wretch. She reached out for that oblivion of unfeeling, but when she did the smell returned, stronger this time, the smell of cleanness and freshness and purity, now corrupted by a second smell, a fouler odor that she didn’t want to think about.
She saw nothing else. When the movie ended, she rose as though in a trance and went through the practiced motions of directing children back into the car and answering their persistent questions. Before, they had been a welcome distraction. Now they were simply there. She didn’t see them or Pat or anything else for several minutes. Then she heard Pat asking her a question.
“Did you ever return that book?”
Pat was reminded of the overdue library book as they passed near the public library in suburban Richardson on the way back home. Candy answered yes but said nothing more.
Pat pulled back onto the Texas Instruments parking lot.
“What do you think,” asked Pat, “should we just get Taco Delight on 2170 or try something like Long John Silver’s?”
“Taco Delight sounds like a good idea,” said Candy, coming out of her silence, “because I know Alisa likes tacos. Why don’t we pick it up on the way and eat at home?”
Ian wanted to go to Allen with Pat to get the food, so Candy and the two girls transferred back into the station wagon. On the way home, Candy occupied herself with thoughts of the evening; the girls would probably play dress-up with Candy’s old clothes, and if Ian was agreeable, they would use him as their baby. Five-year-olds generally took any role that was offered.
What about Alisa?
The demons were returning. Both girls sat in the front seat, Jenny against the passenger door, Alisa in the middle. By turning her head slightly, Candy could see the long brunette hair, the olive complexion, the slightly exotic cast to her angular nose and chin, the heavy brows and lashes. Sensitive, finicky, shy among strangers, Alisa Gore was the very image of her mother.
She held her breath to keep the laundry smell from returning.
They arrived home around eight, but this being a June day in Texas, there was still plenty of sunlight left. The girls immediately ran outside to play in the pasture-sized yard while Candy busied herself fixing the drinks. A few minutes later Pat and Ian arrived bearing white bags full of tacos. Pat dumped his load on the kitchen table and announced he was going out jogging while he still had time. He was up to four or five miles on his best days, and he didn’t want to lose the conditioning.
The kids ate while Pat was gone. When he got back, sweat pouring off his face and dampening his tee shirt, Candy poured him a big glass of orange juice and he stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he drank.
The phone rang, and Candy picked up the kitchen extension before it had a chance to ring a second time.
“Oh Allan,” she said.
Pat perked up at the sound of the name, put down his glass, and moved closer to the phone.
From a thousand miles away came the voice of Allan Gore: “Have you seen Betty? I’ve been trying to get her for several hours, but she doesn’t answer the phone.”
Pat couldn’t hear what Allan had said, but he could see the lines on Candy’s face as they tensed and hardened.
“Oh Allan,” she said, “where are you?”
The smell returned now, and this time there was nothing she could do to get rid of it.
4 Sixth Senses
Allan Gore had left for St. Paul late that afternoon. It was an awkward time and an awkward trip. For one thing, it was a job that should have been finished two weeks before. When Allan left Rockwell International to join an obscure but promising little electronics company in Richardson, he knew he would have to work long hours, but he tried to avoid weekends whenever he could. This time unforeseen delays meant Allan and two of his colleagues had to return to Minnesota to make certain one of their largest clients, the 3M Corporation, had a fully functional message-switching system by next week. Actually, this was the kind of troubleshooting job that, given other circumstances, Allan would have loved. He liked the travel, he felt challenged by the work itself, and he especially enjoyed the camaraderie of just a half dozen men trying to hang in there against the colossal electronics firms like Rockwell and Texas Instruments and E-Systems and Northern Telecom and all the other illustrious names that proliferated up and down North Central Expressway in the so-called Silicon Prairie. (The name was a send-up of “Silicon Valley,” the cognomen for the area around Palo Alto, California, where the huge silicon-chip industries are based.)
But Allan wouldn’t enjoy this particular trip, and for a familiar reason. His wife Betty couldn’t stand to be left alone, even for a single night. That’s why he had tried to call from the airport before he left: the mere sound of his voice would calm her fears to some extent. At first, just after they were married in 1970, Allan had thought it was a temporary phobia. He assumed it would pass once Betty became accustomed to being away from her family in Kansas. But even now, ten years later, Betty could be reduced to tears by the mere suggestion that Allan was going to be away for any extended period. She had broken down just two weeks before, after he had spent five days in St. Paul programming the new system, and then this week she had grown despondent again when he told her he would have to return. It was not as bad as it had once been—certainly not as bad as the two months in 1977 when business took him to Switzerland and Betty became so ups
et that she called his boss and complained—but Allan still worried constantly about her emotional state whenever he was out of town.
What made this trip different was the vacation. A week from now he and Betty would be in Europe, vacationing without the kids for the first time in four years, and were it not for Betty’s tendency to worry too much about planning for vacations, that would be enough to keep her happy. Last night she had been positively radiant on the phone, describing the upcoming trip to JoAnn Garlington as a second honeymoon. Then this morning she had broken down again.
It was not just the business trip that caused it. Betty was almost two weeks late with her menstrual period, and although Allan didn’t see any cause for her alarm, she was terrified. The one thing she didn’t need this summer was a third pregnancy; the first two had been difficult enough. If she didn’t start her period soon, it could spoil the whole vacation, not to mention her teaching the next spring. That morning it was all she could talk about. They had risen a little later than usual, around 6:45, but Betty had been sour from the beginning. She wasn’t complaining a great deal; she simply didn’t talk much at all. While Allan was dressing for work, she went into the baby’s room, took Bethany out of her crib, and changed her diaper. Then Betty poured cereal and juice; they had a quick, silent breakfast. Allan wolfed down the food and went back into the bedroom to start packing.
That’s when Betty started complaining. She followed him into the bedroom, half-heartedly helping with the packing but mostly looking for some kind of comfort before he left.
“You know what kind of extra responsibilities you place on me when you leave me alone,” she said. And then, her voice breaking for the first time, “Allan, what am I going to do? I just can’t be pregnant again.”
Allan stopped packing for a moment and put his arms around her. It always helped when they talked things through. They moved into the living room and sat together on the couch, and Allan began to speak soothingly and optimistically of the future.
“We’ve been able to deal with everything else,” said Allan, “we can handle this, too. I don’t think you’re pregnant, but if you are, we can deal with it. Don’t let it spoil the vacation.”
Betty started to weep quietly, so great was her fear at that moment, but the warmth and assurance of Allan’s voice kept her from losing control. On Wednesday she had been to her gynecologist, who had given her a drug to induce the overdue menstrual cycle. But she had only taken the first dose the day before, so it was too early to tell whether the medication would work. Allan said he was sure the drug was probably all she would need.
“I’ve got to finish packing,” said Allan, getting up from the couch and realizing that he was now running late. Betty remained sitting, a troubled expression fixed on her face, while Allan finished getting ready. After a while she got up and went into the laundry room to start her first load of the day. When Allan came back into the living room, she told him about the sewing she intended to do; she was making new clothes for the trip to Europe.
Allan responded reassuringly to everything Betty said. He felt she was definitely coming out of the depression now. He closed his suitcase and briefcase, lugged them into the garage, and put them in the back of the Toyota pickup. Betty followed him out to the back driveway, cradling Bethany in one arm. Allan finished the loading and turned back to Betty.
“Everything is going to be fine,” he said. “You know we can deal with anything.”
Betty forced a weak smile, and he kissed her gently.
“I’ll call you from the airport,” he said.
Then he climbed into the cab and pulled away, glad they were parting on a happy note.
As soon as Allan arrived at the low-slung brick office building where ECS Telecommunications shared space with copying services, travel agencies, and the like, he headed straight down the hallway to the computer room, where he attacked a programming problem he’d bungled the day before. He stayed there all morning, emerging only at lunchtime to accompany his coworkers to the nearby Long John Silver’s. A little after two everything was ready, and he left for the airport, making a mental note to call Betty when he got there. His flight didn’t leave until 4:30, but Allan allowed plenty of time so that he could park at a local Surtran station and ride the bus to the airport (ECS was still small enough to care about little expenses like that), and so that he could go by one of the airport banks and buy some traveler’s checks denominated in British pounds. Allan liked to take care of things like that before he arrived in a foreign country. He made another mental note—to give Betty the numbers of the traveler’s checks when he called her.
Everything went as planned, so that by four o’clock Allan had checked his bags at the Braniff terminal, received his boarding pass, and purchased traveler’s checks worth 700 pounds sterling. On the way to his gate, he stopped at a pay phone and dialed home. The phone rang seven or eight times, so he hung up and dialed again. When he got no answer a second time, he assumed that Betty was taking her afternoon walk with Bethany. Just then he saw his colleague, Sid O’Hara, arriving at the gate, so he stuffed the traveler’s checks back inside his coat pocket and joined Sid in the boarding area. The two of them could discuss the new software programs on the way to St. Paul.
The flight was uneventful and on time. By 7:45 Allan, Sid, and another colleague named Tom Tansil were all checked into the now-familiar Ramada Inn on Old Hudson Road, their accustomed home when working on the 3M account. They were all starved, but Tom asked if they could wait to eat dinner until after he went out jogging. That was fine with Allan, since he needed to call Betty before he did anything. They agreed to meet again around nine.
Now Allan sat on the bed in his room, going back over everything that had happened that day, wondering if he had forgotten something Betty had said that morning. He dialed the number of his house again, let it ring fifteen times, hung up, then called the operator and had her dial the number. Still no answer. Betty could be moody, but she was never the kind to leave the house in the evening without telling anyone. All Allan could think of was Alisa’s swimming lesson. Candy Montgomery would have brought Alisa home around noon, the lesson was at 2, and then they should have been home by 3:30. As far as he knew, there was nothing else that day. Betty didn’t like to shop with the baby; she had sewing and laundry to do; there were no other explanations.
Allan picked up the phone again, requested directory assistance in Wylie, Texas, and got the number for Richard Parker, his next-door neighbor. When Richard answered, Allan could hear the voices of small children in the background.
“Richard, this is Allan Gore. Sorry to bother you, but I’m out of town and I’ve been trying to get Betty on the phone. I think the phone must be out of order. Would you mind knocking on the door over there just to see if she’s home?”
“Yeah, okay, partner,” said Richard, a little peeved at the imposition. “I guess I can run over, but I’m here all alone with the kids. Cynthia’s off playing bridge at a friend’s birthday party, so I’ve got my hands full.… Hold on just a minute, though, and I’ll check.”
Richard, wearing only slacks and an undershirt, slipped out his front door and hurried across the Gore lawn in his bare feet. Gore always had been a weird guy, kind of quiet and unsociable. It had been three years since Richard sold them that house, and he didn’t know them much better now than he had then. Allan was one of those guys who always kept his yard so neat. Quiet guys usually had neat yards.
Richard rapped hard on the door at 410 Dogwood and waited for an answer. He rang the doorbell. He waited a few more seconds and then sprinted back across the grass. He couldn’t afford to be away from his house; it didn’t take an eighteen-month-old baby very long to get into trouble.
“No answer, Allan. She must be out.”
“Okay,” Allan said. “Thanks for checking. I’ll call her later.”
“Glad to, old buddy.”
Now Allan was starting to worry. On an impulse he dialed the number for Candy
Montgomery. She picked it up after one ring.
“Candy, this is Allan. Have you seen Betty?”
“Oh Allan, where are you?”
“I’m in Minnesota on a business trip. I’ve been trying to get Betty but no one answers, and I thought you might have talked to her today.”
“I saw her this morning when I went to pick up Alisa’s swimsuit.”
“Do you happen to know if she had any plans?”
“No, but I still have Alisa. There was a change of plans this morning. Jenny wanted Alisa to stay over another night, so they could go to the movies. I just dropped by the house to get the bathing suit and some clothes.”
Pat Montgomery, standing next to his wife, noticed the tension in her voice, but Allan was too preoccupied with this new information.
“Did Betty seem all right?”
“She was fine,” said Candy. “She did act like she was in a hurry for me to leave.”
“Do you know where she might be?”
“Maybe she went to a friend’s.”
“No, she wouldn’t go out this late. It scares her.”
Candy’s voice was full of concern. “Well, I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. When I went over to pick up Alisa’s bathing suit she was okay. I remember she was sewing, and we just talked for a while, and she gave me some peppermints for Alisa and told me how she wouldn’t put her head under the water unless she got a peppermint afterward. And I took the peppermints and left.”
“Is Alisa there now?”
“Yes.”
“Could I talk to her for a minute?”
“Sure.”
Candy called Alisa to the phone. Allan inquired about the swimming lesson and then asked whether her mother had said anything about going out that evening. Alisa said she didn’t remember anything, so Allan told her to have a good time and be polite to the Montgomerys, and then Candy came back on the line.
“Allan, is there anything I can do? I’d be happy to go over to the house and check on them for you.”