The Conveyance

by Brian Matthews

  "As you wish." He blew me a kiss.

  "Now look who's being funny."

  He grinned and pressed on the accelerator.

  I pulled out my cell and checked the display. The call log was as empty as my sense of security.

  Where was she? Why hadn't she called?

  We reached Rock Mills as the setting sun threw purple bruises across the Midwestern sky. The city was located forty miles outside Kalamazoo, far enough to escape the status of suburb, yet close enough you could drive there without having to pack a lunch. I liked Rock Mills for its small town feel. No Wal-Mart or Home Depot. No Costco. Just places with names like Grigg's IGA and Duke's Sporting Goods and Westphal Pharmacy. Real stores owned by real people and not stockholders. Toni liked it because it was far removed from the inner-city holocaust teachers endured in places like Detroit or Pontiac. In Rock Mills, kids got to know their teachers, saw them outside the classroom, and seemed to develop a measure of respect students in the larger districts lacked. Plus, when parents shopped at the same stores and prayed in the same churches and cheered at the same Friday night football games and really got to know the men and women responsible for educating their children, blaming the teachers out-of-hand for dismal test performances became more difficult.

  Knowledge might breed contempt, but community bred cohesion: we knew we were in the same boat, and we would all drown if it suddenly sprang a leak.

  Frank killed the Charger's flashers, hung a left on Camilla, raced past Brenner, and turned right onto North Waltz. My house was halfway down the street.

  He pulled up to the curb. "Want me to come with?"

  I shook my head. "I'll call you about the card game."

  Frank put a hand on my arm. He had that hound-dog look he gets when he's about to enter a crime scene. "You sure? I can go in and look around, make sure everything's okay."

  "And scare the hell out of Toni while you're at it?" I opened the door and stepped gingerly onto the driveway. A streetlamp spilled light the color of week-old custard onto the ground. "The place looks quiet. There's no sign of trouble. I'm telling you, go home. Give Kerry a hug. I'll call as soon as I know something."

  “All right, but call Kerry. The battery on my cell just died.”

  Frank needed a new phone but stubbornly refused to give up his Blackberry. “They make car chargers, you know.”

  “Just another waste of my money.” Frank leaned across the center console. "At least let me wait until I know you're both okay."

  "Go home, Frank." I shut the car door.

  He stared at me through the Charger's tinted glass.

  I waved. He flipped me off, and drove away.

  Such was our friendship, long may it last.

  I turned to face my house, a sagging, post-war rambler that was one-part charm and three-parts home maintenance nightmare. There was a light on in the living room. Toni's 4Runner sat in the driveway, pulled far enough up to give me room to park.

  I started up the walk to the front door. A few late-season crickets chirped noisily nearby. I strained to hear past them, to detect any sounds coming from inside the house.

  Everything was still. No blare of the television, no clatter of pots and pans as snacks were prepared for tonight's euchre game.

  I began to wonder if she was home.

  No, that's not true. I began to worry that she wasn't alone.

  I placed my hand on the doorknob. The metal felt warm, slick.

  Locked.

  Like a jackass, I pressed my ear to the door. It was my house—I had a key, for Christ's sake—yet I listened like some creepy voyeur, a repressed Peeping Tom getting his rocks off by spying on people.

  I heard something—the strains of a melody, playing faintly from inside and, even fainter, the sound of running water.

  Toni was home.

  I let myself in. The music and the running water came from the back of the house.

  "Hey, honey!" I called out. "It's me. Sorry I'm late."

  I wandered down the hallway to the bathroom. The door was shut and locked, the shower inside running.

  I knocked. "Honey, you okay?"

  When she didn't answer, I called out, "Toni, are you all right?"

  No reply.

  The music I'd heard was coming from our bedroom. Toni liked to listen to the radio while correcting papers.

  I poked my head inside and saw her school bag on the bed, the top open and a sheaf of papers sticking out like a fan of feathers. A barely-touched glass of water sat on the nightstand next to the radio.

  My skin began to crawl. Turning back to the bathroom door, I pounded with the flat of my hand.

  "Toni!"

  We kept the key to the door on the narrow overhang created by the molding. I snatched the thin piece of brass and shoved it into the doorknob. The lock released and I threw open the door.

  Steam billowed out, white and swirling. I waded into the mist. Moisture clung to my face, my shirt. Crossing the room, I drew aside the shower curtain, terrified I would find my wife lying in the tub, unconscious, water splashing down on her pale body as she bled out from a nasty head wound.

  Toni sat fully clothed, knees drawn up to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs, her forehead pressed into her thighs.

  She was crying.

  I noticed something clutched in her hand—a plastic stick about the size of a toothbrush with a window in the middle that displayed a single, vertical blue line—and my heart sank.

  She had taken a home pregnancy test.

  It was negative.

  I'd been worried about her cheating on me. Instead, she'd been devastated by another setback in our efforts to become parents. Jesus, I could be such an idiot.

  Knees popping painfully, I squatted. Water ran over my hand as I placed it on the back of her head. "Sweetheart?"

  She stiffened under my touch, and I thought she might scream.

  “It's okay,” I said. “It's me.”

  Her sobs dwindled to a series of hitching sniffles. "You were running late," she said, her head still down. "I wanted to wait for you, have us to do this together." She waved the test stick in a feeble arc. "I was too excited. Six days late, Brad. Six goddamn days. I thought we'd did it this time. I thought we were finally going to have a baby."

  I moved my hand to her shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll happen one day. You'll see."

  "I was so sure. That was my mistake. I got my hopes up." She hugged herself tighter. "I should’ve known better."

  "I'm sorry, baby. I know you're disappointed. So am I." I squeezed her shoulder again. "Don't beat yourself up. It's not your fault."

  She sat in the tub, water spraying, not saying a word. Her body trembled beneath my hand.

  "We'll get this done," I continued. "You're a wonderful, amazing, beautiful woman, and when you set your mind to something, you rarely fail. That's what drew me to you in the first place. It's one of the many reasons I love you so much."

  Her trembling grew to a shaking. She was crying again. Watching her suffer broke my heart.

  "Here, move over." I climbed into the tub and sat behind her, where we could both fit. Soon my clothes were as soaked as hers. I put my arms around her and hugged her. "Go ahead and cry."

  Toni wept, ridding herself of a pain she couldn't put into words.

  The water cooled, and her crying subsided. She hadn't lifted her head.

  "Your clothes are wet," she said.

  "Small price to pay if it helps you feel better."

  "I didn't want you to see me like this."

  "Is that why you locked the door?"

  She nodded, her forehead rubbing against her thighs.

  I hugged her tighter. "It’s okay to feel upset. There's nothing wrong with that."

  Toni lifted her head. She turned to give me a kiss and halted when she saw my face.

  "Good Lord, Brad! What happened?"

  I kissed her, a small peck on the cheek. It was all I could muster without crying out in pai
n. "This is about you, not me."

  "But—"

  "Hush," I said. "Just let me hold you for a little while longer."

  She stared at me, her fingers coming up to touch my injuries.

  "Are you going to argue with me?" I asked, smiling.

  "Wouldn't dream of it,” she said, and nuzzled against me.

  I closed my eyes. Sometimes I needed to remember that, as an adult, you care for others as much as you care for yourself.

  And you trust them with your heart, if not your life.

  * * *

  Less than two hours later we walked out the front door, dried off and wearing a change of clothes.

  The euchre game was on.

  "Buckle up," she said, taking the wheel. "I got this."

  I set the cold cuts, crackers, and a six pack of beer in the back of the 4Runner and climbed in. I hadn't confessed my misplaced—selfish, the little voice in my head whispered—concern over old wounds that should have long since healed. I wanted to tell her, she deserved honesty from me as much as I deserved it from her, but the pregnancy test had wounded her spirit. I didn't want to cause more pain. Better I learned from my mistake and kept her out of it.

  Which was a roundabout way of saying, I was too much of a coward to come clean.

  Ten minutes later, Toni pulled the car into the Swinicki's driveway and killed the headlights. I felt more than saw her reach out and grip my hand. "Kerry had her gallbladder out last year. Maybe she has something a little stronger than ibuprofen left over from the surgery. Want me to ask?"

  I rubbed at an especially painful knot in the big muscle of my thigh. It was amazing how every part of your body ached after a car accident. "I'd rather not. I've seen too many unintended addicts created that way."

  Her grip on my hand tightened. "You look awful, honey. Your thumb is swollen. The skin on your face is scraped raw. Your chest has a bruise the size of Texas spreading across it. I know you didn't break anything, but it's clear you're hurting. You need a painkiller with some teeth."

  "It's sore muscles and stiff joints. Nothing a few beers and a hand or three of cards won't fix."

  "And if they don't?"

  "Give me an hour. If I don't feel better, you can ask Kerry what she's got lying around. Okay?"

  She stared at me through the darkness. "Is that a promise?"

  I traced an X over my chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  "It'd better not come to that." She gave my hand a final squeeze. "Let's go. We look like a couple of fools sitting out here in the dark."

  "What about you?" I said. "Are you sure you want to do this? No one would blame you if you passed on tonight."

  "I'm not letting this ruin our evening. We'll have our baby one day. This was a speed bump, nothing more. Now, come on before they start wondering what we're doing."

  "Maybe they'll think we're working on that baby."

  She laughed and opened her door. "I think you've had enough car action for one day."

  I followed her to the front door. She rang the bell, and I took advantage of the wait to steal a kiss.

  She was returning my kiss when the door opened. Frank's large frame filled the opening.

  "What is it about a near death experience that kicks the libido into overdrive?"

  Our lips parted. Toni handed the platter of cold cuts to Frank. "Nothing wrong with a healthy display of affection, especially after you realize what you might have lost. Give this to Kerry. I'll settle our daredevil here into his chair with a cold beer."

  Frank hesitated, not for long, just a beat or two, and stepped aside. I removed my jacket and hung it in the closet. Toni did the same. Frank lumbered down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  "We're in the dining room," he said. "I already set out plates and glasses. Kerry picked up some tzatziki and hummus from that Greek place downtown. We got kabobs, too. Real lamb. Gonna grill them later. Ooh-la-la, ain't we fancy."

  I nuzzled up close to Toni's ear. "Think he'll shout opa! for us?"

  "If you weren't so sore, you might’ve been the one shouting. Later tonight, after we've crawled into bed."

  "Ooh-la-la," I said as we headed down the hallway.

  The Swinicki house smelled of cucumber and chickpeas and sweaty teenagers. In the living room, the twins, Dave and Danny, sat hunched on the couch, their hands clamped onto the controls of their gaming system. Danny leaned left, his arms wrenching the controller around like a drunken NASCAR driver as he tried to evade death at the hands of his brother. But he had miscalculated: either he'd overestimated his ability to keep his balance, or he hadn't accounted for the added mass of his broadening shoulders. Regardless of the reason, he leaned too far and, like a god cast from Olympus, slid off the couch. His hip knocked over a bowl on the floor and sent corn chips sailing through the air. The controller flew out of his hand and bounced on the carpet.

  Cackling, Dave thumbed a button repeatedly. On the television, a machine gun burped round after round in rapid succession. The screen exploded in streams of pixelated blood.

  "Godammit," Danny shouted. "Why do you have to kill me every single time?"

  Dave grinned. "Why do you have to make it so easy?"

  "LANGUAGE!" Kerry called out from the kitchen.

  "Hey guys," I said. The twins looked up, and for a moment I saw two identical people staring back at me, separated by a foot or two of distance. The vision had a kind of weird, dizzying effect. The room seemed to tilt. I closed my eyes until the sensation passed. I'd known the twins since birth, and I'd never had this kind of reaction to seeing them.

  "Holy crap, Uncle Brad. What happened to you?" It was Danny.

  "Yeah," Dave said. "You look like something out of The Walking Dead."

  "Your parents don't let you watch that show," Toni said. "It's disgusting."

  "Kids stream it on their phones," Dave said. "We watch it during lunch."

  I noticed a doll sitting on a small wood chair in the corner of the living room. Made of cloth, it was fashioned in the image of a little girl, with a cotton print dress, yarn for hair, and a mouth made of stitched Xs. Except it didn't look quite right. The arms were too long, making it look as if it would lope around on all fours, and it had different sized buttons for eyes. The flat plastic discs gave the doll an eerie, startled look.

  I thrust my chin at the doll. "That's new, isn't it?"

  Danny climbed back onto the couch, while Dave glanced nervously at the doll. "Mom and dad bought it few weeks ago,” Dave said. “They found it at some store that sells antiques and stuff."

  "She told me about the trip," Toni said. "Didn't know they'd bought anything." She frowned at the doll. "Creepy little thing, isn't it?"

  Dave nodded. "Yeah, we don't like it. Nate doesn't either."

  "Your brother's smart," I said. Nathan, oldest of the three Swinicki boys, often spent his evenings with friends. Given he had twin younger brothers, I couldn’t blame him. "You guys go ahead with your game. We've got cards to play."

  "Have fun," Dave said, and grabbed a controller.

  "Hope you feel better," added Danny as he hit the start button.

  The action on the television resumed. Gyrations commenced. Death was sure to follow.

  Toni and I moved into the kitchen. The room was small and crammed with essentials: blender, mixer, Dutch oven sitting on a gas range, spice rack, and a pink salt pig on the counter. There were a few family heirlooms. On one wall hung a black metal crucifix, which had belonged to Kerry's maternal grandfather and had purportedly been blessed by Pope John Paul II. Shelving ran along the top edge of two walls, on which sat Frank's mother's collection of wood butter molds. There were shapes for sheep and chicks and the traditional Christmas and Easter squares. While I doubt Frank or Kerry had ever utilized them, Frank's mother had, and the oils had stained the wood a dark almond color.

  The kitchen had the busy, lived-in look that we lacked in our own house. Kerry called it "homey." Frank called it "functional Polish."

&n
bsp; Kerry stood at the sink, her hands under running water. Frank leaned against the counter, liberally sprinkling spices onto the kabobs. I smelled oregano, mint, and basil.

  "Where do you want this?" Toni lifted the six pack.

  "Dining room," Frank said, not looking up from his work. "We'll drink that first, and save the stuff in the fridge for later."

  She handed me the beer. "Pour the drinks. I'll see what I can do to help.” She kissed my cheek. “Remember to take it easy. You’re officially on the injured reserve list."

  Kerry turned. "That's right. Frank told me about—" She froze, her mouth gaping open. "You look horrible."

  "Your boys think I look like a zombie."

  "Not quite that bad," Frank said. "But not far from it."

  "You poor dear." Kerry wiped her hands on a towel and took the six-pack from me. "Go sit down. Have you taken something for the pain? I've got stuff that would knock a toothache out of a hippo."

  The den mother of the group, Kerry was warmth and nurturing wrapped in a pink cardigan, which pretty much made her the polar opposite of her husband. Where Frank would approach a problem armed with facts and logic and to hell with the consequences, Kerry would bake it in an apple pie, serve it with ice cream, top it with nuts and a cherry.

  "I'm tougher than I look." I puffed out my chest, a frivolous act which did nothing more than make it ache like a motherfucker.

  "You need an infusion of narcotics." Kerry turned me around and pushed me toward the dining room. "Preferably by needle, with a continuous feed."

  I stumbled forward. It was going to be a long night.

  What I didn't know was how long.

  * * *

  In the dining room, I stole a cushion from an extra chair and tossed it onto mine. The table was already set with glasses, small plates, and napkins. There were two stoneware bowls, one filled with pita slices, the other with hummus. The third was empty. I slathered a piece of bread with ground chickpeas and stuffed it into my mouth. I hadn't eaten much since the accident, and the snack made me want more.

  Toni walked in carrying the beer and a bag of chips. She set the beer next to me, ripped open the shiny Mylar bag, and dumped the chips into the empty bowl. She popped one into her mouth.