It Happened One Night

by Lisa Dale

  “He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? He hasn’t threatened you?”

  Karin let her eyelids lower—her best impression of a damsel-in-distress. “No. But he wasn’t in town more than two minutes before they had him here at the station.”

  “I hadn’t heard that.”

  “And I’m worried about Lana,” Karin went on. “She’s always been fragile, you understand. But having Calvert around is too much for her. She’s been acting so weird. I don’t know what to do.”

  Andy put his hand on her knee. She told herself he meant to be comforting. “Listen, if you think Cal’s going to cause trouble, I believe you. But I can’t just go and boot him out of town, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Of course not! I would never ask you to do that!”

  Andy stared at his own hand on her knee. She felt her neck flush with discomfort, but she didn’t move. “What I can do,” he went on, “is keep an eye on him—”

  “That would be great—”

  “Let me finish. What I can do is keep an eye on him in a very visible way, if you know what I’m saying. I can have one of my guys hang around the Madison, maybe even make some inquiries with Mr. Delucca about his new tenant. You and I both know he doesn’t want any attention from the police. I’ll bet my Glock that Calvert will be outta there the moment his next rent check is due.”

  Karin repressed a smile. “Do you think it would work?”

  “Might. But in the meantime…” He inched closer. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, if you need someone to talk to or you just want to get out of the house, you know where to find me.”

  Karin gathered her purse. Was Andy making a move on her? It didn’t seem possible. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been hit on. She detangled herself from Andy’s arm and stood up.

  “Thanks so much, Andy. You’re a really great friend. And your wife’s a lucky woman.”

  He stood. She hadn’t realized how tall he was. She felt a slight tingling at the base of her neck, as if she was doing something wrong.

  “It’s been a long time since my wife thought she was lucky,” he said, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “In any case, I’m just glad to help.”

  Her heart softened toward him. When she looked into his eyes, she saw a loneliness there that surprised her, a loneliness that she recognized in herself.

  “Keep me posted,” she said. “I mean, stay in touch.”

  “You bet,” he said. “Karin.”

  August 8

  Eli sat with his friend Moe at the café of the lakeside aquarium. Fries, hot dogs, and soft drinks in paper cups were arranged on plastic brown trays before them. Children ran circles around tables, their squeals bouncing off the high ceilings.

  “Here’s something.” Moe leaned over his laptop and refreshed the slowly loading page. “A list of the races he’s competed in.”

  “Not exactly Lance Armstrong,” Eli said.

  Moe was a ticket sales assistant at the museum, but his résumé was diverse. Like Eli, he was a meteorite hunter and he made regular trips to the Mojave Desert, where meteorites could be seen somewhat easily against the cracked earth of a dried-up lake. Over the years he’d had a number of jobs to fund his amateur expeditions—auto mechanic, aquatics store assistant manager, junkyard night watchman, summertime security guard at a ski slope, and, at one point, he was an assistant private eye.

  “How did you find him?” Eli asked.

  Moe gave a self-deprecating smile. “Well, the hardest part was figuring out his last name. But I used what we know about him—the bike racing stuff—to figure it out. The trouble was, I had all kinds of false starts because there was no professional racer named Ron that I saw who lived out west.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe this guy still thinks he’s a mountain biker, but he hasn’t raced seriously in years. See that? His competitions just drop off. Did he get hurt or something?”

  “Not that I know of. Can we find out where he’s living now?”

  “Already done, my friend. I called in a favor from the old agency I used to work for in Reno. The owner owed me one.”

  “What’d you get?”

  Moe pulled up a program, typed in an address, and Eli watched as the screen showed an image of a globe as if from a satellite. The view zoomed in on America, then Vermont, then, when Eli thought it couldn’t possibly get any more precise, it zoomed in on a small house with a large yard and a long driveway.

  “Voilà!” With a magician’s exuberance, Moe turned the laptop to fully face Eli. “Our quarry’s house.”

  Eli frowned. “In Vermont?”

  “Near Rutland.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Moe handed him an envelope, no doubt filled with Ron’s basic information. “The house belongs to Jean-René Ashley, Ron’s brother. They’re from Canada.”

  Heat crept up Eli’s neck. “He lives with his brother?”

  “They run an Internet bike supply store out of the house.”

  Eli leaned back in his seat and forced himself to breathe out.

  “Are you okay, man? You look like you’re going to kill someone.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Who is this guy, anyway?”

  Eli stood. “Someone who’s got big problems. What do I owe you?”

  “I’m thinking of getting a crew together next year, do a little digging in Greenland.”

  “I’m in,” Eli said. “Thanks again.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “I’m not the one who should be careful,” he said. Then he pushed through the glass doors of the museum into the blazing sun.

  • • •

  Lana took a deep breath, as deep as her lungs could hold. The store was momentarily empty—the tourists having gone off to their various destinations for lunch or afternoon naps—and Karin was standing beside her, leaning over the drafting board that she used to help customers plan their gardens. Her hair fell around her face in short red-brown waves and her posture spoke of deep concentration. Of the two of them, Karin had always been the more gifted at design, and she could turn the unruliest acres into careful works of art.

  Lana put a hand to her belly and let her breath go. Six weeks had passed since she’d confirmed she was pregnant. Six weeks, and she couldn’t bear one more moment of secrecy. This wasn’t going to be easy, but she had to tell Karin what had happened. It would hurt them both, but it had to be done.

  “It looks like we’ve finally got a second of peace,” Lana said lightly, looking around the empty store.

  “Good. I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Karin said.

  “Oh?” Lana was taken aback; Karin had spoken her line.

  “I did something for us, for both of us. I got in touch with a friend—a cop—who’s going to help me get Calvert out of town.”

  Lana didn’t speak for a moment, taking the information in. Thinking about Calvert required her brain to switch gears since he was the last thing on her mind. “You don’t just want to ignore him?”

  “This is better,” Karin said. “Do you think it was wrong?”

  “No,” Lana said. “I mean, if you think that’s what we need to do…”

  Karin nodded and Lana saw there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, good. I’ve been so, so stressed out, I can’t tell if I’m going crazy or not. I mean, Calvert is stressing me out. And Gene isn’t acting like himself. And we’re barely even trying to have a baby anymore… I just wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. I’m at the end of my rope, you know? I don’t think I can take any more.”

  Lana sighed and put her hands on her hips, feeling the way her body had changed. Her secret was no longer on the tip of her tongue; it was choking her. And it would have to keep choking her for another day. “No, I don’t think I could either.”

  Karin looked up. “But don’t worry. I’ve got the Calvert situation under control. Just you wait. He’ll be out of our hair in no time and then ever
ything will be okay.”

  “I hope so,” Lana said.

  Karin’s smile was full of reassurance. Then she leaned down over her designs of cardinal flowers and lupine, trying to bring some order to her world with her work.

  Ron’s house was a shabby, white-sided ranch set atop a steep hill. The porch was held up by visible cinder blocks and the aluminum awning over the side window sagged in the middle. A rusted, dull blue muscle car sat with its top down in the driveway, as if someone was making a halfhearted attempt at restoring it. From the looks of the round splotches of yellow grass in the lawn, at least one resident of the house was a dog.

  A red pickup drove past, sending white dust into the air, and Eli gripped the wheel. He’d never been the confrontational type. The first and only fight he’d ever had ended with one of the playground supervisors ushering him off to the nurse’s office with a bloody nose and tear-streaked face. After that, he’d learned to hold on to a measure of his dignity by either agreeing with or ignoring bullies.

  But now he was furious. And even though he suspected that he had much less experience with fighting than Ron, he was prepared to take action if it came to that. The difference between those fights in middle school and the rage that roiled in him now was that in school, the arguing had been about him. But this was about Lana, a cause worth fighting for.

  The driveway leading to Ron’s house was steep, and Eli took it on long strides that made his jeans tighten against his thighs. To keep from losing courage, he focused on the most infuriating things he could think of: Ron touching Lana’s hair, lying next to her. He bruised his knuckles banging on the front door. He knew he could have just told Lana where Ron was living. But he wanted to see the guy for himself.

  “Yeah?” Ron was wearing a white tank top and blue nylon shorts. The top half of his hair was pulled back in some kind of elastic or clip. “Can I help you?”

  The guy had no idea who Eli was. “Ron. We’ve met.”

  Recognition came over Ron’s face, but he wasn’t entirely friendly. “The meteorite dude. Right. What can I do for you?”

  A movement in the room behind Ron caught Eli’s attention, and a woman’s voice followed. “Ron?”

  “Be right there, babe.” Ron stepped into the yard and pulled the door closed behind him. He took a long drag on his cigarette and flicked the ashes into a silver, dirt-speckled pail by the door.

  Eli crossed his arms. “We’ve got a little problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s time you paid Lana a visit.”

  Ron laughed. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Yes, I heard you. But you’re going to have to get me up to speed here, man. Lana and I have been over for a while now.”

  “That’s just it,” Eli said between clenched teeth. “It’s not over.”

  Ron shifted on his feet. “I’m not an idiot. It was over with us even before it started. I’d think you’d know that.”

  Eli scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  Ron laughed. “Nothing. You know what? Nothing. Look, I’m just going to go back inside and forget I saw you. Good luck, man.”

  Ron started to go back inside, but Eli grabbed his arm, hard. “Tell whoever is in there that you’re leaving, because you’re coming with me. Now.”

  Ron frowned. “I don’t want any part of your negative energy.”

  “Cut the crap,” Eli spat.

  Ron’s nostrils flared. “Listen, my thing with Lana ran its course. It’s over. She’s all yours. I know damn well that you and Lana have some kind of tangled-up karma. And I don’t want any part of it.”

  “You have to talk to her.”

  “What’s your deal, anyway? You like her so much, want to be her little lapdog? Why don’t you date her? She’d probably let you, if you had even half a testicle in your whole body.”

  Eli’s fists went tight. “I’m telling you, you’re coming with me.”

  Ron stepped close, got in Eli’s face. Eli stuck out his chin.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Ron said.

  Eli glared, frustration boiling over. He wanted to do something mean. He picked up the garbage can full of cigarette butts, and then walked to Ron’s rusted blue convertible.

  “What are you—”

  A mix of rainwater and nasty cigarette butts ran down the seats, ash soaking into the yellow foam where the seat covers were torn. Eli threw the bucket into the woods and dusted off his hands. It didn’t come close to the trouble Ron had caused, but it was something. He felt better already.

  Ron threw his cigarette. “You’re a dead man!”

  Eli ducked under the first blow. He went for an uppercut but missed, and Ron’s fist slammed into his stomach—once, twice. He couldn’t breathe. His head swam and he put his hands on his knees, doubled in pain. The ground before him wobbled as he tried to breathe.

  Come on, he told himself. Come on.

  Ron laughed. And when Eli looked up, he was walking away. Laughing and walking away.

  Eli ran with a speed he hadn’t known he possessed. He meant to push him into the wall of the house, to grab his hair and slam his forehead into the white wooden siding like he’d seen in so many movies. But Ron moved at the last moment, threw Eli off-balance, and the next thing he knew, the wide blue sky filled his vision, the dark shape of Ron’s head blocking the sun.

  “Did you come here with a death wish, you little shit?” Ron yelled. “I don’t know what your angle is, but you went after the wrong guy.”

  In a millionth of a second, a hundred scenes flashed before Eli’s eyes—each of some old humiliation or failure. His teacher pointing at him in front of the whole class and telling everyone he had to cheat because he wasn’t smart enough to pass on his own. Lana practically laughing in his face after they’d made love. Lana knocked up with some other man’s baby. And now—Ron kicked his rib cage, knocking the breath out of him—and now this.

  Rock fucking bottom.

  “Get up.” Ron bent over him. “Get the f—”

  “Ron!” A woman’s voice came from the direction of the house. “Do you want me to call the cops?”

  Ron grabbed Eli’s collar and pulled until Eli’s shoulders came off the grass. “Pick yourself up and get out of here.”

  Eli said nothing. Ron let go.

  Slowly Eli got to his feet. “This isn’t over.”

  “Oh, I think it is,” Ron said.

  Eli stared at him hard for a moment before he limped toward his car. In the driver’s seat, he glanced at his face in the mirror and saw that he’d avoided a busted lip or black eye. But pain exploded when he breathed, maybe a cracked rib. He put his face down on the steering wheel and squeezed his eyelids closed.

  He took the deepest breath he could, and when it hurt so bad that it made him dizzy, he began to laugh. Just a chuckle at first. Then an out-of-control hooting and cackling that verged on hysterical. He threw his head back against the seat and brayed. It hurt, but he couldn’t stop. Trying to hold it in made it hurt worse. His eyes teared up. He beat his hand on the steering wheel, only to discover his hand hurt too. That made him laugh more.

  He thought: Nowhere to go but up.

  He put the car in drive and kicked up as much dust as possible as he drove away.

  Lana was alone in the store, sitting on the old stool beside the counter and flipping through the pages of a childbirth book that Charlotte had given her. She knew she should scour the pages, sow each point of information like seeds into her brain. And yet she could do little more than glance at the pictures and skim the words. The language of pregnancy simmered and bubbled around in her head like a Latin Mass: anovulation, corpus luteum, endometrium, lunaception, oocyte, ovum, os, amen.

  She didn’t want to be a parent—she planned to start doing preliminary research on adoption very soon—but for now, the first order of business was to deal with the actual facts of pregnancy and childbirth. Her body was demanding more and more of her at
tention every day, and she had little choice but to give it.

  She looked at a line drawing of a fully dilated cervix. It seemed so impossible it was almost funny: an inconceivable conception. Not just labor, but what came after too.

  Eventually it was time to close, and so she spent a half hour counting the register, running reports, and cleaning. She was just about to close the Barn door behind her when she realized she’d left her book out on the counter. She tucked it away and didn’t miss the irony: She was now hiding her baby book where her Costa Rica brochures used to be.

  Outside, the sun was setting. She paused a moment on the concrete slab in front of the Barn’s side door. The trees and power lines were stark silhouettes against a pale sky. And there, at the top of the hill on the far side of the parking lot, was a dark figure, the hard-edged shadow of a man.

  She was just pulling in a breath, ready to yell, “We’re closed,” when, to her surprise, she saw the man’s arm lift, thin as a bare tree branch, and he gave her a little halfhearted wave.

  Calvert.

  What was he doing? She didn’t move. And after a moment she saw his hand fall dejectedly before he turned around and left. Lana gripped her bag closer to her side.

  He’d been watching her. Waiting for her to get off work. And yet, instead of approaching her, he’d turned tail and ran. She shook her head and fumbled in her purse for her keys, eager to get inside her car and lock the door.

  Eli and Moe lounged in beach chairs on Moe’s boat dock, tucked away in a cattail-spotted cove far south of the city. Eli was sloshy drunk, no more stable than the water under the boards beneath them. Of the twelve bottles of Long Trail that they’d started with, Eli had drunk six; Moe, one.

  “And you know what else?” Eli said. “The guy had some other woman with him! Prob’ly seeing her the whole time.”

  “Trash,” Moe said, shaking his head. “Total trash.”

  Eli stood up from his lawn chair and wobbled on his feet.

  “Easy, man.” Moe laughed.

  “I should have been quicker, you know. Got in at least one good punch. Broken his nose.”

  “Tough break.”