“Ask yourself why.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“You can be a real pest, Johnny Boy.”
You already know from a previous phone call that Audrey’s now living with a man named Daxson—Daxson DeNeil—and that they’re settled somewhere near Minot, North Dakota. Daxson’s a fundamentalist Christian fanatic, which suggests to me that he’s heavily armed, unemployed, self-righteous, and paranoid. Maybe I’m wrong about Daxson, of course, but since Audrey is unwilling to share much information about her spouse, I have to imagine the son of a bitch. Every time I picture him, and I don’t know why, he’s wearing smoky white robes and a white turban, and I’m guessing that’s inaccurate realistically, even if correct metaphorically. The name Daxson is medium blue, and DeNeil is a light orange with maybe a bit of pink. Coral, call it. So that’s probably why I see him with blue eyes and coral skin.
Audrey told me that Daxson is a millennialist who thinks the end times are upon us, the rapture is imminent, and there’s nothing much else to do but hunker down, pray, and keep the invading infidels off your property, even if you’re renting. In other words, he’s a pathetic fucking lunatic. Pardon my Anglo-Saxon. You see these poor, deluded true believers, and you want to hold them and tell them it’s all right, you’ll take care of them. They’re like baby hyenas—all frisky, big-eared, wide-eyed, eager, and clumsy, but if you keep them around, you know that very soon, when they get the chance, they’ll rip your throat out and eat your heart. Some days I want to scream. But I don’t. Instead, every few months I abet Daxson and Audrey’s insanity by sending a check. Audrey has to eat, I figure. And I keep hoping that one day she’ll take the check and buy a bus ticket that’ll get her out of the New Jerusalem and back into our world.
I sent Audrey a cell phone last year—this was just after I read the letter she sent Stevie and which I’ll tell you about in a minute. One of those pay-as-you-talk deals. And for a while they used it. But every time I called, Daxson answered. Audrey’s out, he’d tell me. Out where? Out in the field. Out to the market. Out at work. Out in church. Out out. But he wouldn’t tell me where she worked. She didn’t, he said, want me to know.
“Are you right with the Lord, John?”
“I’m an adult, Daxson. I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“You should be.”
“I don’t believe in God or Santa or the Tooth Fairy.”
“I’ll pray for you.”
(Don’t you hate that?) “Is Audrey okay?”
“She’s saved.”
How Audrey got to where she is now. Long story short: Claire shed Audrey after two months in Cortland. Audrey found a flat and a job as a groomer at a pet store at the Market Place Mall. One night she took home an adorable Persian cat. When Audrey didn’t come to work in the morning, mall security and the cat’s owner knocked on her door. Little Miss Wyandotte was reunited with her master, who offered to buy Audrey her own cat, but Audrey was too ashamed to accept, and too ashamed, apparently, to remain in New York. I sent money. She stole Claire’s Subaru and moved to Loretta, Wisconsin, where no one has moved to in like a hundred years. She liked the name and the seclusion. She’d decided she was not a people person. She’d decided to simplify her life. She rented an old fishing camp for next to nothing and lived on ramen noodles and bottled water. She was found wandering and confused on a logging road near the Thornapple River and taken to a hospital in Hayward. I would have gone to her, of course, but I didn’t know about any of this until much later. At the hospital she met Daxson, a nurse’s aide. He healed her, she said. They fell in love. Daxson realized he was a prophet. They married. The Lord told Daxson to move to North Dakota and wait for instructions. Claire’s car is, I like to imagine, rusting away by a fish camp.
Finally I got to speak with Audrey. She called to tell me that she was donating the phone to a battered women’s shelter.
“How will I reach you, then? What if something happens to Mom? Or to you? How will I know?”
“You’ve been trying to run my life since I was five.”
“That’s Daxson talking.”
“I do what he needs me to do.”
“A decent husband doesn’t keep his wife from her family.”
“God has a plan for us.”
“Christ, Audrey, have you lost your mind?”
“I’ve never been happier.”
“Is he hurting you?”
“I’m going to say goodbye now.”
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“Goodbye.”
“How can you deny your blood, Audrey? How can you forget everything we’ve been through together? Audrey? Answer me.”
There’s a part of me that wants to say, Okay, I surrender. It’s over; Audrey, you win. You don’t want me around, I’ll leave. But no me, no money. This is the self-pitying part of me. I’ll let her know that I’ll be there when she needs me and back off, respect her wishes. Or maybe it’s the humble part of me. I don’t know. Another part of me doesn’t want to release Audrey into the clutches of the delusional Daxson and whatever apocalyptic fantasy has seized her. This is the melodramatic part of me, the arrogant part of me. I don’t know what to do. I do know that she is not as happy as she has wanted me to believe. I read the letter she sent to Stevie.
Stevie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why I’m never satisfied. I have a roof over my head and a husband who loves me and would never leave me. I’ve got the job in K. at the market. Daxson drops me off and picks me up. He comes along with me to the library. It’s like he doesn’t trust me. If he sees me talking to someone he’ll say who you trying to impress. Or if it’s a guy, he’ll say the guy’s only interested in me for the one thing. You know, like I don’t have a brain. I know that’s his fear talking, so I try not to make a big deal about it, but it makes me feel bad. If I say we’re fighting a lot, he’s says we’re not, and that starts a fight. If I say let’s talk to someone, a minister or someone, he’ll say we don’t need counsel, we need more prayer. I don’t say this to Daxson, but prayer doesn’t work for me. God doesn’t seem to be listening. Last night I had this dream. I was filled with air and fixed to a spot on the kitchen floor. I was me, but I had no feet, just this rounded…bowl, I guess you could say, or saucer or something, so that when Daxson shoved me over, I popped right back up again. And every time I popped up, I had this big smile on my face, and that made him furious. I’ll wipe that silly grin off your face, he’d say, and he’d punch me. Which he never would really. His bark is worse than his bite. I woke up sore all over. I’m not stupid. I know the dream was about my fears of physical abuse. If he ever hit me, though, I would leave. Trust me. I’ve seen the women at the shelter. But anyway, he wouldn’t. He’s just so sensitive on the one side and such a perfectionist on the other—the way men with a calling often are. I know if I open up to him, he’ll open up to me. I could write him a letter, I suppose. He could write me back. That would be less threatening for both of us. He can be so sweet, and not just when he’s after something. He’ll bring me flowers out of the blue. He’ll say something nice about my hair. Little things. I hope you don’t think I’m being disloyal to Daxson, talking out of school like this. Just writing to you I feel better already. I really do. Who knew? And I discovered the solution—write to Daxson. Tell Drake I’m thinking of him. Hi to Skeet. So long. Not to worry. I should have done this a long time ago. Audrey (her mark).
AUDREY’S BECOME a person I don’t know at all. I could not have imagined this happening. Not with Audrey. It’s like my little water baby has turned to steam, and I can feel her but not touch her, and soon enough she’ll evaporate. Did she get lost looking for a father? Was Nunzie right and she’s a bit touched like Mom?
There seems to be no evidence of the delightful child in this sullen woman. On the other hand, maybe she doesn’t need my money at all, and her supplication is just her furtive and peculiar way of staying in touch.
The Charm of Distance
How do we see the futur
e? With the eyes of the past.
—EDWIN HEDMAN
I’D LIKE TO tell you that what happens next happens next week or next month, but it happens three years from today: It’s just before noon. I’m sitting here writing. Spot’s giving himself an unnecessarily noisy bath over on the futon. Outside the window, a squirrel is asleep on the bird feeder. I’m working on a story about a woman who’s writing her husband’s suicide note. She’s reading it over for the tenth time and wondering if she’s made him sound too sympathetic. She scratches out self-loathing. That’s not a word Jack would ever use. She changes rid of me to without me. She calls her boyfriend to see what he thinks. His wife answers. They gab about what they’ll wear to the Art Basel vernissage. I make a note to buy a copy of Elle. My cell phone—I finally got one, and Annick tells me I can watch the Marlins on it; I remind her about the TV—anyway, the cell phone vibrates and starts walking across my desk. The phone has this feature that lets you listen to the caller’s message as it’s being left. I let the phone dance against my coffee mug. The wife says, Do you think Dan’s been acting funny lately? Annick’s voice greets the caller. Spot looks around, perks his ears, and arfs when he doesn’t see Annick. He does that every time. Audrey says, “Johnny Boy, pick up.”
I push talk. Nothing. I push it again. “Audrey!” Goddammit! Again. “Audrey?”
“You have to come get me.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at work.”
“I mean where where?”
She’s in Livia, North Dakota. She tells me Daxson is in Williston for a couple of days, and she wants to get out before he gets back. There’s no one she can stay with. She doesn’t want anyone else involved in her mess. “Just hurry, please.”
“I’m glad you called, Audrey.” I’m glad I sent her the number.
She gives me the address, and I remember to write down the number she called from. For me that’s incredibly efficient. I call Annick with the news. She heads home. I book a ticket for the morning on Expedia. I tell Spot I’m going to fetch Aunt Audrey. He runs and gets his leash.
It takes forever to get to Bismarck via Charlotte and Denver. On the flight from Denver I sit next to a man from Zap, about ninety miles northwest of Bismarck. Works out at the Garrison Dam. Grew up in Minneapolis. He says he moved out west because he thought the great distances would force people together, thought the absence of neighbors would drive the lonesomeness away. Was he ever wrong! But he’s been here now too long to leave. He tells me he’s fifty and has been married thirty years, and he and his wife are considered youngsters in Zap. When we die, the town dies. You can’t have economic development if you have no young people to work. Lost half our population in ten years. He asks me how Audrey wound up in Livia of all places. I say she came by mistake. He says no one comes to Livia by mistake.
We land in Bismarck in midafternoon. I rent one of those new Quark Charms, the hybrid they’re all writing about, drive it to the Kirkwood Mall, and buy a pair of gloves and a blue knit hat that says UNIVERSITY OF MARY MARAUDERS on it. I buy a hat for Audrey. It’s bitterly cold and windy. I drive north through Washburn and see the signs for Fort Mandan. I roll down the window and try to imagine the Corps of Discovery braving the elements that first winter. I roll up the window. There’s a Lewis & Clark Interpretive Center nearby, and I wonder if Audrey might want to stop in on our way back. We’ve got so much catching up to do. I keep rehearsing our reunion, what I’ll say, how she’ll react. I see tears and smiles, a hurried embrace, and a sprint to the Quark. I keep seeing her driveway as gravel, and I see the spray of stones onto the brown lawn as I peel out. I remember the old Nez Percé woman who kept her tribe from murdering the explorers. Watkuese. She’d been kidnapped in her youth and later cared for by whites. Eventually she made her way back home. Watkuese means “Lost and Was Found.” Like Audrey.
It’s dark when I reach Livia. There aren’t that many streets in town, so Audrey’s is easy enough to find. Wherever you are, you can see the Livia water tower and the grain elevators. I park out front of Audrey’s house. There’s no driveway. There are no lights on in the house. There’s no mail in the mailbox. I knock at the front door and then at the side door. I check the address stenciled at the curb. I walk around the house and try to peek in the curtained windows. I sit in the car and then decide that Audrey must be out picking up last-minute items for the trip. Little shampoos and breath mints, things like that. She couldn’t know when I’d arrive. I drive around town looking for her. On Main Street Peterson’s Department Store is closed for the night and so is Dell’s Diner. Everything else looks closed for good. I see a dog walking along the railroad tracks leaving town.
This time I park down the block. I don’t know why, really. If Daxson is around, he won’t see me? I decide to call the number Audrey called me from. No signal. Just great. At nine I figure I’d better find a place to sleep. I wind up in Kenmare at the San Way Ve Motel. I ask the clerk about the motel name. He says, What about it? It’s odd. It is? Room 12 has dark plywood paneling and dim lighting. There’s a black vinyl chair facing the bed. Beside the chair is a low table, and on the table a white compact fridge, and on the fridge a white towel, and on the towel a small white microwave. The blue carpet worries me, and so does the floral bedspread. I can see my breath. I crank up the heat. The TV’s on the dresser. There’s no remote. My nose bleeds, and my hair hurts when I take off the knit cap. I turn on the shower, let it steam up, humidify and warm the room. I get a phone signal and try the number. No answer. I call Annick and fill her in. I have a bad feeling, I say.
In the morning I drive to Livia. I go by Audrey’s to check for signs of life. There’s a beige pickup on the front lawn and smoke curling from the chimney. I knock, and Daxson opens the door a few inches. He’s thin, balding, and sallow. His glasses are too large for his face. He says, “We don’t want any.”
“Good, I don’t have any.” I know I’m not tough, but I figure I could pin this insect to a mounting board if I have to. “I’d like to speak to Audrey. Tell her it’s her brother.”
“Audrey’s not here.”
“We both know she is.” I shoulder my way into the living room and close the door behind me. Daxson says he’d be within his rights to shoot me as an intruder.
I say, “If you had the balls, you could,” and I don’t know where that came from. Do I really say that? “Audrey!”
Audrey walks into the room, and when she says, “Johnny Boy, what are you doing here?” I know that her call to me is a secret from Daxson. So how then did I find the place? I decide that I’ve hired a detective.
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Daxson says, “Audrey, what in the Lord’s name is going on here?”
I say, “Don’t you have a hug for your brother?” She does, but it’s a limp one, a so-sweet-of-you-to-drop-by-with-the-fruit-basket-for-Mama kind of hug. I tell her to get her coat and we’ll take a little walk. We can catch up; she can show me the sight. (My singular little joke about Podunk.) She’s gaunt and lusterless, but still beautiful. Lost some weight and some muscle tone. North Dakota will do that to you.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Daxson says. “How did you find us?”
“I was in the area researching a book on Lewis and Clark, and—”
Daxson says, “Bill Peterson.”
“What?”
“Told you where we lived.”
“I can’t reveal my sources.”
“It was Peterson. Can’t keep his mouth shut.”
I look at Audrey, cock my head, raise my brows, widen my eyes, lift my shoulders like, What’s going on here, Audrey? She stares at her feet. I give her the hat I bought her. “Let’s go. We’ve got some family issues we need to discuss.”
Daxson says, “I’m family.”
Audrey says, “Johnny Boy, I think you should leave.”
Daxson puts his arm over Audrey’s shoulder. She slips hers around his waist, leans her head on his bony shoulder. She
says, “We’re just fine here, Johnny Boy. Nothing for you to worry about.” She looks at Daxson and smiles.
Someone in the kitchen, it sounds like, says, “How’s that for abuse?” Daxson turns. Audrey smiles, says it must have been someone walking by.
I say, “How about a cup of coffee for the road?”
Daxson says, “We don’t drink coffee.”
“Try Dell’s,” Audrey says.
I stand there looking for some kind of signal from Audrey. Daxson watches her too. Audrey twirls the hat in her hand. Daxson gets the door.
The coffee at Dell’s is washy, the creamer is powder. I’m disappointed, but not surprised. Everyone in the place is smoking cigarettes, including Marie behind the counter. Marie tells me that Dell died in 1976. My guess is that all these guys in caps and coveralls are farmers whiling away a winter morning. I’m thinking they should go to Florida for the season if they’ve got nothing better to do. Why suffer this gloom and cold? I have a weak signal, so I call Audrey’s number again. Turns out to be the number of Bob’s Super Valu in Kenmare. I ask for Audrey, and they tell me she didn’t come to work today. Some kind of flu. Says she’ll be out all week. I wonder if I should call the motel and reserve the room for another night. I’m not leaving without Audrey.
I take a walk and stop at Peterson’s Department Store. I figure that’s Bill Peterson reading the newspaper he’s got spread out on the counter. He doesn’t look up when the little bell over the door tinkles. I browse around. The wooden floor creaks. I love this place. The goods are displayed on long tables and are separated by glass partitions. Hairnets, pacifiers, Lepage’s mucilage, glassware, costume jewelry, scarves, marbles, silk coin purses, sunglasses, aprons, cake mixes, jack-o’-lanterns, spark plugs, lunch boxes, cigarette lighters, handkerchiefs. There’s a pile of dusty boxes of model airplane kits—something to pass the time at the San Way Ve. I buy a metal grabber, which is this long arm with a two-fingered hand at the end that helps you reach items on the top shelves of your cabinets. Annick will love it. She’ll say it’s silly, but she’ll love it. I buy a wooden honey dripper and a ceramic salt pig. And I find a treasure, a Big Indian Chief writing tablet made in, believe it or not, Requiem, Mass., by the Arrow Wholesale Company on Water Street, which was the same street where I bought the chicks for Drake and Audrey. Sounds like a sign to me. I didn’t know such a tablet existed. There’s a Plains Indian in full feathered headdress on the red cover and a line to write your name below his photo.
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