Much later, a few hours after Magda arrived and they had sat together, side-by-side, in the plastic chairs, holding hands, the nurse came in and told Theo he could go. There’s nothing more we can do, the nurse told Theo. The rest is up to you.
They were the hollow words out of some TV movie. While maybe it was true, for whatever happened to Theo next would be the result of his own inclination, it seemed an empty, naive proposal. Take care, he had said uselessly to Magda. Be safe.
Outside in the parking lot, he stood in the darkness, watching her pull onto the road, his hand raised in the cold air until she had turned out of sight. When he had called her all those hours ago to tell her about Theo, she was unable to speak for several long minutes. She stammered, gulping through her tears, trying to get the words out. It’s how fear disables you, he knew, when even the smallest gestures seem impossible. When you are stranded in the midst of the wreck that is your life.
That’s when he told her outright that he loved her.
He glanced at his watch. It was two in the morning. He was enervated, now, after the ordeal. But it had all been worth the effort. Theo had a ways to go, but at least he had that chance now. Yes, he told himself, he had that chance.
Where had he parked? He spotted his truck deep in the lot. When he got there, he found a piece of paper stuck in the door. It was a note with only two words. Forgive me.
It was from True, he knew, and he carefully folded her note and pushed it under his visor.
If only he could tell her he already had.
It was very cold out, and he couldn’t wait to get out to Montauk, to be alone with her and the boy in the house. Since his mother’s death, he rarely went out there anymore, and his sister, Ava, seldom came from Chicago. He would make a fire, and they’d have something to eat. They’d feast. But that only made him think of Simone’s cooking, and he ached for her now too, and for his home. Even with his feelings for Magda, he’d always loved his wife. He loved her still.
The lot was quiet, desolate. A greenish light shimmered on the tops of the cars. He started the engine and turned the heat to full blast. He was about to back out when he heard someone knocking on his window. Alarmed, he turned. There was a man standing there. It was someone he recognized.
He rolled his window down.
Did I scare you?
Julian, he heard himself say.
Hello, Rye. I was hoping we could talk. Can I get in a minute?
It’s pretty late.
Won’t take long.
All right, he managed. Sure.
He sat there, trying to think, while Ladd climbed into the passenger seat of his truck. It wasn’t until he was sitting there in his heavy cashmere overcoat with his seatbelt around him that Rye realized he’d possibly made a mistake, that, under the circumstances, having Ladd in such close proximity wasn’t a good idea, and now he was noticing the black leather gloves and the icy rigidity of his movements, how he was staring straight ahead as if he couldn’t bear the sight of him.
I guess I should thank you, he said. For taking such good care of my son.
Rye nodded. It was nothing.
We didn’t know what else to do.
Sorry?
About Theo.
It’s a difficult problem, Rye said uncertainly.
She was desperate. That’s why she called you. He glanced over at Rye. Don’t think for a minute it was anything else. That business at the hotel, for instance. That was all part of her perfect little plan. My wife can be very determined when it comes to getting what she wants. She’ll do whatever it takes. He shook his head and smiled. Oh, the things she’ll do. She can be a very bad girl.
That’s when he saw the gun.
Julian, listen—
The truth is, he continued in a dull, monotonous tone. Marriage. It’s a bit of a drag, isn’t it? They don’t call it an institution for nothing. And I admit it makes me a little crazy. Years go by and you do all the right things, the house, the cars, the schools, until one day it finally sinks in that the person you’re lying next to night after night is a total and complete fucking stranger.
What is it you want, Julian? How can I help?
Oh, I think we’ve had just about enough of your help.
Voices were approaching. A couple were getting into the car parked next to him.
He jammed the gun into Rye’s side. One fucking word and I fire it.
They waited in the thick quiet while the people backed out and drove away.
Julian, look—
Drive, he said.
Rye pulled out of the lot. His hands were slippery. He searched for somebody, anybody, but the streets were deserted. Even the gas station where he’d planned on getting gas was closed. They drove for a while along the river. They came to the parking lot of the fairground, the dead rides swaying in the wind.
Pull over there.
He did and parked. He realized he was sweating. He could feel the warm dampness all up his back.
Julian held up the gun. Take off your wedding band.
What?
You don’t deserve to wear it. Go on.
Rye twisted the ring off his finger and dropped it into the cup holder.
That’s better. Now get out.
Julian—
Shut your mouth.
They walked in the cold. His feet hurt. Everything hurt. He was terrified.
Get up on that bridge.
Rye climbed the steps up to the bridge. There weren’t any lights and it was very dark.
Move.
They started across. Julian was behind him, holding up the gun. Rye was thinking he could take him. Knock him over. But he needed to gather his strength. He needed to find his courage. Julian, he said, turning around, walking backward. What are you thinking?
Julian didn’t answer. He raised the gun a little higher.
Look, please, let’s talk this through.
Get over there.
Whatever it is, I’m sure we can—
This is the end, Rye.
What? What are you saying?
You see, I can’t—
Can’t what?
She doesn’t love you. I’m the one—
I know that, Julian.
Don’t think for a fucking minute she ever did.
I never thought—
I didn’t even care he wasn’t mine. I think maybe I always knew. I tried, you know, with Theo. I tried really hard. He shook his head. But my own kid wouldn’t be this stupid.
There was no decent comeback for that, Rye decided.
Julian shook his head and muttered a laugh. You never wanted to see me.
What do you mean?
My work. You never wanted to believe I was as good as you. But I was just as good as you, Rye. And you couldn’t stand it. I had real talent. And you just crushed it. You crushed it.
He held the gun out in front of him with both hands.
Julian. Please!
I tried to forgive you. I tried. But I just can’t.
Julian! This is madness! Rye held up his hand like a shield.
And Julian put a bullet through it.
The pain was astonishing.
Rye curled in on himself and staggered, hurling his weight into Julian, and Julian went down, and the gun skidded across the snow. Julian took control and climbed onto Rye’s hips, pinning down his arms with his knees, and he held Rye around the neck with both of his hands, squeezing, and Rye knew he had to move, and he somehow freed his good arm and pushed his fingers into Julian’s eye and Julian let go, cursing, and he was able to roll to his side, and he could hear Ladd moaning, my eye, my fucking eye, and Rye lay there, gasping for air, and for a moment he thought they were done, that they’d fought, and all those years of rage Julian had been holding on to were suddenly gone.
But then he saw. Julian was on his feet, coming toward him, his shoes, the wide black legs of his trousers, the flash of an argyle sock, and the force of his leg like a mallet as he kicked him again and ag
ain.
Rye couldn’t breathe. Like he’d forgotten how. And he knew in that moment that this was going to end soon, and that one of them was going to die.
He rolled over and got to his knees, and then he was up, and again he hurled himself into Julian, and they fought, tearing at each other, and Julian again took control, twisting Rye’s blood-soaked arm up behind his back, pushing him against the metal railing, where he could see the water churning below, and in that instant, he lost all faith in himself and knew, without any doubt, it was where he was going.
Once, he’d seen a man fall off one of his father’s bridges, a forty-five-foot drop. They’d been installing concrete forms. People said he’d survived because of the position of his body when he’d sustained the impact.
This scrap of memory pushed into his head as he turned through the darkness like a breech infant, kicking his legs together, feetfirst, his arms flat at his side like one of those circus performers about to fly out of a cannon—this all within seconds, with no time to pray, and the black river broke open into a hundred pieces, and cradled him in its frigid womb.
Magda
She wakes on the couch and takes in the room, glances at her watch. It is nearly nine a.m. and there’s no sign of Rye. Groggily, she looks around. A little weary, stiff from the long drive, she pulls herself up and looks out the window, but Rye’s truck is not out there. She sees the ocean. The opening sky. Maybe he decided not to come after all, she thinks, regretting now what she’d done with her phone. At one point on the drive, after Theo had fallen asleep, she’d opened her window and tossed it out onto the Hutchinson Parkway. She doesn’t want Julian finding her, that’s the last thing she and Theo need. It occurs to her now that, for all of the years they’ve been married, she’s felt like another one of his possessions. Like he owns her. Not anymore. Never again. A rush of cold air circles her feet. This is what it is to be free, she thinks. This—here. Right now.
She climbs the stairs to check on Theo. It’s a smaller room down the hall, the room he’d chosen. He lifts his head a moment and tells her he just wants to sleep. She nods and backs out silently and closes the door. Downstairs, she stands in the empty living room, looking out at the ocean. The house is almost exactly as she remembers it all these years later. The furniture covered with sheets. The old clock, no longer ticking.
This place, she thinks, is like a time warp. She finds a rotary phone in the kitchen and dials Rye’s cell phone, but it just rings and rings. It concerns her a little, and confuses her, but she is unwilling to take it personally. By now she is used to being disappointed by him. But still, it hurts. Maybe there’s a good reason for it, she decides. Maybe his truck broke down, something like that. Or maybe he thinks she needs the time alone with Theo.
Maybe he is regretting what happened between them.
She can only assume he has gone home to his wife.
Vaguely, she considers calling their house, hoping he’ll pick up. But what if he doesn’t? What if it’s Simone who answers?
It doesn’t matter now. She has more important things to worry about. Now all that matters is this gift he has given them, this place, this quiet, this peace. This time to heal. Not just for Theo, for both of them.
The days pass. One and then another. She tries Rye again and again, but there’s still no answer and finally she gives up, a little angry, a little hurt. He could have tried to reach her on the landline. It’s not like he doesn’t know the number.
Slowly it becomes clear to her that this battle with Theo is theirs alone.
Together they will fight this beast of addiction. If it’s the last thing she does.
He cries a lot. It’s very difficult. He seems really down. Confused. He stares into space. He hardly looks at her. He hardly eats. He’s very thin. He’ll eat ice cream, that’s about it. Coffee, his favorite flavor. She knows it’s hard for him. She respects the struggle, but it breaks her heart as she watches it unfold. It’s difficult to see. She is a mother, and he is her child. This is a glitch, an aberration. She couldn’t have predicted it. She hopes he can survive it. Right now, she isn’t sure. Time will tell, she supposes. Time is the thing.
His physical symptoms are manageable, like those of a bad flu, and with every day he gets a little better, a little stronger. It certainly isn’t the horror of withdrawal she’s read about in countless articles. It angers her, and she resents the media, and others, for claiming the physical trial of quitting is worse than it is, for making it seem impossible. She resents the clinics that exploit the families, taking their money and promising nothing. She resents the term recover. She resents the term clean. Because in life, if you are living it fully, you are always a little dirty. You carry inside you the child you once were, unafraid of the wet grass, the murky puddles of rainwater, the mud that stained your jeans.
The book on addiction is her bible. She reads it once, twice. Again.
Trusts it.
She gives Theo a new journal, bound in cloth.
He runs his fingertips along its edge. Takes it upstairs.
Later, she finds him in bed. Curled in on himself. The pages of the journal are empty. He is not ready to write, she realizes. Can’t.
He finds a book on the shelf, thick with dust. The Brothers Karamazov. He says he’s reading it. He says it’s good. He’s been there on the couch, reading all day. But when he gets up to use the bathroom, laying the book open at his place, she sees he’s still on the first page.
Julian
He was leaving his office when his cell phone rang. It was his wife. Crying into the phone, she explained what had happened to Theo. I wanted you to know, she said. You’re still his father.
But this only annoyed him. In light of the fact that she’d told her lawyer she wanted nothing more to do with him, he found her blatant generosity patronizing.
He’s in there now. They’re saying he’s going to be all right.
That’s good news, he said.
He asked her where the hospital was, and she sighed irritably. I’d rather not say.
After the incident in the kitchen, where she claimed he’d lost control of himself, she’d gone to the trouble of filing a restraining order. He didn’t think it was fair; the law favored the women. Maybe hitting her like that had been wrong, but he hadn’t seen her complaining about the other stuff they’d done, when he’d had her on the floor.
Have you had a chance to look over that paperwork from my lawyer?
Under the circumstances the question felt like an insult.
There’s a deadline, I think, she pressed.
Is there? I hadn’t noticed.
That shut her up.
Well, Magda, he said in the tolerant voice he used with his new assistant. You take care.
She wasn’t terribly smart when it came to these things. Long ago, and unbeknownst to her, he’d installed tracking software on her iPhone. At the moment, the little red throbbing circle on Google Maps was in the city of Albany, in the vicinity of Memorial Hospital.
He decided to go up there. Like she said, he was still Theo’s father. He didn’t want the boy to think he didn’t care.
It took him a little over two hours, and he drove in complete silence with steadfast concentration. As it grew dark on the nearly empty highway, he thought of the Robert Frank photograph of a road somewhere in New Mexico, the conniving loneliness of it. It was a truly revealing photograph, he thought. For it represented the pull a man could feel when he is nearing the end of something, that inevitable vanishing point, where nothing lives.
He parked in the lot near the Emergency Department entrance. Maybe he had talked himself into a deluded fantasy that when she saw him, her love would come back. When she realized he’d made the effort to be part of this—what did they call it, intervention?—surely, she’d want him to come home, and they could go back to being a family again just like before.
But only seconds later, he saw them coming out, her arm looped in Theo’s. They stepped under the bright
fluorescent lights like actors on a stage.
That’s when he saw Adler.
And all at once, he felt so very betrayed.
With growing agitation, he watched his adversary as he escorted his wife and son to the Range Rover he’d busted his ass to buy her. Adler was talking to Theo, the boy staring into his eyes with a glittery devotion that made him want to puke. Adler walked back over to Magda and took her into his arms and kissed her, lingering there with his tongue in her mouth as the seconds turned.
Julian swallowed. His heart burned. He played that kiss over and over in his mind even after his wife and son had pulled out of the lot, heading back into the life that no longer included him.
If there was any satisfaction, it was the look on Adler’s face when Julian pounded on the window of his truck. It was the look of a guilty man. A man who knows what’s coming.
There is a sound a body makes as it flies through the air, a sort of pleasant whistling, and then there’s the inevitable crash when it hits the water’s surface, like cement, he’d read—that’s what they compared it to.
Up on that bridge, he’d felt a perilous elation—unlike the transformative effects of the alcohol or drugs he’d done in the past, this was permanently life changing.
It was an exclusive sensation, one, he knew, that few people would ever experience.
He could find no word to describe it.
He breathed the cold air into his lungs and felt his whole body renewed.
It was beginning to sleet. On his hands and knees, he groped around in the snow for his gun and tossed it over the railing into the river. He peered into the black water. There was no sign of Rye Adler.
Rye Adler was gone.
Like a pair of unseen hands, the wind shoved him to and fro as he opened his fly and urinated over the edge.
He crossed the fairground lot, where Rye’s truck sat alone. He stood there a minute just looking at it, the streetlamp shining dully on its roof.
It was a long walk back to the hospital parking lot, several miles. He didn’t mind it. He wanted to walk, to clear his head. He shuffled along. He was like a creature transformed, sniffing, limping a little across the ice and snow, and as he hurried along, it dawned on him that what he’d done could not be reversed. He’d committed a murderous act and he couldn’t take it back. He alone had changed the course of destiny for both of them.
The Vanishing Point Page 23