A Hand Reached Down to Guide Me

by David Gates

  “That’s brilliant,” Seth said. “You don’t know how fucked up this is. Mom’s just going to send her home. That’s everybody’s big answer.”

  The girl put her hands over her ears, elbows to her chest. “You’re fighting.”

  “I’m not letting this happen,” Seth said.

  “It’s okay,” she told him. “I can try my aunt again.”

  “Look, I have to run a quick errand,” I said. Of course I’d forgotten about putting that check in the mail. “You guys get together whatever you need and we’ll talk when your mother gets here.”

  “And everybody goes away happy,” Seth said.

  “I could do with a hair less sarcasm,” I said. “May I have my keys?”

  “I put them back in the kitchen,” he said. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I was trying to tell you something.”

  —

  And I suppose he was. Though I didn’t realize it until I’d gotten back, searched the house, finally thought to look in the garage and—shower music—there was the tarp lying on the concrete.

  I came to the door when the Saab pulled in. “They’re gone,” I said. “I had to go out for a minute and apparently they took Wayne’s car.”

  “Are you serious? You left them alone?”

  “Well, naturally if I’d had any idea—”

  “You know what he’s like. He’s probably taking her to Mexico or something.”

  “I would doubt he has a plan,” I said. “It was obviously a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

  “Did you try his cell?”

  “I left him a message to get the hell back here.”

  “I’m sure that was a help.” She reached into her purse, poked at her phone, then said, “Sweetie, it’s me. Call the minute you get this, okay?” She turned to me. “Can they track you if your phone’s off?”

  “You’re not thinking of getting the cops involved?”

  “He stole your uncle’s car. Can he even drive that thing? And he’s got that stupid little bitch with him.”

  “Come on in and let’s think this through a minute,” I said. I led her into the kitchen and on to the living room. “Here, why don’t you sit down. Can I get you anything?”

  She examined the seat of Wayne’s recliner, brushed at it and sat. “So this is where you live.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “What a dump.”

  She tapped a fingernail on one of the metal shades of the pole lamp. “You don’t see these every day.”

  “I do. Seltzer?”

  “This can’t be happening,” she said. “You don’t think they would’ve gone to my place?”

  I shook my head. “He’s afraid you’ll turn the girl over to her mother.”

  “Oh God, the mother. Well, this is the end of that little romance. He can hate me forever.”

  “I don’t disagree,” I said. “I do feel bad for the girl.”

  “She’s going to eat his life.” She took her phone out again. “Okay, now that we’ve done our thinking.”

  “I’ll make the call,” I said. “Let’s just give it another fifteen minutes.”

  “And do what? Talk about old times?” She raked her hair away from her cheek and behind her ear—I noticed some strands of white—and then touched her pinkie to her cheekbone, as if to make sure it was still Hepburnesque. Such a creaturely gesture.

  “It’s an idea,” I said. “Look, this probably isn’t the moment, but I’m well aware that I fucked up.”

  “Did you,” she said. “Sort of an inadvertency?”

  “Fine, okay, I said my little piece. But can we wait this out together?”

  “I guess I’m here,” she said. “Did you say you had seltzer?”

  I got up. “Put something in it if you want.”

  “Not just now,” she said. “Do you have lime? I don’t know, maybe this will all just…do you think?”

  “At this point,” I said, “I’d make a promise to God.”

  She said, “Do it.”

  And here’s the thing: I was out in the kitchen slicing the lime and formulating my prayer—Dear God seemed childish, O God operatic—when my cellphone rang.

  I ran back to the living room and angled it between our ears. “Look, I’m not going to say where I am, okay?” Seth’s tinny voice. “But I didn’t want you to get all worried.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I said. “Your mother’s here.”

  “We didn’t go real far, okay? Kendra’s aunt’s coming to get her so I need to wait with her.”

  “Where’s her aunt?”

  “New Jersey? She’s like on her way.”

  “Well look, if that’s the case, why don’t we pick you up and you can wait here?”

  “Because I don’t trust you guys?”

  “Let me talk to him.” Sarah took the phone. “Seth, listen to me, please? If you’ll tell us where you are, I promise you—yes, okay, but you’re not going to drive anywhere else, right? We’ll just come pick you up and—” She shook her head and closed the phone. “Well,” she said, “they’re somewhere. I don’t know, probably some mall? At least they’re off the road. Supposedly. He said he’d call back. They could definitely trace his phone.”

  “Do you want to do that?”

  “Not really.” She flumped down on one end of the couch. “So I guess your prayers got answered. I hope you didn’t promise your firstborn.”

  I sat down at the other end. “Do we know anything about this aunt?”

  “Another of life’s winners, I’m sure. How long does it take to get here from New Jersey?”

  “I don’t know. Holiday weekend? Look, I say we trust him.”

  “He’s a kid, for God’s sake.”

  “He thinks he’s doing the right thing,” I said. “You want him never to trust us?”

  “Oh God,” she said. “I don’t know. You’d better be right.”

  “Yeah, when have you ever known me to show poor judgment?” I said. “I made a funny.”

  “I think I will have something.” She bent to untie her track shoes. She was wearing that same shirt and I saw between her breasts. The weight she’d gained had made them fuller. “Since you brought it up,” she said, “what were you thinking? When you decided to fuck her.”

  “How sorry I’d be.”

  “Then you did get some pleasure out of it. You see how well I know you?” She drew her feet up under her to sit sidesaddle.

  “Gin and tonic? We do have lime.”

  “And gin,” she said. “Why am I not surprised.”

  I brought the drinks in and sat closer to her on the couch. “No touching,” she said. “I can’t believe I’m drinking with you in the middle of the day.” She drained half her glass in the first swallow.

  “Look at you,” I said.

  “Maybe you had the right idea all along,” she said. “Just fuck everything.”

  “We should probably go slow,” I said. “This could be a long day.”

  “That’s exactly why,” she said. She drank the rest and rattled the ice. “One more. Is it irresponsible?”

  “I doubt anybody would judge us,” I said. “Considering.”

  “Oh no, we’ve been model parents,” she said. “And I teach at Yale—actually, you teach at Yale. It’s the get-out-of-Yale-for-free card. See, I can make a funny too.”

  I poured us each another gin and tonic and sat next to her again. She offered her glass to clink. “Old times?” she said. “Better days?”

  “Can’t have both,” I said. “Can’t have either.”

  “Come on, your life doesn’t look so bad.” She took a good gulp. “You’re a man with a pole lamp. There must be scads of women just dying to get their hands on that.”

  “If I didn’t know you,” I said, “I’d think you were getting bawdy.” Her hair had strayed down to her cheek again, and I reached out and smoothed it back.

  “You must be out of options.” She took my hand and placed it on my thigh. “An old biddy like me? Or was that jus
t a reflex?” She drained the rest of the glass and sank back on the cushion. Her phone went off in her purse; she got up and checked the number. “I knew it.” She touched a finger to her lips. “Really?” she said into the phone. “No, she hasn’t been here. No, Seth is up in his room. Listen, I’m in the middle of something. If we hear anything I’ll be sure to call you.” She put the phone back in her purse and sat down on the couch again. “There. I guess I’m officially on the team. I could use just one more little one.”

  “Hell,” I said. “What’s another bad idea at this point?” I brought our glasses out to the kitchen.

  “Little,” she called.

  When I sat down next to her again, I thought she’d undone a button, but I could have been wrong. She tasted her drink and said, “I didn’t mean wimpy. You know, this is all very strange.”

  “For me too.”

  “Oh,” she said, “the sincere look. Your little TA girl didn’t even have a fighting chance. So what all did you do with her?”

  “I don’t suppose you want to talk about something else.”

  “Not ever,” she said. “Did you make her get the butter?” I took her glass out of her hand. “I’m not drunk,” she said. “I’m showing interest in what interests you. It’s one of those how-to-talk-to-a-man things.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said. “Would it make you feel better if you just hit me?”

  “Well I don’t know,” she said. “Nothing else seems to be working.”

  I turned my head, pointed to my cheek. Of course she wouldn’t. But her hand came up, I winced my eyes shut and the slap rocked my head. I put my hand to my cheek and she slapped the other side. “One to grow on,” she said.

  “That fucking hurt,” I said.

  “Good,” she said. “To tell you the truth, it really didn’t do that much for me.”

  “Can we try something else?” I brushed the back of my hand down her breast and hit nipple.

  “Don’t,” she said. “You’re not funny.”

  “I wouldn’t say either of us is keeping this light.”

  “You made those things too strong,” she said. “I just hit you.”

  “Babe,” I said. She closed her eyes and shook her head. I smoothed her hair again, and her cheek was wet. I put my hand around the back of her head and drew it into my shoulder.

  “No.” She sat up and rubbed into her eye socket with the heel of her hand. “He’s going to call any second.”

  “So?” I said. “We’re here.”

  “This must just be idle curiosity,” she said. “See if she’s picked up any new tricks.”

  “Have you?”

  “Surely you can’t be jealous,” she said. “Don’t tell me that was the key to your heart. The things we learn. Well, good. I like a level playing field.” She got up and went in her purse. “I was not going to do this.” I got up and pressed into her as she bent over. “Put out your hand.”

  I opened my palm: a silver-wrapped condom. “Really,” I said. “Boy Scouts’ motto. So who was in your plans this weekend?”

  “New rules,” she said. “Did you think this was the good old days?”

  —

  Whenever my father worked late, my mother and I had movie night. She was the one who explained to me why the man in Notorious got upset when he saw the wine bottle and pointed out when the lady in The Maltese Falcon was lying. We didn’t let my father know that she’d always give me a glass of wine, at first with water, later without. Once, when I was ten or eleven, we watched The Awful Truth, and she said the ending, where the little mechanical boy in lederhosen finally follows the little mechanical girl into the clock, was the filthiest scene ever shot. I understood the principle even then—and went on believing that less was more until I saw actual pornography—so I’m honoring it now.

  Sarah sat up, pulled the sheet over her breasts and picked up her watch from the nightstand. I was still on my back. “It’s been three hours,” she said.

  “Sure, we could talk about that,” I said. “The silence was getting loud.”

  “Meaning you’re not concerned.”

  “Not much to say about it, until we know something. Whereas.”

  She set the watch back down. “Who are the ladies?”

  “My aunt,” I said. “And that’s Wayne’s new flame.”

  “Ah,” she said. “The other family tradition.”

  “I told you the situation.”

  She felt around on the floor and came up with her shirt. “I’m chilly,” she said. “Can we shut that window? Yes, you told me. Your aunt’s the one he’s got in storage?”

  I got up, naked, and walked to the window. Daylight was still coming in under the shade, and I knew how I must look from behind; when I reached up, I saw the flesh of my arm swinging. “I’m not much of a trophy these days,” I said. “Just so you know, you’re the only one who’s been here.”

  “Aren’t you sweet,” she said. “I feel like a bride again. Listen, can we agree that we’re not telling Seth about this? It’s just going to play into all his fantasies.”

  “So it’s like nothing happened?”

  “Nothing did happen.”

  “Oh, then it’s like Waiting for Godot. Nothing happened twice?”

  “Okay,” she said, “that was an indulgence.”

  “I finally got a smile out of you,” I said.

  “I just hope you’re not entertaining any fantasies. Is your phone still on?”

  “We would’ve heard it,” I said. “I think.”

  “Could you check?”

  I picked my phone up from the floor. “Zip,” I said. “You want the bathroom first?”

  “I can’t believe I let this happen,” she said. “This was your shirt, by the way. I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”

  “No, you look good in it.” I put my hand under the shirt and touched her belly. “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “We just have to hang on until he calls. I’m glad we’re doing this together.”

  She wormed away, sat up and mimicked playing a violin. “Do you ever listen to yourself?”

  “Ceaselessly,” I said. “Are you always going to hate me?”

  “I’ll have to think about that one. Right now you’re not my favorite person. Right now I’m not my favorite person.”

  When I got out of the shower, Sarah was on the couch with my phone to her ear. “Just as soon as we can get there,” she said. She closed the phone and said, “Clinton Crossing. Main entrance. Apparently the aunt actually showed up and took the girl. He must be the luckiest little shit alive.”

  “Let me get some clothes on,” I said. “I’ll drive Wayne’s car back here. What do we do with him?”

  “How about grounded till he goes to college?”

  “No, I mean do you want to take him home to Guilford?”

  “It’s still your weekend,” she said. “I’ve had my fill of miracles for today.”

  —

  But this is a story God alone could finish. Our guy must think he’s in The Awful Truth, where they get back together after their escapades, no damage done. Our gal doesn’t seem to want to be in that movie, except there she was with her knees on his shoulders and coming back for seconds. I emailed her that night to ask if we could talk. It took her two days to write back: Not just now. And if an unseen hand had reached down just as I was about to humble myself and pray, what was the big miracle? A kid got away with driving for a few miles, and a couple with unfinished business wound up in bed.

  I took a redeye to LAX, dozing in and out of Dramamine sleep, rented a car and drove up to Santa Barbara. Insert praise of the Creator for a June morning in California. Let there be palm trees. From my mother’s balcony, you could look down the street and see, between two oceanfront mansions, just about that much of the Pacific. “Was it wicked to make Bloody Marys?” she said as she set them down on the glass-topped table.

  “We’re good,” I said. “They’re a vegetable.”

  “Speaking of which�
�—she raised her glass—“to Phyllis. Poor thing, she’s well out of it. You know, I’m still not clear what’s supposed to happen when your uncle gets back. Will you two keep bachelors’ hall?”

  “I doubt that,” I said. “As Dad used to say, God will provide.”

  “Dear heart—the weapons industry did the providing. Not that I turned my nose up at it. As you see.” She swept her hand like a queen to indicate her balcony and her slice of ocean. “Thank you for going along with my little whim, by the way. Every once in a while it just hits me what a terrible wife I was to him. I’ve calmed down.”

  “I’m glad we went up there, actually. Seth brought along one of those Tibetan prayer flags.”

  “Oh my. Did you hear a whirring noise underground?”

  “He’s a better person than I am,” I said.

  “Give him time,” she said. “I know—I’m getting grim in my old age. But the evidence does start to pile up. You remember that horrible woman next door? Who made her husband put up the crèche every year? She told us that the couple across the street was living in sin, and your father said, ‘Who isn’t?’ ”

  “That was Dad,” I said.

  She said, “He was such a good man. I think I used to wish he was dead.”

  “Well.” I raised my glass. “Cheers. We’ve got a beautiful day.”

  “They’re all beautiful days here.” Her glass stayed on the table. “Bought and paid for.”

  Well, all right. I was out a thousand dollars I didn’t have, if you figured in the car and whatnot, but nothing here seemed to cry out for intervention. No piles of newspapers, no dishes in the sink, no empty bottles visible, flowers on the dining table. Her book club was reading…I forget what, you can make something up if you want. Her remorse—who doesn’t have it?—seemed manageable, and she was past the place where she could have done anything to mitigate it. If she was undeserving of mercy and bereft of grace—who isn’t?—at least now she knew the shape of her story. Whereas.

  A Place Where Nothing Ever Happens

  Lily has figured out this much: open the downstairs windows at night to let the cool air in, then close them in the morning and the house stays cool all day. Didn’t her father always say she had a splendid mind? While Portia, her older sister, only had a good head on her shoulders. The upstairs windows you always keep open, because of the heat-rises axiom. No, higher than an axiom: a law. No, higher still than a law: a truth. Unless truth and law rule side by side. Upon a throne of adamant. Is this not a splendid thought? She should really be writing this stuff down.