“See? That’s what I don’t get. How can God expect us to be perfect? You just said it; none of us is. Isn’t that unrealistic and vindictive?”
Mason sat on the steps of the porch, stretched his legs out, and leaned back slightly. He checked his watch. “It’s like when you put on some blue sunglasses, John Lennon style, you know? Everything looks blue, right? Same basic thing with God. He sent His Son to die on the cross for us, so now, when He looks at us, it’s with red lenses, through the blood of Jesus. And that’s how we’re perfect, not on our own, but because of Jesus dying on the cross.”
“Sounds too easy.”
“Is it easy to watch Nadine suffer? Imagine her hanging on a cross. Still sound easy?”
A haunting vision seized my mind: Nadine suspended above the earth on a splintery wooden cross, arms outstretched, head bowed, legs crossed. She hung limp like a broken flower. A twisted thorny crown encompassed her fragile forehead. The blonde waterfall of her hair hanging about her face mixed with crimson streams. I reached out for her, screamed her name. Her arms strained against the nails in her wrists. She called out to me, a hoarse gasp.
Anything— think of anything else. “No, I suppose not.”
“There’s a cost for salvation. Not just for us. It cost Jesus, and it cost God. Our part is relatively easy.”
I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked out over the desert where life was sparse and difficult. “Hadn’t really thought of it like that before.”
“Most don’t. And most don’t understand exactly how much it costs. Aida, she understands. Ever talk to her? About salvation I mean?”
“Haven’t talked to anyone about it other than you and Nadine.”
He leaned forward and sighed. “It’s been a long morning already. You look exhausted. Can you write?”
I nodded. “As long as it’s someone nearby.”
“Someone inside.”
* * *
Aida handed me a mug and sat across from me on the opposite couch. “You know all this caffeine’s bad for you, right?”
It was too early for Wheel of Fortune, so the television remained off. Aida didn’t get sucked into soaps. Terminally stupid characters, trite plot lines, strained credulity to painful points. The Wheel didn’t have any of these shortcomings. It had Pat Sajak, and Aida had quite the crush on him. Nadine, too. Must have been a sister thing.
Nadine slept in the other room. When we got back from the hospital early this morning, they gave her a heart monitor. If it stopped, we’d hear a very loud, very annoying alarm. I’m not sure if it rested Nadine’s nerves more, or mine.
I sipped the coffee. “Tell that to Mason.”
“You need sleep.”
“Like I said, talk to Mason.”
“Who’s he got you talking to today?”
I smiled. “Mason says your story’s pretty interesting.”
She moaned. “You gotta be kidding.”
“Would I make that up?”
She rubbed her forehead and groaned. “I’m gonna kill that man.”
“You’d fit the family.”
She shook her head. “You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?”
I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, my wife’s dying. I’m out of gas here, Aida.”
“Just drink your coffee and shut up; you might learn a thing or two.”
Normally, when people begin to tell a story, they lean back and look perplexed, sometimes confused, depending on the story. Their eyes dart up and to the left, as if their memories were stored in the ceiling or attic, or perhaps a slate sky or an indigo night. Aida didn’t. She leaned forward as if she were about to tell me a secret no one else had heard, perhaps a tale of intrigue and mystery, one with vital importance to the security of our nation.
“You’re gonna hear some stuff that might make you a little uncomfortable. I mean, there’s some stuff I haven’t told Nadine yet, and some stuff she hasn’t told you. You good with that?”
“Why’s everyone in this town talk like they’ve killed someone?”
“I’ve never killed anyone,” she said. “Just thought about it.”
Chapter 12
COME OUT, COME OUT
Because she could do nothing else, Aida slammed the door and kicked the tire. She should have known better than to steal a Ford, but it was old and didn’t have an alarm. Easy pickings, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. It got her out of Vegas and Henderson, but here, somewhere just miles outside the city, there was nothing—no gas stations or rest stops, no mini-malls or fast food joints. Nothing wasn’t good; her thumb would have to take her the rest of the way. She just prayed that someone would find her before the police did.
It’d take too long for the engine to cool. The sun shone like judgment, hot and unfailing. Her black ball cap soaked up her sweat like a thirsty sponge. Her brown hair, hastily cut with an old box cutter, tucked under the cap nicely, but exposed her pale neck. She’d have a wicked sunburn if she stayed out here for anything more than a few minutes, but a sunburn was the least of her concerns. She wished she’d thought to pack suntan lotion, but she didn’t have the luxury of time.
The desert dust crunched under her feet. The soft sand of the shoulder of Highway 29 hurt her ankles. For a time, she thought of throwing her suitcase into the desert and running. There was no one behind her, and, likely, no one in front of her, not for miles. She’d taken this road because so few people traveled it anymore, and cops seldom patrolled it. They’d look for her along the I-21, maybe as far down as the I-40, but probably wouldn’t spend much time searching 29. Not many people remembered the old road still existed. Aida, however, knew all of the road’s dirty secrets, and it knew hers.
Something rumbled in the distance behind her. She spun around, turned her ankle in the sand and cursed. Miles off, in the mirage of heat off hot asphalt. It shimmered on the road, a spot of light speeding toward her like a falling star. Instinct told her to dive behind the sparse junipers and Joshua trees and hope the driver wouldn’t notice her. How had they found her so quickly?
Panic sat on the back of her tongue, bitter as orange peels. The blinding star took shape. A pick-up. Nevada troopers didn’t drive pick-up trucks. She knew better than to hitchhike, especially on an abandoned highway. Far too dangerous, but the alternative meant certain death. She walked backward, eyes on the blinding windshield, and stuck her thumb up.
The truck whipped past her, kicking up dirt and dust, blasting her in a shower of sand. She wiped her muddy face, shielded her eyes from the sun. The truck slowed and pulled to the shoulder. The driver didn’t pull completely off the road. He left two tires on the highway for traction. He’d driven in the desert before, probably his whole life, judging by the state of his old beater of a pick-up.
She quickened her steps, tossed her suitcase in the back, and climbed in the passenger side. The radio played jazz and the cab smelled like pine. The sun had turned the dash into elephant skin, gray and cracked. The man behind the wheel was tall and lanky, and wore his dark hair disheveled. He needed a shave and some aftershave. His arms looked thick, but if she could handle Jason, she could handle the driver.
She’d left the gun in the suitcase. If he had one here in the cab, it could spell trouble. Still, she knew a thing or two about self-defense.
“Appreciate the lift. Sun’s killer today.”
She closed the door quickly and cracked the window.
The truck pulled slowly back onto the highway and accelerated. “Couldn’t just leave you out there.”
Aida flipped her visor down, dusted the dirt from her jeans, kicked off her shoes. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Make yourself at home. Where you headed?”
“How far you going?”
“Hailey.”
She laughed. “No kid
ding? Hailey?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Used to live there a lifetime ago.”
The driver grinned. “What’re the chances?”
When she’d run from Jason, she knew she had to run back to Hailey, something she’d never imagined she’d do. She had no other options. She’d never told Jason that she lived in Hailey. Too embarrassed. He hadn’t heard of it, and probably never would. Strangely, the town she’d felt trapped in so many years ago turned into an oasis, a shimmering shelter for hope.
“Must have done something right to get out of town.”
He looked from the road to her, then back to the road. His glances toward her lingered longer with each pass.
Aida shifted in her seat and kept her head down. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her neck. “You still trying to get out?”
The man smiled and draped his left arm out his window. “Not me. I’m what they call a lifer.”
The word punched her hard. Even if she wanted to respond, the air had been knocked out of her.
“You have family there still?”
* * *
From birth to fifteen, Aida lived with her family in the Cluster, a grouping of homes built near the cement plant. Aside from a few along 29, they were the only permanent houses in Hailey. Living there said something about a person. It spoke of a commitment to Hailey, rather than an obligatory stay. The people who lived there were “lifers,” those who saw something special in Hailey, the ones who planned to stay and try to improve the town rather than simply getting by long enough to execute an exit strategy.
The marriages in Hailey mirrored the homes which housed them. Mobile homes meant someone in the marriage would move out. Run down homes meant a marriage in disarray, held together by the thinnest of walls, decorated by peeling paint.
Aida’s family lived in the nicest home in Hailey, one of the few permanent homes with a strong foundation. They’d dressed the windows with custom lavender curtains. Her father, Nelson, primed and painted the aging stucco and weathered trim. He put in new carpet and tile. They didn’t have much money, but the little they had went to the home and to the family.
He’d set aside the second Saturday in March to replace all the bathroom fixtures. He’d asked Nadine to take the car and run into Newland to pick up some more rubber cement and Teflon tape. Eager to get out of town, Aida volunteered to go with her.
The errand took less than two hours, but when they returned, their house had been destroyed. Police cruisers and ambulances lined the roads back to the Cluster. Aida’s heart cramped. Her lungs shriveled. “What happened?”
Nadine parked the car on the side of 29. She held Aida’s hand while they walked toward the Cluster. Diseased trees lay uprooted. Blistering flames consumed dead crumpled homes like tinder. Power lines snapped like biscotti, and the lines sparked and leapt like fireworks. Cops and paramedics raced around—faceless, chattering uniforms. Helicopters circled like vultures.
“Oh God,” Nadine whispered.
Breath left Aida. Her legs wobbled, and she clung to Nadine’s hand for strength.
The devastating damage filled her mind with the imagined sounds of a shrill train whistle, squealing breaks, thunder claps, sparking metal, and houses crushed under the sheer weight and momentum of the train. “Dad?”
“Mom was home, too,” Nadine said.
Aida’s stomach knotted, her knees slacked, and she slipped backward into a puddle of mud. Nadine kneeled next to her and hugged her. Nadine’s body shook, almost convulsed. Aida wanted to throw up, wanted to cry, but couldn’t.
This wasn’t real—this was a movie, an elaborate set-up.
She wiped the rain from her face with a muddy sleeve.
“Hey,” someone said behind them. A chattering uniform. A kid about Nadine’s age. His badge identified him as Deputy Harrison. “You hurt?”
“Our parents,” Nadine said.
“What happened?” Aida could barely speak.
The officer took her hand, helped her to stand. “Come sit down,” he said. He walked them to his cruiser and opened the doors. Nadine sat in the passenger seat, Aida in the back. “How old are you?”
Nadine cleared her throat. “Eighteen. She’s fifteen.”
The deputy nodded. He knelt, one hand on his gun. “There was a car on the tracks. The rails were slick.”
Nadine looked startled. “A car?”
“Big one. Suburban. Looks like a suicide attempt gone wrong. Best we can tell, no one was in the car.”
Hot anger erupted in Aida. She blinked back tears. Someone decided to kill himself, endangeredall these people, and then chickened out? Because he didn’t want to live, he decided everyone else should die, too? She swallowed hard and eyed the deputy’s gun.
“If I ever find him,” she whispered, “I won’t chicken out.”
* * *
Aida leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. Her neck itched. Sunburned. “No family in Hailey. Sister broke out years ago.”
The driver slipped a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and exhaled out the window. “Make it sound like a prison.”
“If it walks like a con.”
He laughed, took another drag. “Smoke bothering you?”
She shook her head.
“How about your parents? They still incarcerated?”
“They,” Aida said softly, “were lifers.” She punctuated the last word with finality.
The driver understood. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He stuck his arm out the window, exhaled again. In some weird way, they drove through the desert to get to another desert. Hailey wasn’t a destination. It was a layover. That’s all it could be.
“My folks are gone, too. Heart attack got my dad, diabetes got my mom. My brother’s in Hailey still, but we don’t talk much.”
“So why do you stay?”
The truck cruised along near fifty-five.
Aida wanted to reach her leg over and push the gas down herself, but she couldn’t have him driving recklessly. She needed to fly low, avoid attention, hope no one else decided to take the old highway today.
The driver flicked ash from his cigarette. “Where else would I go?”
Aida wondered why the cab didn’t smell more like cheap cigarettes. “Anywhere.”
“See, there’s a fundamental difference in the way we see Hailey. You look at it and see something irreparable, am I right? Something you can’t fix no matter how hard you try.”
“That’s what it is.”
The driver inspected his half-smoked cigarette, as if the flavor surprised him. He spat out the window and wrinkled his lips. “I see potential. I see people struggling to make something of themselves. What could they accomplish if they really tried? How far will they go? I like that. There’s a hope in that town, desperate as it is. Tomorrow, they think, will be better. No matter what, there’s that optimism.”
Aida remembered burning trees, overturned train cars. She crossed her legs and wondered how long this drive would take. “Tomorrow will be better because it can’t be worse than today. What you call optimism comes from this idea that they’re as low as they’ve ever been, as low as they’ll ever be. I don’t see that as hope. Maybe desperation. Think about it. How many make it out of Hailey?”
“Counting you and your sister? I think two.”
“My point exactly.” She felt his eyes on her. She followed his gaze down to her left hand.
“How about your husband?”
Aida rolled her eyes and slipped her wedding band off. Why hadn’t she done that earlier? Should have been the first thing she did when she ran out. She wanted to throw the thing out the window, but she might need to sell it to get a little living money. “Not exactly a happily ever after ending.”
He frowned. �
�Sorry. Have a way of putting my foot in my mouth.” His eyes shifted back to the road. The radio crackled, and he clicked it off. “Won’t get any stations ‘till we’re closer to Eve’s Horn.”
Aida nodded. “I know.” Movement in the side mirror caught her attention—a car, black and white and scary all over. Red and blue lights sat on top like upside-down party cups. She choked on her tongue and slunk down in her seat.
“You all right?”
“Keep driving.”
A droning whine split the still desert air as the police car’s lights flicked on.
He took his hands from the wheel and checked his speedometer. “Fifty-five exactly. Do I have a taillight out or something?”
He slowed and pulled to the shoulder. Aida could not breathe. Train whistles rattled in the cave of her mind, echoing like bat screeches.
“Okay, you have to trust me on this. Don’t stop. Go fast, go now.”
“What? Why?”
“Please don’t stop.”
The driver stopped and the truck lurched.
Aida unlocked her door. She scanned the desert, looking for anything she could run to, anywhere she could hide. Could she get to her gun fast enough? And then what? Shoot another cop? How far would she have to run then? And what if she missed?
The driver grabbed her wrist. “Settle down. You’re acting like you killed a cop.”
Tears burned her eyes. Train whistles rattled in her head. She took a deep breath. “He was breathing when I left.”
* * *
Aida had seen meth enough times growing up in Hailey to recognize it when she found the baggie in Jason’s lockbox. Her initial disappointment waned when she realized how much he had. A kilo or more, easy; he either had a very bad habit, or he was selling.
The front door opened, and Aida stashed a bag in her pocket. She walked to the living room, her jaw set tight.
Jason dropped his badge on the end table next to his keys. “Hey babe. Good day?”
She tossed the bag next to his badge. “Nope.”
The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction. Page 9