Holding On To You (26 page)

'Hank', she says, wiping her hands on her tea-towel. 'You scared me.'

'I wouldn't have done if you weren't doing something you shouldn't', Hank says.

'I was checking to see if they were alright', Sally says. 'I thought it could have been trouble.'

'You were gossiping again', Hank says, reaching over the counter to attempt to get some crumbs from around a cake, only to have the back of his hand slapped by the plastic spoon Sally happens to be carrying in her hand.

'You got some news for me little brother?' Sally says. 'She's been all over the box again this afternoon, and every time I see her I'm more convinced that I'm right.'

'Have you run out of lemon meringue pie', Hank says disappointedly, scanning the display and not finding what he's come for.

'Don't change the subject', Sally says. 'You haven't run the search yet have you? For christ sake Hank.'

'Don't be like that', Hank says. 'I ran it for you.'

'You did, huh?' Sally says, a little surprised.

'I did', Hank says, a smug grin developing on her face.

'And are you going to tell me what you found out?' Sally says, eagerly.

'It aint stolen', Hank says.

'What do you mean it aint stolen?' Sally says, deflatedly.

'It isn't stolen, as in, it isn't a stolen car', Hank says, reaching again for cake crumbs, and getting the back of his hand whacked a second time by his big sister's spoon.

'Well whose car is it?' she says.

'It's registered to a River Woods, who works as an accountant at the Glade Juniper Hotel in Albuquerque. All the papers are in order, there aren't any penalty points. Everything is legitimate.'

Sally broods. 'I don't get it', she says. 'I'm positive that was the girl. Are you sure someone didn't steal it from this River, and he just hasn't reported it yet?'

'Sal, I can't do anything until I have a crime. At the moment, there isn't a crime.'

'For god sake Hank', Sally says. 'When is a kidnapping not a crime? Sometimes I wonder how you made it into the police force in the first place.'

Sally takes the phone off the wall.

'You got a number?' she says.

'For what?'

'For this River Woods.'

'You're going to call him?'

'I'm going to try.'

'You can't admit that you might be wrong?' Hank says.

'If I am, I'll hold my hands up and admit it, but neither of us have all the information yet, do we?' Sally says, diplomatically.

'There wasn't anything on the system', Hank says. 'All we know is he works at the Glade Juniper Hotel chain, why don't you call them?'

Sally does just that. While Hank waits impatiently, hoping for a cake to take back to the office, Sally dials the operator and is put through to the reception desk for the Glade Juniper Hotel in Albuquerque. From there, she is transferred from number to number, until she finally finds her way to River Woods's office answering machine, the message of which states:

'I will be on annual leave for two weeks, if your enquiry is urgent, please direct your call to the reception desk, where it will be dealt with accordingly.'

Sally, unsatisfied by that response, calls the reception desk again.

'Can I speak to anyone else in that department?' she asks the police receptionist who picks up her call.

'I'm afraid there is no-one else in that department', comes the response. 'You can leave a message if you'd like?'

'Do you have a cell phone number I can contact him on?'

'I'm afraid we can't give out that information', the receptionist says.

'Can you give it out to the police', Sally asks hopefully.

'I can', the receptionist says, 'if the police come here in person and ask for it with a warrant. Otherwise I'm unable to help you I'm afraid. Like I said, you can leave a message if you'd like. Would you like to leave a message?'

'No', Sally says, feeling a little beaten. 'That's ok. Thank you for your help.'

She puts the phone back on the hook.

'Well?' Hank says, hitching his belt up and tucking in his shirt.

'Annual leave', Sally says.

'Well that'll explain it then', Hank says. 'He's taking a road trip with his wife. Maybe he's even on his way to Mexico.' He lifts up his eyebrows to express his point, in the way Sally has grown to hate.

'I doubt it', Sally says.

'I did tell you', Hank says.

'You didn't tell me anything', Sally says. 'We don't know if he's taken his car at all. For all we know, he's flown somewhere and left his car in the garage, where the bank robber took it from.'

'You've got a vivid imagination', Hank says, as though it's a bad thing.

'Someone ought to check his home address, just to see if the car is there or not.'

'Well that's out of my jurisdiction I'm afraid, that's for the big boys up in the Albuquerque police department to take care of.'

'I bet that's your favourite phrase isn't it?' Sally says, sarcastically.

'What's that?'

'Out of my jurisdiction', Sally says, holding up her hands while she does so and mocking her brother theatrically.

'I detect a hint of bitterness', Hank says. 'That aint right for someone that makes such sweet cakes.'

'What do you want then?' Sally says, resigned to it.

'What happened to the lemon meringue?' Hank says, still searching for it.

'Gone', Sally says.

'Key lime?' Hank asks hopefully.

'Gone', Sally says.

'What do you have?' Hank asks worriedly, his belly grumbling fiercely all of a sudden.

'What you see is what I've got', Sally says, pointing it all out with her plastic spoon. 'You can have one for each of you, but that's it.'

'Damn Sal, don't be so mean', Hank says, offended.

'Hurry up and choose before I change my mind', she says.

Hank picks the sweetest, creamiest, nuttiest looking cakes he can find, and leaves with a huge smile on his face, one for him, one for Thurston, and an extra one just in case.

Sally watches him go, almost tripping up on the pavement in his eagerness to get back to the office, not to work, but to share the spoils. She goes back to rearranging cakes that don't need it, wondering what she can do next to get in touch with her new acquaintance, the hotel accountant turned bank robber with the movie star good looks, River Woods.

Chapter 21

After a little more than an hour, the old man wakes from his snooze, as though conducted by some internal alarm clock, makes his way slowly back outside of his hut to the control lever, and with one almighty effort, jolts it back into action. The aged metal groans in response, the cogs turn in the same, effortless way they have done for years, and the Ferris wheel comes spluttering back to life.

He watches the carriage descend slowly, and when it's back where it first began, he triggers the lever once more, and the thing comes to a grinding, coughing halt, every single joint and rivet complaining of some kind of long held ailment.

River and Maddy step back out onto the platform, and the old man helps them one by one, holding their hands just to keep them steady. The carriages move so slowly it's possible to get on and get off them without stopping the machine, but the discerning old man is proud of his service, and he likes to go that little bit further, especially for repeat customers.

When they are back on the grass at the front of the mighty machine, all three of them looking back up to it as though waking from a dream, River reaches into his pocket and pulls out a one hundred dollar bill, which he folds and hands to the man as a tip. The old man pushes River's hand away and refuses to take the money.

'What do I need with a hundred more dollars?', the old man says. 'You paid for your ride and extra for the time in the air, that's good enough for me.'

'You could use it to fix the bits that don't work', River says, trying to offer the man the money again.

'What bits don't work?' he says. 'You got up there and back didn't you?'

'We did', River says.

'Well then', says the old man proudly. 'Everything else is just character, like the wrinkles on an old man's face, and the scars all across his body. I mean we've all got scars haven't we?'

'I guess', River says.

'And each one of those tells a story I bet. As do all the nicks and breaks and tears and shreds and holes and marks and dents and scuffs all over this wonderful beast. If I changed any of that, I'd be changing her story.'

'Well then take it for yourself', River says, not giving up.

'I got everything I need. The rest of that first one was more than enough. Course if you want to go on again, it'll be one dollar ninety each.'

Maddy and River watch the old man, as he rolls up his sleeves, cranks the lever and starts the beast rolling again.

'Why do you keep it running when nobody's on it?' Maddy calls to him.

'Because otherwise she'd get used to it, and then I'd have a problem starting her again', he says, as though the thing itself were able to decide whether or not to go on. 'You've got to have a purpose in life, because if you don't, there aint no point in continuing.'

Maddy watches the thing crank into action again, grumbling all the while, and then with a smile and a wave at the old man, they disappear back to their car.

Once inside, they share a moment of quiet contemplation, while River begins to roll a cigarette.

'Are you going to be ok, Maddy?' he says after a while.

'Are you?' Maddy says, reaching out to interlock her hand with his.

'You're going to be stopped for a while, back to normal, the old life. I wonder if you'll be alright getting moving again?' River says. He gums the paper and puts the cigarette in his mouth. A moment later, he turns to her. Above, the curved metal beast bares down upon them, like a robotic sentry of arbitration.

'I've just gone on my first ride', Maddy says. 'I'm not stopping now.'

'It's a big change', River says.

'Are you ready for that?' Maddy asks. 'You seem like you've been running from something your whole life. Are you going to be alright letting it catch up to you?'

'I guess we'll figure that one out together', River says.

'One month from now?' Maddy asks, squeezing his hand a little tighter. River puts the rolled but unlit cigarette behind his ear, places his hand behind Maddy's neck and pulls her towards him. Their foreheads meet, before River kisses her gently. Across the top of her head, her nose, finally her lips.

'You promise you'll come', River says.

'I promise', Maddy says, a tear rolling down her cheek, and others beginning to follow it. River wipes it away with the back of his thumb, but they come too quickly for him to catch them all.

'You promise you'll be there waiting for me?' Maddy says.

'I promise', River says, a tear of his own now rolling across his cheek. Maddy catches it with her lips, and it tastes salty. 

'It's crazy', Maddy says, laughing a little. 'We hardly know each other, and look at us.'

'I reckon we've known each other our whole lives, we just haven't realised it', River says.

'Don't tell me you believe in that soul mate, one person in the world for you, crap', Maddy says, smiling.

River smiles. 'I told you I was spiritual, didn't I?' he says. 'Maybe what I mean is that we've been looking for ourselves all that time, you know, like we've been looking for our purpose in life, and we've helped each other find it.'

They kiss, savouring the taste and touch of one another. Hot lips on soft skin. Already familiar movements on the edge of being missed, fading away like footprints on a sandy beach as the unstoppable tide rolls in. 

'You can't stay?' Maddy says after a while. 'Come back with me and stay in my house.'

'You know I can't', River says.

'Nobody will know.'

'Somebody will find us and pull us apart from each other', River says. 'You know they will. I want to Maddy, I want to stay with you right now, but I can't. You know I can't.'

River holds her tight and Maddy folds herself into him, burying her nose into the crook of his neck. His skin smells like a forest in the rain, and here, poured into him, she feels safe. She feels complete.

'Just give me a little while longer', Maddy says. 'Just five minutes before we drive away.'

They sit there, in the front seats of their car, pressed into each other, while the mechanical beast struggles on, every turn an effort, but with no intention of ever stopping.

'You know, I found something of yours in the trunk of the car', River says after a while. 'You must have dropped it.'

From the glove compartment, he produces Maddy's pig shaped stress squeeze ball and hands it over to her. She turns it over in her hands, moving it about with a kind of detached sense of familiarity, like someone would a once loved children's teddy bear, found again after several years of adulthood.