The Cold Kiss (19 page)

40

The afternoon we got to Reno, we drove to my cousin’s house. He looked happy to see us, even set us up in a spare room, but once we were alone, Sara told me he was nervous about us staying there.

I told her she was imagining things.

Turned out, she wasn’t.

After the first few days, it became obvious my cousin’s wife didn’t want us in her house. Sara and I would hear them fighting about it at night, and the more they fought, the more I realized she wanted us to hear.

Luckily, I’d found a job roofing houses. It paid cash every day, so it didn’t take long before we had enough money to get our own place. By then, things had gone bad at my cousin’s house, and we couldn’t get out fast enough.

We found a furnished basement apartment on the outskirts of downtown Reno. The building was old and the pipes rattled and ran brown for the first few days, but it was clean and cheap and for a while we thought things could be good again.

Now, I was out of work.

Sara wasn’t going to be happy.

There was no place to park at our building, so each night I had to circle the block until I found a space. This time, I got lucky and found a spot at the end of the street.

I parked and walked the rest of the way home. When I got close, I could see our apartment window flickering blue along the base of the building, and I knew what I’d find inside.

I was right.

Sara was lying on the couch watching TV. She had on the same clothes she’d slept in the night before, and her hair was dirty and pulled back in a loose ponytail.

When I came through the door, she looked up at me and said, “Hey, baby.”

“How are you feeling?”

“About the same.”

I set my tools on the floor next to the door, then kicked off my work boots and joined her on the couch.

For a while, we didn’t speak.

There was a nature show on TV about a wasp that paralyzes a spider then lays her eggs inside its body.

Sara wasn’t watching.

She was somewhere else.

“Did you eat today?” I asked.

“A little.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but there wasn’t much I could say about it either. I knew she tried to eat. She just couldn’t keep anything down.

“Do you want to go talk to that doctor again?”

“What for? You heard what he said. The first trimester is the worst. It’ll get better.”

“Is that the problem?”

Sara closed her eyes. “Nate, stop.”

I wanted to push, but I didn’t.

Nothing I had to say was going to help.

I sat for a while longer then got up and went into the kitchen and looked through the cabinets. All I could find to eat was tomato soup. I opened a can and poured it into a bowl then ran it through the microwave.

When it was hot, I carried it out to the living room and set it on the coffee table.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Sara said.

“You need to eat.”

She pushed herself up then leaned forward and stirred the soup. “I don’t know.”

“Just try it.”

Sara lifted the spoon halfway, smelled it, then dropped it back in the bowl. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

For a while we were both quiet, then Sara looked at me and said, “Do you ever think God is punishing us?”

“No, I never think that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if there is a God, I like to think he’d be above revenge.”

Sara looked at me for a moment then turned back to the TV. “I think he’s punishing us. I think we’re cursed.”

“Jesus, Sara.”

“That’s what I think,” she said.

I could feel the anger building in my chest.

I swallowed it, then grabbed the bowl and walked back to the kitchen and dumped the soup in the sink. I stood for a while and watched the red swirl disappear down the drain, then I rinsed the bowl and put it upside down to dry.

When I went back to the living room, Sara was lying on the couch with her eyes closed. I sat next to her and brushed the hair away from her face. She looked up at me then moved her head to my lap.

After a while, she was asleep.

On TV, the eggs hatched and the tiny wasps ate the spider alive.

I closed my eyes and thought about God.

41

In the dream I was sitting on a deserted beach, staring out at a silver reflection of sunlight on a clear blue sea. The ocean breeze was warm and sweet and as gentle as a kiss, and when I closed my eyes I felt like I was floating.

There was a boy with me, down by the water.

He was young, a child, and his hair was an explosion of blond curls. He had a bag of breadcrumbs in one hand, and several hungry seagulls hovered over him like angels.

I knew him, but I didn’t.

I watched him reach into the bag and throw a handful of bread into the air. The seagulls dove around him, and he laughed then turned and ran down the beach.

The seagulls followed.

After a while, he stopped and did it again.

Soon, he was far away.

I got up and started walking along the shore, following him. There was a thin haze hanging low over the water, and the boy seemed to fade into it.

I started walking faster, then I called out to him.

The boy stopped for a moment then raised one hand and waved. Tiny starfish fingers, opening and closing.

A child’s wave.

I could feel the tension in my chest and I started to run. The boy watched me, then turned and was gone.

I kept going.

Soon the sun set and the sea faded to black. The moon, heavy and swollen, hung low on the horizon and turned the beach a cold blue. I could hear the waves rolling over the sand at my feet, but I didn’t look down.

Then I saw him.

He was standing up ahead, staring at a line of dunes along the beach. He didn’t see me, and when I got close, I got down on one knee and touched his arm.

The boy turned and looked at me.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“Vincent?”

But not Vincent.

The boy turned back to the dunes. I followed his gaze, but all I saw was sand.

I asked him what he was looking at.

He raised one hand and pointed.

At first there was nothing, then I saw them.

The dunes were alive, crawling with hundreds of tiny, struggling turtles, each one lurching through the moonlight toward the sea.

I stepped back and watched them fight through the sand until they reached the shore, then, one by one, the waves came and carried them away.

There were tears on my face, but I barely noticed. A moment later I felt a small hand on my arm.

When I looked down, the boy was gone.

I opened my eyes, and at first I didn’t know where I was. I sat up slow, listening to the pulse behind my ears, waiting for it to slow down. Once it did, I noticed Sara wasn’t in bed.

I looked at the clock: 3:15 a.m.

I pushed the covers back then got out of bed and opened the door and walked out into the living room. The apartment was dark except for a thin line of white light leaking out from under the bathroom door.

I went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water and drank it in two swallows. The dream was still vivid in my mind, but the more I thought about it, the more it faded.

I set the glass in the sink then started back to the bedroom. When I passed the bathroom door, I stopped and pressed my ear against the wood and listened.

I could hear Sara crying.

I knocked, soft.

No answer.

“Sara?”

“Nate?”

Her voice sounded thin and weak, and I felt something cold slide along the back of my neck.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

I reached for the knob and opened the door.

Sara was sitting on the toilet. In the harsh fluorescent light, I could see each of her ribs through her skin. She looked up at me. Her eyes were swollen and wet.

“Sara?”

She held out her hands and I saw the blood.

“I’m bleeding.”

For a second, her entire body seemed to shake, then the tears came.

“Oh, God, Nate. I’m bleeding.”

42

I sat in the waiting room until the nurse came out and said, “You can come back, if you’d like.” Then I got up and followed her down an empty white hallway to a room marked
RECOVERY
.

“Go on in,” the nurse said. “She’s alone.”

I opened the door.

Sara was sitting on a raised bed by a dark window. When she saw me, she looked up and tried to smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sad,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

I sat next to her and told her there was nothing to be sorry about. For a moment, it seemed to help, then her eyes drifted and she was gone again.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Not to get discouraged, that sometimes this happens, especially the first time.”

“But you’re okay?”

“I want to go home,” she said. “But I’m fine.”

Her clothes were folded and stacked on a red plastic chair next to the bed. I picked them up and set them next to her.

“Why don’t you get dressed. I’ll take you home.”

She stared at her clothes then up at me. “No, I mean I want to go
home
. I want to go back to Minnesota.”

I didn’t say anything right away.

“I don’t want to be out here anymore,” she said. “Especially not now.”

“Can we talk about this?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about us? We’re getting married.”

“You still want to marry me?”

I told her I did.

I told her we could have a good life together.

“We can have a good life in Minnesota.”

I shook my head. “I can’t go back.”

She started to argue, but I didn’t hear a word she was saying. All I could think about were the winters in Minnesota. The thought of being surrounded by all that snow made it hard to breathe.

“Are you okay?”

I lied and told her I was.

Sara watched me for a moment, then eased herself out of bed and started to get dressed. Neither of us talked again until we were in the car driving back to the apartment.

“I hate it here,” she said. “Everything is dead.”

The next two days were hard on us both. I ended up telling Sara I’d lost my job, and at first she was happy. She said it was a sign that we were meant to go back home.

I told her I wasn’t going back.

She didn’t understand.

I told her I’d take her to Minnesota, but I wasn’t going to stay. My plan was to sell the car and buy a one-way ticket to Costa Rica or Rio.

I wanted to be someplace hot.

Someplace I could burn.

Our rent was paid through the end of the week, so on Saturday, I filled the Dodge with gas then packed our bags into the back end. I left most of my stuff behind in a Dumpster. There wasn’t much to start with, and where I was going, I wouldn’t need any of it.

Packing was easier this time.

I was able to get most of Sara’s stuff in without a problem. Then, as I was loading the last few bags, I noticed something green sticking out from under the driver’s seat.

I forced myself to finish packing, then walked around and opened the door and pushed the seat forward. I reached down and pulled the backpack out. I held it for a moment before closing the door and going inside.

Sara was cleaning the kitchen when I walked in. She smiled at me, then, when she saw what I was carrying, she turned away and slumped against the counter.

I sat at the kitchen table and unzipped the bag. I took out the two stacks of money and set them on the table in front of me.

“What are we going to do?”

Sara didn’t say anything.

“We could use it to move,” I said. “Head south, find a beach. We could be—”

Sara turned on me, fast. “No!”

I stared at her.

She looked at the money. “Get rid of it, Nate. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”

I started to ask why, but she cut me off.

“It’s bad luck,” she said. “It’s cursed.”

I held the money in my hand.

I couldn’t argue with her anymore, not about that.

Sara turned back to the counter. “Just get rid of it, please?”

“What if there was a way—”

“No, Nate.”

“What if we could make everything right?”

Sara looked at me. She wasn’t convinced.

I started to talk.