The Garden of Last Days (44 page)

His mouth and throat were dry. His entire head ached nearly as bad as his hand he only hoped wasn’t too swollen now to look freshly injured. He checked the side view mirror. The road behind him was an asphalt snake cutting back through sunlit trees, and maybe it was a good sign the right-hand joystick would do all he needed without him having to reach across himself for the other. He gave the Caterpillar some gas and raised the bucket over the ditch, the hydraulics whining. The CAT needed its morning lube and Cap Jr. would have the grease gun with him, though he only took it out half the time he should. AJ uncurled the bucket.

Something moved in the mirror and he shot a glance at the glass, his face a furnace. A Seminole Spring Water truck cruised by and was gone. He pushed open the cab door and was swinging his legs around when he saw, through the scratched Plexiglas of the windshield and just above the bucket, the bright factory yellow of the new coupler Cap Sr. had installed. He’d just put them in all his machines, not for safety but to change buckets over faster and save his ass some
money
. It
was an upgrade AJ had forgotten about and he hopped out of the cab and ran to his truck for his tool chest and channel locks. With those he could release the coupler with one hand and drop the bucket and say he was down there with his shovel when the new coupler failed and almost
killed
his ass.

He just hoped the channel locks weren’t in the middle of the chest or he’d have to climb up into the bed, which would take too damn many precious seconds. He held his hurt hand high and reached over the wall of his truck and pulled the tool chest handle and got the lid up. There was the sound of a far-off car or truck getting closer and he didn’t even want to look out at the road; if it was Cap Jr., he’d stick with his first story about failed hydraulics, say he was lucky to get his hand unpinned.

He was leaning hard against the truck, pushing aside an old tarp, his tow rope, the broken handle of the weed whacker he’d never gotten fixed, a deflated beach ball of Cole’s, two or three empty Miller bottles till there was the ash handle of his tool box, and he felt past the open-ended wrenches and odd ratchet heads and loose screws and nails till his fingers touched the rubber-coated handles of his channel locks he yanked up and out of the box, the car louder now, its engine like some force that can’t be controlled,
won’t
be controlled. It was coming from the north, Cap Jr.’s direction, and AJ had to look because what would he want channel locks for if he’d just crushed his goddamn wrist?

It was a pickup, a creaking piece of shit, the front bumper gone, the hood red, the body a dented sky blue. A shirtless old man was driving it. He was small and brown, his face mottled with gray whiskers, and he lifted a hand to AJ as he passed. A trail of light blue exhaust hung in the air. AJ walked through its carbon monoxide smell for the CAT, feeling vaguely blessed by a stranger. Something about the old man’s eyes taking him in, then the wave of his hand, and AJ knew then that everything was going to be all right, everything would be fine.

He closed the channel locks around the coupler. He squeezed,
jerked downward, and the spring load popped free and the bucket let go with a
whump
, driving itself into the ditch, its vibration rippling through the ground under AJ’s boots.

He turned and whipped the channel locks into the trees. He grabbed the short spade shovel off the cab floor, tossed it in the ditch, and jumped down into it. The bucket had wedged itself into both sides and there was a good foot of air between the teeth and the clay bottom, too much to fool anyone; he took up the shovel with his good hand and began stabbing the sandy soil at the side of the bucket. He was sweating a sick sweat, his mouth gummy, his throat dry, a well of heartburn rising up. But he’d gotten lucky with no roots and in no time had carved a small dark hole and he knelt and eased his broken wrist into it. It was cool in there and AJ sat back against the wall of earth, stretched out his legs as far as he could.

And now he waited. He waited for help.

THE SUN BEGAN
to rise over her garden wall outside, shining down the corridor and into her bedroom, and Jean had tried to rest but she couldn’t.
“I had to take her ’cause of
you,
Jean!
You!” April’s face, the hurt and rage in it, disgust even.
Disgust
. And did she really believe that? Was she taking
no
responsibility whatsoever? But what she’d said about Jean and work, well those words were now inside her like broken glass, and she’d been fighting it since the policeman and April had shattered her sleep, had held her breath to stop it, had drunk three glasses of wine to stop it, but now she couldn’t hold it back any longer, this image of her dear dear Franny floating in shallow water, her eyes closed, her lovely hair writhing in the current, her throat purple and blue, her arms and legs naked and pale and stiff. A cry welled up from Jean’s middle and she shook her head, but there it was and it wasn’t going away. For seconds or minutes she tried to think of anything else, but she saw only Franny, her mornings with
her, her nearly sacred mornings with her, and now the images of her dead were all the clearer and sharper, cutting into her, cleaving her. Then the bed shifted and the ceiling seemed to cant to the side and Jean told herself to inhale deeply through her nose and let the air slowly out her mouth—
breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out
. She did this for what felt a very long while. Then, like air rising from the deep, there came a black airless calm, Harry slumped in his chair, his narrow chest sunken and still beneath his shirt; she’d told herself it was the gray afternoon light that was fooling her. Through Chopin’s rising and falling piano chords she called her husband’s name and could hear the lie in her own voice for her heart already knew what the rest of her hadn’t the strength to accept. It was disrespectful, this denial of his true state there in front of her: the least she could do was be a witness to him, or to what was once him, this cooling sculpture of all his years and his last moments too, this body she’d fed and loved and lain beside since she was a young woman; the least we can do for those we love is to look their fate in the eye squarely and with clarity, devoid of manufactured hopes and surface lies.

Matisse leapt onto the mattress and walked over Jean’s belly. She picked him up and pulled him close, but he pushed his claws into her shoulder and moved to the pillow behind her. And there he settled himself against her head as if she should know better, as if she should know more than she ever did.

IN AJ’S DREAM
, his left arm was stretched out away from him and Deena was naked and sitting on his hand, which was all the way up inside her. It was cool and sandy there, and she wasn’t moving. She kept turning around to smile at him. She looked like he’d never seen her before, like she was finally happy about everything and it had to do with his hand. Something about his hand.

Cole was sitting off to the right in a plastic lawn chair. He was dressed up in pants and a button-down shirt and clip-on tie. His feet were bare and didn’t touch the ground and Marianne was sitting next to him in a black dress, her lips full and red. They were talking in low voices. There was the slam of a door, boot steps above.

“AJ?”

He opened his eyes, saw the ditch wall ahead of him, felt the big iron bucket at his side.

“Shit, you
hurt
?”

AJ looked up just as Cap Jr. jumped down, his gut covered by a clean Caporelli’s T-shirt tucked into new jeans, his black hair still wet from his morning shower. AJ could smell his aftershave.

“Fuck
, AJ.”

“Bucket came down on me, man. The coupler popped.”

“Shit, can you move? What’d it hit?”

“I don’t know. I think just my hand.” AJ glanced up at Junior. His eyes were fixed on AJ’s lower arm wedged between the bucket and the earth. Sweat broke out on his forehead and AJ felt as if everything he’d just said was the absolute truth.

“Can you get it out?”

“I tried. I guess I blacked out.”

“
Shit.”
Junior. picked up the shovel, held it a second, dropped it. “We shouldn’t mess with this ourselves.” He pulled his silver cell phone from its belt clip, and as he called 911, the sky clear and blue above him, AJ closed his eyes, wanted cold water but knew it was coming, knew everything he needed would be coming to him now.

Junior was telling the dispatcher where they were, naming the road and describing the excavator and two trucks they would see there. AJ looked forward to the cool clean sheets of a hospital bed, a long afternoon’s rest, the call to Deena, the love and concern in her voice, and would he tell her about the money due them? Would he tell her then or would he wait?

And wasn’t it strange to see a patrol car pull up just feet from the ditch, Junior not even off the phone yet? There must be an open line to the dispatcher or something. AJ hadn’t expected the law, but having them here could only help, couldn’t it? He could tell them about the coupler failing and it’d be on record.

The passenger door opened and a cop rose up out it. He was young and wore the same green uniform as those who’d cuffed AJ in front of his son. He looked down into the ditch at AJ, at his buried hand, the bucket and its dull teeth still crusted with yesterday’s dirt, then at Cap Jr., who held his open cell phone in front of him like he still had calls to make.

“His hand’s pinned. I just got here.”

The cop nodded once and two more walked up, one on each side of him, both older, one in a blue uniform.

“You call an ambulance?” It was an older one in green. The morning sun glinted off his glasses, and he was tall and slim and seemed to have figured out the scene faster than the other two.

“Yes, sir, I did.”

The tall one nodded at AJ. “How long you been down there, son?”

“Long enough to wish I wasn’t.”

“You Alan Carey?”

AJ nodded. Whatever moisture was left in his mouth went dry and his heart beat hard behind his eyes. How in the
hell
he know that?

The cop looked down at Junior. “And what’s your name?”

“Mike Caporelli. I own the excavator.” Cap Jr.’s voice was unsteady, the same tone whenever he just got news of a bad bet or when an inspector showed up wanting to see paperwork.

“This young man work for you?”

“Yessir. Listen, that was a new part. I don’t know how it popped like that.”

“We’re not here for that. Come on out of there, we need to talk to Alan.” The old cop offered his hand and Junior took it and kicked the toe of his boot into the clay and climbed out. Junior looked down at AJ, the cell phone still in his hand, his face wide and pale against the blue sky.

“Go have a seat in your vehicle till I call you, all right?”

AJ watched him go, his heart throwing itself against his sternum. He had a hard time looking up at the three men looking down at him and they could be here for only one thing and that just didn’t make any
sense
.

The older one squatted, rested his elbows on his knees. His holster was black and worn. “You in pain?”

“Yes, I am. How’d you know my name, sir?”

“I believe I’ll ask the questions if that’s all right with you.”

AJ stared at him. There was the sound of Cap Jr.’s truck door pulling shut.

“I know you’re hurting down there, Alan, but help’s on the way and listen, I need you to help
me
right now, okay?”

“You?”

“That’s right. You were at the Puma Club over on 301 last evening, weren’t you?”

AJ tried to swallow, couldn’t.

“You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?” His voice was calm and relaxed. AJ’s heart had slowed but he felt like throwing up and maybe he should tell the truth; maybe if he didn’t, he’d look like he’d done something bad when he hadn’t. But they were already treating him like he did, and maybe he did, but damnit not like they think.

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“Alan, we’ve been to your home. We’ve spoken with your wife.” The cop looked down at his clasped hands. “We know you violated your RO going over there but my concern’s finding that little girl, Alan, and before you say anything, I want you to imagine it was your boy we’re talking about here. Think about that. How bad it would be not knowing where he was or what had happened to him or if you’d ever see him again. Nobody should go through that, Alan. Nobody deserves that.”