The Night Before (6 page)

Now, as she drew closer to the gay light and happy noise at Betsy's house, she longed for a whirlwind of blowing snow to whip her into oblivion. In a childish moment, she closed her eyes, then opened them again to find that nothing had changed. She was standing at the end of the walk that led to the front door of her friend's house in Eastborough, PA on Christmas Eve, after being caught in the act with her next-door neighbor by her husband of twelve years.

She slowed her steps, entertaining a wild spike of fear that Don had confessed and that Caroline had already shared the tearful news, and she imagined Betsy's living room falling into a silence as he neighbors turned on her, arrayed like a small army of hanging judges, their faces to the man or woman cold and unforgiving. Next, she imagined each one of them holding a stone in a clenched hand…

The bell chimed, the door opened, and she gave a small sigh of relief to be greeted by a wash of music and chatter. Betsy, already half-crocked, shrieked her name, grabbed her arm, and dragged her into the fray. Someone took her coat and someone else shoved a drink that she didn't want into her hand. She managed a smile and a stream of hellos. The lights in the room were dimmed to reds and greens, which helped obscure her stricken eyes.

She spied Don talking with the Creightons. Caroline was planted at his side, gazing at him with adoring eyes and nodding in earnest over whatever gibberish was coming out of his mouth. He had to be aware that she was in the room, but wouldn't as much as glance her way. Watching them sidelong, Mariel guessed that they would sweat up the sheets when they got home. Don would make a point of it, as a way to redeem himself.

She rounded the edge of the room and slipped into the kitchen, where she found Karen Sato nibbling from a plate of appetizers. She had always liked Karen, a single mom who seemed to maintain an even keel no matter what crises she faced. Joe was fond of her, too; because she admired his work and because she was voluptuous for an Asian female, and he deeply appreciated the paradox. Or so he said. And Mariel would think:
Right. Pair of what?

Joe wouldn't know what he was missing this night, as she was adorned in a gorgeous deep green dress with a plunging neckline. A silver ring on a simple chain rested in her cleavage. The eyes above this display regarded Mariel with some concern.

“What's wrong?” Karen placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don't you feel well?” When Mariel shook her head, she said, “Hey. Are you all right?”

“I'm just… I'm…”

Karen leaned closer. “What's wrong?”

Mariel felt a fat tear rise and begin a slow slide down her cheek.

Reverend Callum delivered the two lost souls to St. Mark's A.M.E. Church and drove off in the old van. Though the snow had slowed to flurries, the streets were packed slick and so he maneuvered with care. He longed for some sacred music on the way back to the church, but something was wrong with the wiring under the dashboard and the radio delivered only static. So he made do with the sound of his own mellow voice.

The sky over the city had cleared and the reverend could see stars. The North Star in particular, along with the cold half-moon, seemed to be lighting his path; or perhaps he was just telling himself this was true. The reverend believed deeply in his God, his Savior, and in blessings and miracles, but he was also a rational man who knew the hard ways of the world and was not easily deceived. Not by his own foolishness, and not by the conniving of others.

The two men he had just delivered to the shelter, for instance. One was black, the other white, and both had the look of miscreants. He had collected them at an underpass on I-78 and as soon as they settled into the back seat, they fell to whispers, no doubt trying to decide if the man at the wheel was worth jacking. The reverend put a quick stop to that business, pulling onto the shoulder at Johns Hill and telling them that they could either sit with their mouths closed and their thoughts fixed on the wonder and true meaning of this night, or get out and walk the rest of the way into town.

The pair stared, taking measure of the reverend's thick body and hard eyes and the steel in his voice. They exchanged a glance and decided to heed his advice and enjoy the warm ride. Both shook his hand and thanked him when he delivered them to the shelter. By habit, he checked the seat in case they had left any drugs or weapons. Finding nothing, he wondered if he had misjudged them.

Though he was eager to get back to the church, he took his time, easing to a slow stop at every intersection. He saw only one other vehicle on the streets, an older model Chevrolet that except for a set of flashy chrome wheels was in much the same ragged shape as the van. The car crossed over at Union Street, billowing gray smoke. Reverend Callum drove on.

When the tear erupted into a quiet wail, Karen grabbed Mariel, steered her into the pantry that was just off the kitchen, and closed the door behind them. She pumped her, though gently, and in between the jagged sobs, heard the whole tale: the flirty business with Don that led to heat that turned into fire in their dining room that very night. And how she looked up to see Joe standing in the doorway. The shock on his face! She started to wail again.

“Okay, okay, you need to stop that.” Karen waited a moment for her friend to calm herself, then said, “Mariel.”

“What?” It came out a comical honk.

“What were you doing with that fool?”

Mariel groaned. “I don't know. It just happened.”

“No, it didn't ‘just happen.'”

“I guess I was feeling like… like it was all over.”

“What was?”

“My life. All Joe ever does is peck away at some book. He hardly makes any money. He works so hard. But I don't think he's ever going to get anywhere with it.” Karen said, “But he's good with the kids.”

“Oh, he's great with the kids. He's just not there with me most of the time. I mean we aren't… I don't know. Anyway, I felt… empty, I guess. Lost. Alone.”

“Everybody feels that way sometimes.”

Mariel tore a paper towel from the roll on the shelf and dabbed her eyes. “But it passes, doesn't it? I'm not talking about something that goes away when I'm feeling better.”

Karen paused for a moment, then said, “Did you want to get caught? Because it was pretty damn dumb. I mean, right there in the house?”

Mariel said, “I don't know. Maybe I did.” She sighed and dabbed her nose. “I've been thinking that this is going to be my life. I'll go to work and Joe will sit at that computer and the next thing I know, the kids will be gone and then…”

“And then what?”

“Nothing. That's the point.”

Karen said, “And so your answer to this existential dilemma was to screw Don Banks?” Mariel began to weep again. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Come on, stop.” Mariel shuddered one time. “I'm all right.”

Karen put an arm around her. “You can fix this,” Karen said. “If you want to.”

“I don't know…”

“You can try. Right? Mariel?”

“I guess.”

“Okay, then.” Karen released her. “Ready to face the world?”

Betsy was pulling something from the refrigerator when they stepped out of the pantry. “Hey, you two!” she yelled. “What were you doing in there? Whatever it is, I want in. I'm -” She stopped and produced a bleary look. “Hey, is Joe here? Where is that man?”

Mariel's answer was a sick smile.

—

Lost in his muddled thoughts, Joe didn't pay attention as block after block went by and the houses changed from common to mean. He passed empty lots and For Rent signs and a series of abandoned cars.

The cold wind kicked up as he walked along River Street. The blank silence of the empty homes and storefronts with their boarded-up windows was sad and just a little creepy. There had once been lives lived in those houses and commerce in the shops. Now it was a ghost town blanketed in white. On another night, he might have been nervous in this part of town, but the snow and Christmas Eve had dampened the traffic. Just to be sure, he bent down to tuck his stack of bills into his sock, keeping a couple twenties in a pocket, a habit left over from his days roaming rough neighborhoods.

Halfway down the next block, he fished out his cell phone and looked at the little screen. Nothing. No missed calls or voice mails and no text messages. No
I'm sorry.
No
Please Come Home.
No
We Miss You.
His gut sank deeper. He punched in the number for the Delaware. After six rings, Melinda answered. He heard music and chatter and wished he wasn't so far away. He asked for Billy.

“Haven't seen him in a couple hours,” she said.

“It's Joe Kelly, Melinda.”

“Oh, hey, Joe. I'm pretty sure he left.”

“He find a Christmas elf?”

“Maybe. I didn't see.”

“Okay, well, ifyou -”

“I'll tell him you called,” she said and clicked off.

Joe closed the phone and walked on. From the next corner, he was able to see the glittering lights on the tallest of the downtown buildings and decided that that was where he needed to be after all. At least a few of the bars would be open, and not the lonesome, dead-end dives like Jimmy's, but places where Christmas Eve stragglers would gather, flush with body heat and happy laughter. Good tunes would be blasting from the speakers over the bar. He'd buy a round for the house, get his back slapped with hearty cheer, and no one would ask what he was doing there. That's what he needed: a place where he could forget for a little while. He would decide what to do about the rest of the night and the rest of his life later.

Turning back the way he had come, he heard music from a private playlist running through his head. So entranced did he become with a breathless mouthing of half-forgotten lyrics that it took a few seconds for the car coming to an idling stop a half-block behind him to register.

For a brief second, his heart tripped. Had Mariel loaded the kids and come searching for him, as if he was a dog that had gone astray? But then he saw that it was an older model Chevy and not in the best condition. The engine clattered in a rough rhythm and the exhaust smoked with burning oil. In other words, not a vehicle his wife would drive, even if her life
and
their marriage depended on it.

He caught sight of the Chevy creeping through the intersection ahead and guessed that the driver was lost. Or maybe had been wronged by his or her mate this night and looking for a tender place to land; though looking in the wrong place, to be sure.

He tramped on, turning his thoughts to his book, to certain scenes and the actors who would play the parts in the movie. He knew that an option didn't mean a film would be produced. That was still a long shot - it was Hollywood, after all. And yet what better time for fantasies?

When he reached West Avenue, he saw the Chevy had come to a stop across the intersection, dirty smoke wisping from the tailpipe. At that moment, he felt a buzz in his pocket. He fumbled for a crazy few seconds until he could get the phone out and stare stupidly at the six letters: Mariel.

He whispered her name. In response, a voice coming from behind made him jump. “You don't need to be talkin' right this minute.”

Joe turned around to find a man standing there - a kid, actually, in his teens - staring at him from beneath the bill of a baseball cap. He was a few inches shorter than Joe, muscular, with light chocolate skin, a thin nose, and hard green eyes. He wore a new winter coat with the hood pulled up part way. Gold glinted on the lobes of his ears. Both his hands were gloved and one held a buck knife with a glinting blade pointed at Joe's gut.

For the second time in a few short hours, Joe found himself frozen where he stood, in this instance by sheer craziness. This couldn't be happening to him; not on top of his family disaster, and not on this night. His mind traveled to an irrelevancy. What kind of muggers hunted victims on Christmas Eve?

The answer was the sort with partners who drove battered Chevys. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he heard a door creak open with a metallic wince. Another kid, this one taller, thicker, and even younger than the first, stepped up to form a triangle on the lonely corner. He looked excited and scared, his mouth open as he tried to catch his breath.

“Give that fuckin' thing here,” the senior partner said, and snatched the phone from Joe's grasp. “Now get out what all's in your pockets.” Joe stared at him, unable to connect word to action. “You hear what I said?” the kid barked. “Give it up.”

“Okay, okay,” Joe said and went fumbling for his wallet.

He had barely drawn it from his pocket when the bigger kid jumped in to grab it. His knife-wielding partner gave him a sharp look, peeved at the break in protocol, then turned back to Joe. “What else you got?”

Joe swallowed, found his voice gone.

“You deaf? I said, what else you got, motherfucker?”

Joe held up his hand. “Watch,” he said.

The mugger peered, then curled his lip in haughty distaste. “That ain't worth shit. What else?” His partner flipped Joe's wallet open. “Ain't no cash.”

“Where is it?”

“Here,” Joe croaked and pointed to his front pocket.

The kid with the knife was watching his eyes. “Get it,” he said and Joe felt knobby fingers digging. The younger one stepped back and turned over the bills to his partner.

“That all of it?” his partner said. “You got more, you better give it, man. Cause I will cut you up.”

The younger kid said, “Wha' ‘bout a ring?”

The blade twisted in front of Joe's face. “Let's see.” Joe pulled off his glove and held up his left hand. The kid said, “Give it.”

Joe startled the two junior criminals by making short work of jerking the wedding band from his finger and slapping it into the knife-wielder's gloved palm. The mugger looked at the ring, looked at him.