Unattainable Read online

  Her heard lanyard woman pound on the locked door as he picked up the scissors and took a look at himself in the mirror.

  “I need another five,” he called.

  “We’ve already—”

  “I know,” he yelled. “But I’m not frickin’ ready yet.” Then another thought struck. “Wait!”

  He threw open the door and peered into the afternoon sunlight at lanyard woman.

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  “What?” she protested.

  “Just hand it to me for a minute.” He punched in Anna’s number again, memorized eternally, then hit “end” when voicemail kicked in. Damn it. He handed it back. “Never mind. Five minutes. For real.”

  He let the door swing shut and picked up the scissors again.

  FOUR.

  Michael Anderson shoved the stack of papers off his makeshift desk in the parking lot and dialed home. The wind kept flipping up the edges of the blueprints, and he plunked his phone and a rock or two down along the edges. Anna watched him do all this. Skype was working crystal clear for once.

  He’d tried earlier and Anna knew he’d heard the telltale beep of her on the other line ignoring his call.

  It would irritate him. Everything irritated him. He acted like the world stunk these days, and that view of the world clashed mightily with the eternal optimist in Anna.

  “Hello?” she called out again.

  “Just a sec. I’ve been trying to call, you know,” he said.

  “I know. But you won’t believe who just—”

  “Hey, I only have about five minutes here. I just wanted to see if everything is okay,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No—” she began.

  “Good. Listen, I was going to see if it would be too big of a deal if I skipped next weekend and just came back the week after that. It’ll let me get those two extra days in and then I can stay a little longer, I think.”

  The silence on the line and the tightness of her mouth told him he was in for a fight.

  “No. No it isn’t all right,” she snapped.

  “You’re kidding me, right? I have three minutes to talk, hon’. Let’s not get into this now.”

  “We’ll get into it later then. Something’s wrong here, Michael, and I can’t put my finger on what. We never used to be like this and I don’t like it. We need to get our family back on track, because it really isn’t right now.”

  “I’m not having an affair or anything, you know.”

  “I know—that,” she said, eyebrows lifting.

  But what is it? he could probably almost see her think.

  “We’ll talk tonight. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel, okay?”

  “Fine. Okay. Jess is pregnant again, by the way.”

  “Number five,” he said. “Yikes. What do you think it is?”

  “Another boy, for sure.”

  He paused. “I miss you, you know. I miss Regan.”

  “I know. I gotta run. Talk to you tonight.”

  Regan’s cries rang in the background, same as every time she woke up from a nap. Night terrors, the doctors said, except they happened night, day, whenever she slept. Regan would grow out of them. So when Anna turned her head, and rushed off the phone without a goodbye, she knew the reason was instantly understood. Michael had seen her more times than she could count spending a half-hour rocking and cradling their little girl until whatever monster had reached out to her in her dreams was forgotten and soothed away.

  Their daughter, so perceptive it was scary, had picked a vivid imagination up from her for sure.

  “I’m not ready yet,” he breathed. “I’m not frickin’ ready for this yet.”

  He plastered a plastic smile on his face as the boss in his out-of-place suit started toward him across the lot.

  Anna hadn’t quite closed out Skype before that last sentence, that last plastic smile. Terror closed in on her. “Ready for what?”

  Later, in the still of the evening, Anna filled out part of another coffee analysis form and settled in front of the TV with Regan in her lap.

  “Movie time!” they said together, settling into what the family had termed “the snuggle chair.” The chair was perfectly round, perfectly cushy and velvety all at once, and spun in a full circle whenever a three-year-old required it.

  With the coming of August, the chair had suddenly been put to more use. With Anna home nearly all the time, the sitter had passed them by, her agency booking her schedule solid with a new family.

  Anna and Regan had systematically ordered in every Disney movie currently out of the vault, and one by one, consumed them in the evening.

  The thing that made Boise acceptable was that, like eastern Oregon where they’d last lived, it came with four real seasons. For several more weeks, she would open the windows at night, letting the scent of the garden out back come inside touched with the smell of the metallic screens through which it had to pass. The bright blues and dry browns of summer were poised on the edge of that annual deepening into autumn.

  But for now, when it rained, the droplets hit the flower beds beneath those same windows, splattering up against the siding and bringing in the best aroma on earth—the one aroma she’d actually pay for if just one of those companies who hired her could find a way to bottle it.

  As if connected somewhere inside her head, Regan piped up. “Will you work for one of the perfume people tomorrow?”

  “No. I’m finished with them for a while. I get to work at home for now.”

  “With the coffee?”

  “Yes. And maybe with some shampoo samples next.”

  “I like coffee. It’s good for kids.”

  The phone came to life. “Oh it is, huh?” She leaned down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. Even after three years, she could still detect the pure notes of baby scent on her.

  “Hi,” Anna said.

  Michael’s voice came to her from the other side of the country, tired. Always so very tired. “Hi. How’s Regan?”

  “Good. Good. She calmed down a little faster than usual. She’s actually woken up happy in the morning the last two days in a row.”

  “Maybe the nightmares are finally leaving,” he said.

  “Maybe.”

  She remembered when they first started dating, when every word and every story those words built were new. They’d talked for hours about things that didn’t matter at all, but those conversations ended up mattering more than anything somehow.

  “I was thinking,” she said, “about that time we went to the coast.”

  He chuckled. “When the wave got me?”

  “Yeah. Good memories. We found out Regan was on the way right after that trip.”

  “I was thinking about a few of those memories, too,” he said. “Hey, I stopped in and caught some music before dinner tonight. Boss’s treat. It was fun. You should have been there.”

  “I wish I had been. Michael? What aren’t you ready for?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Before we got off the phone last time.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember saying anything like that.”

  “What’s going on? For real.”

  “You know,” he began, “I think I’m just going through a phase of some sort. Try not to worry, okay?”

  “How can I not worry?” Her voice cracked. “I have no idea what’s going on with you, and all the sudden you’re just—gone. I know damn good and well you’re keeping something from me. You’re also trying desperately not to give me a single clue as to what, because you know I’ll put it together.”

  “Well, yes. I just don’t want you to worry until I’m able to make it back home. But, babe, once I get there and this job is over, I’m not taking another like it again. I can promise that.”

  “I’m holding you to it,” she said. But something hung in the air, something sinister he hadn’t yet spoken. Her jaw clenched until her teeth hurt. “You
aren’t coming home again this weekend, are you? Or next like you said?”

  “I have to go to Brazil.”

  “What?” She jumped out the snuggle chair and sent Regan rolling backward into its depths. The little girl giggled, then switched to indignant as if she thought it would be a better response. She sat up and put her hands on her tiny hips. Then out came her little pink tongue.

  Anna stuck her tongue out in return, and the giggles came back.

  “The whole thing will take about a month,” Michael said.

  “A month? Wow. Just—wow.” Anna swore red pinpricks of light flashed in front of her eyes. When she thought of Brazil, she pictured wild beach parties, plastic surgery and poverty all rolled together. He didn’t speak Spanish or Portuguese.

  “I have to pick out the materials myself. The structure has a theme and the boss wants me to select the lumber and the stone on my own. After that, we’ll bring in another crew to complete the construction and I’ll be on the first plane home.”

  “Are you lying to me, Michael?” Her voice came calmer than she’d ever expected, a whisper with her back turned to the precious little thing on the chair fixated, blessedly, on her movie.

  “I need you to be strong and hold things down for Regan,” he breathed.

  This was insane. When had her average American family life turned into something she couldn’t wrap her brain around?

  “That’s all I ever do. I’m turning into the only thing she has, Michael. Do you think if this keeps up, our marriage will hold out? I’m trying. But imagine us like this two years from now,” she whispered. “Is this where you want our family to be for the rest of our lives?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m asking for a month. Then everything will change.”

  “Change? I don’t want change. I just want it back to normal. Like it was.” She pressed down the lump of tears in her throat that hadn’t quite made it to her eyes.

  “One month, Anna.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “The good news is that they’ll direct-deposit my paycheck on the first. I won’t need to touch it, since I’ll be on the company’s expense account the whole time. It’ll be great for the ole bank account.”

  “Yeah. Just ducky.”

  “You just have to trust me and believe that I’m thinking of you and Regan every minute. I’m trying here.”

  “Oh, you’re trying all right.”

  She knew he never understood the double-entendre.

  •

  There had been times, not all that long ago as she recalled, that every call ended with “I love you” and every moment after her head hit the pillow and before her eyes closed, those same words were spoken. The sadness that had crept its way into her household hadn’t come as the result of one noteworthy event, but rather as a series of tiny, mean-spirited changes that had piled up into something overwhelming.

  Why hadn’t she seen it all coming sooner? Why hadn’t Michael? Alone, she had no power to stop it, just as no single partner in any marriage ever did.

  She remembered his blond hair tossed by a sea breeze, the flash of orange coastal sunlight in his blue eyes and the tall sea grass sprouting from the sand, touching her fingertips as they ran.

  She wanted that back, but even the sweetness of the memory was fading gradually. There really hadn’t been many sweet memories afterward to add to it.

  Regan settled in against Anna’s chest, and from the telltale rhythm of her breath, her little one was out like a cheap light. She hadn’t brushed her stinky little teeth yet. Dang it. A hum threatened to wake her.

  “Forget something?” she quickly whispered into the phone.

  “You knew it was me?”

  Adrenaline flashed through her veins and suddenly, she was wide, wide awaken again. Her spine straightened every so slightly.

  “No, no I didn’t.”

  “Well, the concert ended and I’m back on a bus for a while, and so …”

  “So you just thought you’d call some random non-celebrity type you don’t even remember for the second time in one day for no reason at all?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Yeah. Not so random, though.”

  “Listen, John. I need to carry Regan to bed. Can I set the phone down for a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  What the hell was in this guy’s head? She scooped up the little girl, carrying her to the king-sized bed she and Michael had bought together when they moved into the house. These days, Regan occupied his side of it nearly every night.

  She pulled a blanket up over her daughter, then stood and smoothed her T-shirt over her faded jeans. They were looser than usual, it seemed.

  With one hand, she grabbed the phone. With the other, a mug for some tea.

  “I’m back,” she said. Was he still there?

  “You have a little girl?”

  “She just turned three,” Anna said. “Michael—that’s my husband—he’s been out of town for a while, so I’m holding down the fort.”

  “How long have you been married?” he asked.

  “Four years.”

  “Did you date a while before that?”

  “Several months,” she said. “Looking back, we rushed into things maybe. So how was the concert?” The jitter in her bloodstream faded faster this time.

  “I tell you what—I think I managed to piss off an entirely new group of fans tonight.”

  She laughed and turned on the tea kettle. “How so?”

  “I was late for yet another meet and greet, and then the tour management company had to ratchet down on the rules just to get everyone herded through. And now they’re posting all over the official Leaven Facebook page how much I suck. Turns out they paid to be at this particular gathering, and I wasted about a hundred and fifty dollars for each of them. I probably do suck.”

  She was at a loss to answer that one, and turned the gas up to high on the burner.

  A hundred and fifty? I wouldn’t have forked that out.

  “What’s your accent exactly?” she finally asked. “It’s not very heavy, and I can’t put my finger on it. I’m usually pretty decent at that.”

  “Not heavy? When I speak without trying to sound American, none of you understand me.”

  “I understand you just fine. You’re not American now?”

  “No. I grew up a bit in New Zealand, then landed in Australia. My mother was Scottish. My dad was British. I’m not sure what I want to do about citizenship yet. I’m all muddled.”

  You’re not a kiddin’.

  “But you live in the U.S.—somewhere?” she asked.

  “I was in L.A. for a while.”

  You dodged that question like an expert, she thought.

  “Ugh. Worst place in the country. Except New Jersey, maybe,” she said.

  “No doubt,” he agreed. “I loathed it with the fire of a thousand suns. The armpit of the nation.”

  She just about choked on her first sip of tea. “L.A. or New Jersey?”

  “L.A. If I never see another breast implant or nose job as long as I live, I’ll be a happy camper.”

  “Well at least you know what you like,” she said. “Silicon boobs are out.”

  He actually snorted. “It was harder for me to function when nothing around me felt real. Reality is hard enough. But I could never feel anything around most of the people I met. They were as fake as their tits.”

  Then she did choke.

  “You okay, Anna?”

  She choked some more. “Yes.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Are you drunk or high on something? I have to ask.”

  “This is me stone cold sober.”

  “Stone cold sober is good,” she said. “I recommend it.”

  Then he cleared his throat and quit speaking for just a bit. She felt him reaching for a word.

  “John? Why did you call me again?”

  “It’s a long, sordid combination of reasons really. And someday I’ll have told my entire life’s story to you, and you’ll unders
tand.”

  “Why, John?”

  “I just feel drawn to you, okay? There’s an energy that comes from you that puts me at ease, if that makes sense.”

  Strangely enough, it did.

  “When I listen to you talk, if feels almost exactly like your music sounds. I get it,” she said.

  “How does our music sound to you?”

  “Warm.”

  “Huh.” He paused. “Give me a couple examples of bands you don’t like.”

  “Tool,” she said. “Can’t stand ‘em. I hope they’re not friends of yours or something.”

  “And how do they sound?”

  “Arrogant. Then there’s Queens of the Stone Age. They sound snotty and selfish—and that’s the feel they bring across. They’re probably buddies of yours, too, and now I’ve alienated you entirely.”

  “No comment.” He laughed. “I do hate rap.”

  “Me, too. And I hate prefabricated pop songs that took ten people to write and still aren’t worth hearing.”

  “Amen to that.” He paused. “I was married once before. It was a long time ago, though.”

  She yawned. “You’re jumping back and forth between subjects?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s later here. I’m tired.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “Headed away from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina,” he said. “It’s almost midnight here. The other guys had some rum or something toxic, and fell asleep. Passed out is more honest.”

  “You know, something has occurred to me.” She tossed the soggy teabag into the garbage. “See, if I was in your shoes I think I’d avoid anyone I met at a concert or a meet and greet like the plague.”

  “Why?”

  The image of the guard who was so scared when he thought he couldn’t take her purse flashed through her mind. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Don’t you always wonder if people are interested in you for whatever you can do for them? If I were you and met a woman at an event, I’d be wondering the whole time if she wanted my money or my fame or whatever. I think I’d be waiting for someone I just fatefully ran into at the Sinclair Station in front of the milk case. Someone who had no clue who I was.”