Sunstroke by Jesse Kellerman

Author:Jesse Kellerman [Kellerman, Jesse]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2006-11-28T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

She dozed for thirty-five minutes before her alarm crowed reveille. She bolted up: her neck wet, her head writing irate letters to the editor. Limbs tingling with fatigue, she spasmed through the motions: shower, towel, knapsack, snack bag, car, whoops the map, whoops the camera, you’re missing something, toiletries kit under the arm, what are you forgetting, probably your brain, but you can stop in San Diego and buy a new one before you leave the country.

She loaded one package of film into the camera; the extra she stuffed in the side pocket of the bag, which flatly refused to accept anything more. She shut the trunk, did five jumping jacks, and hopped behind the wheel.

Los Angeles was quiet except for dairy trucks. Eastbound on Pico, she passed an emaciated young woman running behind a tri-wheeled stroller. The street shone like a creek. Gloria yawned and stretched and switched off the radio.

Carlos was waiting at the entrance to the motel parking lot. Like her, he traveled light: a backpack and a briefcase. His shirt was undone three buttons deep; his chest the same color as his face and forehead, and probably the rest of his body. He looked remarkably chipper, as though they were about to set off in search of gold rather than a miserable past.

“Buenos dias,” he said, throwing his bags in the backseat.

They went.

At first she thought he wanted to sleep, but then he began asking questions about Carl. How long had she worked for him; what he was like; did he ever seem sad.

“All the time,” she said. “Until you said sadness, I wouldn’t have been able to identify it. But I think you’re right.”

“Remorse?”

She thought for a moment. “As though the best of everything was behind him.”

He grilled her about his father’s hobbies, habits, figures of speech. He seemed genuinely astonished to hear that Carl had taken up regular church services.

“My grandmother blamed my mother’s downfall on the fact that my father was a ‘heathen.’ My grandmother would say to me, ‘You marry a Christian; Christians are good to their children.’”

“He became a good Christian,” she said.

“Too late,” he replied.

Still, he kept asking questions. She found herself speaking with unprecedented candor. She didn’t feel ashamed when he asked if she had ever been romantically involved with his father.

“No,” she said.

“I hope it’s not rude to ask.”

“No.”

“Because I’m curious,” he said. “Why you’re doing this for him.”

“I had to,” she said.

“No. You didn’t. So it’s interesting to me. When I met you I assumed you were his … his girlfriend?”

She half-smiled. “No.”

“Or his wife.”

Coughing, clearing her throat. “No.”

By the time they reached the southern edge of the San Diego area, Carlos had run out of questions.

“This is hard,” he said. “Generally you get to know a person over years. Not by crash course.”

“It took a while to crack his shell,” she said. Thinking, Did I?

Carlos asked for permission to take his shoes off.

“Make yourself at home.”

He reclined, propped up his feet, stretched. His shirt strained against his chest.

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