Blue Field by Levine Elise;

Author:Levine, Elise;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2017-01-13T17:24:53+00:00

21

She waited at Rand’s base camp, propped on the workbench under the awning while he gave his statement. She clenched and unclenched her toes—her sneakers felt too small, as if her bones were spreading yolk, as if someone had picked her up and dropped her. She wanted to leave. Leo was holding forth with several guys over by the parked vehicles and she waved experimentally to see if she could catch his attention. Get him to take her away, back, somewhere. After a moment she gave up. The shade under the awning deepened. If only she could vanish—lose herself like some dummy sidekick. Except then she’d feel even more alone. She sank her head to her knees. Within seconds, it seemed, Leo rematerialized, his arm around her shoulders. A mole winked on his neck. His breath on her face was like chicory crossed with carnations, a smell chemical and latent. But at last her wait was over. Into the day’s furnace with her. Then into his white truck which ferried her through the dust and gravel to an enchantment of empty blacktop. He drove fast and silent. An oncoming motorcycle whined by like a mosquito on steroids. A minivan glissed into sight then swept alongside and seemed to hover briefly before passing—Leo thought she was staring across at him. I don’t envy you, he said. Finding out like this.

She nodded. The breeze sifted the needles on a stand of spindly pine. A tourist trading post then a gas station emerged by the side of the road—tricks, she thought. Ruses to convince her the truck wasn’t rolling in place while the surround peeled like rind. More beguilements when Leo banged a right into the motel parking lot. The grounds appeared devoid of vegetation. The single-story cinderblock structure, topped by a low-slung roof and with one filmed-over window like a newt eye peering dimly from each of its seven rooms, created an effect of dormancy. It was as if the place were rooted below ground and hadn’t taken yet. He parked next to her car and rested his hands near the hillock where his jeans rose over his crotch. You want I can go in with you, he said.

She let herself from the pickup and slammed the door. Her image blotted its shiny surface and then the truck revved out of the lot, taking her reflection with it.

She entered the room. Double bed with threadbare coverlet and knotty-pine walls. A clutch of nickels and pennies on the dresser. Yesterday’s underclothes heaped on the floor in a study of conjugal squalor. On the other side of the flimsy wall, Jane’s room. Marilyn crumpled onto the bed and rummaged in her mind as if through a toolbox—she needed to call Jane’s family, say the right thing. But only a sprawl of scaffolding and ingeniously placed mirrors appeared. She curled onto her side. Last night she’d played her part well, had taken no small role in broadcasting an ardent thwucking of the headboard against the panelling.

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