Page 7 of The End of the World As We Know It
“Leads,” he said.
“I don’t know. I have to focus on this so I can go get my sister’s kids.”
Oh right. Abel was still getting used to this whole relationship thing where a person comes into your life with all these other people. Amelie had a sister. A dead sister, as of three days ago. He tried to say the right things—I’m sorry… We’re gonna be okay—and he did his best to hide the bad stuff, like the fact that he was a bithappyabout the situation. Amelie was taking in the kids, so they were gonna be a big family. It was a relief, the shameful kind you had to keep to yourself, but Abel felt safe knowing that Amelie would need him even more now. And then it was bad clockwork. His thoughts drifted back to the bandanna, to the blood.
“Did you know about the gun?” he’d said.
She looked at him like he was bad.Off.
“The report,” Abel said. “Your husband had a gun on him, no?”
“Well, of course I knew about the gun.”
She was lying again. “Oh.”
“Look,” she said. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, okay? I told you… I’m a fuckup. But I’m not an idiot. Do you want to know the truth? Do you want to know how I am? How we were? I loved that gun, okay? Kip fucked me with that gun, and sometimes he put it in my mouthwhilewe were fucking. The night he died, before he went to the store, he said he would kill me and the baby and himselfwith that gun if this fucking ‘superflu’ ever came for us, and it turned me on so much to think of him killing us in one fell swoop that before he went to the store… I fucked him again.”
“Abel.”
Now was now. Room 24. Amelie held a pillow and scowled. “Smell this.”
Abel loved that he still loved her despite her being a filthy whore, a disgusting liar, the kind of illogical woman who doesn’t fear a deadly flu but questions a hotel pillow. Some lies were good. All her dirty talk was bogus. Kip didn’t have a gun. That gun belonged to Abel’s father, and then to Abel, not to Kip. Never. And Abel was more than happy to play along.
He lifted the pillow to his face, half expected her to come at him, smother him. No dice, and he declared the pillow “fresh as a daisy” and then jumped on the bed and smiled at her. One of these days, she would be her old self. She would smile back at him.
She glared at his torso, at his feet. Was he ugly? Fat?
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll take my shoes off.”
“We can’t sleep in the same bed.”
Where did it go? The love. It wasn’t gone. It was just hiding. Afraid of good things like Abel’s angelic ways, his gentle hands, his good-boy pecker.
“Look,” she said. “I told you… I need a minute.”
This again. The way she liked to list all the bad things. Losing her house, her husband, her sister. He obliged and moved to the other bed, fighting the big new fear. What if her love wasn’t hiding? What if it was gone and he was only in this room because Amelie was afraid to drive to Boise on her own?
Afraid, and maybe lazy.
But then she pulled at her sundress. The one from the day they met.
Abel smiled. He liked their little world, the portable crib that heassembled, little Randy gurgling. They had everything they needed, and that sundress was an omen in the good way. “You take all the time in the world, Amelie.”
“Can you just… Can we be quiet? Randy needs to sleep and my head is spinning and I don’t want to take it out on you, but…”
He zipped his lip with his finger. She didn’t get a kick out of him and he didn’t appreciate her foul language, or the way she picked her fingernails.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” she said.
He’d get her to quit when they were settled in Boise. “Take your time.”
The baby was snoozing, so Abel followed her—there were bad people in the world, there was a killer flu—and he watched her enter a phone booth. Time stopped when she dropped in a quarter. Was there another man? Another cop? AnotherKip?
“Joanie,” she said, and he felt his stomach drop.
Most of it was small talk, and then she sighed. “So, the cop and I… I know, but beggars can’t be choosers. I might just be allergic to decency or maybe it’s impossible to imagine anything good beginning at this point in my life.”
Abel went back to the room. Those words didn’t matter because they weren’t meant for him. Women do that for their friends. They lie and downplay what’s good. Joan was divorced, and Amelie was sweet. She didn’t want Joan to feel bad about being alone.
