David Gates - Preston Falls

"I'm afraid it'll bring raccoons," Jean says.

"Probably," he says. "So who cares?"

In her dream, she and the kids are driving somewhere, except the inside of the Cherokee is their Hving room. And Mel comes in holding her eye in the palm of her hand and Jean's frantically trying to put it back, but it's a rule in the dream that once you take your eye out you can never get it in again. She wakes up in bed in Chesterton, confused about whether or not that's a rule in life too. Her lower back hurts.

She closes her eyes again and listens. No birds this time of year, and no lawn mowers; but there's still the swish and hum of traffic, dogs barking, kids yelling. Roger: she's got to deal with that, first thing. She was so whipped when they got in last night, she forgot to look at Carol's truck. She has to get up.

When she opens the bedroom door, she hears music coming from Mel's room and different music downstairs; maybe the tv too. She fights off the idea that all this is a turned-way-down version of what you'd hear in hell. She goes into the bathroom and washes her face with cold water, which supposedly tightens the skin. Right, for about five seconds. The hamper's almost up to the top again already. So three guesses what she'll be doing today. She sneaks a glance in the mirror: pale, lines, raccoon eyes. What else is new.

Coming down the stairs, she can tell that what she's hearing is cartoons {Wheep! Boinnng!) plus Alan Jackson from Carol's boombox, the song about how he's going to buy him a Mercury and cruise it up and down the road. Rathbone slithers out of Carol's room, wagging his tail in greeting. She pets him, tells him Good dog, then peeks into the living room: Roger's belly-flopped on the floor, chin resting on commandeered sofa cushions, gazing at the screen. She'll have to pry him away, force him back into life, before the big showdown can even begin. She needs some coffee first. It looks like a nice day out: through the dining-room window she sees sun glinting off the good old sturdy Cherokee, which

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got them home safe and sound. Its front end seems to be giving a big loyal toothy smile,

Carol appears in her doorway, hugging a carton whose top flaps are folded shut in that interlocking way where you don't need tape, "Hi, I thought you were still asleep," She takes the box into the kitchen and sets it on the counter, Jean follows her in, and she turns around, "I was going to say something last night — actually, I was going to say something the night before, but I just thought it was, you know, too much convergence,"

"Oh," Jean says. She sits down at the table,

Carol pulls up a chair next to her. "I feel like I'm leaving you in the lurch," she says, "But I also feel like it's a perfect time for you guys, in a way, because you're sort of at the beginning of something. Where I am in my life, though. . You know, ever since the leaves started changing, I felt like — okay, it's beautiful, but it was also telling me that I didn't belong back here anymore? And of course Dexter's out there, not that he. . you know," She shakes her head, "And I think it's also just that the land out there is stiU young. In terms of geology? Whereas here it's real old? I mean, the earthquakes are the downside, but out there it's like it's still in process. Like the mountains are really sharp" — making a mountain crest with her fingertips—"where here the hills are just, like, waiting for the rain and everything to grind them down the rest of the way."

Jean has nothing to say on the subject of geology, "Do they know?" she says, nodding toward the doorway.

"I told Roger last night. And then when Mel came down to get her juice this morning, I couldn't exactly hide the fact that I was carting boxes."

Jean looks into the living room and sees only Roger's sneakers, one toe kicking in rhythm into the carpet, Wheep! Boinnng! Alan Jackson's gone off, but the cartoon noise is loud enough so he won't overhear, "I don't know what to do about him," she says.

"Oh listen, I've been meaning to tell you," Carol says, "I went and looked up swastikas — you know how you think you remember something? — and sure enough, the swastika is like this really ancient symbol of good luck. All Hitler did was just ruin it for everybody. They say in this book that it started out as being the sun, with rays whirling around?" She windmills her hand. "I mean, it's not like Roger consciously knew about this, which he obviously didn't, but I think some-

PRESTON FALLS

thing really really old could have actually, you know, taken control of his hand."

"Maybe something old should take control of my hand," says Jean, "and give him an old-fashioned spanking, which is what he probably needs."

"You're kidding, right? You don't spank}''

"No," Jean says. "I don't do anything. Obviously. I'm never even here:'

"I know, I feel that same thing," says Carol. "Just the need to be in the place you're supposed to be. I really think I had to come back to the East Coast again and do this whole process to sort of get clear about it."

"Right," says Jean. She gets up, takes a glass down from the cabinet and opens the refrigerator. No orange juice. She pours a glass of seltzer.

"Did you get enough sleep?" Carol says.

"I'm okay. Listen, I have to give you money to get that thing fixed. You can't be driving around with a swastika on your door." She takes a burning sip of seltzer and sits down at the table again.

Carol laughs. "You don't think I'm that nuts, do you? Look, I totally know what the boundaries are. Last night Roger and I took some of your big brown wrapping paper and painted a sun with poster paints — you know, since it really is a sun — and we duct-taped it right over the thing. That should hold until I can get out to McCall."

"Wait, you're going to Idaho} I thought you were going back to Anacortes."

"Well. . eventually." Carol gets up and walks to the end of the counter by the phone. "But I thought I might as well go by way of Idaho because there's this amazing body shop in McCall." She takes a pen out of the jelly glass Jean keeps full of pens, tests against her palm to see if it writes and brings it over to label the carton. "When Gid rolled his army truck that time — I told you about that."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Jean says.

"Wow, I never told you that story? See, these biker guys — I don't know, I guess that should be for another time. Anyway, the point is, the people at this shop towed the thing in, banged out all the dents, matched the camouflage perfectly, and you know what the bill was? Seventy-five dollars. I could never get over that."

She writes MISC on a flap of the carton and puts the pen behind her ear. Then she sits down cross-legged on the crappy old linoleum floor that was never high on Willis's list of priorities.

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"But you lived there such a long time ago. How do you know they're even in business anymore?"

"It's worth a try," Carol says. She looks down at the floor, smiles. ''Everything doesn't change. I mean, it does, but…" She shrugs. "Actually, I thought I might hang out there for a while. There was a long time when I never wanted to go back there, but it seems like now it might be a good thing for me. Anyhow, the woman who's renting my house is supposed to have it until April." She takes the pen from behind her ear and examines it.

"So in other words, you don't even know where you're staying? Carol. You're surely not—"

"Good God no. Gid's not even there anymore. He went back to Stone Mountain. Stone Mattin, Joe-ja. I thought I told you. Staying with his sister and her family, going to meetings every day. It's like everybody's suddenly going home now, back to their old hometowns and everything."

"So why aren't you hotfooting it down to Bethesda?"

"Oh puke" says Carol. "God, do you remember the Robertses? When we all used to have to go over and listen to Mr. Roberts play the Hammond organ?"