John Brandon - A Million Heavens

She was sitting out on her balcony again, her computer on her lap. She was supposed to be working but was just poking around on websites, doing what she was always doing, which was waiting for Arn to come home. He was late, which meant his boss, the owner of the sonic observatory, had taken him out for breakfast. His boss, as far as Dannie could tell, was very smart and lonely. Dannie herself, she had to admit, did not seem very smart these days, and the only time she wasn’t lonely was when Arn was around.

Dannie was a researcher. She got paid by the hour to find things out. While Arn waited for monumental information that would never arrive, Dannie sought out scores of minutia. Mostly, these days, she used the Internet, but she also knew her way around a library, around a hall of records. This morning she was to begin compiling a list of honorary degree recipients. Some guy wanted to know how many honorary degrees had been awarded in each nation, which disciplines the degrees were awarded in, which individuals held the most.

Dannie brought up a search engine but didn’t do more than that. She closed her eyes. The mood she was in felt like someone else’s mood, someone younger than Dannie. She felt a rogue craving for drugs. She hadn’t done drugs in years, since she and her ex-husband were dating, but this morning she had that itch. She had thought she’d outgrown drugs. Maybe it was the desert. The desert was the perfect locale. Maybe it was because she was trying to get pregnant and knew the fun of the young could soon be behind her. It was almost time for the end of Dannie’s cycle and she hadn’t felt a hint of a cramp. She didn’t feel irritable. Didn’t feel bloated. She was trying not to think about it, trying not to jinx anything or obsess over the calendar. She wasn’t late yet, after all. When she was late she’d go get a couple tests at a drug store in Albuquerque — until then, she wasn’t going to think about it.

She began clicking around, marking websites. She only worked five hours a day, so she wouldn’t get carpel tunnel or burn her eyes out. When Dannie had originally discovered New Mexico, years ago, she’d been working for a movie house, scouting sites for a cowboy comedy. She’d spent three weeks up near Santa Fe, and she’d known she would return to the state, although she couldn’t have guessed the circumstances. Before the movie thing, Dannie had worked for PBS. Before that, she’d modeled for a home shopping company — coats mostly. For some reason, she looked nice in coats. She guessed it was the hue of her cheeks, which always looked like they’d been rouged by wind. Dannie was grateful for her skin. She’d always thought her skin made her look fertile. She’d never tested the notion until now.

Dannie heard the scratch of Arn’s key and then heard him padding through the condo. He came out onto the balcony and plopped down in the other chair, a hand on his belly. His boss had stuffed him full of bacon. He flopped his arm out toward Dannie and she took his hand.

“You ever have your cholesterol checked?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not big on doctors.”

Dannie closed up her computer and set it under her chair. She looked at Arn’s hair, which was matted to his head. He often went days without showering, but he never smelled bad.

“Which drugs have you tried?” Dannie asked him.

He paused, then said, “Just pot.”

“Really?”

“What more should I have done?”

“More than that .”

“Why?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, to lose track of time. To test yourself.”

Arn scrunched his nose.

“To be daring.”

“Yeah, I’m not all that daring. I have been known to lose track of time.”

Dannie squeezed his hand. His T-shirt was drawing up, revealing his little-kid belly.

“Why the sudden interest?” he said. “Are you going to administer a random drug test?”

Dannie raised herself up and climbed onto Arn’s chair. There was a pattern they’d fallen into. Dannie would corner Arn, would chase him down or trap him. She had on a puffy blouse that tied in the front, and she began undoing the straps.

“Anything else you want to know?” Arn said.

Dannie sat straight. “How many women have you slept with?”

Arn made a face like he’d performed a magic trick. “You’re it,” he said.

“Yeah, I bet.”

“No joke.”

“Sure, Arn.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I don’t care that you’ve slept with other women. You don’t have to lie. I don’t like you because you’re supposed to be pristine or something.”

“I’m just answering your question.”

Dannie made a skeptical face, and Arn didn’t respond to it.

“Now if you’re lying, I am going to be angry,” she told him.

“What would I stand to gain from that lie?”

“I don’t know,” said Dannie. “Something.”

Arn shrugged.

“I’m not like you. Lying is a pet peeve of mine.”

“Most people are that way.”

“You’re telling me you were a virgin when we met?”

“Affirmative.”

“That’s your story? That’s your final answer? I took your virginity.”

“Lock it in.”

Dannie felt deceived. She felt like she’d won something she wasn’t sure she wanted. It was believable, she supposed. Arn wasn’t the type who would need to chase girls in order to prove something. He did have a certain unspoiled exuberance during the act. Maybe it was true and maybe it wasn’t. Dannie looked down at Arn. He was a prize the desert had awarded her and she was frightened of him. She was trying to get pregnant by this boy and maybe she already had, trying to turn him from a virgin to a father, and he didn’t know a thing about it. She did not feel upset about the thought of doing this and that was more proof she was falling for him. When she’d first gone off birth control she’d told herself if she got pregnant she’d move away and never tell Arn a thing about it, but now she was in deeper than he was. He wasn’t a novelty or a dupe.

“What is it?” Arn said.

Dannie shook her head. She reached out and stroked the lumped-up section of his hair as he gazed up toward her with his artless brown eyes.

He bounced around during ninth grade, but before tenth he was placed with a couple way up north of Seattle, almost in Canada. They were strangely close, this couple, and didn’t talk much to Arn. The man worked at a candy factory and was always throwing tantrums and the wife was always soothing him, hugging him close and burying her face in his flannel shirt. The man had an exact schedule and when it was thrown off he fumed. If a show he was planning on watching got pushed back because the president was speaking, or if the mechanic didn’t have his car ready on time, he would stalk around in tight circles, tossing things against walls. The wife would spring into action. This was her talent, calming him. They had a younger son, too, and he was their own. They had a biological son who was like eight and then they’d gone and taken in a fifteen-year-old foster son too. Arn didn’t get it. He had no clue why they wanted him, but he didn’t mind living in their house. The days slipped by. The food was tasty and promptly served. The boy, the eight-year-old, was obsessed with baseball and kept to himself. He spent his time taking batting practice at the mini-golf complex down the road or sorting cards into sets in his room.

School was a trial for Arn. He got sent outside most days by his typing teacher. She was a fat, red woman whom Arn kept tormenting long after she let up on him. He felt guilty about giving her a hard time because she was an easy target. She’d started it, always harassing him about hunting and pecking, but still, she was an easy target. It was like he was trying to teach her a lesson, to make an example of her, though he couldn’t have said whom the example was for.