Leslie Glass - Burning Time

Emma had often told him she felt free in California. Now he could understand it. It felt good to be behind the wheel of a car, instead of in the backseat of a taxi so old and redolent of unwashed foreigners it was painful to have to go somewhere. He thought about leasing a car for the summer. Maybe after Emma finished this new film, they’d start looking for a house out of the city and go away for the weekends. Have a family. It was very radical, suddenly considering things he had resisted all his life. But he knew that, quite often, everyday things people were afraid of were what they wanted most.

A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he considered what it would feel like to buy a car, a house, a crib, and then actually have all the paraphernalia of a successful husband and father. He had no excuse for avoiding it any longer. He would do whatever it took to make Emma happy. He further surprised himself by getting on the Five heading north to Coral Beach instead of south to the Meridien where he had gotten a businessman’s special for two nights.

He had planned to see Emma’s parents anyway, but the sudden acceptance of the possibility of having a family together made him want to be near her. Understand her better. It was only a ten-minute drive and he had been there once. He had a pretty good idea where to turn off.

He exited at Coral Beach. It was a pretty community, not as aggressively affluent and stylish as La Jolla, a few miles to the north. He noticed that the streets were quiet even this early in the evening, and the air was charged with eucalyptus, bougainvillea, and the slight beginning of a salty mist. Not such a bad place to live. He turned left off of Grand Encinada, fully lined on both sides with royal palms, onto Encinada Drive. Four blocks west of the ocean and five houses in on the right. Yes. The lights were on.

Jason pulled into the short cement drive and walked across the cement path in the lawn. It wasn’t a very big lawn, but definitely big enough to be called one, and to merit having a small lawn mower in the garage. He knew it was in there because his father-in-law, Brad Chapman, had shown it to him on his and Emma’s one and only visit several years before. Brad had been as proud of the lawn mower as the house. Jason rang the bell and looked across the street as he waited.

The houses were all pretty much the same. Eighth-of-an-acre plots with small, but nearly gracious, two-bedroom ranch-style houses, each with slightly different design accents apparently chosen at random from favorite styles around the world. Columns in front, wrought-iron curlicues around the windows, a two-foot cement wall in front of the door. Frosted or stained glass insets. All well cared for and tidy as could be.

No one answered the bell. As Jason considered ringing it again, Martha finally peered anxiously through the sidelight to see who would stop by without calling. She didn’t live on a navy base anymore, and resented invasions on her privacy.

Then she saw Jason and her face lit up. She opened the door so fast he realized it hadn’t been locked.

“Land sakes,” she cried. “Emma told us you were coming, but we didn’t expect you so soon. Come on in.”

Martha stepped back to let her famous son-in-law in. “I just spoke to Emma. I mean just—um.” She frowned anxiously. “Did you just get here?”

Jason smiled. “Yes, within the hour. Am I disturbing your dinner?”

“Oh, no, no. We finished hours ago. Oh, my—are you hungry? I could fix you something—”

“I had dinner on the plane. I’m fine,” Jason assured her.

“Oh, well, then.” She nodded happily, then less happily, in case she had done something wrong or misunderstood her famous daughter about when her famous son-in-law was coming and what she was supposed to do about it.

To Jason, Martha looked like an older, buttery version of Emma. Her hair was still light, almost blond, but with a silvery cast to it, and her body seemed fluffy. She had filled in around the edges in a gentle way, like a marshmallow, pale and soft. She was as tall as Emma, but had an apologetic air that diminished her. The smooth pink-and-white skin on her face broke up in a thousand tiny lines as she repeatedly excused herself.

“The place is a mess.” She pointed to the pristine living room with its unused sofa and chairs in pale colors, and pottery lamps that gave off hardly any light. “Skipper, look who’s here,” she cried.

Martha led the way to the kitchen where her husband was sitting at the table with a glass of Scotch in front of him, studying the fan of cards in his hand.

“Who’s here?” he demanded.

“You know very well who’s here,” Martha said with a determined playfulness. “You old dog, you heard me talking to him. It’s your favorite son-in-law.”

Jason advanced with his hand out. “How are you, sir?”

Brad, the Skipper, got up and offered his with a show of reluctance. “My only son-in-law,” he said grumpily. He was a meteorologist, a weatherman, smaller than both his wife and daughter, an unhappy fact he compensated for with a brusque, almost bullying, manner.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, as his wife gathered up the cards.

“You can’t play now that Jason is here,” she scolded.

“Who says so?” He turned to Jason again as if trying to decide how disagreeable to be. “How are ya?” he said finally. “Have a good flight?”

“Yes, thank you. It was fine.”

“Treating our baby all right?” he demanded.

“I try.”

“You don’t have any children,” he argued.

Martha turned the color of the chairs in the living room, dusty rose. “Good Lord, Bradley, have a heart. Maybe they want to and can’t.”

“Looks like he can.” Brad’s hairline mustache twitched with emotion over Jason’s looks. Jason was much bigger than he and had a lot more hair. “Never mind,” he conceded. “Not everybody’s the same, heaven knows. Have a drink. What are you doing out here? Emma’s quite the star, isn’t she?”

He rambled on as he poured Scotch into a glass for Jason. He didn’t seem to care much about getting answers to his questions.

“Have you seen the film?” Jason asked finally.

“Yup, yup.” Brad nodded, sipping at his own Scotch in earnest.

“Yup.” Martha nodded. “We sure did.”

There was silence.

Then Martha cocked her head. “She says she’s got another part but she doesn’t know if she wants it. Isn’t that just like her? First she does a thing and then she has her doubts.”

Jason nodded, wondering if Emma had ever voiced any doubts about him. They certainly must have. He, too, colored a bit. Now they were all a little pink.

“You two look fine,” he said.

“We’re fine,” Martha agreed heartily. “Just fine.”

“Great. What have you been doing?”

“Lot to do.” Brad shook his head. “A whole lot.”

“He goes to the Club,” Martha said. “And he has his bridge.” She nodded at the cards she’d laid aside.

“Got to mow the lawn. You’d be surprised how fast it grows,” Brad added.

“Get many visitors, many inquiries?” Jason asked.

Martha frowned. Visitors, inquiries?

“About Emma,” Jason prompted.

“Oh, that. Of course people are just thrilled. Everybody loves Emma. All our friends ask about her.” Martha beamed.

“Any of her friends ask about her?” Jason asked.

“Her friends?”

“People she used to know.”

“Oh, she doesn’t keep in touch, never did. Even that guy who called from the high school said she was lost, remember that, Martha?”

Martha shook her head angrily.

“Course you do. They wanted to invite her to the reunion and couldn’t because she was on the ‘lost’ list.”