Voodoo Heart Part 8

I figured I'd make a whole day of proposing. I'd surprise Laura at work, spend the day with her, take her out to a nice dinner at a restaurant on the water. Go dancing afterward at the country music bar. Then ask her to spend her life with me.

The day I chose to do all this was Laura's day-care s.h.i.+ft at the aquarium. The day-care center was one of the best resources the aquarium offered to its employees. The facility was small, just one cla.s.sroom, but it was filled with all sorts of state-of-the-art educational material-computers and electronic toys, a whole library of storybooks. All employees were required to spend at least one day a month helping out at the center, which basically amounted to a day off. You played with the children, read them stories, finger-painted with them.

I'd always liked visiting Laura at the day-care center. I loved the craziness of the cla.s.sroom, all the noise and commotion, little pumpkin-heads swirling around your waist, shouting and laughing. And it was romantic in a strange way, too. Being responsible for little children with your girlfriend.

I woke full of nervous energy the morning of Laura's day-care s.h.i.+ft. She'd already gone to work by the time I got up, so I took my time getting ready. I had an extra-long shower. I shaved with the fancy lotion she used on her legs.

I waited until I was ready to leave to retrieve the ring. As I bent down to pull up the floorboard, I felt a stab of fear that I'd find the hole empty. But as soon as I reached inside, my fingers found the plastic bag with the box inside. The ring looked beautiful. The diamond was small, but it sparkled brightly, slicing the light into pieces. I imagined myself giving it to Laura that night, kneeling down and holding it out to her, looking up into her face.

I put the ring in my pocket and left for the aquarium.

"Delivery for Laura," said Marie, a day-care attendant, as she opened the door to the building for me. "We've got a delivery for Laura."

"This isn't what I ordered," said Laura, coming to the door.

"You want me to send him back?" said Marie.

Laura kissed me. "No, I'll keep him," she said. Then, to me: "What are you doing here?"

"I had a date, but she stood me up." I held up the yellow roses I'd bought. "I don't know. You want to go out with me instead? I mean, I already have these flowers."

She took the flowers from me. "All dolled up and no one to dance with, huh?"

"Something like that." I put my arm around her waist and followed her inside.

The morning went even better than planned. Laura and I had a ball playing with the children, drawing pictures with them, reading them stories. We made crocodiles out of egg cartons with a girl named Lucy. Another child, a black girl named Christina, showed us how to make little fortune-telling devices out of sheets of colored paper.

I touched one of the numbered panels on Christina's fortune-teller.

"G-r-e-e-n, and that spells green," she said, manipulating the little paper mouth, making it open and close on her fingers. The fortune-teller finally stopped moving and Christina looked inside.

"What's the verdict?" I said.

She read my fortune. "You smell funny," she said, giggling.

"Let me see that," I said. When I looked, I saw that all the panels said the same thing.

"He does smell funny," said Laura, laughing. "P.U."

Throughout the day we teamed up to help different kids. We read a storybook about a talking coffee cup to a girl named Susan, Laura reading the female voices while I read the male characters. We helped an Indian boy build a birdhouse out of Popsicle sticks and glue. The second half of the day we spent helping to operate the train. One of the women working at the center had a husband who ran a model train shop nearby, and he'd built an elaborate train set for the kids, with tracks that ran around the whole cla.s.sroom. He'd even designed four different towns for the train to pa.s.s through, each town in a different corner of the room. Every town represented a different season of the year, too. One was winter: the yards were snowy; tiny icicles hung from the roofs of the houses. In another town, over by the toilets, it was autumn. Children trick-or-treated. Thimble-size jack-o'-lanterns flickered from porches.

The kids' favorite part of the train set, though, was the tunnel. In one place, near the cubbies, the tracks disappeared into a dark hole in the wall painted to look like an old, rickety tunnel, with little DANGER and ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! warnings all around the entrance. The kids never got tired of running the train through-steering the engine into the tunnel's dark mouth, watching the cars disappear one by one, then rus.h.i.+ng to the tunnel's exit, at the other side of the cubbies, to wait for the glow of the engine lamp.

They made a game of putting notes in the coal car and sending them around to one another. One kid would stand by the spring section of the tracks, the other in winter, and when the first had put his note in the coal car, he'd make a sound like a train whistle and Laura and I would help the second child operate the control box and bring the train around the tracks, through the tunnel, and finally over to us. h.e.l.lo, Jim, said one note. Good-bye, Carol, said the reply.

The train tracks were equipped with special hook rails that gripped the engine's wheels, keeping it from tipping over. That afternoon, though, something must have been off with one of the engine's wheels, because it kept derailing. We could hardly get the train around a turn without it tipping over. At one point the engine fell off the tracks inside the tunnel. All the kids crowded around the tunnel's mouth, peering into the darkness. One boy was even trying to stick his head inside the hole.

"Hang on there, Poncho," I said, and pulled him off the tracks.

Laura started toward the cubbies, where the door to the crawl s.p.a.ce was, but I told her I'd go instead. The crawl s.p.a.ce was just a sealed-up storage area, but it was dusty and cramped and I knew that none of the women liked going back there.

"My hero," Laura said. I struck a superhero pose and the kids squealed with laughter.

The crawl s.p.a.ce was narrow, only about four feet wide, and lengthwise it ran for about fifteen feet, like a short, dark hallway. I opened the door and slid inside. The air was cold and musty, and when I tried the lightbulb nothing happened. The two train tunnel openings didn't offer much light, and it took me a good minute of fumbling around to find the engine lying beside the tracks.

"How you doing back there?" Laura called through the tunnel's exit.

"All aboard," I yelled back, righting the engine.

Then, out of nowhere, an idea came to me.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the ring box. A note one of the children had written lay inside the coal car. I would write a proposal on the other side of the note and then send the train down the tracks.

I glanced down the length of the tunnel at Laura's face, peering back at me. Taking the note, I got a pen from my pocket and wrote on the blank side.

Laura. You and me?

I folded the note and placed it inside the coal car, beneath the ring box.

"Jacob," Laura called down the tunnel. "You get lost?"

I made sure the train was righted properly, my hands trembling a little now. Then I opened my mouth to tell Laura to hit the power. But the words froze in my throat.

"Jacob?" Laura squinted into the tunnel's entrance, searching for me in the darkness. Children huddled around her, tugging and giggling. "h.e.l.lo?"

The ring box and the note sat waiting in the coal car.

Laura tucked her hair behind her ear. She looked worried. "Should we hit the power? Jake?"

"Hit it," I finally said.

Laura called over her shoulder to the children. "Flip the switch." All at once the current surged through the tracks. The engine began to pull away from me, but I wouldn't release it. I couldn't get my hands to let go. The ring box and the note shook in the coal car. Folded up, the note showed the message written on the other side of mine.

Boo.

A s.h.i.+ver ran through me. I looked up at Laura, at her beautiful face at the end of the tunnel, waiting. I was ready for this. For her. I had to be.

"Jacob," Laura called. "Are you all right?"

The engine's wheels spun, trying to pull away, but I held on. My heart was pounding fast. I glanced behind me, at the tunnel's entrance. The hole opened up on the miniature summertime scene. Tiny children climbed trees bursting with flowers. They chased each other toward a bright blue pond. A girl flew a kite high above the rooftops.

"Jacob," came Laura's voice. "Jacob?"

I felt light-headed. I took the ring box and note out of the coal car and then I let the train go.

When Laura got off work, we went to a restaurant on the sh.o.r.e. It was all the way out on a pier, overlooking the ocean. The table I'd reserved stood at the far end of the room. It was pressed right up against the huge window and the view couldn't have been prettier. The dark blue ocean stretched out forever, calm, flat as a cutting board. The sun was already down; the sky was covered in glowing pink gashes.

Still, all I could think about was what had happened back at the day-care room. I kept wondering what was wrong with me. What was so broken? Laura was talking to me, but I couldn't hear her. Nothing's broken, I told myself, taking a long sip from my gin and tonic. I just needed more time.

But on went the thoughts: What if it's not just about time? What if you're not built for this? What if there is something wrong, something that runs in the blood? What if all you'll ever be able to do is leave? My face felt hot. I mopped at my forehead with my napkin.

Laura put her hand on mine. "Hey. What are you thinking about?"

I took another pull from my drink. "About you," I said, trying to smile.

"I hope not," she said. "You look about ready to kill someone."

"I have a headache from all the kids today. Sorry. All the f.u.c.king noise."

Laura looked up from the menu. "I thought you liked it there."

"In doses," I said, finis.h.i.+ng my drink. "I shouldn't have picked today to come by." The ice cubes rattled as I set the gla.s.s on the table.

"Slow down," said Laura. "We haven't even ordered yet."

I motioned to the waiter to bring me another.

"What is your problem?" Laura whispered loudly, leaning toward me. "What's going on?"

I felt anger coursing through me, building. Part of me wanted to stop myself. Part of me wanted to apologize and start over, go for a walk down the pier together, look at the sunset on the water.

But another part wanted to hurt Laura; hurt her so bad.

"Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You look really ugly when you make that face," I said. "When you crinkle your forehead up like that. You look about eighty years old."

Laura stared at me. "Jacob. What are you doing?"

"I'm ordering a drink," I said. "I'm a grown man."

"Why are you acting like this? What did I do?"

My drink arrived. Laura tried to grab it, but I yanked it away, spilling some on the table. A couple nearby looked over.

"What are you looking at, f.u.c.kface?" I said to the guy.

"Jacob! Stop it!"

"Shut up," I said to Laura. Then I turned back to the couple looking over from their table. The woman had turned away but the man was still watching us from the corner of his eye.

"We're having a private conversation here. Turn that way," I said to him. "Do it. Turn around. Before I stab you with your f.u.c.king lobster fork."

Laura got up to leave.

I got up too. "You watch it," I said, pointing at the man at the other table. I took out a bill for the drink and flicked it on the table.

By the time I was out in the parking lot, Laura had gotten into the car.

"Wait," I said, but she was pulling out of the lot.

I stood in front of the car and Laura squealed to a stop.

"Wait," I said again.

She was crying. "What do you want from me, Jake? What?"

"I want you to leave me alone," I said. I could hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth. But right then it was true. All I wanted was to hold her, but at the same time, all I wanted was to rip her apart.

"That's it?" she said. "That's really what you want?"

"That's what I want," I said.

"You don't love me. You don't want to be with me anymore. Just like that."

"I don't love you," I said. "I want to, but I don't. Go find someone else."

She stared at me, her eyes wet and red. "You're lying. I know you are."

"I don't love you, Laura. I don't want to be with you. Go away."

"Jacob, I love you. I don't care if you're not ready for things, the house, or whatever. I just want to be with you. We can work it out."

"Are you deaf? Go. Away. f.u.c.k off. I don't want to be around you anymore. Leave."

Laura waited.

I slammed my hand on the car's roof. "What else do you need to hear, you stupid b.i.t.c.h? You c.u.n.t! Go! Get lost!"

Laura shot me a look; her eyes were full of grief and pity. Then she put the car in drive and left me in the parking lot.

I took a while getting home. I stopped at a bar I liked, a small place by the airport called the Fly by Night, and I drank more than I should have. I didn't feel drunk when I left, but by the time I got home, I couldn't walk straight. The front door lock took me three tries to open.

The house was completely dark and difficult to navigate. Gripping the banister for balance, I climbed the spiral staircase to see if Laura had gone to bed. But of course, Laura wasn't in our bedroom. Some of her clothes lay strewn about the floor, and it hit me then that she was truly gone.

I saw one of the walkie-talkies on the floor by the bed and I picked it up and turned it on.

"Laura?" I said into its receiver. "Do you copy? Kitty Kat?"

Nothing. Just static.

I clipped the walkie-talkie to my belt and headed downstairs. The house looked especially beautiful that night. Moonlight poured in through the windows, casting long blue shadows across the walls. The nails in the floorboards gleamed like stars. The tiny faces in the molding looked so alive, they seemed to be watching me as I made my way down the main hallway.

I wandered from room to room, trying to take in the whole house, all the work Laura and I had put into it. So many of the rooms were finished now. I wanted to appreciate every little detail; I sat and smoked a cigarette in the leather armchair Laura had bought for the study. I stared at my own fun-house reflection in the bottom of the gla.s.s bowl on the living room coffee table. I ran my hand over the points of the antique pitchfork hanging on the wall of the kitchen.

The garden room I saved for last. As I entered, the view caught me off guard. I'd been in the room at night before, but that evening the yard looked so beautiful through the huge windows, the gra.s.s s.h.i.+mmering purple in the moonlight, sloping away toward the old lemon fields. There were only a few small patches of shrub left to clear at the yard's edge. The rest was smooth and clean. I took the machete from the box by the door and headed outside.

The cool air smelled like lemons and fresh-cut gra.s.s, and as I walked down the hill toward the far end of the yard I felt invigorated, wild. Just a little more work and the property would be done; I would finish the whole job that night. I walked faster. The machete made a low humming noise as the blade swung by my side.