Twenty Palaces (2 page)

Aunt Theresa scowled at him. "Oh, Karl..."

"No, it's all right," I said. "I want the same thing. No trouble."

"Good," he said. "Tell us about the interview."

"Jon Burrows was there." I hadn't meant to say it, but it came out anyway. My aunt and uncle looked at each other, and I knew they weren't surprised at all. "How long ago did he...?"

It was Uncle Karl who answered. "Sometime within the last few days. Did he say how it happened?"
 

The way he asked the question made me wary. I'd spent the last few years refusing to answer cops' questions, but what the hell, I was starting a new life. "He said it was a miracle, but I think he was full of... I think he was lying."

"Why do you think that?"

"His expression. His tone. The woman asking the question was fiddling with a cross at the time--I think he was saying what she wanted to hear."
 

Karl nodded. He took a dishtowel off the end of the table, revealing a newspaper. He passed it to me. The headline read "Miracle or Hoax?" and just below it were two pictures: One showing Jon in a wheelchair, his slack face partly covered by his long hair, and the other showing him standing in his yard, laughing. It was dated yesterday.
 

I was about to say that I wasn't hungry anymore, but my bowl was empty. I didn't need an excuse to get up from the table. I carried the bowl to the sink and started washing the dishes. Aunt Theresa fussed over me a bit, trying to get me to take a second helping, but eventually she gave me a hug and let me get back to work. Uncle Karl stayed behind, watching me closely.
 

"You can take that paper with you if you want. The key to the apartment is just beside it."

"Thanks, I will. Is there anything in the article worth reading?"
 

"Only that Burrows's insurance company is suing him for fraud. Listen, if this guy has broken the law--even if he's suspected of it--that makes him trouble, and you need to keep away from him. It's part of your debt."

I nodded, not looking up. I'd expected him to say something like that from the moment I saw that headline.
 

"By the way," he continued. "Just before you got here, a woman called. Andrea something. She said you can have the late shift at the copy shop tomorrow. Your shift starts at four, but she wants to you come in fifteen minutes early for paperwork. And bring this." He held a slip of pink paper in front of me. W
HILE
YOU
WERE
OUT
! was printed across the top next to a cheerful cartoon character, and beneath that was a short list scribbled in ball point pen. I couldn't focus on it at first. "If you want the job."

I snatched it out of his hand, then set it on the counter. Hell yes, I wanted the job.
 

My uncle nodded at me, informed me that I'd need extensive training before I was ready to take out the trash, recycling and food compost in Seattle, and left me to finish the dishes. When the drying rack was full and the sink empty, I took the key, the newspaper, and the slip of paper into the backyard.
 

My apartment was above a detached garage at the far end of the yard. The stairs creaked and groaned as I climbed them, and while the deadbolt lock was sturdy, the flimsy door it was mounted in had too much glass.
 

What the hell. Inside, I found my backpack laying on the couch, looking oddly deflated. My clothes were in the tiny dresser beside the fold-out couch. Against the front wall was a little sink, fridge and two-burner electric stove. Behind it was the bathroom. Against the far wall was an empty bookshelf.

I switched on a lamp, casting a dim yellow light over everything. My aunt had rented this room to students looking for work and middle-aged men needing a new start. It wasn't spacious, but it was a good place to start over.
 

The first thing I did was set aside the papers I'd need for my new job. After that, I went into the bathroom. Through the window, I could see into Aunt Theresa's kitchen window. She and Uncle Karl were sitting at their table, and he was rubbing some kind of salve onto her crooked, arthritic hands. I turned away, feeling like a peeping tom.

Then, suddenly, I had nothing to do and nowhere to go. There was no TV or game console in the room, and I couldn't imagine going back into my aunt's house, sitting on their couch and watching whatever they were watching.
 

It felt like a test. Or maybe I should say it was a trap. I had a lot of ways to fill empty time, but they were all old habits that might land me in jail or get me evicted. I sat on the couch, quietly looking at nothing. In prison I'd lived on the institution's schedule and now I had the freedom to stay up as late as I wanted. It was just fifteen minutes after lights out in Chino, but I slipped under the covers anyway, feeling oddly defeated.
 

Tomorrow would be better. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I wanted to concentrate on my new job, how it would work and how I'd behave, but I fell asleep with the image of Jon Burrows standing on the sidewalk, screaming my name.

CHAPTER TWO

In the morning, I found myself once again with time I wasn't sure how to fill. The first thing I did was dig an old bicycle out of the garage below my apartment, fix the brakes, and ride to the nearest hardware store. I spent some of my dwindling gate money on a little bell, some string and a few other odds and ends.
 

On the way home, I passed an open library. I was surprised that they would issue me a card on the spot and let me walk out the door with a small stack of books.
Victims,
was my first thought, but I pushed that aside.
 

Back at my apartment, I loaded the books into the shelves, then mounted the bell outside the door. I hung the string from it and tied off the other end to an eye screw placed on the ground floor.
 

"What are you doing, Raymond?" Aunt Theresa walked across the yard toward me. She seemed to be struggling a bit, as though the neatly-mown grass was treacherous footing. She held a square pastel green envelope in her hand.
 

"I didn't want you to have to climb those stairs every time you wanted to talk to me--I know it was you who put my clothes in the drawer. Anyway..." I pulled on the string and the bell up by the door jingled. It was a clear, cheerful tone.

Aunt Theresa smiled and sighed, then patted my arm with such affection that it made me feel embarrassed. "That's so sweet of you, I'm almost sorry to give you this." She gave me the envelope. My name was scribbled on it in a heavy, cramped hand. There was an invitation inside.
 

I read it. "Jon is having a party tonight," I said. "A celebration. And he's inviting me?" I looked up at my aunt.

"He came by, and seemed quite disappointed that you were out."

"He wants
me
there?"

"Very much so, I thought. Are you all right, Raymond?"

"Yeah," I said, reading the invitation again to make sure I hadn't missed the word
not
in there or something. "Yeah, I guess so."
 

"You knew, when you came up here, that you'd have to see Jon again, didn't you? You knew you'd have to make peace with him."

Her brown eyes seemed to be looking straight through me. "I was going to try. But Uncle Karl--"

"I know what Karl said. He's got a sharp eye, my husband does, but he's more understanding than he lets on. You're not going to be able to avoid Jon forever, not if he's coming around here."

"I don't want to avoid him," I said, even though I'd done just that the night before.

"Of course not. You may visit him and discover you have nothing in common anymore. Maybe you'll wish each other well and go your separate ways."

"But I ought to see him."

"I told him you would be starting a new job today. He asked if you would come by the house after your shift. He even said
please
."

"Okay," I said. We both knew I'd be going to the party. "How did he...?"

"How did he look?" Aunt Theresa said as she started back toward her house. "He looked so happy that he frightened me. He looked like a starving man just sitting down to a Christmas feast."

She went back into the house, leaving me with too much to think about.
 

I made sure to arrive at the copy shop fifteen minutes before the already early time Uncle Karl had given me. There were no customers, but they were both busy. Oscar was loading paper into machines and Andrea had to stop working on something at the back of the office to meet me.
 

"Oh good, you're early. Come on back." She led me into the office where Wally had collected his things. It was a sad little room with bare drywall and a stamped metal desk that someone had kicked the hell out of. The chairs looked like cafeteria discards and boxes of stationery were stacked along one wall. "Paperwork first, of course. All the usual boring stuff."

She handed me a clipboard and promised to come back. The forms I was supposed to fill out seemed incomprehensible to me at first, but I managed to get them finished before she returned. She read them over, approved, and gave me a green polo shirt like her own and a name tag with masking tape over the front and
Ray
written on it in blue ball point pen. When I put them on, it felt like a Halloween costume.
 

"Everything here is easy," Andrea told me. "Just remember a couple things: Clean clothes, close shave, no B.O. Oscar will train you on most things while I run a big job, just be sure to push the blue legal paper. Wally over-ordered so we're offering a two-penny per sheet discount." She took a step toward me. "So," her voice was lower now. "You know him?"

"Wally? I knew him in school, but it's been 15 years."

She absent-mindedly tugged the little gold cross from beneath her collar. "Not that creep. I'm talking--"

"Oh." I suddenly understood her. "No, I mean. Not for a long time." I realized just how I'd gotten this job so quickly, and it made me want to quit on the spot. I wasn't going to spill my history to this stranger just because I needed a paycheck. "Do I have to talk about this if I want this job? Is it a requirement? Or can I just push the blue legal paper and--"

She seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pry."

"I understand, but it's complicated."

"No problem. You don't have to... Um, hey, it's five minutes to. Come on out at four and we'll get started."
 

She left me standing in the room, feeling awkward and stupid, like one of the victims of the world.
You think you've paid your debt, but you haven't.
 

I went out the door early and shook hands with Oscar. It turned out that Andrea was right: the job was the easiest thing I'd ever done in my life. I learned to clear paper jams, tell people I was sorry when I wasn't, and to sweep the floor. The only challenge was that the four-hour shift seemed endless. Did people really do twice this every day? I couldn't imagine it.
 

After my shift, I went outside to unlock my bicycle. Oscar came out behind me and said "See you tomorrow, dude," in a way that showed he approved of me.

Andrea came out right behind him, her car keys jangling in her hand. "Heading home?"
 

"Yep," I lied. She told me I'd done well enough to earn more hours, if I kept it up. I thanked her and rode away.
 

It wasn't that late, but the streets were empty enough that my ride to Jon's place was almost lonely. I went slow--my clothes were nice if not terribly fancy, but I didn't want to be sweaty and rumpled when I arrived at Jon's. What's more, on the way I passed within two blocks of the house I grew up in, but I didn't detour to see it. My family had left years ago, and I had no interest in looking at an old building full of bad memories.

Approaching Jon's parents' house, the first thing I saw were the lights. Someone had mounted powerful lights on tall stands, which were shining on the crowded sidewalk. There was a cop car with two bored cops inside parked at the corner, and I slowed my approach. It didn't look like the party had moved into the street...

Once I got closer, I saw that the lights were plugged into outlets on the sides of news vans. And a surprising number of the people out on the streets were in wheelchairs, or pulled oxygen tanks behind them. I hopped the curb and rode the sidewalk on the far side of the street, behind the news vans and far from the house. How could I have thought these people milling around in the lights were party-goers? Many were in obvious pain, and they turned resentful, desperate expressions toward Jon's house.
 

I chained my bike to a tree, listening to a reporter interviewing a woman in a wheelchair. Both sounded weary and more than a little frustrated.
 

As I clicked the lock shut, I felt something strange, something I'd never felt before in my life. There was something wrong with this tree, but I had no idea what it was. I touched the bark and felt, among the rough exterior, that someone had carved something into it. A shape or a design that I couldn't make out because it lay in the shadow of the news lights.
 

I didn't know what to make of it, so I moved away. Further along the sidewalk, standing in the shadow of another, larger tree, was a small figure. At first glance I thought it was a homeless person, although I'm not sure why. Bulky clothes made it hard to guess if it was a man, woman or kid, but I didn't trust the way they stood there, watching.

The reporter was ending the interview, although the woman seemed to want to repeat her grievances all over again. I moved toward the house, noting the sign on the front yard that read P
RIVATE
P
ROPERTY
! T
RESPASSERS
WILL
BE
SUED
! Down the block, a bald bowling ball of a man started shouting about God and his wife and whether the one was going to the other before her time. I heard the distinctive sound of cops slamming their car doors shut.