Tales of the City 08 - Mary Ann in Autumn

as soon as they rounded the bend. They were hugging the side of the mountain now. There were sheer granite cliffs above and below them, and only a stone wall—two feet high at the most—separated the right-hand lane from certain death. On the serpentine descent she saw places in the wall where the stones were missing or the mortar had been crudely patched, obviously because some poor soul hadn’t heeded the warning sign, or was too drunk to notice. Her leg stiffened against phantom brakes as a warbling groan escaped from the back of her throat through clenched teeth.
    “For God’s sake,” said Michael. “Stop with the Indian war chant.” He pointed out the window. “Look! There’s Tahoe.”
    Ben, to her horror, actually turned his head to admire the view, and she was certain she could feel the car veer in the same direction. “Ben … please don’t do that.”
    “Then you look,” said Michael. “You’re missing it.”
    “I see it. It’s beautiful.”
    “You’re not even looking.”
    “I am, Mouse! Mountains, lake, snow … oh Jesus Fucking Christ!”
    A huge, sooty Safeway truck was thundering toward them around the bend. As it passed with a ghastly whoosh, she closed her eyes and stopped breathing altogether.
    “You’re being silly,” Michael told her like a scolding parent. “And you’re not making it any easier for Ben.”
    “I know.” She was completely mortified now. She’d always had a thing about cliffs—even before that horrific day with Norman—but she had never before exposed to it so blatantly. Maybe that was because her acrophobia had offered an acceptable outlet for the panic that had been brewing in her for days. The terror in the pit of her belly was less about the altitude than, well, the terror in the pit of her belly.
    “It’s almost over,” Ben assured her. “It’s always a little creepy the first time.”
    Tell me about it, she thought.
    A S M ICHAEL HAD PROMISED, THEY reached the valley floor in a matter of minutes. Mary Ann was relieved to be done with her vertigo, but she’d expected more for her suffering than the free-range commerce that had suddenly blossomed along the highway: hot tubs displayed in parking lots, spangly billboards for nightclub acts, “cyber chalets” strung with icicle lights. Not exactly honky-tonk, but not that far from the outskirts.
    “Are we there yet?” she asked, hoping the answer was no.
    Michael parried her query with one of his own. “Don’t you wanna stop and buy a chainsaw sculpture?”
    He was enjoying this, she realized. As long as she’d known him he’d made a game out of toying with her expectations, building suspense for what lay ahead. He was like an annoying little kid leading a blindfolded friend to his secret fort in the woods.
    “You’re not going to tell me a thing, are you?”
    “Just soak it in, babycakes.”
    “I feel like I’m being abducted.”
    “Great. That’s what we’re going for.”
    A green highway sign pointed the way to Pinyon City, but neither Ben nor Michael remarked upon it. This smaller road led them through a cluster of houses with suburban-looking street signs and seasonal flags flying over the garages. Within minutes, however, the houses had disappeared and they were cruising through a broad, seemingly unpopulated valley. The meadows on both sides of the road were vast and already dusted with snow; the mountains in the distance imposing but somehow incapable of menace. They embraced her, in fact, made her feel safer than she’d felt in weeks.
    She remembered a magazine called Christmas Ideals that her grandmother had sent her every year when she was a little girl back in Cleveland. It was sturdier than most magazines, and glossy, and inside there were poems printed on scenes from nature. If she were to see one today, she would probably find it corny, but back then her easy childish heart had soared at the sight of those snow-laden pines and starlit valleys.
    Ideals had been the ideal name, she realized, since what the magazine had offered was the sweet reassurance that life could not be improved upon. A pristine landscape was perfection itself; it was only when you added people that everything changed.
    Maybe that’s why she was feeling so peaceful.
    There was no one around. Anywhere. And the world was fading to white.
    “Where did everybody go?” she asked.
    “Exactly,” said Ben.

Chapter 18
Unclean Urges
    J ake was surprised when Anna told him of her plans for the