At The Edge

18

''If you won't go to the emergency room, then at least come and sleep on the couch in my house. If you feel worse during the night, we can take you in."

They were parked in the Mercedes outside the Palmer Inn after filing a report with the police and then another session with the sheriff, who'd been angry when Dan told him they had checked out Corey Schneider and her alibi without talking to him.

"My adrenaline is pumping," Maria said. "I don't think lean sleep."

"Then you'll come," Dan said, starting the engine.

"You're forgetting something. My suitcase is in my room."

"Forget it. I still have the same toothbrush you used last time. The pj's you wore are cleaned. You're all set. I'll drop you off back here in the morning on my way to work."

"I have a favor to ask."

"What?"

"Are you not sleepy, either?" she asked.

"Not really. Not after all that. But it's eleven o'clock, and I have to try to get to sleep at least by midnight."

"So we have an hour."

"Yeah? What are you thinking?"

"Show me Tess's grave."

"What? Are you nuts?"

"I want to see it. And I want you to take me there."

"It's dark. And…"

"Many cemeteries are lit at night. Isn't this one?"

"Well, I think so. Some."

"Then take me."

"Not tonight. Some other time."

"What, you think I'm going to be stopping regularly for this?"

"Why do you want to go there? You never even knew her."

"You did. You been there?"

"You know I haven't."

"Frankly, it's Nate I'm thinking about. If you can't go there yourself, you won't be taking him there."

"What is it with you and visiting graves?"

She didn't answer.

"You think I have some emotional hang-up, that I’m not grieving, or something."

She said nothing, just looked straight ahead.

"You're all beat-up. It makes no sense to go right now, in the middle of the night."

"Say no and stop with the arguing if you won't take me. You don't owe me an explanation."

"Damn, you're stubborn."

"I believe the cemetery is to the left up here. True?"

Dan pulled the wheel around and the tires squeaked as the car went left toward the cemetery. He didn't know what this would prove. He was reluctant, but many healthy people didn't go to graves. He took a deep breath. This was no big deal and it would make her happy.

There were soft low lights around the cemetery and along the paths, just enough so that visitors could find their way. A big sign said the gates would be locked at midnight and the lights turned off. He pulled in by the gate and stopped the car.

"You should go by yourself," she said. It seemed that everybody but him thought he should go to the cemetery. Lynette, his mother, everybody who knew him, thought it, in one form or another. They thought he should make his peace with Tess's death. Or maybe it was that he should face it. Without saying anything, he got out of the car and began walking. He knew exactly where it was.

Sitting down on the grass next to the stone marker, he stared at the engraving: tess young-beloved wife of dan young and mother of nathaniel. What did he want to say to her? He closed his eyes and imagined her as he had seen her last: Nathaniel clinging to her leg, his cheek against her thigh; her eyes laughing at him as she explained that she wanted to steal him away to a desert island, where they would live off coconuts. It was almost as if she were right there in front of him.,

And before he knew what was happening, Dan began talking, the words pouring like water through a burst dam. "I loved to listen to your heartbeat. I remember how it felt when you put your hand on my face, what your eyes did when they looked into mine." On and on, he recounted his memories.

If she were here, what would she say? She had a practical side to her. "Can you find something new, something different?" she'd ask.

In his mind he searched the face of his dead wife, for some sorrow, some torment, some anguish of soul, but found none. "How do I accept this loss?"

She was someplace far away, or no place. If she were here, what could she say?

"I don't want to hope," he said aloud. He smacked his palm with his fist and rocked. "I don't want to hope for another you. I'm angry, and I don't want to hope."

The car was parked near a streetlamp, and away from the deep shadows. Maria looked out at a large white Victorian structure that served as the funeral home. Down its sides ivy had been strung on trellises, and grown vigorously, forming luxuriant green carpets, making it seem more a place for the living than the dead. But for the frogs and the crickets, it was silent.

She reasoned that having just been attacked, she would not be assaulted again-for the moment. The logic was only slightly reassuring. Under ordinary circumstances Maria would have preferred not sitting alone on a dark street after just being assaulted. Additionally, there was her throbbing jaw and accompanying headache, not to mention the anguish from her bruised ribs. She would tell none of this to Dan Young.

It was midnight when she saw him coming down the path. He had been gone a long time. She unlocked the car, grateful for the company but nervous, not knowing what to expect.

He got in the car, looking completely composed.

"Well, I did it." He turned to her, looking so relaxed it seemed odd.

"There is something I always wanted to tell her. But never did."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"I don't know." He sat silent for a time. "After we'd been married maybe three years, there were still other women I would think about. Of course everybody thinks about other people. But I just… you know… would think about the possibilities."

"I understand."

"And I knew there was this certain closeness that Tess and I never had. So one night in bed, I held her close and I formed this mental image. It was like a mental game and I had to concentrate very hard. I imagined a big beautiful casket with a clear glass top. It sat over a hole in the ground. Tess and I were in the casket together. They closed it. Standing around was everyone we knew, especially the women I thought about. It was hard to focus on those women, to see their faces, to look into their eyes as we were being lowered. But I concentrated and in my imagination I made their faces clear. And the crowd waved and the other women threw flowers. And then they all slowly disappeared. You with me so far?"

"I'm with you."

"This hole in the ground was like the Alice-in-Wonderland hole because it had no bottom. In my mind it came out in this Garden of Eden. And we were going there for the night. Just the two of us. So once I had watched everybody disappear, I began concentrating on Tess. My fingers were on her back, lightly, her body tight against mine. I'd say in my mind over and over, 'Just the two of us, just the two of us.' Every millimeter of my body was taken up with sensing her.

"Now when this was going on in my head I never said a word; I only held her and let my fingers run over her back. The first time I did it, she cried, happy tears, and asked me what I was doing. I said: 'Does it feel different?' She said, 'It's the most wonderful thing I've ever felt. What were you thinking about?'

"And I said, 'Just the two of us.' She said, "That's all?' I told her I was concentrating on a particular mental image. 'What's the image?' she asked.

''And I waited a minute. Then I said, 'If I tell you, maybe it won't work.' I didn't want to get into explaining about the other women. And the looking in their eyes and watching them disappear. Or maybe I thought it would sound too crazy. I think I thought if we talked about it, then it might not work. Anyway, I promised that I would tell her sometime. And it was our anniversary coming up. We had agreed that I would tell her. I'd done this little meditation quite a bit by then and it was as close to magic as I'll ever come. I know it sounds dumb.''

"No, no. God no. It doesn't sound dumb at all. But you didn't tell her?"

"I never had a chance. Our anniversary was the day she died. And on that day I knew I should go and pick up Nate. I knew it. It was my turn. And if I had…"

"And you've been thinking about that."

''I lie in bed at night and try to get back that picture of me and her together in the glass-topped casket. Just me and her. But ever since the day she died, I can't. I can only think I should have gone to get Nate. And she would be alive."

"I'm sure she knew even if she didn't understand. She knew that you were pushing the others out of your heart and leaving room only for her."

"I can't get her back even in my head." His voice didn't crack until the last word. Then he wept the most profound sobs she had ever witnessed. "I can't get her back."

Overwhelmed by his sorrow, she forgot who he was, who she was, the many expectations that imprisoned them both. She wrapped her arms around his head and held him.

Back at the house they each took a sofa in the family room. After Maria had changed into her now-official nightwear for these sleep-overs, she returned to find him trying to put sheets on the couch.

"A sleeping bag worked fine," she said.

"Well, that was when we had a tent," he joked, looking at the lumpy sheets.

"Here, I'll help you fold them back up and we can get the sleeping bags."

As they were folding, she looked at him and smiled.

"My face must look horrible."

''Just a little bruised. Probably doesn't look nearly as bad as it feels."

"Forget calling the scientists. I want to go to L.A. tomorrow. We can take Nate. He can stay at my parents' with my mother while we're at the university. We should get out of here and take stock."

"Your mother?" He looked shocked.

"You have gotten the idea that my parents are dead. I called her from here the other night. My mother and I are best friends."

"What about the log cabin, and the dishwater that froze before it hit the ground, and the cross-country skiing, and all of that?"

"It's true. I lived in a cabin in the far north."

"Where were your parents?"

"Where they've always been. I went to Alaska after college. I got out of high school two years early and got my undergraduate degree in three years."

''Well, what are your parents like? What's your dad do?''

"You're trying to place my family on the old socioeconomic ladder, huh?"

"You a little touchy about it?"

''Actually, I am. What I tell you about myself stays strictly between you and me. Got it?'' She stepped toward him with the sheet and found her finger pointing at his nose.

"I got it," he said.

"My dad's a wealthy businessman. So now you know."

Dan started chuckling. "Well, I'll be damned. And you had a falling-out?"

''It all started one day when we were watching a football game. We did that a lot, my daddy and me. I was just about to graduate from Stanford. He was taking an unusually long time pouring his drink. I remember he was wearing a golf shirt with a little polo emblem on it that I got him when I was shopping near school. Funny what you remember. Anyway, he turns around, looks at me, and says, 'I have the law school picked out.'

"I said, 'I hope it's Yale because I think I'll get accepted.'

" 'It's Boalt Hall. I don't want you all the way on the East Coast. If we're spending my money,' he said. Well, you know about my temper. And he had been a little overbearing in recent times and there was this edge between us. It felt like a situation that could explode. I looked at him and said, 'Did you say, "spending my money"?' And there were a few more words about money and control and I got up and walked out and packed my backpack. Skipped the graduation ceremony. And flew to Alaska. On my way out the door, I heard my mother talking to my father. It was the only time in my life I have ever heard her use a four-letter word."

"What did she say?"

"She said, 'This time, dear, I think you really fucked up.' I had friends in Alaska, a married couple, in Fairbanks."

Fairbanks was twenty degrees below zero on the November night that Maria arrived. Fortunately, she had the presence of mind to shop in Anchorage and get outfitted with insulated boots, gloves, a parka, and heavy sweaters. Even with all the trappings, the cold still cut through her, made her bones ache, and pretty much pushed her indoors every moment she could get near heat. Standing only moments in the still night air, she took a cab to 2640 Lambert. It was a nice house, Sam Nehi was the manager of a wholesale petroleum outfit, the head of the local office, and Margi, his wife, was a homemaker. They welcomed Maria with open arms.

Quickly she found a cabin and a job tending huskies for a man named Cotter, whose hobby was racing dog sleds. Her cabin was near the dogs, their yelping, their smell, their food, and their droppings. It was 22'xl4', all one room, no running water, a good woodstove, kerosene lanterns, an outhouse if you could stand it, a bucket if you couldn't.

There was a sturdy pine table, four chairs, a small sofa, and a brass bed, with a mediocre mattress. Oddly, she found it satisfactory.

Within two weeks she had enrolled in a correspondence law school. In the mornings she tended the dogs, exercised them, groomed them, doctored them, and fed them. Afternoons and evenings she studied.

Cotter was a good man, ran his own feed store, and was greatly amused at the sprightly, well-educated young woman who came out of nowhere to tend and eventually race his dogs. She could mush the dogs as well as any woman around and was better than most of the men.

Cotter had two homes, one in town where he spent most nights, and one near Maria's cabin at Cotter Hollow. The reason for the town house was that it was not easy to get to Cotter Hollow and once you got there you found nothing but Cotter's compound. In winter, access was by snowmobile and cross-country ski. Unless she was hauling supplies, Maria preferred the skis. It was twenty minutes of hard work to get to the parking lot and the four-wheel-drive Cherokee she ultimately acquired out of her meager wages and some money that her mother required her to accept. Her father wasn't allowed to require anything.

On all the holidays that Maria could get away for, she went home to visit. Barely speaking to her father, she maintained a rigorous chilly formality that thawed by fractions of a degree with each visit. Her mother was dismayed but stayed out of it.

Just after Maria passed the California bar exam, days before she was due to leave Alaska for the offices of Patty McCafferty, something happened. During the almost three years that Maria lived at Cotter Hollow, she had come to know the Prestons. They lived in a beautiful and grand log house situated adjacent to the trailhead to Cotter Hollow, where Maria parked her car in one of Cotter's three garages. Maria, who had a natural affinity for kids, got to know Amy Preston on short winter visits over hot chocolate.

Amy's father was a trapper who never ran a line or stretched a pelt. Her mother called herself Sarah Preston (although her native name was different and mostly unpronounceable) and was a successful weaver who made custom blankets that were really art.

Maria arrived several times a week at the Preston home on her skis. In front of Cotter's nearby garage, she would remove her skis, load them onto her Jeep Cherokee and — with a heater efficient enough to raise the temperature slightly above freezing on a cold day — drive to Fairbanks with something less than a certain conviction that she would make it.

Passing the Preston house day after day on her way to town, Maria became familiar with the place: when the lights came on in the morning and went off in the evening, that Thursday was garbage day, that Mr. Preston heated the engine blocks on the cars at about 6:00 on those mornings when he wasn't alcoholically incapacitated, that Mr. Preston usually shoveled snow on Saturdays when the inebriation exception didn't apply — and in that event he waited until Sunday.

Eventually she got to know Mrs. Preston and her beautiful blankets, and the story of Mr. Preston before he became a morose drunk. One late evening, as she passed by the Pres-tons', she noticed the house dark except for a shimmering strange light in the windows. And she thought she heard a cry. Shuffling closer on her skis, she became certain of the sound and rushed to the front steps.

There by the side of the steps, frozen solid in a dirty T-shirt, bottle still clenched in an icy hand, was Mr. Preston — stone dead. She threw off her skis and dashed to the heavy oak front door. It was locked. Through the window she saw that the dancing light was a roaring fire. Maria took a flying leap through the living-room window; protected by her thick parka, she landed on the inside floor unscathed.

"Is anyone here?" she screamed.

Amy appeared at the top of the stairs, shaking and screaming long screams, her hair wild and mussed, holding out her arms as if she wanted to be picked up. The stairway was an inferno. Unlocking the front door, Maria ran back outside, only to be chased by flames looking for oxygen. Hoping to contain the fire, she slammed the door. A ladder, a tree, she couldn't think. There was no way up. Over the front porch was a slanted roof, above that roof a window. There was no way to make it to the roof. "God help me," she muttered, desperate, the little girl's face filling her mind.

Then she saw her semifaded red Cherokee. Running through the knee-deep snow on the walkway, she made it to the Jeep, jumped in, and drove for the front porch. Pushing the wheels up the steps, she drove until the front end of the vehicle was a foot from the front door. By climbing onto the top of the Jeep cab, she was able to pull herself atop the porch roof and dive through a window into the master bedroom.

Flames were everywhere. Her parka caught fire and she yanked it off while staying flat on the floor. Crawling forward, she found the door, the hallway, the top of the stairs. Amy lay unconscious, the smoke thick and dirty. Maria hadn't bothered to breathe and was running out of air. Grabbing the little girl, she got out of the house by leaping from the second story into a snow bank. But not before a falling timber had caught her midriff and burned in a permanent six-inch scar across her belly.

"I showed you mine," Dan said as she completed her story. They had bedded down on the two family-room couches that nearly converged in an L shape. His head was a couple feet from hers.

"What do you mean?"

"I spilled my guts; you should show me your scar so I can tell you it isn't a big deal."

"I'm not showing you my scar."

"You want to."

"Go to sleep, Dan."

They were in the bowels of a USC science lab in the section devoted to zoology. The large, somewhat haphazard work space lay under a maze of old pipes wrapped in something that looked like plaster-cast material. Evidently, the bat people weren't graced with the best digs. Dr. Michael Sanford welcomed them into his office and brought out the photos.

"We'll start with the bat. There are about one hundred species of bats that we know of. Nearly one quarter of all mammal species worldwide are bats." His eyes glistened with enthusiasm. "Bats belong to the order Chiroptera. But they defy generalization because their dietary habits and habitats vary so widely. Now this fellow here looks like a hoary bat. Notice I said 'looks like.' He isn't quite. Coloring around the neck is a little different. I had to do quite a bit of comparing to figure that out. Almost classifies as a subspecies. It's always exciting to find something new." He sighed and took off his glasses. "I don't suppose you know where I could get a carcass?"

"No," Dan said. "If you knew they were in a particular area, would you know how to find them?"

"Oh yes. They live in trees, come out at night, and feed on insects. Any relative would be very interesting, especially if its behavior differed."

"Do they ever come out during the day?"

"Never. Unless you kick them out of the tree, but then they'll go immediately to another and roost again."

''Anything odd about this one other than this neck color?''

''Not that I can see. But there could be all kinds of things if we actually had a carcass."

"What about the math? And these chemical equations?"

"You know, these pages are electro-chemical equations on one side and quantum neural mechanics on the other. The chemistry and applied math seem completely unrelated. I showed this around to some chemistry professors and applied math men. The fellow who did this math in the photo is expert in artificial intelligence. The math guys got a kick out of it, wrote a sort of informal memo for me. Here it is," he said, handing it to Dan with a wink. "You can read it later, when you're having trouble falling asleep." Dan folded it up and put it in his pocket. "Enjoy," the professor said. "I hope it helps. It's written for a layman. Sort of. The gist of it is that this guy was doodling in quantum mathematics. The man who wrote this equation has a theory that quantum mathematics is the best model for describing intelligence or artificial intelligence if you were trying to replicate what a mammal does. The same math we use for describing the universe. In layman's terms we could say it's a richly descriptive language for that purpose. Whoever did this was interested in quantum neural dynamics, otherwise known as quantum consciousness. You want me to explain that?"

"Yes, please."

"Using Hilbert math or quantum math, we can better describe thoughts because a thought may be more than the sum of its parts. A thought is the sum total of a pattern of neural firing. In traditional math a thought could never be more than the sum of its parts. Not so with quantum neural mechanics. In that realm the sum of the parts could be much more than the whole. Hence, a thought. Or thoughts about a thought. Or, for a nonhuman mammal, an image associated with a feeling. You're furrowing your brow. Read the paper. It'll help. We can simplify for our discussion. Judging from what we see here, we can assume this fellow was very interested in solving some riddle about brains."

"How could bats relate to all this?"

"Any evidence of bats behaving strangely?"

Maria and Dan looked at one another. "You say that bats never fly in the daytime. We observed one do just that."

"So the person who wrote this equation may have been a specialist in mammalian neural networks. In the context of your situation, perhaps he was pondering bat behavior. He may have been a zoologist who knew a lot about neural networks and this was just some of his chicken scratch. Thinking on paper, so to speak. Contemplating odd bat behavior would be consistent with his training."

"If he was a zoologist with a picture of this bat, he would have been interested in the new species aspect as well."

"Anybody in that line of work would."

''If this is a bat that's merely like a hoary bat, is it possible that it flies around in the daylight?"

"It would be the only known bat species that does that and it would be terribly fascinating."

"So if the scientific community knew of a forest habitat where they could find a colony of these bats, what would happen?"

"Army of zoologists, that's what. You don't know of such a forest, do you?"

"No. We saw one bat flying in the daylight."

"Where?"

"You don't want to go there," Maria said.

"Try me."

"No way. Now what about the chemistry?"

"I'll call my colleague. He's standing by in his office." While they waited, the professor told them all about bats, more than they expected to hear, and tried to wheedle information about the location of their bat sighting. They remained firm. About fifteen minutes later the chemistry professor showed up. He reminded Dan of Jack Nicholson without hair.

"Well, Frank, tell them about the chemistry," Dr. Sanford said after making introductions all around.

"That's fairly easy except you only got a small part of the equation. This is a portion of an equation that I believe describes a process for the conversion of wood fiber into something like an alcohol or a methanol. Unfortunately, you didn't get the interesting part. Nothing in the middle or the end. I'd love to see it. My gut tells me they are on to something new."

"Could it be valuable?"

"Turning wood into liquid gold? Yeah, it could be valuable. How valuable is Saudi Arabia if its wells never run dry? A new process to convert wood to fuel that's cheaper and maybe more efficient and you have something analogous to Saudi Arabia with no end in the oil supply. You can always grow a new tree."

"Does whoever wrote this have such a process?"

"It looks interesting, but I need the rest."

"So all we can discern is that they are turning wood into a fuel, like a petroleum substitute."

"I think you have it."

They were on their way to La Jolla and Maria's parents. Maria's mother had met them at the airport upon their arrival and had taken Nate home while they proceeded to the university. Now Dan couldn't resist asking, "Is there something you haven't told me about all this? You've been nervous all day."

"Like what?"

"Like why a hard-driving businessman would be home in the early afternoon to see a daughter with whom he has only a formal, chilly-I believe that is the word- relationship. Like why you're nervous about it."

"Do I look nervous?" she asked. "You know it's really irritating when you smirk like that. And I said that it was a slowly thawing, chilly relationship."

"What's the matter?" he asked. "

Well, maybe this whole business of taking Nate to the zoo looks a little like something it's not."

"We've gone over that ad nauseam."

"So we have."

"But my parents may not believe we're all business. That we're just doing this to get away from this mess and for Nate."

"So?"

"So my father may want to meet you."

''This is the father whom you barely speak to. Why would you care?"

"It's complicated. We're in the end stage of the fight. The maneuvering stage. So just try to get through it the best you can. I'm debating on going inside by myself to pick up Nate."

"I'm that much of an embarrassment?"

"No. Don't you get it? You represent Jeb Otran. You're fucking perfect. He'll fawn all over you. He'll want to smoke cigars, drink bourbon, and do whatever it is you business guys do when you're sniffing around each other's butts."

"Can't really say as I'm familiar with this butt-sniffing ritual."

"You know what I mean."

''I think you mean you're terrified I'll get along famously with your father, something you can't do, and you'll be mad as hell."

"You could help me out here, you know. Just a quick introduction and explain how anxious you are to get Nate to the zoo."

"Why don't you just tell him I have pink hearts on my boxer shorts? Maybe I've turned gay or something."

"You're going to torture me, aren't you?"

"Maybe not. Say, not to change the subject, but how is your boyfriend, Ross?"

"I think he's fine. We haven't seen each other a lot recently."

"Does he know you're turning lukewarm?"

"Beg pardon?"

"Oh, come on, I thought we were the no-bullshit team."

Maria looked away. "I think he thinks we're just taking a little breather."

"From sleeping together?"

Maria smiled and shook her head as if shocked by the question. "Candor is one thing. Rude is another."

"Well, you can tell me to shut up."

"Good. Shut up."

"Look, it's no big deal, maybe Ross would like to go to the zoo with us."

"Dan?"

"Yes."

"Stop it. We're absolutely clear on what we're about."

"Absolutely clear. So me having a drink with your dad, a little talk, shouldn't hurt anything?"

"That's it. You wait in the car. I'll get Nate."

"Awfully rude, don't you think? Not to say even hello?"

"Please don't do this to me."

"We could make a deal. I won't say anything about us to your dad if you'll tell me about Ross."

"There is no 'us.' "

"Right, and I'll make that perfectly crystal clear if you tell me about Ross."

"It depends on what you want to know."

"He's a biologist, isn't he? Works for the state? What level is he?"

"If you're suggesting my father doesn't like him for his occupation, you're wrong. Even my father isn't quite that crass."

"Why doesn't he like him?"

"Because Ross is a very calm sort of even-tempered guy who doesn't go off the deep end about things. Are you happy?"

"When I've seen him, he sure hasn't been calm."

"I mean about life, not about you."

"You mean he's unambitious."

"You can really be a jerk, you know."

"You've got chutzpah. Your dad probably just wants an even match in a husband."

"You and my dad, with your power trips." She shook her head. "He's gonna love you. So just don't let him get the wrong idea. Please."