Close Encounters (11 page)

She wondered if she should just move to another lounge, one slightly more populated, where the boy—if he had the inclination to engage her—might find interest in someone else. When he ran by her, he turned his head back and flashed a grin at her, his dark shiny eyes almost devoid of white, his skin the color of soft caramel, a color that made her hands seem the color of chalk. Although she could not fathom what he was doing here alone at this time of night, Elise had neither the interest nor the energy to find out. At forty-two, she felt it was not her job to worry about other people's children, particularly when she and Adam had made the mature, albeit gut-wrenching decision, many years ago to have none of their own.

When the boy came near again Elise busied herself, retying her grey-blond hair tightly into a bun and checking her smooth, youthful face, the result of good genes and weekly spa appointments, in her compact. She scrolled through the telephone list on her cell phone, looking for Adam's number. She felt the boy looking at her and became slightly uneasy at the prospect of his unpredictability. She noticed an airport employee stroll down the walkway and felt relief pour through her body as the little boy ran off toward him. The boy mocked the cadence of the employee's walk, a slow swagger that the boy exaggerated with much machismo. Elise's stomach quickly knotted as the employee continued past without acknowledgment that this mimicking, small child was seemingly unattended in a cavernous airport at close to five in the morning.

Perhaps the employee thought the boy was hers—a somewhat illogical conclusion, she felt, as it should be obvious that the boy was not hers. Or was it? They were the only people populating this section of the airport; the others on her flight had claimed their baggage and dispersed quietly, leaving two unlikely travelers—herself and the boy—forever linked by proximity, or at least until she found his parents, guardians, whoever was irresponsible enough to let him run around the airport alone at this time of night. Perhaps, she considered, although not very sympathetically, the boy's mother was a janitor or ticket agent and this was her only option for childcare.

“You need help with your bags?”

He stood before her now, his small hand already grasping the handle of the largest suitcase. He was dressed in the casual, lackadaisical way that children are, his shirt coming out of his pants in the back, a shoelace untied and flattened on the end, an undetermined stain near his knee. She steadied the edge of the suitcase toward her, moving her foot against the side.

“I'm not going anywhere just yet,” she answered.

“What about then?”

“Well, I'm sure my husband will be able to help me, but thanks anyway.”

“Where's he?”

“My husband? He'll be along shortly.”

“When?”

“Umm, very soon, I suppose. He's supposed to pick me up. Umm, are you here with your parents?”

“No.”

“Who are you here with, then?”

“Where did you go?”

“Well, I just got back from Tokyo, but… I don't understand what you're doing here at the airport. It's nearly five in the morning.”

“What's your name?”

“Listen, why don't you come with me to the security office? I don't think you should be here by yourself.”

“I'm not by myself. What's your name?”

“What's your name?”

“Shawn. What's yours?”

“Elise.”

He sat down next to her, swinging his legs and looking intently at her luggage.

“You got so much stuff…how long you gone?”

“A few weeks. I had to set up an office for our company there.”

“What do you do?”

“Management stuff. It's hard to explain, really.” She shook her head. “I'm incredibly tired, and I'm still don't understand why you're here by yourself.”

“I'm not here by myself; I'm with you.”

“Right now you are, yes, but I'm leaving soon. And I don't want you to be here by yourself when my husband comes for me.”

“I won't be. Then he'll be with us.”

“Shawn, I'm really too tired for this. I want to help you, but you have to help me. OK?”

“I'm trying to help you, Elise.” He pointed his chin into his chest with an air of childish exasperation.

“Good. Then let's go to the security office.”

“But what if your husband shows up?”

“I doubt he'll leave just because I'm not right here.”

“He left you before, didn't he?”

“What did you say?” She turned toward him.

“He left before, right? ‘Cause our flight was delayed.”

“What do you mean, our flight?”

“I was on the flight with you.” He smiled, his teeth large and awkward and white. They reminded Elise of her own teeth when she was younger, particularly the slightly crooked incisor that had sometimes still pinched the inside of her lip.

“I don't remember you on the flight…” She trailed off, although it was certainly possible, she supposed. “What were you doing in Tokyo?”

“It's hard to explain, really.” He fluttered his eyelashes, mocking her.

“Is your family coming to pick you up, Shawn? Your father?”

“He left.”

“What do you mean? He left the airport?”

“All the men leave.” He turned to her and spoke softly. “You know what I mean?”

“I do?” She sat back in her seat, not sure whether to be shocked or amused. She wondered whether she had a dollar in her wallet—perhaps she could bribe Shawn away with the promise of a candy bar from the kiosk over at the baggage claim.

“Did your father leave you?” He twisted back and forth in his seat, his feet in the air. It was such a strange assumption to make, yet she supposed his home life could color his world view that all homes were inherently unstable. “Is that why you're so sad?”

“Did your father leave you?” She decided to change the subject.

“Yep. He drank a lot, had another woman on the side, and he used to beat me when he came home at night for next to nothing.” He yawned and looked at her, looking suddenly older, sinister, his cavernous mouth threatening to swallow her. “He was a big, fat liar. And you hated him for it, didn't you?”

Elise sat up straight in her chair. She told herself she was dreaming, even as she remembered suddenly the way her father would walk through the house, heavy, unbalanced, ready to pick a fight with whatever or whoever happened to be in his path. Elise married Adam because he wasn't like her father, who was impressionable and weak and emotional. She picked up her cell phone and hit the redial button.

Perhaps too unemotional. Adam, she meant. But she would not think these thoughts about Adam tonight, even as she was tired, even as he was next-to-impossible to reach during her three weeks in Tokyo, even when accounting for international time. She often had these thoughts around these times, times when she traveled long distances or worked long hours or felt the press of the week against her, those little thoughts that crept in and mocked, questioned, feared, angered. She turned and, to her disappointment, Shawn was still beside her, a living entity, as much as she tried to will him away.

“Do you want a candy bar?” she asked him, offering a carefully folded dollar bill. “I saw a newsstand over in baggage claim.”

“Naw—what if your husband shows up and needs help carrying all these bags?”

“We'll be fine. And he won't come just yet. I can't even get him to answer the phone.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know.”

“Maybe he's sleeping.”

“Maybe. You think I should get a cab?”

“I don't know, Elise. You're the adult. I'm just a little kid.”

“You're right, and that's why I need to find your parents—you can't be here all by yourself.”

“I'm with you, Elise.” He shrugged. “I already told you.”

She sighed. She could rid herself of Shawn if only she didn't have so much baggage. She could slip away into the ladies room or head to the bar and bide her time, ordering a drink to calm her nerves. She wondered whether he would make a scene, refuse to retreat, wait for her to be alone again, vulnerable, before attaching himself to her. She glanced sideways. He looked at her, unblinkingly, waiting for her to speak.

She knew she was responsible for him. But until when? She couldn't just leave him when Adam showed up, could she? His situation needed addressing; it would not go away because Adam showed up, showed up with a damn good excuse as to why he wasn't at the airport to pick her up or take her phone calls. No, none of it would go away, the late hours, the flowers sent to work, the ones that smelled like guilt, the missed dinners, the folded bits of paper snatched from the night table, crumpled in pants pockets with cryptic numbers and dates. The things that seemed so obvious when they happened to other's lives but were vague and mysterious when they happened in one's own life.

“She was half his age, almost,” Shawn said, running his finger alongside the gleaming edge of her suitcase. “What was he thinking? My mama said men ain't no good. She said men are liars, jerks. You can't trust any of them. Is that him?”

“Who? Adam? Adam is nothing like your father,” Elise said sharply. “He would never have an affair, and certainly not with a younger woman. And I don't think it's any of your business. What kind of woman is your mother, talking to you about these kinds of things?”

“Is that him over there?” Shawn pointed his finger toward a man in his fifties dressed in a cableknit sweater and chinos. “Is what I meant.”

“No.” She averted her eyes downward. “That's not him. He's in a bit better shape—he's a runner. But your mother, where is she now?”

“I don't know; where's your husband?”

“It doesn't matter where my husband is! But it's not what you're thinking, I can tell you that. Adam and I have been married for fifteen years, twice your age, probably. He's been very good to me. Don't you think I would know if he were cheating on me? And my father was a good man as well. Besides, I can take care of myself. I'm not someone who needs pity. I'm sick to death of having this conversation with you, Shawn, really I am.” She stood up. “Come on. You're going to help me with my bags because we're going to the security office and we're going to find whoever is responsible for you.”

They walked silently through the terminal. The truth of it was, she hadn't thought of her father in years. When she married Adam, she had closed the book on everything she had been taught, up to that point, about men and women. Adam was respectful and fair and kept his emotions to himself, and that had been a plus. Or maybe she had demanded it. She could not remember how the situation evolved over the years. These questions always seemed to pop up during these times, these odd hours—the whats and the hows of getting to this point, this situation, and along with it the hurts, the uncertainties, that she had managed to overlook.

She cast a glance at Shawn, who struggled mightily with her larger carry-on, throwing the full weight of his body forward, even if his expression showed no indication of it. His placid face reminded her of her mother's when Elise's father was drunk at their parties, telling a whopper of a story—an outright lie—about some patent he had for carousing nuclear energy for automobiles, how Detroit was trying to steamroll him into dumping the project or selling it to them for a fraction of what it was worth.
They've ruined my credit!
he would insist as Elise's mother calmly moved the whiskey decanter back to the bar.
They'll beat down an ordinary man so they can charge your hide when the oil stops pumping
.

At the sight of the security office ahead Elise cleared her thoughts.

“Finally we're going to resolve this,” she spoke to Shawn. “Please tell the security officers where your family is, OK?”

“You're my family,” Shawn protested. “You're trying to get rid of me. I'll tell them you said I was bad and that you are going to leave me here.”

“That is most certainly untrue.” Elise glared at him. For all her help, for stopping to notice him, despite her reluctance, he was going to be difficult. “They can look through my bags and conclude there's nothing of yours in them.”

“You tried to leave me with my stuff in Tokyo, but I got on the plane.” Shawn looked up at Elise with tearful eyes and grabbed her hand. “Please don't leave me here, Mommy. I'll be good—I swear. I'll tell them I live at 1028 Jonesbrook Way with you.”

“And I'll tell them you—you just read it off my luggage tags. It's simple enough to do.” Elise moved away. “They'll know right away you're a con man.”

“I'll tell them your name is Elise, and my father's name is Adam!” Shawn stamped his feet. “I live at 1028 Jonesbrook Way. I was in Tokyo with you while you were on business. Why are you trying to leave me, Mommy?”

“Look—I'm finished with these games.” Elise shook her head and tucked her purse and laptop under her arm. “I just flew in from Tokyo; this situation must be rectified because I need to find my husband, and I need to get home.”

She stopped before a ladies room and pondered going in, leaving Shawn with most of her luggage. If he wanted to rob her, if that was his intention—if that's what filthy nine-year-old con men did, then she was prepared to let him walk away with her Dolce and Gabbana suits, her perfumes, her jewelry. She saw herself situated in a stall with her laptop and purse, feeling the rush of anger flush her cheeks. She had been robbed of other things, more valuable things. Her childhood taken by her draining, alcoholic father, who was always one patent away from repairing earlier disappointments. Her childbearing years lost as Adam had told her on several occasions that there was a history of schizophrenia in his family and he wanted to pass his genes no further. Her intimacy with other women robbed as her mother's wall of protection left her impervious to the damage Elise's father wrought but unavailable to anyone else.