Ghost Lights by Lydia Millet (classic fiction txt) 📕

Foraging in the hall closet, he found outdoor supplies left over from camping trips taken in the seventies: a windbreaker, a small bottle of iodine, a safety blanket, a bandage and a lighter. Who knew where he would have to go? It could be anywhere. And he could buy what he needed when he knew what that was, but it pleased him to think he might have an urgent need for these simple objects—objects that in his house, in his disused closet, seemed both commonplace and completely irrelevant. It signaled the possibility of a great departure from his life’s routine.

After that he drank water and black coffee, popped some more aspirin, pet the dog on the head once or twice, heaved the suitcase into the back seat of the rental car and drove to work.

•

He was standing over his deck, parceling out files into separate piles, when Rodriguez came in and asked him where he was going.

“It’s so sudden,” said Rodriguez. “Like, ¿qué pasa, hombre?”

“Family matter. Helping my wife with a problem,” said Hal.

“But like where you headed?”

“Central America. Her employer went down there and now no one can find him. I’m going down to see if I can suss out what happened.”

“Holy shit,” said Rodriguez.

“Yeah well,” said Hal, and picked up a pile. “Here you go. And this stack here is Linda’s. Can you ask her to come in and see me?”

“Oh, man. You gave me all the TDAs, didn’t you.”

“Do your worst.”

“Huh. Going down south,” said Rodriguez, lingering. “You da man.”

“The man. Yes.”

“Palm trees, margaritas, all the sexy señoritas . . . you need a sidekick? Hey! I got vacation days coming too.”

“Thanks for the offer. Think I’ll try flying solo this time.”

“Send us a postcard, homes.”

“Will do.”

He called Casey to say goodbye. He would not talk to her about what he had overheard. She said again that she was glad he was going, that she admired him for following through on what was clearly an irrational impulse.

“I just wouldn’t have thought it,” she said, and he felt a twinge. It occurred to him that she had, for a long dreary time, basically been bored of him, her boring old father, and that this unexpected and sudden turn was possibly a rare opportunity for redemption. Spark-of-life-in-the-old-geezer-yet. “I never would have thought you would take it on. Like, I couldn’t personally do this. I mean, even if I could, I couldn’t. But you know what? I’m glad that you’re stepping up. I’m glad one of us is looking out for him.”

He almost asked why she and Stern were not close anymore. There was a time the two of them had got together almost every weekend. He had assumed the relationship was purely platonic, but that assumption was rooted in fatherhood and, if he had to be honest, also her condition. She would not appreciate a question on the subject. Not in the least.

Anyway he thought of her in the kitchen with Nancy and did not wish to know the details.

After they hung up he was torn: possibly she attributed noble motives to him where there were none, maybe he was lying to her by letting her think this was some kind of generous act. Then again she was not too interested in nobility, as a rule. She was interested in honesty, and also some other quality that sometimes seemed like courage and other times bravado, but she was not interested in altruism; she thought it was beside the point. Maybe she was just relieved to discover he could be spontaneous.

He had to talk to Susan next, there was no helping it. He had to get information from her: contact numbers, addresses, copies of photographs to show around, his travel itinerary. Reluctantly he called her office, praying Robert would not pick up instead.

“I got you a flight out this evening, believe it or not,” she told him, a bit breathless. “The travel agent’s next door. You know, Pam? It was either tonight or early next week.”

“Fine with me,” he said, and waved in Linda, who stood hesitating in his open door. Her frizzy hair descended from her head like a flying buttress, or a wedge not unlike the headdress of the Giza Sphinx.

The effect, sadly, was less regal.

Then he felt a stab of guilt, or sympathy. Both. Linda was a self-effacing, kindly woman. He picked at the flaws of his coworkers because he could never get at his own, he knew they were there but could not easily identify them—save for one, which opened before him like a hole in the very fabric of space, bristling with static. Bad father, father who let them hurt his baby.

It was transparent, but no less a habit for being so obvious.

He felt sorry for all of them, the coworkers and himself. He barely listened to Susan, who seemed to be nattering on about logistics. This lack of attention was a victory of a sort, a victory over her. Or his love for her anyway.

Meanwhile Linda sat down self-consciously in his guest chair, shifting in the seat as she crossed her wide legs.

“Is there a copy of his passport? With the number on it?” he asked Susan, mostly to sound official.

“I’ll look.”

“That would be helpful. Other than that, the hotel, his own itinerary, flights, cars, whatever records you have of the travel. His Social Security, just in case. Business credit-card numbers. All that.”

Linda shuffled her feet back and forth in their sturdy brown shoes and fiddled with her watchband, waiting. He caught her eye and mouthed that he was sorry. The gesture was too intimate for her, however. She looked down, embarrassed.

“I’ll have it ready in a few minutes. You fly out around six, so you should leave the office by four,” said Susan. “You’ll be staying the night in Houston before you do the international leg in the morning. I got you an airport hotel.”

“And you’ll need to return the rental car for me. It’s