little smile.
‘I mean, to give me an award when I already feel so lucky for what I have and what I get to do. I wake up every day thinking
I’ve won the lottery.’ Finally relaxing a bit, Mike glanced at his wife. She was looking back at him with adoration. ‘Because
I have. I mean, my wife, my daughter, steady work that I love.’
Mike glanced down at the podium. ‘And it’s not like building Green Valley was all selfless. It was a paying job.’ Eager to
break the tension, a few people laughed, thinking he was joking. ‘I’m no great environmentalist,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want
my daughter and grandkids to look back at me decades from now and be angry that I didn’t do the right thing.’
Annabel’s new diamond ring glinted, the big rock seeming to sum up how full of shit he was. As if reading his thoughts, she
slid her hands into her lap and looked away, trying to keep her composure. Seeing her upset completely threw him, and for
a moment he lost track of where he was. The silence stretched outuncomfortably as he grasped for words. He almost just came clean, admitted the lie, and walked off to start shoveling his
way out of the hole he’d dug for himself and forty families, but instead he heard himself say, ‘Thank you for this recognition.
I’m honored.’ Annabel closed her eyes, and he saw her heartbeat fluttering the thin skin of her temple. To applause, he stepped
out of the spotlight, touched her gently on her shoulder, and murmured, ‘Let’s go.’
The lights were up now in the dining room, the ceremony over. Mike scanned the space, but there was no sign of William or
the big guy anywhere. He felt ill, his mind racing, his stomach churning from the altercation earlier, from the phony award,
from the way Annabel had averted her gaze when he was up there, as if she couldn’t meet his eye. He wanted to get home, burn
off the night with a scalding shower, and put all this behind them.
A photographer approached: ‘We need you for one more set of pictures—’
‘Sorry,’ Mike said. ‘We really have to be going.’
Nodding curtly at well-wishers, he grabbed Kat’s hand and led her and Annabel to the door, Andrés calling after him, ‘What
the big hurry?’
Kat was beaming. ‘Dad said he built Green Valley for
me
.’
Annabel forced a smile. Mike rushed on, trying to leave Kat’s remark behind. A few guests had trickled outside, but for
the most part the parking lot was empty of people. Gleaming foreign cars and a good number of hybrids. Mike hurried Kat and
Annabel up and down the aisles, searching for that black Mercury Grand Marquis that he’d thought had followed him earlier
in the week.
‘Mike’ – Annabel shifted the award plaque in her arms, nearly dropping it – ‘what’s going on?’
‘Just give me a minute.’
At the far edge of the lot, slant-parked across two spaces, adingy white van stood out distinctly among the sleek vehicles. Wedged between windshield and dash was a torn-open bag of
David’s sunflower seeds. Mike halted twenty or so feet from the van. The driver’s and passenger’s seats were empty, but beyond
them the cabin was dark.
No front license plate.
Mike turned to his wife. ‘Take her, get into the truck, and lock the doors.’
Annabel’s forehead crinkled with concern, but she took Kat and hurried back toward the truck. Though a few more people were
making their way to their cars, here in the farthest row it was dark and still.
Tentatively, Mike circled the van. An old Ford, late-seventies model. Checked drapes covered a high-set rear window, slid
open to a dusty screen. With relief he saw there was a back plate, an old-fashioned California model with a blue background,
the yellow numbers and letters so faded he had to crouch to read their raised outlines – 771 FJK .
The voice came at him, unnervingly close. ‘You let your
wife
go out dressed like that?’
Mike whipped upright. William’s
‘I mean, to give me an award when I already feel so lucky for what I have and what I get to do. I wake up every day thinking
I’ve won the lottery.’ Finally relaxing a bit, Mike glanced at his wife. She was looking back at him with adoration. ‘Because
I have. I mean, my wife, my daughter, steady work that I love.’
Mike glanced down at the podium. ‘And it’s not like building Green Valley was all selfless. It was a paying job.’ Eager to
break the tension, a few people laughed, thinking he was joking. ‘I’m no great environmentalist,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want
my daughter and grandkids to look back at me decades from now and be angry that I didn’t do the right thing.’
Annabel’s new diamond ring glinted, the big rock seeming to sum up how full of shit he was. As if reading his thoughts, she
slid her hands into her lap and looked away, trying to keep her composure. Seeing her upset completely threw him, and for
a moment he lost track of where he was. The silence stretched outuncomfortably as he grasped for words. He almost just came clean, admitted the lie, and walked off to start shoveling his
way out of the hole he’d dug for himself and forty families, but instead he heard himself say, ‘Thank you for this recognition.
I’m honored.’ Annabel closed her eyes, and he saw her heartbeat fluttering the thin skin of her temple. To applause, he stepped
out of the spotlight, touched her gently on her shoulder, and murmured, ‘Let’s go.’
The lights were up now in the dining room, the ceremony over. Mike scanned the space, but there was no sign of William or
the big guy anywhere. He felt ill, his mind racing, his stomach churning from the altercation earlier, from the phony award,
from the way Annabel had averted her gaze when he was up there, as if she couldn’t meet his eye. He wanted to get home, burn
off the night with a scalding shower, and put all this behind them.
A photographer approached: ‘We need you for one more set of pictures—’
‘Sorry,’ Mike said. ‘We really have to be going.’
Nodding curtly at well-wishers, he grabbed Kat’s hand and led her and Annabel to the door, Andrés calling after him, ‘What
the big hurry?’
Kat was beaming. ‘Dad said he built Green Valley for
me
.’
Annabel forced a smile. Mike rushed on, trying to leave Kat’s remark behind. A few guests had trickled outside, but for
the most part the parking lot was empty of people. Gleaming foreign cars and a good number of hybrids. Mike hurried Kat and
Annabel up and down the aisles, searching for that black Mercury Grand Marquis that he’d thought had followed him earlier
in the week.
‘Mike’ – Annabel shifted the award plaque in her arms, nearly dropping it – ‘what’s going on?’
‘Just give me a minute.’
At the far edge of the lot, slant-parked across two spaces, adingy white van stood out distinctly among the sleek vehicles. Wedged between windshield and dash was a torn-open bag of
David’s sunflower seeds. Mike halted twenty or so feet from the van. The driver’s and passenger’s seats were empty, but beyond
them the cabin was dark.
No front license plate.
Mike turned to his wife. ‘Take her, get into the truck, and lock the doors.’
Annabel’s forehead crinkled with concern, but she took Kat and hurried back toward the truck. Though a few more people were
making their way to their cars, here in the farthest row it was dark and still.
Tentatively, Mike circled the van. An old Ford, late-seventies model. Checked drapes covered a high-set rear window, slid
open to a dusty screen. With relief he saw there was a back plate, an old-fashioned California model with a blue background,
the yellow numbers and letters so faded he had to crouch to read their raised outlines – 771 FJK .
The voice came at him, unnervingly close. ‘You let your
wife
go out dressed like that?’
Mike whipped upright. William’s
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