The Weight of Heaven (25 page)

air was glassy and transparent. Ellie and Frank walked in a daze

that autumn, under skies that floated like a blue, fast-moving river

above them. Some days it seemed as if they were standing at the

edge of the earth, barely keeping their balance, about to fall off.

The streets, littered with drying, dying leaves, added to the askew

feeling. The promiscuous trees bled yellow and red and gold with

such an obscene lavishness, it made them blush. Michigan had never

seemed this beautiful or this lonely. They spent hours that fall walking through the littered Ann Arbor streets, hiking on the banks of

the Huron River, following the walking trails at the Arboretum. On

weekends they shunned their friends and took Ellie’s yellow Ford to

nearby campgrounds and slept under the stars, staring at moons that

went from being plump and round, to a silver scratch in the sky. And

inevitably, they made love, made love with such ferocity and passion

that it seemed as if they were engaged in some silent, never-ending

argument. Their lovemaking left them exhausted, hollow-eyed,

spent. They tried to take a break away from each other and found

that they couldn’t. Found that they couldn’t keep their eyes, their

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 7 5

mouths, their hands, away from each other’s bodies, found themselves acting in ways that shocked and embarrassed them.

Ellie blamed it on the weather. She waited for the weather to

turn, for the chill in the air to harden into ice and release them

from this tableau of ridiculous passion that they were stuck in.

Autumn was not a sensible season—it made everybody act a little

intoxicated and loopy. She ignored the fact that her loopiness had

started in June, after she’d met Frank for the second time at Ali

Baba’s and told him she never wanted to see him again. She had

marched off that afternoon full of righteous anger and indignation, but by that night she had felt an ache in her body so acute,

she’d thought she had the flu. And four months later, that ache had

not dissipated. No matter how many hours she spent with Frank,

no matter how many nights they stayed up talking, no matter how

many times they made love, roughly or gently, urgently or languidly, it didn’t seem enough. She still felt thirsty for this man,

ached for his presence in her life.

She had been in love before, and that was why she was so unprepared for this. Blamed it on the weather. Waited for the spell to

break, like a dreamer awakening from a dream. She thought it was

only a matter of time before she’d tire of this man, waited for the

morning he would get out of bed and she would not raise her head

from the pillow to drink in his beauty. Prayed for the day his beautiful, chiseled body—the long, muscular legs with the thin scar on

the left knee, the tight, dimpled buttocks, the heartbreaking curve

of his lower back, the shoulder blades that flared like angel’s wings,

the coiled, animal strength of his long neck, the face that was rescued from an almost feminine loveliness by the saving grace of a

broken nose—would leave her indifferent. But that day was not

yet. Sometimes, when she looked at his naked body she felt a kind

of brusqueness, a violence, an arousal that she’d always imagined

was male. It terrified her, this degree of carnality, this nakedness of

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feeling, this lust, because it defied every notion of what she thought

of as femininity.

Being with Frank made her feel powerful, and it increased all

her appetites. She played Scrabble with more of a killer’s instinct,

laughed and talked louder, even ate larger meals in his presence. She

sat in his living room with her legs uncrossed, letting her lust register in her eyes until she saw it flare in his. Yet there was nothing coy,

nothing about the femme fatale about her behavior. Rather, there

was something egalitarian, clean, about their sexual intimacies. She

often left his apartment in the morning wearing one of his shirts,

smelling him on her body as she drove home, savoring the soreness

of her breasts and vagina, reveling in each scratch or mark that he’d

left on her body. Once in a while, her reaction and thoughts embarrassed her. But for the most part, they didn’t, because nothing she

ever did with Frank cost her her self-respect. If he’d ever suggested

she dress up in a certain way or entertain some stupid boyish fantasy

of his, she would’ve lost interest in him. But he never did. He was

just there, ready to meet her, standing on equal ground, the simple

intensity of his gaze the only sexual aid she needed.

Although she had never been this loopily in love with anyone

before, she convinced herself she had, sifted through the past and

came up with names of boys barely remembered and conferred upon

them an intensity of feeling that she’d never had at the time she was

dating them. David. Sean. Richard. Jose. She told herself she’d been

crazy about each one of them and reminded herself of how abruptly

she’d fallen out of love: David because he’d told her he didn’t see

any need for the Equal Rights Amendment. Sean because he had

farted during the most important scene when they’d rented Bergman’s
Persona
. Jose because he confided that he’d seen
Love Story

twelve times and had the movie memorized. Richard because the

sex had become predictable, boring. She waited for something like

that to happen with Frank, counted the days for autumn to turn into

winter and for the delirium to end, for the fever to break.

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Instead, he asked her to go to New York to meet his brother Scott

in early November. His mother was still living in Grand Rapids at

the time, but he didn’t seem anxious to make that introduction. She

sensed that her meeting Scott was important to Frank and therefore was about to refuse. But what came out of her mouth instead

was a proposal—that if she agreed to drive to New York to meet

his brother, they would stop on the way back to see her family in

Shaker Heights. That way, I won’t feel too guilty not going home

for Thanksgiving, she told him, but the reality was she wanted to

introduce this bewitching man to her older sister, Anne, knowing

that with a few well-chosen, sarcastic words, Anne would help the

scales fall off her eyes.

What she hadn’t counted on was loving Scott. Nothing that she

knew about him—Republican, fan of Reagan, pro-life conservative,

Wall Street banker—could’ve prepared her for that. What she’d

also been unprepared for was the physical resemblance to Frank—

despite Scott’s being a few years older, a little heavier, with darker

hair and a more stolid manner compared to Frank’s catlike sexiness,

there was no question about them being brothers. But what bowled

her over was the protective, almost fatherly manner that Scott had

around Frank. Until she saw how protective Scott was toward Frank,

she had had no idea that Frank had needed protection. It made Ellie

realize that the offhand, bare-bones way Frank had told her about

his family life—dad had left when he was twelve, mom had raised

him and his older brother while running an antique-furniture store

in Grand Rapids—had been a deflection, a way of smoothing over

pain that he was still vulnerable to. For the first time, Ellie asked

herself a dangerous question: could her wild lust for this man ever

be tamed into something as steady and consistent as love?

The trees in Central Park were bare by then, and Ellie felt their

trajectory echoed the path of her relationship with this enigmatic

man. They had met in the full lushness of high summer when the

air was warm and rich, continued their passionate romance through

1 7 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

the mad drunkenness of fall, when the trees themselves were a distraction. But now it was almost winter, and the bare bones of the

universe were already exposed. It was put up or shut up time. She

decided to shut up.

“Why is my favorite Commie so quiet today?” Scott teased as

the three of them walked around the lagoon. “Has she lost her talking points from Chairman Mao’s Red Book? Why the sudden silence?”

She hit him on the shoulder. Hard. Three days with Scott, and

already he felt like family. “Who can get a word in edgewise when

the Benton brothers are together?” she said. “And when it’s so damn

cold that you can see the words freeze as they come out of your

mouth?”

And then it happened. As soon as Ellie admitted to being cold,

both men, one on either side of her, instinctively moved closer, and

each put his arm around her. They all laughed, Frank and Scott in

embarrassment, Ellie in delight. She suddenly felt like she was a

little girl again, crawling into bed on cold Cleveland nights, snuggling under a comforter with Anne. To make sure they did not pull

away from her, she threw one hand around each man’s waist, keeping them close to her. Frank turned and kissed her on the top of

her head. “Thanks.” She smiled and he smiled back, and the scene

froze, became one of those perfect, cherished moments where the

brain takes a snapshot and files it for later use.

It was a new feeling, tenderness. It scared her, made her doubly

glad that they were leaving for Cleveland, where her big sister would

turn her skeptical eye on her newest boyfriend and bring her to her

senses. This relationship with Frank had already gone on too long,

she decided. She had just started her doctoral degree, which was

going to need all her attention. It was never advisable to start a new

relationship while working on a Ph.D, everyone knew that. The

future that she had envisioned held no room for a man whose real

shape, the depth of his childhood hurt, was only now beginning to

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 7 9

emerge. The day after the walk in Central Park she had woken early

and decided to fix herself a bowl of cereal. But Scott was already in

the kitchen, making them all French toast, and there was nothing

to do but pull up a bar stool and offer to beat the eggs for him. And

before she knew it, he was talking to her in that soft, deep voice of

his, thanking her for making his brother so happy, telling her about

Tina, Frank’s last girlfriend, and how unsuitable he’d thought she

was for his baby brother. Tinsel Tina, he’d called her. And then he’d

turned those blue eyes on her and said, “But you’re the real deal,

Ellie. You’re the first person Frank has dated that I think is deserving of him.” She had tried to tease him, make light of his stout love

for his brother, but Scott was having none of it. He remained serious. “I’m not kidding,” he said. “I know this boy can come across

as if he’s all light and play, but he’s not.” And then he told her about

the months that followed their dad’s leaving, the porchside vigil his

brother kept, the promises and bargains with God that he’d overhear as he walked by Frank’s bedroom. Ellie shook her head, wanting and not wanting to know. But Scott’s words had their effect. The

image of the twelve-year-old boy sitting on the front porch day after

day weaved its way into her head.

Which may be why as soon as they pulled out of the city, she

picked a fight with Frank. He looked stunned at first, tried to ask her

what was upsetting her so, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—tell him.

Soon, his temper flared to meet hers, and they drove all the way to

Pennsylvania in almost total silence. Once, he turned on the radio

and struggled to find a station with good reception. As soon as he

found it, she reached out and turned the radio off. He looked exasperated but didn’t say a word.

They sort of made up after lunch—Frank even made a halfhearted attempt to put his hand up her skirt—but the damage was

done. By the time they pulled into Cleveland at five in the evening,

their only thought was to get away from each other. Ellie decided

she no longer needed Anne’s help in breaking it off with Frank. She

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jumped out of the car and raced up to the red brick house as soon as

they pulled up into Anne’s driveway.

“He’s gorgeous,” Anne whispered to her as the sisters escaped to

the kitchen to fix Frank a gin and tonic.

“Yeah, and he’s vain and self-absorbed.”

“Really?” Anne’s eyes were curious. “I thought he was really

nice.”

Ellie pulled a face. “He is. Most of the time. We just had a bad

fight on the way here.”

Anne reached up and pulled out a bottle of gin. She splashed a

generous serving in each of their glasses. “What did you two fight

about?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know. Just one of those silly—” Her face

suddenly crumpled. “I think I’m trying not to fall for him, Anne. I

just can’t afford to be involved with someone right now. I have so

much on my plate.”

Anne added the ice to their glasses. “Good luck trying to resist

him,” she said drolly.

When they reentered the living room, Frank was standing at the

window. “It looks like a pretty street,” he said politely. “A lot of

kids, I see.”

“It’s a very kid-friendly neighborhood,” Anne agreed, handing

him his glass. “Do you like children, Frank?”

Ellie gasped, shocked by her sister’s obviousness. But Frank didn’t

seem particularly offended. “I adore them,” he said. He looked out

of the window again. “Your street reminds me of the neighborhood

I grew up in. We played outdoors day and night.” He turned to face

Anne. “Do you and your husband want children?”

What were they doing, engaged in a contest to see who could

ask the more personal question? Ellie wondered. She looked from

one to the other and realized that they were smiling at each other,

oblivious to her presence. She didn’t even try to hide the sarcasm

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 8 1

in her voice. “Speaking of your
husband
,” she said, “what time

is he getting home? And what time are Dad and Mom coming

over?”

Anne looked at her as if she were a particularly irritating fly disturbing a successful picnic. “What?” she said vacantly. “Oh, didn’t I

tell you? Bob’s out of town. Last-minute business trip.” Ellie noticed

darkly that she didn’t seem too perturbed. “And the folks will be

here around seven.” She turned back to face Frank. “Which leaves

us plenty of time for another drink.”

“Sure.” Frank smiled at Anne. Ellie thought he looked devastatingly handsome, more beautiful than she’d ever seen him. Frank

reached out and touched Anne’s hand lightly. “But let me help you

fix the next round.” And with that her boyfriend and her sister left

the room and walked toward the kitchen. It didn’t escape her notice

that neither one had offered her a second drink.

The evening only got worse. By the time her parents arrived,

Anne was saying, “Jeez, Frank, you’ve almost convinced me

about the virtues of a business management degree.” Ellie shook

her head in disbelief. Anne was practically a Marxist, for crying

out loud.

Her mother immediately fell for Frank’s charm. And even

Ellie had to admit that his manners were impeccable. He insisted

on helping Anne in the kitchen. He spoke knowledgeably about

the last presidential campaign with her father. And even though

he was still flirting shamelessly with Anne, he did it in a manner

that was not apparent to anyone but her. The conversation during

dinner flowed surprisingly easily, unlike some of the stilted dinners when she’d brought previous boyfriends home. Halfway

through the meal, Ellie had a sudden realization. He’s playing us

all, she thought with awe. It’s like he’s conducting an orchestra—

an attentive nod here, a smile there, a joke somewhere else. No

wonder she’d spent the summer and autumn wild about this man.

1 8 2 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

But this was ridiculous—Frank was absolutely promiscuous in

how he flirted with her entire clan.

Her parents, who always went to bed by ten o’clock, finally left

to go home at eleven that night. She noticed how vigorously her dad

shook hands with Frank on their way out.

Anne made them a big breakfast the next morning and then

packed them sandwiches for lunch. As they stood around in her

driveway, Anne reached up and kissed Frank on the cheek. “You

come see us again, you hear?” she said. Frank beamed.

They made desultory conversation the rest of the way home.

When they got to Ellie’s street, she emitted a few long yawns. “Well,

that was fun,” she lied. “But man, am I tired.”

“You don’t want me to come up?” he said immediately.

She turned to face him as he eased the car into a tight spot. “If

you don’t mind, hon, I’ll have so much work to do. I’ll see you

around?”

“See you around?” he mimicked. But he didn’t argue with her

decision.

She felt a sense of letdown almost immediately after she let herself into her apartment and shut the door behind her. Also, now that

Frank was gone, she couldn’t quite understand what he had done to

justify her coldness toward him. She walked around the apartment

puzzled by her behavior, not quite sure what had happened to sour

her mood ever since they’d left New York for Ohio. She turned on

the television and, after a few minutes, turned it off. She ate a cup

of yogurt. She changed out of her clothes into a pair of sweats. She

told herself the least she could do was keep her word and get some

schoolwork done.

At seven that evening, she called the Amazing Wok and ordered

some Chinese food to be delivered. When the doorbell rang a half

hour later, she went to the door, her credit card in hand. But instead

of Lee, the seventeen-year-old delivery boy, it was Frank. Her heart

Th e We i g h t o f H e av e n 1 8 3

lurched when she saw him, and it was all she could do to not fall into

his arms. But his stern expression stopped her. Her heart lurched

again, this time in fear. “What’s wrong?” she said, wondering if

he’d come to break up with her.

“Nothing,” he said, stepping into her living room without asking

for permission. He turned to face her. “Everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that ever since we’ve met, you’ve been looking for a

reason to leave me. I thought meeting my brother would convince

you that I’m not—you know, a werewolf or something. But instead,

it’s done just the opposite. I don’t know what Scotty said to you, but

it’s scared you something fierce. And the least you can do is tell me

why exactly you’re dumping me.”

She stared at him, unable to speak. She had posed the same question to herself a few hours ago. “I’m scared,” she heard herself say.

And then, to cover that up, “and you were flirting shamelessly with

my sister. My married sister.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You know I can’t so much as look at another woman these days. And I was only being nice to your sister to

impress you.”

They were on safer ground now. “That’s bullshit,” she said. “You

were just being a jerk, and what’s more—”

“Ellie,” he said as he took a step toward her and grabbed her by

the shoulders. “Stop. Just stop. This is a diversion and you know it.

Just tell me the truth—what have I done to deserve this?”

“I don’t know,” she cried. She tried to move out of his hands, but

he simply tightened his grip on her. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

“Listen,” he said, shaking her slightly. “I wasn’t looking for this

either, you know? I didn’t plan to fall in love with you. But I did.

And Ellie, all I can think of is, any day that I’m not with you is a day

I don’t want to face.”

“What are you saying?”

1 8 4 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

“That I want to marry you. That I want to spend the rest of my

life with you.”

“How can you be so sure? I mean, we’re young, Frank. What

if—what if we meet someone else six months from now?”

He eyed her sadly. “If you have to ask that question, then I guess

that tells me something.”

She looked away from the sadness she saw on his face. I never

want to cause this man a day’s sorrow, she thought. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t

even know what I’m saying. I don’t know why I’m so scared. I’ve

just never felt this close to anyone before, and it’s freaking me out. I

guess I’m afraid of trusting it because I feel it will be snatched away.

You know what I mean?”

He stroked her hair. “El, listen to me. I know I’m not much of a

bargain, right now. Heck, I don’t even know how long it will take me

to get a job after I graduate. But I promise you this—I will always

try to make you happy. And you will always be able to depend on

me. I will never abandon you.”

And he had been true to his word. They were married a year

later, and Ellie could always rely on him. Always, until that fateful

night of Benny’s death, when she needed him more than ever before,

and he abandoned her to tend to his own ruined heart.

Book Three

Summer 2005

Ann Arbor, Michigan

Chapter 16

The world had never seemed crueler in its bounty and largesse than

it did the day Frank sat fidgeting in his plane seat. Come on, move

it, he thought, his hands gripping the seat rest as he leaned forward,

as if the sheer momentum of his impatience could force the jet to

fly faster. He remembered how, when Benny was little and rode in

the back of a car, he used to dig his feet into the front passenger’s

seat and push, believing that the action made the vehicle go faster.

Benny. Just the sound of his son’s name on his lips made Frank’s

heart tremble with love and fear. Nothing could possibly go wrong

with Benny. Nothing. He’d never be able to survive it. Hell, he had

almost passed out when Ben had broken his wrist at the playground

a few years ago. Just the thought of his lovely boy being in any kind

of pain brought out something in Frank that he had no name for.

And also, a feeling that he did recognize—a sense of failure. After

all, the boy was his to defend and protect. His job, his responsibility,

his precious cargo. He was more than a father—any asshole could

be a father, and didn’t he know all about that? He was a dad. And

dads did anything to protect their families, paid any price. Which he

was willing to do. Pay any price, with his life if need be. But please,

1 8 8 Th r i t y U m r i g a r

dear God, Benny had to be okay. Had to be sitting up in bed and

laughing, eating a quart of ice cream by the time he got home.

Not home, he corrected himself. To the hospital. That’s where

Benny was. They’re talking of moving him to the ICU as soon as

he’s stable, Ellie had whispered during her first phone call from the

emergency room. And Frank, they have a breathing tube up his nose.

He had hated her then, for saying those words. Felt an anger that was

new and old. New because he’d never felt anger toward Ellie before.

Old because it was how he’d felt toward his mother in the months

after his father had left. If you’d loved him more, he wouldn’t have

left, he’d once spat at her, and was mortified and pleased to see his

mother go pale in the face. Now he felt that kind of anger toward

Ellie. For giving him this news on the phone at six o’clock on a quiet

Bangkok evening. He’d been sitting in the hotel bar having a drink

with Mr. Shipla, who was HerbalSolution’s man in Thailand. “Hi,