Sea of Tranquility
The car, a shabby 1983 Saab 900, expired seven miles south of Eureka, Nevada. Finn and Saoirse O’Malley knew nothing about automobiles. They didn’t even pump their own gas.
"I’ll walk in. It shouldn’t be more than a few hours," Finn said.
"Right. And I’ll sit here."
"I’m open to suggestions."
"I’m not comfortable sitting here alone for hours. Who knows who or what could show up?"
They sat, staring out the windshield at the unyielding road.
"OK. I just thought I’d be saving you a long walk. There’s no one out here. You’re not in danger."
"You don’t know what could happen. I don’t know what could happen. You’re insane if you think I’m just going to sit alone in a car in the middle of nowhere for hours."
"Fine. OK. Fine. I’m not telling you not to come."
Saoirse folded down the passenger visor and stared into the scratched mirror. The mid–afternoon sun illuminated her white–blonde hair in a wild glow around her head.
Finn tightened his grip around the steering wheel.
"It’s just, there’s no reason for both of us to go," Finn said.
"There’s no reason for one of us to stay."
A day before they were happily gambling in Las Vegas. Saoirse won $200 playing blackjack. Finn played the slot machines and left the casino a dollar richer.
"I’m not telling you to stay."
"Right, so?"
"I’m just saying that it’s going to be a long walk. You might as well stay here and be comfortable at least. Nothing’s going to happen."
"You don’t know that."
"We’re alone out here. If we weren’t alone out here, I wouldn’t have to walk! Jesus."
Finn tugged at his left eyebrow. It was a habit he acquired as a teenager to soothe his migraines. Now he pulled on his eyebrow whenever he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
"There’s no need for us to argue about this," Saoirse said. "I don’t want to walk for several miles or however far it is either but I’m not staying out here. And the longer we sit here and fight about it the worse it will be."
"That much I agree with."
Neither moved. Finn sunk deeper into the driver’s seat. He’d decided not to shave during their trip and now wore the early stages of a scratchy, greying beard.
"This is what you do. You know this is what you do, don’t you?" Saoirse said. "You’re turning this into a situation and making everything worse. You always do this."
"I always do this. OK. Every time we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, I do this," Finn said.
"You know what I am talking about."
"I have no fucking idea what you are talking about."
"No, you probably don’t."
Finn sucked in a long breath and opened his door. He took a leaden first step, and then a second and a third. A quarter mile down the road, he hunted in his jacket for his cigarettes. He discovered them, a gently crushed pack of Merits, in his inside pocket paired with a book of matches. The matchbook was glossy black with the logo of the Dunes casino embossed across the cover.
"Miracle in the desert," Finn thought to himself and lit a Merit.
He stared down the road in the direction of Eureka.
He thought about the six and a half miles left to walk.
He squinted at the horizon.
No town.
Turning back the way he came he saw his wife sitting in the passenger seat of their car – staring at him, daring him to choose a direction.
"Are you coming?" Finn shouted, to no reply.
He marched back to the car and opened her door.
"Are you coming?" Finn asked again.
Saoirse turned to look at him but said nothing.
"Are you coming?" Finn asked a third time.
"Just go if you want to go. I’ll wait." Saoirse said.
"OK. Now you want to stay. Fine."
Finn dropped his cigarette into the earth and stamped it out. He stared at his wife.
"Where did that two hundred dollars really come from?" Finn asked.
Saoirse studied his face. The features she’d known for years were now suddenly unfamiliar.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"You don’t know how to play blackjack. How do you win $200 when you’re playing a game you don’t know how to play?"
"Are you upset I won more than you? Is that seriously what we’re talking about?"
"Is that what we’re talking about?"
"I don’t know. Tell me what we’re talking about."
"I just don’t understand how someone who doesn’t play blackjack wins $200 at blackjack."
Saoirse stood up, pushing Finn aside as she rose.
She took a step toward the rear of the car.
Finn lit another cigarette.
He dropped the lit match at his feet and watched it burn itself out.
"I just want to know where that money came from," Finn said. "I’m just asking where it came from."
"No. No. That’s not what you’re doing. You’re doing what you do."
"What do I ‘do’?"
"You’re accusing me of something. Except you can’t even do that. If you have something to say, just say it."
He stared at the burned match on the ground.
"Miracle in the desert," Finn said to himself.
She noticed it first. Recognized it was a truck: maybe a box truck, or perhaps a tow. It seemed to squat there in the distance forever. Suddenly, the flat–fronted Ford resembling a hulking, mechanical bulldog choked to a stop with a squeal of airbrakes.
Saoirse opened the passenger door and spoke to the driver. Finn watched her mouth move. He thought she might have smiled. But he heard nothing.
