telescope. The telescope had been out on the balcony when dannie had moved in and sheâd left it out there, slumping toward the scruffy fairways of the golf course that bordered the condo complex. The course was out of business and full of rabbit holes. Dannie sometimes gazed at the sky, but often she zeroed in on abandoned golf balls and read the tiny print on them, the handwritten initials.
Dannie had come to New Mexico after her divorce was final. She didnât know whether to feel sensible or insane. Sheâd come to the desert planning to stay a month and return to California recharged, but a month had passed and then eleven more had slipped away and Dannie couldnâtbring herself to go back to her old life. Her old life wasnât there anymore. She had a job she could do anywhere and a balcony to linger on and she was getting enough sleep, which all seemed sensible, but she was doing one thing in particular that a sensible woman did not do: she was trying to get impregnated by some young kid she barely knew. Sheâd gone off the pill and she hadnât told Arn. Sheâd met this guy two months ago and he was practically a teenager and now they were living together and she was trying to conceive his child. Of course, it didnât ever have to be his child. If Dannie got pregnant and didnât want Arn to know anything about it, she could always break up with him and leave the area. She doubted Arn was attached to her. He was dazzled because she was older, but he wasnât attached. He did whatever Dannie told him to do, but there wasnât much heâd do without being told. He would rub her feet for a full hour if she told him to. He was attending a vigil with Dannie for a boy genius whoâd fallen into a coma, spending one of the two nights off work he had each week in a parking lot because Dannie had told him she wanted company, because she couldnât stand to lose a night with him. Dannie couldnât tell what Arn thought of the vigils and she wasnât going to ask. There was no talking at the vigils, and talking about them on some mundane Thursday afternoon wasnât something Dannie was going to do. Arn didnât like for anyone to be upset, and if he quit, he knew, Dannie would be upset. He would probably attend every vigil till kingdom come rather than get into an argument.
Dannie pulled the last of the bacon out of the pan and rested the strips on top of the others, a paper towel layered in between. She got syrup and ketchup out. What Arn did was put the bacon in the middle and put a saucer of syrup on one side and a saucer of ketchup on the other and alternate strip for strip. Arn struck Dannie as a carrier of desirable sperm not because he had lots of dazzling positive attributes, but because he had no negative ones. Dannie had come to believe it was more important to not be an asshole than it was to set the world on fire. Arn wasnât stubborn, moody, jealous, fickle.
It was a few minutes till six. Dannie missed Arn in an embarrassingway, the way teenage girls and old women missed men. Lately sheâd been breaking down crying at songs on the radio. And she craved gossip all of a sudden, something she had no dependable way to get because she no longer had any friends. Sheâd had friends in L.A. but she hadnât spoken to any of them since moving to New Mexico. She wasnât angry with them, hadnât gotten into a spat or anything. Sheâd simply stopped calling them back or answering their e-mails. Sheâd opened a new e-mail account and had stopped checking her old one. Dannie had felt powerful and brisk, being able to stop friendships in their tracks like that. Sheâd isolated herself, had broken ties with L.A. Now, she knew, she was approaching the point of no return. If she didnât get in touch with her friends to let them know sheâd met a twenty-year-old kid and was trying to get knocked up, sheâd never be close to