Chapter 3: Suspended in Time
Hugo didn't pay that much attention to the movie at first. Sure, the girls' legs looked great, and Olivia Newton-John's magical girl Kira skated like a graceful fish sliding through water. Her long, lithe body reminded him of Claire's. Things got psychedelic pretty fast, though.
Once Claire went to get them some water, and when she came back, she plopped down a little closer to him. When Hugo remarked that he recognized that big auditorium in the movie, Claire stopped the tape. Encouraged, Hugo said, "I was just a kid," he told her. "Grandpa Tito was working at these houses up by Beverly Hills, and I went along after school. To, you know, get stuff from the truck for him, things like that. It was late, and we were finishing up. All of a sudden the whole sky filled up with this black smoke. There were so many sirens, it sounded like the Martians were landing."
Hugo and his grandfather had stood on the hillside which overlooked the L.A. basin, watching the thick red-black column grow larger and larger, until the sun finally went down, and nothing but a yellow and red glow remained. Might as well wait, Grandpa Tito had said. There would be no getting through that traffic, as it was. They sat down on the coarse sedge grass, and the owner of the house came out to sit with them. So much black smoke filled the sky that the stars couldn't be seen. "I wanted to drive over there and look. Hey, I was just a dumb kid."
"Was anybody hurt?"
"I dunno. It was probably empty."
"That's sad. Such a pretty building." She snuggled a bit closer as she started the tape up again. He wanted to put his arm around her very badly, but argued with himself so much over whether he should or not, that he sat stiff and unmoving. When Kira's father Zeus told her that she couldn't stay with Sonny, but could have one last evening with him, Claire's deep sigh resonated all through Hugo's own body, but he was afraid to look over at her, for fear she'd scoot away.
Then it was over. Because the music was so awesome, they watched the credits anyway until the screen turned blue. Then they turned to each other, and as if reading each other's thoughts, both said at once, "Did you-" and "I don't-" and "What just happened there?"
"Didn't Kira just, uh, beam up to the mother ship or something?" Hugo said, still confused. "So how could she-"
"Weird," Claire answered. "Because the waitress was her, right? But I thought she couldn't stay with Sonny."
"Well, maybe she broke the rules."
"What rules?"
"Remember that song, where they were in disco Mt. Olympus? Her mom said something about breaking the rules."
Claire frowned, still trying to piece it together. "I thought that was supposed to be just for one night. But then again, her mum and dad didn't have much of a sense of time, did they?"
Hugo shrugged, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Sorry it was so dumb."
"Dumb?" Claire said, a little surprised. "I loved it."
"You did?" He was genuinely surprised himself, as well as relieved.
"Sure. Yeah, I know it was crazy. Like that cowboy bit, where did that come from? But Sonny was so sweet. And I'm glad they got to be together in the end." As she reached for the popcorn bowl, the space between them shrank to nothing. "Nothing but old maids left," she remarked as she dug around in the remains of the popcorn. "It was a real feast. Delicious."
"I could make some more," he offered.
"I'm full." She picked up the controller, but the fast-rewind button didn't work. "Maybe the button on the front will do it." She glided across the room, while something inside told him that she wouldn't be back to snuggle up close on the couch like before. "There," she said, manually rewinding the tape. "Things around here are kind of broken."
She stood by the television for a moment, still fiddling with it. Then she said in a quiet voice, "You know, this movie. It's a lot like us."
Something leaped up inside Hugo. Had she really said that, or was it just what he wanted to hear? "Us?" he said, mouth dry.
"Yeah, you know. How all kinds of weird stuff keeps happening in the movie, for no reason. One strange thing after another. Nobody ever wants an explanation. By the end, it's so wacky, and nobody even notices. Like crazy has become the new normal. It's like that for all of us, on this island."
"Right," he answered, fighting hard against the crushing disappointment.
"Like when the television starts talking to Sonny. You think he'd scream and run out of there. But he doesn't."
Hugo's mind raced on a steeplechase which cascaded over hills and downs. He hated it when that happened, because he usually ended up someplace he didn't want to go. If he said too much, all his too-close familiarity with delusion would come out. In a hesitant voice he said, "Maybe when things get just a little bit trippy, you freak out. But then when things get so freaky-"
"Yes," she interrupted. "You just learn to live with it. Like, how weird is it that we're sitting here in a house with electricity, eating popcorn, watching television?"
He didn't want to say it, didn't want to allude to it in the slightest, but it bubbled out anyway. "Hey, Claire." His rough low voice made her look at him with surprise. "Did you ever feel, uh, that you were in a play? You know, on-stage? That things just weren't, um, what they seemed?"
He knew it must have sounded like babble to her when she said in a tentative voice, "Uh, no. Not really. Not unless I was in one." Instead of coming back to the couch, she grabbed the popcorn bowl and their the water glasses, saying in a distracted voice, "No use leaving this about."
He thought of following her into the kitchen, but just sat for a few seconds, hoping he could recover from this without sounding like a lunatic. The voices inside started up again, not really audible, just at the level of thoughts, but once they got going they were impossible to shut up. You sound like a lunatic, he repeated to himself, because you are. If you tell her now, she'll throw you out. Just like you punted when you told Libby that stupid story about breaking your hip. That was rich. You saw Libby's face, dumb-ass. She didn't believe you for a minute.
I'll tell her, Hugo argued back. Just not right now. Not tonight. Tomorrow, or the day after. By next week at the latest. Because we'll probably be here for awhile. Those guys on the boat, the Not-Penny's-Boat, they'll come and get what they want, then go. After all, that's what we're doing here, right? Hiding from rescue? Let things go on slowly, one day at a time. In a few days I'll tell her. After all, we have time. But all he could say when he went into the kitchen was, "So, you were in plays?"
She brightened up as she ran the water in the kitchen sink, although her tone was apologetic. "Just supporting roles in community theater. Not the big time." Then, with only a trace of defensiveness, "It's where I met Thomas. Aaron's father." She had never mentioned him before, not to anyone as far as he knew, and another pang went through Hugo, different than the fear that she wouldn't like him, or would find him ridiculous, or that sometime soon he was going to have to tell her about his hospitalization.
It almost killed Hugo to bring it up, but he had to, because while it might not have mattered to Charlie, it did to him. "Was Thomas... do you think he's, you know, are you still-" He couldn't finish the question, as much as he tried.
"He threw me out." The sharp knife-edge in her voice startled him. "I never saw him again, if that's what you mean."
"I'm sorry," he said, and then was sorrier that he'd brought it up, because the look she turned on him was pure, blue arctic ice.
"I'm not."
Hugo turned half-away, sure that the evening was over, not wanting to step in any deeper. "You know, maybe I should-"
She touched his arm then, in the same spot, and in the same way Kate had, but her touch was nothing like Kate's. The electric thrill went up and down the whole side of his body, and he stood riveted by her grip. Even though her grasp was gentle, he couldn't have moved if he tried.
"No, please. I'm just touchy about it, you know?" She gazed down at the beige linoleum floor, not meeting Hugo's eyes any longer.
It would have been so easy for Hugo to take her delicate face in his hand and raise it a bit, or brush the long bangs away from her eyes. But at that moment a thin wail rose from the bedroom. When it wasn't answered, it resolved into a lusty cry.
"I'll get him," she said, leaving Hugo in the kitchen.
When Claire came back a moment later, Hugo had already cleared away the remaining dishes. Baby Aaron, red-faced from his squall, gave a little pout and squirmed in her arms. Claire began to dab cool water from the tap over his head.
"Does he have a fever?" Hugo asked.
Her voice had an edge of panic. "The room was stifling. I couldn't open the window, but I shut the door anyway, so the telly wouldn't disturb him, and now look." She was almost in tears. "He could have heat stroke."
Hugo bent down to look at the child, who grabbed a long lock of Hugo's hair and gave it a swift yank. "Yow," Hugo said, and the baby yanked again, this time with a smile. "I think he's OK."
Claire headed for the living room, still patting Aaron's forehead with the damp cloth. "I'm going to nurse him."
"Do you want me to, uh..."
"Why? Oh, wait a minute. Don't tell me you're one of those cover-it-up types."
"Um, I just thought." He had always been careful not to stare at her when she nursed Aaron.
"You can keep me company. He's getting to the point where it's as much for fun as for milk."
Hugo was powerless to stop the blush which covered his cheeks. Every possible reply would be completely misunderstood, so he didn't bother. She had always had a water bottle nearby while she nursed, so in red-faced confusion he went to the kitchen to fill a glass.
Claire settled herself on the couch, propped Aaron up with a pillow, and pulled up her t-shirt, apparently oblivious to the reaction she was inspiring.
"I'm going to get spoiled," she called to him from the living room. "I almost can't believe I did this on the ground, or under a tarp. It seems like another life." She drank down the glass which he brought her, and he went back to get her another one.
Hugo tried to imagine what it was like to be tied to another being that way, bound by a web of love and desire and obligation. It seemed terrifying. But it seemed like heaven, too. Like Xanadu, beautiful and unobtainable, yet right over the horizon. Right through the door, or on the other side of that magic wall which parted to let you in, but only if you were ready. Only if you knew where to look.
They sat together in the small room with its earth-gray furniture, its rough clay pots and stark checkerboard carpet. The house's military-base design seemed so ordinary. Hugo felt like he could just drive down to the Quik-Snak on Alameda Boulevard for a Mr. Icee Berry slush, the kind which left your whole mouth ringed with zombie blue. Instead here they sat in the middle of nowhere, and even though someone very dedicated was looking for them, someone who might even be quite nearby, neither of them were in any hurry to be found.
Hugo tried not to stare at Claire's round pale breast, or the rose-tipped nipple which peeked out as she changed Aaron from one side to the other. It seemed weirder to look away, though, and so he kept his eyes on her face as much as he could, until the soft white hills below her slim neck didn't seem so frightening and enthralling.
As he relaxed, his desire no longer twisted at him. Instead, he basked in the delight of mother and child together. She played with the baby's feet as he suckled, and Aaron reached up to touch her face, or tugged gently at her hair. It was like watching a conversation made of song or dance, where even if you didn't understand the language, you could figure out everything being said. Claire's face softened with pleasure, and Hugo could have sat there for hours, silent because the scene called for no words.
Then Aaron's eyelids began to droop, and even though the baby forced them open, the heavy lids fell again. "He's slowing down," Claire remarked. Hugo barely heard her, though. A sharp sense nagged him like the rough, unwelcome hand which shakes your shoulder at six in the morning, when you have to be up for that early shift that nobody wants.
The living room curtains were wide open, but reflected light filled the windows so that nothing outside could be seen. Someone was looking in, though. Hugo was sure of it, even though no steps echoed on the wooden porch. Then the sense vanished as quickly as it had come. He tried to relax his shoulders, taking deep breaths.
The baby had finished, and let the breast fall from his mouth. "You OK, Hurley?" Claire said as her attention swung back to him. "You look like a goose just walked over your grave."
"Nah, it's nothing." Again he fought the urge to tell her everything, just to get it off his chest once and for all. Either she would either understand, or she'd never speak to him again. Back at the beach, Claire had yelled out that she didn't want any liars or druggies around her baby. Why wouldn't she feel the same way about crazy people?
True, he hadn't heard or seen anything recently. Not much, anyway. Just a few weeks ago, before Libby got killed. But there was that weird walk back to the beach from Pala Ferry, though. And the dreams. At least he hoped they were dreams, because if not- "It's nothing," he repeated. "I think my stomach's just not used to popcorn, is all."
"I could make you some mint tea. There's a big patch of it behind the house, in that wild, grown-over garden." She handed him the baby. "Here, take Aaron. He needs to be upright for a bit anyway, before I lay him down again."
Hugo hoisted the limp, half-sleeping baby onto his shoulder. Aaron woke up a bit, and started to play with Hugo's hair again as he shoved a few locks into his mouth, chewing on them. Hugo tried to pull the baby away, but Aaron hung on, starting to whimper.
"Just pat him a bit on the back," Claire said, as she crushed mint leaves into a teapot. "He probably just has a little bubble."
A few light pats did nothing, and Aaron continued to fuss. Finally Claire said, "He's not going to break, Hurley. Give him a thump."
Hugo tapped the baby a little harder, not much. Then he must have hit the jackpot, because Aaron let out a resounding belch. Warm stickiness covered the left side of Hugo's hair and ran down his neck. A dark wet stain spread across the front of his t-shirt. The burp smelled like yogurt, but more sour.
"Oh, brother," Hugo said. "He nailed me good."
The baby started to crow, very pleased with himself.
(continued)
