Tears sting my eyes. I blink them away before Kelly can see. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect her comfort.
Kelly clears her throat. “I need to make my mom lunch,” she says. “I think you’ve got enough here. Tell your mom I’ll be by tomorrow.”
I nod, dejected.
Kelly hesitates a moment longer, then walks the long corridor out of the cellar. I start when the door falls shut. Leaning over, I pick up the picture Kelly had been holding, a glimpse into a past I never knew. They say history repeats itself and in this moment, it feels like they’re right.
SEVEN
The following afternoon, I surprise myself by taking a nap, something I haven’t done in years. I’m never relaxed enough during the day to nod off, but after another early-morning ride with Tyler and a little too much sun, I curl up on my bed like a cat and fall asleep before I realize what’s happened.
When I wake up, I roll over and check the time on my phone. After 4:00 p.m. Several new messages from the office demand my attention, but my mind is too languid to formulate a response, so I set my phone back down and stretch my limbs in every direction, widening myself across the bed.
On the ceiling overhead is a poster of a horse. I placed it there the first night we moved in. It’s small and cheap—the kind pulled out of a magazine, creases in the middle and the small tears from the staples. The edges have curled with age and it sags in the middle. I don’t remember which magazine I pulled it from, I just remember it was the first thing I felt was truly mine after we left Chicago. All the furniture in this house was provided by the then owners—the dishes, the decorations, the laundry detergent smell. All I brought with me were my clothes, a few books from my previous school’s summer reading list, and a magazine we’d picked up in a gas station on the long drive across the country. Dad had bribed me for support with the promise that there would be horses, and when I saw the poster in the magazine, I thought maybe I would learn to love life at a vineyard. Maybe it would come to feel like home. There was something about the way the mare’s mane trailed behind her that looked like freedom. It looked like living.
And I did love it here. It suited my personality, this need to explore, to live with my bare feet on the ground and my head in the clouds. Dad has often said I was born with dirt under my nails and an allergy to fluorescent lighting. He said it fondly, taking pride in raising a daughter who shared his appreciation for connecting to the earth.
When was the last time I spent more time outside than it takes to walk to the subway? When was the last time I escaped to the ocean? When was the last time I even wanted to? When was the last time I was still long enough to ask myself these questions? Years, it must be.
Before I let myself run away with my thoughts, I drag myself out of bed.
As I’m getting ready for a local grape growers event, Mom calls to ask if I can pick up Kelly on my way. Mom had promised to do it but got stuck at work finishing up briefs.
I hesitate before I answer. My last conversation with Kelly didn’t go like I’d hoped, and I’m sure she won’t be thrilled by the change in plans. But ultimately I agree because the only way I’m going to convince Kelly she can trust me again is to be there for her, no matter how many times she pushes me away.
As a gesture of peace, I stop by a local boutique on my way to pick out a gift for Kelly’s mom. As I scan the rows for something Shannon would like, I wonder if I’m a masochist. Naive or desperate. Kelly has made it clear she has no interest in hearing me out. Maybe she doesn’t need me in her life anymore.
But these years without her have been the hardest and loneliest of my life. And if there’s any chance she feels the same way, whether she wants to admit it right now or not, I can’t give up on her. Not until I’ve given it my all. I owe us that much.
I make the assumption that Mom has let Kelly know to expect me, but when I arrive, Kelly isn’t waiting outside for me. I sit in my car for a couple of minutes, in case her plan was to run out and meet me. She’s never been comfortable having people in her house and even though I was the only person she ever let inside, she agreed to it rarely.
When several minutes pass with no sign of her, I cut the engine and grab the gift bag from the passenger seat. I step out of the car and approach slowly. My fist hangs in the air for several moments before I knock.
From inside, Kelly calls, “Come in.”
I’m not sure what to expect when I step inside, what might have changed in the ten years since my last visit, but it looks almost exactly the same—a little two-bedroom single-wide paid for by Shannon’s disability checks. The door opens to the kitchen, filled with mismatched dishes and decrepit appliances. The space is cramped but Kelly keeps it perfectly neat, making the best of their circumstances. I navigate the narrow dining area, following the ever-present sound of the TV buzzing in the living room.
As I round the corner, Kelly emerges from her bedroom, her fingers nimbly folding her hair into her trademark braid. She pauses when sees me. She was still anticipating Mom, who has apparently entered the ranks of the few people Kelly trusts with the secrets of her homelife.
“Mom had to work,” I say.
“Oh. Okay. What’s that?”
I motion to where I know Shannon will be sitting around the corner. Kelly purses her lips, unimpressed by my deed, and returns to bustling around. She wraps an elastic at the bottom of her braid and fills a cup with water at the kitchen sink.
“I just need a minute,” she says.
“No rush.”
“Mom, Mallory’s here,” Kelly says, leaving the kitchen. I inch my way into the room as Kelly delivers the water and rushes off to her bedroom. A Hallmark movie flashes a doe-eyed hero across the screen.
I invite myself into the living room and am relieved to find that Shannon looks about the same as I remember her, too. I thought she might look...sicker, but other than the oxygen tube running over her ears and into her nose, she still has good color in her cheeks, alertness in her eyes, and consistency in her weight, which admittedly has always been far past healthy. That’s the reason Kelly has protected her mother and herself from mockery by keeping everyone away, locking everyone out of her life.
Except me. She used to trust me.
“Mallory,” Shannon says, a smile lighting up her face.
“Hey, Shannon,” I say. I lean over to give her a hug. I’m careful to avoid her oxygen tank and the tube she’s tangled up in. When I get my arms around her, she squeezes me tighter than she ever has before.
“It has been a sad day without you here, Mallory Victoria,” she says into my ear.
“I’ve missed you guys, too.”
“Sit,” Shannon says.
Shannon’s hair is cut just above her shoulders and dyed red where it must have once been a natural strawberry like Kelly’s. Her fleshy cheeks have a rosy undertone, as well.
“This is for you.” I hand the simple paper bag to her and her smile grows. She reaches in to remove the tissue paper and pulls out the terry cloth thong slippers.
“Oh, Mallory. You didn’t have to do that.”
“May I?” I ask.
Shannon hands me the slippers and I kneel to place them gently on her feet, one at a time. Her toenails are painted a bright red, no doubt Kelly’s work. I sit back and admire the effect.
“Perfect,” I say.
“Thank you,” she says on a breath, taking my hand and squeezing it.
“How have you been feeling?” I ask her as I settle in next to her on the couch. Growing up, I used to sit with Shannon like this, waiting for Kelly to finish her homework or finish cooking Shannon dinner. I’ve always liked Kelly’s mom. She has a dry humor that can bring tears to my eyes and a pride in Kelly that lights her up anytime Kelly walks into the room. I have to admit, though, that my feelings toward Shannon aren’t entirely positive, knowing she’s the reason Kelly has never le
ft Paso, unable to follow her dreams or even to live.
“Kelly told you, did she?”
“Told me what?” I ask.
This surprises her—that Kelly has kept something from me.
“My mom mentioned she’s been bringing meals over. She worries about you,” I say. “And about Kelly.”
Shannon wears a sad smile. “She’s a good woman, your mom.”
“She adores you, too. I know you’re welcome over anytime,” I say, though my invitation falls on deaf ears. I’ve invited Shannon over many times and she’s never taken me up on it. She hasn’t left the house in so long, I’m not sure she would be able to handle the stimulation, the sights and sounds, the busyness.
“Thank you,” she says, “but I forgot how to pretend to be a normal human being about thirty years ago.”
That’s what I’ve always loved about Shannon—her honesty. She makes no excuses and blows no smoke. Forgetting how to pretend to be normal is one of her greatest accomplishments, in my opinion, and I wonder if I could take a page from her book.
“Look at you,” she says. “You’ve grown up a lot.”
“Have I?” I self-consciously smooth my hair. I dressed up for tonight, pulling out some of my “New York clothes,” as Tyler has taken to calling them. I’ve dressed them down by keeping the formfitting knee-length black skirt and high-necked white blouse simple, with minimal accessories and ballet flats instead of heels.
“Everyone keeps saying that. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because the change was gradual for me and more drastic for everyone else.”
“Maybe it’s that fast-paced city life,” she suggests.
I laugh. “Maybe.”
“I always loved the city,” Shannon says. “I lived in LA with my grandparents when I was a teenager.”
That is, until she got pregnant with Kelly at seventeen and they disowned her. Kelly told me the story. It wasn’t only her grandparents who disowned her. It was her entire family. That was when Shannon’s depression started, as I understand it. Kelly’s father walking out and leaving her a single mother without any support certainly didn’t help either.
“My sister lives in that house now. I keep telling Kelly she should go down there. Bethany doesn’t talk to me anymore but I know she’d be happy to have Kelly. She would never blame Kelly for my mistakes.”
“Kelly was not a mistake,” I say defensively, though I know that I don’t have to tell Shannon that. That’s not what she meant anyway. “That sounds like a good idea,” I add more calmly.
I remember Kelly talking about her aunt Bethany. Bethany used to send Kelly birthday and Christmas cards. Kelly threw them away and gave the money to homeless men outside local bars. I don’t tell Shannon that. I know it would upset her to know the depth of Kelly’s loyalty to her.
“Kelly should have more family around her,” Shannon says. “It’s my fault she doesn’t know them.”
“I don’t think she would agree with you. In fact, I know she wouldn’t. Family is supposed to support you. Even when you make mistakes. Especially when you make mistakes.”
Even if it means giving up your own happiness? a voice in my head asks. Is it right that Kelly should be Shannon’s only support? Maybe not, but they’re all each other has.
“You two have a special bond,” I say. “You’ve always had each other to count on and that’s what makes family, in my opinion. Not blood.”
Shannon looks down at her hands.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she says. “Which is why I’m so grateful she has you. Your friendship has kept her going, Mallory. Even while you’ve been gone.” She leans forward, frowning. “Don’t let her fool you into thinking she’s forgotten about you. She believed you would come back, and holding on to that belief kept her going when she didn’t have much hope of anything else.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think—”
She holds up a hand to stop my denial. “She loves you, Mallory. She’s proud of what you’ve done, but she’s stubborn as an ox. No one knows that better than you.”
I laugh, hot tears stinging my eyes. “Isn’t that the truth.”
Shannon sighs. “It’s a family trait, I’m afraid. Which has its pros and cons.” I’m not sure what she means. When I don’t say anything, she goes on, “I’m not stupid. I know I’m tying her down here. I know she needs more than this.”
I don’t pretend to argue. It’s not Shannon’s intention to hold her daughter back. I know she loves Kelly more than anything else in this world. But even in the short time I’ve been back, I can see that Kelly’s soul is dying, being stuck here. How could it not, taking care of her mom and working two dead-end jobs year after year after year? Kelly was always the dreamer. She could never be satisfied here.
Shannon sucks in a breath, the seriousness of the conversation raising her heart rate. She adjusts the oxygen in her nostrils. I place my hand on hers to calm her, but I can tell there’s something else she needs to say.
“Mallory, I need you to promise me something.”
I hope I can keep my promise, agreeing even before I know what Shannon will ask of me. Because for Kelly, what wouldn’t I do?
“I need you to promise me that you’ll talk Kelly into putting me into a nursing home.”
“Wait, what?” I ask. Before the implications of this can sink in, she goes on, looking toward Kelly’s bedroom door with urgency.
“I keep trying to tell her she’s done enough for me but she won’t hear it. She doesn’t want me to be lonely, but she doesn’t understand that it’s lonelier for me to sit here and watch her wasting her life away. She is meant for so much more than this. She could go to LA. She could join a practice. She could do anything.”
“I thought...” I think back to my conversations with Kelly, the way she’s blamed her mother’s condition for not leaving Paso. Did I misunderstand her? I don’t think so. But why would Kelly blame her mother all this time when she’s been free to go for years?
“She listens to you,” Shannon says. “She might pretend like she doesn’t, like she’s got it all figured out, but she needs you to help her through this. I need your help.”
“I would do anything for Kelly,” I say. “I would do anything for you.”
But would Kelly accept my help? Would she listen to me?
“Of course you would, honey,” she says. “Of course you would.”
Shannon narrows her eyes and I know there’s more she wants to tell me, some wisdom she wants to impart, but before she can, Kelly reemerges from her bedroom. When Shannon and I hear her, we break apart.
“You ready?” Kelly asks me.
“Yep,” I say, not quite meeting her gaze. I stand and reach out to touch Shannon’s arm. “It was great to see you again,” I tell her.
“You, too, Mallory. Tell your mom thanks for the casserole.”
I give her a parting hug and she holds me longer than I expect her to. Her body is warm and soft and I melt into her affection.
“I will,” I say, implying so much more with those two words than a polite gesture. “I promise.”
I stand and notice Kelly watching us with suspicious eyes.
“Nice slippers,” she says.
* * *
“She’s worse off than she looks,” Kelly says in the car on the way to the bar. She’s been fidgeting in the passenger seat since we got in, almost as if she overheard my conversation with Shannon. Kelly is the kind of person who would come straight out about it if she had but her attitude is defensive, like she’s ready to pounce at one wrong word.
“I enjoyed talking to her,” I say, hoping this is innocuous enough.
“You didn’t need to get her anything. She’s fine. We’re fine.”
I sigh. “I know, Kel. I was just trying to do something nice.”
During our childhood, I used to be able
to do no wrong with Kelly. Our adoration of each other was bigger than any petty disagreement, any guy, any social misstep. Now I can do no right. Every conversation with her is a minefield.
Still, Shannon’s words replay in my mind. Kelly is hardheaded, but she loves me. If the memory of our friendship kept her going during the hard times, as Shannon suggested, could my presence encourage her to take the leap into a new future?
“You know,” I hedge, “maybe you could get some help with her. Have some time for yourself.”
I flip on my blinker, turning onto the highway. Kelly snorts a bitter laugh at me.
“Like we could afford that.”
“If you were able to get a job in your field...”
The more I let this LA idea ruminate, the more I think it could work. There would be nursing homes in the city, psychology practices. They could stay close, visit every day. Kelly could get an apartment within walking distance of wherever Shannon was living.
Maybe I could even find a marketing firm nearby...
“You know what, Mallory?” she says, turning toward me so she can make herself absolutely clear. “Don’t come back here after all this time and act like you know anything about my life.”
Her words cut, as she meant them to, but I’m not going to let her keep throwing my leaving in my face. I only did what she wanted me to. She’s being unfair.
“Maybe I would if you would stop shutting me out. I know I screwed up and I’m sorry, but you seem to be conveniently forgetting that you hid things from me, too. You lied to me all summer and acted like you were justified because you were upset. Because I hurt you. But you hurt me, too. You left me, too.”
Kelly turns away from me, crossing her arms and looking out the window. It takes all my willpower not to pull over, to force her to face me, but Kelly is the kind of person who needs breathing room. She likes to think things through.
“I was doing you a favor,” she says. “I was letting you go so I wouldn’t hold you back.”
Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard Page 7
