The Memory of Us

by Lisa Sorbe

  On a side note, I’ve also been finding it extremely hard to concentrate.

  Brent notices. I know he does because I can see the way his lips tighten, the way the muscles in his jaw tense, tick with annoyance. But he doesn’t say anything, quite possibly because he still might be a little scared of me.

  And that was never my intention. The guy may be a cheating sleaze, but he’s never attempted an advance without my go-ahead. Never touched or handled me in an inappropriate way. In fact, aside from the day I returned to work, he’s always been fairly reserved with his touch. He doesn’t deserve the threat of sexual harassment hanging over his head. Not from me, anyway.

  Brent tries to appear patient, though I can practically feel the irritation buzzing off of him. “I was just wondering if you brought back that file I asked for yesterday? Because if you’re done with the Harrison depo, I’d like to review it.”

  I smile, a real one, and nod. “Yes. It’s pretty enlightening,” I say, reaching over to pull it from my briefcase. “Enlightening in the way that it…”

  My voice trails off. Pushing aside the bulging stack of papers, my fingers close instead around a tiny book, a little paperback novel, the creepy cover boasting evil-looking cheerleaders and blood-red font.

  Noticing my sudden pause, Brent looks up. “What’s that?” he asks, craning his neck to see from the other side of the table.

  I hold it up. “Fear Street. It’s a series I read as a kid.”

  Brent closes his eyes, and if I thought he believed in things like God and prayer, I’d almost swear he was in communion with some celestial being, begging for strength.

  “That’s…nice.” He opens his eyes, exhaustion coating his features.

  I snatch the folder from my briefcase and slide it across the conference room table. It glides easily on the polished surface, coming to rest near Brent’s elbow. Then I pick up the book again, narrowing my eyes as I study the creepy cover. And as I do, a weird feeling creeps over me, weaves through my stomach and fills up my chest.

  It’s…euphoria.

  This book makes me happy.

  It’s a strange revelation, to find happiness in something so mundane. Although, no book is ever mundane to its author. Scribblers pour their hearts and souls into their novels, their short stories and poems and songs. Artists bleed onto their canvases, and singers channel the beauty of the Universe through their voices.

  Art is never mundane, and each piece leaves its creator feeling both full and empty at the same time.

  And I’ve missed that feeling.

  I haven’t created anything, written anything for the pure enjoyment of it in so long…and I miss it. So damn much.

  This balloon of pure and unbridled joy swelling in my chest is not just some random emotion, some ethereal fluke of nostalgia gleaned by handling an object from my past. It’s a desire that’s been steadily rising in me for years, rekindled and multiplied by my return to Wolf Lake. By my time with West, both in his arms and out of them.

  My mother forgot to love herself when my dad died. She stopped living, at least for the most part, and forgot the things that brought her joy, bliss. Euphoria.

  And maybe that’s why she spent the remainder of her years living out a slow death.

  Maybe that was her mistake.

  Maybe it doesn’t have to be mine.

  Brent’s head is bent over the deposition so he doesn’t notice when I frantically begin gathering folders and papers and yellow legal pads into a pile. “So what’s so enlightening about—” He frowns, glancing up. “What are you doing?”

  I smile, feeling better than I have since I landed in Phoenix two months ago, and push the pile toward him.

  “I’m quitting.”

  I’m breathless with my admission, exuberant in my decision.

  Brent’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. The look is so comical that I’d laugh if I wasn’t already doing so.

  “Uh-huh, uh-huh…” he mutters, stalling. Then, finally, “What the hell, Everhart?”

  I shove my things into my briefcase and snap my laptop shut. Standing, I snag the Fear Street book from the table and press it to my chest. If I could click my heels together three times Dorothy Gale-style in order to make this all happen faster, I would.

  “I’m going home.”

  West and I haven’t been in touch since I left Wolf Lake.

  I know it’s because neither of us wanted to exacerbate the matter further, these obviously intense feelings we have for one another. So I don’t even call him now that I’m back in town, pushing petal to the metal in my tiny compact rental, flying down our old street faster than the speed limit suggests.

  Suggests. Ha! Just listen to me. Already chucking off my rigid legal persona for a more carefree attitude.

  West would be so proud that I’m not, as he once put it, so tightly wound anymore.

  Though when I pull over the crest of our hill and notice a moving van in his driveway and a sold sticker on the For Sale sign, the euphoria I’ve sustained since quitting my job two days ago plummets to the bottom of my stomach like an asteroid hitting the earth.

  He’s gone.

  And while somewhere in the back of my mind I know that this little blip in my plan is nowhere near as catastrophic as falling space debris, that I can simply call West and tell him all about my change of heart over the phone, the shock of seeing strangers milling around in his yard interferes with my brain’s ability to think logically.

  So I sit in my car, perched a few houses up from his, in the middle the road, completely frozen.

  My mother’s house hasn’t sold yet, so I was gullible in my assumption that his hadn’t, either.

  But it has, it obviously has, and now he’s gone, probably already in Michigan, and…

  Movement in my periphery interrupts my downward spiraling thoughts, which is a good thing because I was quickly unraveling, backsliding into a state of mind that could have ruined everything. Squinting, I peer out the passenger side window to see Corrin frantically waving at me from her front porch.

  Feeling more numb than let down, I sigh and reverse a ways so I can pull into her driveway. “Hey, Corrine,” I say as I step out, slam the door shut. I shove my hands into my jacket pockets and trudge up the sidewalk, stopping just below the steps leading up to her porch.

  “You’re back.”

  It’s not a question. She states it simply, like my sudden re-appearance is something she’s been waiting for. Something she expected.

  Well, it’s more than I expected. Because being in this neighborhood so soon after leaving was not in my plan book. Not written down on any of my lists. I shift my eyes to the left, toward my old house, which still looks the same. The For Sale sign is still waiting for a sold sticker, and a thick carpet of dry leaves are scattered across the yard and empty driveway, giving the place a vacant appearance. The house looks alone, so cold and empty, and I shudder.

  It’s how I feel. Or, felt. But not anymore.

  Hopefully not anymore.

  Corrine motions toward the steps. “Sit down,” she instructs. “I have hot tea inside.”

  I’m about to open my mouth to tell her not to bother, that I won’t be staying. But she’s gone before I can get a word out, sweeping back inside and letting the screen door close behind her with a bang.

  I sit down and tuck my knees close, already scrolling through my phone to find West’s contact information. My finger hovers over the call button, though I don’t push it because the last thing I want to do is have this conversation in front of Corrine.

  The screen door opens with a screech, and soon after a pair of legs clad in green polyester pants appears next to me. Corrine holds out a ceramic mug bearing the logo of the Wolf Lake Inn on one side. I take it gently, the heat from the mug burning my fingers. Shifting it quickly, I grip the handle and blow into the steam. The smell is spicy and sweet, like oranges laced with pepper, and when I take a sip, the warmth immediately spreads throughout my body, chasing
away the autumn chill.

  Corrine lowers herself next to me and takes a sip from her own cup.

  “Thanks.” A light breeze blows a strand of hair across my vision, and I quickly hook a finger around it, tuck it behind my ear. “I’m not able to stay very long, though.”

  She takes another quick sip. “There’s no rush.”

  “Actually, I’m in kind of a hurry.” I tap the toes of my boots on the step for emphasis.

  “Are you dyin’?”’

  I startle. “Um, no.”

  “Is someone you love dyin’?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I am. So listen to me when I tell you…There’s no rush. All right?”

  I sigh, immediately feeling like an ass. “I’m sorry, Corrine. You’re right, you’re right.” Then, sliding my eyes her way, I ask, “How are you feeling?”

  She doesn’t look sick, not really. Sure, she’s lost a bit of weight since I saw her last, though it’s hard to tell how much with all the layers she’s wearing.

  “I’m good.” Corrine takes another sip of tea and closes her eyes as she swallows. A smile spreads across her face. “I’m really good.”

  This news shocks me. How can she be really good when she’s in the situation she’s in? Did she undergo some spontaneous healing that I’m not aware of?

  “Well, that’s…nice.”

  She turns to look at me, and her expression takes me aback. It defies her age, her sickness, her unfortunate circumstances. Because it’s an expression full of euphoria.

  Damn, I realize. She must be on some good meds.

  “I saw Robert last night.” She grins like a love-struck teenager, and the glow she’s emitting takes years off her face.

  Yeah, she’s on the good stuff.

  And I can only nod. Play along.

  Twisting around, I peer back at the house. “Is Macy here? Or Mitchell?”

  Corrine shakes her head. “No, they’re back home for the time being. Macy’s bringing Rick and the kids up this weekend. Mitchell’s coming, too.” She gulps more tea and looks off into the distance. “For one last visit.”

  I frown. “One last visit? Why do you say that? You just said you were doing good.”

  “I am. Mentally. My body’s going, though. I can’t really feel it, though, not since Robert’s been visiting. And those other…well, I guess you could call them people. But they aren’t….not really.” She smiles wider and sighs. “Do you know that we’re never really alone?”

  I’m not sure what to say to that. How to respond. Because for the majority of my life, I’ve sure felt alone. As alone as a person could possibly feel.

  “You’ve got support that you can’t see. It’s there, all around you. Because this?” She twirls her finger in the air. “This isn’t all there is.”

  I just stare at her. “Okay, then.” Trying to appear nonchalant, I casually mention Macy again. “Do you think you could give me her phone number? I’d really like to get in touch, thank her again for driving me to the airport…”

  Corrine laughs. “No, you want Macy’s number because you think I’m bonkers talking about all this stuff.”

  I don’t even try to deny it.

  “Well, I’m not.” She laughs, and I realize that I’ve never heard Corrine laugh before. Not like this, anyway. Not carefree and giddy. “I’m not. You’ll see. Someday.”

  “Okayyyy.”

  “Anyway,” she continues. “I’m know I’m going soon. Just a feeling I have.”

  “Corrine…” I don’t really know what to say. She is, after all, right. It would be an insult to try and sugar coat what’s coming.

  The breeze picks up a bit, kicks up the leaves from my mother’s yard and sends them skittering over to Corrine’s. We watch them scatter for a bit, listen as they scuttle and scrape against the sidewalk. Fall has always been my favorite time of the year; I never realized how much I missed the change in seasons since living in Phoenix.

  I’ve missed so much over the years. Kept myself so closed off so I wouldn’t even know what I was missing. Pulled the wool right over my own damn eyes.

  “You’re back for him, aren’t you?”

  I nod. Because I’m through denying my feelings. “But it looks like he’s already gone.” I motion toward West’s old house, where two beefy-looking guys are trying to wrangle a leather sofa through the front door. “So it’s too late.”

  Corrine scoffs. “What, you don’t have a phone strapped to your hand like everyone else under the age of forty?”

  There’s the Corrine I know and love.

  “Of course. It’s just that…” I sigh, frustrated. “I was sort of hoping to catch him today. In person. I really didn’t want to do this over the phone. But,” I sigh again, and Corrine rolls her eyes, “looks like I’ll have to. I don’t have any idea where he is in Michigan, not to mention the time it’ll take driving back down to the airport and catching a flight…”

  “Oh, stop your whining, missy,” Corrine says, a smile curling her lips, softening her words. “What’s time when you’re in love? You know, I’m starting to realize that the only time restraints we have are the ones we give ourselves. Time is perception, nothing more.”

  So Corrine turned into Yoda these last two months. No big deal. Stranger things have happened.

  “I’m not sure I agree. For me, time is a chance to change my mind. To back out. To let my fear get a grip, steal my nerve.” I turn to face her. “This is a big thing that I’m about to do because I kind of have, um, well, this thing with commitment. With letting people get too close.”

  Corrine raises a brow. “You don’t say?”

  I ignore her, drain the rest of my tea and stare out into the yard.

  “Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to go all the way to Michigan to find Weston.”

  I snap my eyes her way. “What do you mean?”

  She heaves herself up with a deep sigh and reaches down for my mug. Then, instead of answering me, she disappears into the house, returning moments later with a business card.

  West’s business card.

  The one I still have in my purse.

  “He hasn’t left yet. After the house sold, he moved into his office. Been there about a week. He’ll be leaving any day now, though, according to what he said during his last visit.”

  I take the card and flip it, noticing for the first time the address on the back. “West visits you?” I ask, pushing to my feet.

  “Yep. Been feeling a little lonely since you left, in my opinion. He’s been bringing me donuts from Sunkist Bakery every Sunday. Even manages to get them to put a little extra coconut on ‘em, bless his heart. Something I’ve never been able to get them to do. Damn,” she says, almost to herself. “I’m gonna miss those.”

  “That’s nice,” I say, not really listening. I’m studying the address, and I know exactly where the place is. It used to be an empty lot right off of Wolf Lake that, for a short time during the summers between fourth and sixth grade, we used as a kickball field. The card is hot in my hand, and my legs are suddenly twitchy. I need to move. “Well, thank you for the tea,” I hold the card up, “and this. But I should really get going…”

  But Corrine reaches out, stalling me with her touch. Her fingers grab loosely at the material of my jacket, making me pause. “Don’t be fearful of love, Elena.”

  I try to respond, but just end up fumbling my words.

  “It’s understandable, of course, after what you went through with your folks. Your brother.” She releases her grip. Shaking her head, she sits back down with a huff. “Lord knows I tried talking sense into your mother a dozen times, but she was so stuck in her grief that she wouldn’t listen.”

  “She didn’t love herself.” I blurt this out, softly so, and instantly bite my lip, the shame for saying something negative about my mother so sharp it stings.

  But Corrine nods. “I don’t think she did. At least, she didn’t know how to love herself. As you know,” she looks up at me and
smiles, “your father did it so well. And, I guess, for so long. Hell, I don’t think she knew how to love herself without him.”

  “Well, apparently she didn’t know how to love Mike and I, either.” And while the adult in me knows that’s not true, my teenage self has to have her say. Because until that summer after my freshman year in college, that’s exactly how it felt.

  “That’s complete nonsense,” Corrine huffs. “Though,” she amends, catching herself, “I can see how you kids saw it that way. It’s hard to show love when your insides are hurting so much.”

  I nod. That I understand.

  “I remember the way she used to glow after visiting you in Arizona. Just glow.” She chuckles. “Your mother loved you, don’t you ever think otherwise.”

  “The last few years were good,” I admit. “She seemed so different in Phoenix.”

  “Of course. Down there, she was able to get out of her own way.”

  I frown. “I wanted her to move in with me. To maybe try and start over again. I always felt so guilty for never coming back here. But every time I thought about it, about what it would be like to be here again, I just…I couldn’t.”

  Corrine pulls me down next to her and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Your mother knew why you never came back. She never blamed you, though she did hold quite a bit of guilt herself.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  Corrine chuckles. “You can’t make people feel any different than they’re gonna feel. And you can’t beat yourself up for not being able to change ‘em, either. I know it was a pretty noble thing you did, asking her to move in with you, a young woman who was just starting out, finding her groove. But she never would’ve left. Your mother was just too stuck in the past. Stuck in her rut.”

  “Screw the past.” My voice is bitter. “The future is the only thing we have to work with. It’s all we’ve got.”

  “Now, I don’t think that’s true,” she says softly. “The past can be changed, it’s all in how you look at it. Sometimes we have more power there than we realize.”

  “That sounds made up.”

  Corrine throws her head back and laughs. “It does, doesn’t it? But sometimes all we need a change of perspective. A new way of looking at things. And when you remember something from the past in a different way, from that new perspective, all that emotional charge you had around it changes. And then you change. You’re not as burdened by shoulda-coulda-woulda’s anymore.”