by Alice Archer
Don’t get too attached to your job. The planets picked you to mess with this month. Your best bet for getting through is to get creative.
I flipped the paper. “June—Cancer.” Hadn’t Grant lost his job in June? I wondered if the scrap of paper was the source of his hostility toward creativity. If he somehow blamed creativity for the loss of his job, then fuck. No wonder Grant bristled at everything about me.
Suddenly it felt like I was the invader. Everything on the wall—the rules, the self-portraits, the drawings and lists—pulsed with vulnerability.
I should leave.
With inefficient fingers, I hurried to push the horoscope roll back into its paper band and return the baggie to its nail. I spared an anxious minute and a fumble with my phone to grab some photos.
On my way out the door my gaze fell on a stack of Grant’s journals on a shelf. There were so many. I scurried over to nudge the untidy pile. Every book had a number on the cover. I picked one at random. It was filled with Grant’s thoughts, drawings, and… I want them all.
I stared out the window to distract my conscience as I shoved the journal with the 1 on the cover into my back pocket.
Chapter 71
Oliver
The next day, I hid in the DeVille for hours and trespassed on Grant’s inner life. I combed through the photos I’d taken and the journal I’d stolen, on a search for clues to explain the havoc Grant had wreaked on my life.
One of my photos included a corner of a page with orange lines and a few penciled words—Prisoner, Liar, Ruled by secrets. I sat up to swipe through all the photos again, but I hadn’t taken any that included more of that particular page. In the midst of my debate about whether Grant’s words referred to me, I received a text from Talia.
Clem and I are here. You home?
Edward met me at the garage with an ear-splitting bark, pushed me in the ass with his head. “Yeah, yeah,” I told him. I rounded the hedge to find Talia and Clementine on the porch steps.
“Hey, guys,” I injected my voice with a double dose of cheerfulness. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to barge past the red flag.” Talia stood to give me a hug, keeping it brief so Edward wouldn’t butt in. “It’s a little early, but we wanted to make sure we got to tell you bon voyage.”
“I can’t remember the last time you took a trip off the island just for fun,” Clementine said.
Liar. Prisoner. Ruled by secrets.
“I’d invite you inside,” I said, “but the house is a mess.” Liar. “I’m… organizing stuff, in case I decide to be away for an extended time.” I sound like I’m trying too hard. I cleared my throat and scratched Edward behind the ear. “How’s Edward?”
“So much better,” Talia said. “I found this retired canine cop in Tacoma who does training. His specialty is doggie rebels. Edward is a total tool for that man.” A small smile escaped.
“What’s his name?” Clementine asked.
“Jack.”
Edward looked up at Talia and barked. We all laughed.
“See?” Talia said. “Besotted.”
“What about Brian?” I asked.
“Ugh. Edward broke him. Brian gave me the speech: ‘Edward or Me. Your choice.’”
“Aw,” Clementine said. “You chose Edward.”
Talia nodded. “Of course.”
“What’s your retired cop like?” I asked Talia. “Are you besotted too?”
Talia’s cheeks darkened with a blush, which was answer enough.
“I’m glad for you,” I said. “I’d love to meet him. Bring him by sometime.”
We all seemed to share an unspoken but when? moment.
“Which ferry are you catching on Saturday?” Clementine asked me.
“The four o’clock. Freddie has a lunch thing with his mom.”
“You weren’t invited?” The lift of Talia’s eyebrow conveyed her disapproval.
“Not this time.” Not ever, I realized, and wondered why that didn’t bother me.
“I could give you a ride to the ferry,” Clementine said.
Talia pointed to Dad’s van under the carport. “Or you could drive yourself and leave the van in the upper lot. I’ll drive it back here when I get off shift. Jack can fetch me.” Edward barked twice, maybe because Talia said Jack and fetch. He trotted to the edge of the driveway and found a stick.
“Deal,” I said. I sent a quick text to Freddie to tell him about the change of plans before I forgot.
For ten minutes or so, Talia threw the stick for Edward while the three of us talked. I managed to laugh in spite of feeling melancholy about the prospect of leaving my two best friends if I took off with Freddie to D.C.
Clementine kissed me on the cheek before she drove away.
Edward barked and ran circles around Talia’s bicycle while she yelled at him. They made their noisy way down the driveway and out of sight.
The silence grew. My smile faded.
I moseyed up the porch steps—to memorize the background music of the breeze through the pines and the chitter of sparrows, to give each stair step time to imprint home on the soles of my shoes.
Chapter 72
Grant
After two days of bike rides through Oliver’s southernmost properties, I rode to Clementine’s to freshen up for my trip to Seattle the next day. She persuaded me to stay for lunch.
“That was delicious.” I sat back in my chair on the back patio with an appreciative groan. “What can I do to pay you back for all your help?”
“Consider it a gift.”
“That’s not—”
“Look who’s here,” Clementine interrupted with a nod.
I lifted my head from contemplation of my full belly to see Penelope, Clover, and Abelino drop their bikes on the grass.
“Aw. Hey, guys.” They came in for hugs, but I hesitated, Vince’s reprimands fresh in my mind.
Penelope looked at me funny and plopped into the chair next to mine.
“Clementine told us you were here,” Clover said. “We wanted to see you.”
“I wanted to see you too,” I told them. I could have met them in the woods, but I hadn’t texted to propose it. “I’ve kind of been in… um, a limbo situation, really trying to get my, uh—”
“We missed you,” Clover said over my waffle of embarrassment. “That’s all.”
The kids decimated the remainder of the lunch. Penelope slouched against me and regaled us with family drama around her cousin’s elopement. Clover confessed to fears about school starting. She and Abelino were saving for a cell phone they could share. Abelino didn’t say much, but he smiled and laughed.
After dessert cookies had come and gone, Abelino spoke into a lull in the conversation. “We saw Oliver.”
I’d wanted to ask, but hadn’t wanted to worry the kids with my worries. “Yeah?” I tried to sound casual. I had a hundred questions. None of them seemed appropriate. Did Oliver look exhausted? Is he still with Freddie, the wrongest boyfriend ever?
“It was weird to be there without you,” Clover said.
I turned to Penelope, who’d known Oliver longest. “How did he seem?”
“Okay, I guess,” she said. “Distracted.”
I didn’t believe Oliver was okay. Distracted by the creative process was one thing. What I’d seen went beyond that. I suddenly needed to hurry off to check on him. “Clementine, thank you so much for the shower and the lunch.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood to gather dishes. “Say goodbye to the kids while I clean up, then I’ll give you and your bike a ride—to keep your shower fresh for tomorrow.”
“See ya, kids.” I beamed smiles at them, patted their heads, and reached to pick up an empty platter.
“No. Grant.” Clementine’s hand on my arm stopped me. “You’re leaving Vashon tomorrow.” She
nodded at the kids and their sad smiles.
“Oh.” She meant… goodbye.
I didn’t tell the kids I’d come back to Vashon to visit them. It would be a while before I could spare money for another ferry ride, and I didn’t want to get their hopes up. I would return to Vashon on Friday to check on Oliver one last time, but I didn’t tell them that either.
Penelope told me she’d share my phone number with Clover and Abelino when they got their phone. I stood at the end of Clementine’s driveway and watched the kids who’d become friends and mentors over the summer ride out of sight. Their departure struck me like a body blow. I kept my eyes on the empty road and thought about the kids and Oliver, wished I knew how to take care of myself better so I stood a chance of being able to take care of someone else.
The ride to the trailhead with Clementine passed in silence. In the treehouse, I set my daypack on the bed and called the library. Isis listened through my bluster as I attempted to arrange half-formed thoughts into a question. “Do you know of a good mental health crisis line?”
Isis probably thought I was asking for myself. Hell, after the divorce, I should have asked for myself. It had never occurred to me.
“Yes,” Isis said. “Let me check. Here we go. There are options, depending on the issue.” Isis hesitated, perhaps out of deference to my mental state.
“It’s for a friend,” I said. “He’s withdrawing. More than usual, I think. I haven’t known him long, but something seems off about him, and no one else seems concerned. I’m leaving Vashon soon and… Isis, I don’t know what I’m trying to do. It’s actually none of my business.”
“I see.” Isis drew out the words. “Does your friend seem troubled about a specific issue? For example, does he seem suicidal?”
“Oh, shit. I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“I emailed you some phone numbers and a website link. I think these could be helpful resources. One of the phone numbers is a help line for you, for people who think someone they know might be at risk for suicide.”
I put us on speaker while I checked my email account. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
“You take care of yourself,” Isis said before we hung up.
Chapter 73
Grant
I clambered down the treehouse stairs and set off toward Oliver’s house, unable to shake my worry. Except for the self-portrait I’d sent from Clementine’s bathroom, I’d left Oliver alone for nine days. I felt the urge to give his tough skin of mistrust another poke, even if all it got me was a sharp sting that made my eyes leak.
The trail took me past the stump chair and I paused for a look. The only place not packed with intricate leaves and wildlife was one spot inside, above the crown Oliver had carved to hover above whoever sat inside. Faint marks in the patch of uncarved wood drew me in for a closer look. An infinity symbol had been scratched above the crown.
Oliver wasn’t in the workshop.
The van and Oliver’s bicycle were parked under the carport.
No one answered my knock at the house.
I walked around to peer through the French doors. Sleeping bag unrolled on hideous couch. Suitcase open on evil chair. It hurt to see the suitcase.
At the garage I peered in the window, saw only empty space, and walked on to the holly wall. Oliver had insisted his secret car was private, but tough. Some things were too secret, and if Oliver wouldn’t take care of himself, someone needed to prod him in that direction.
My hypocrisy sent up a warning flare, but I ignored it. I would take myself to task for the same crimes later, after I’d assured myself Oliver was okay.
The gate clattered as I went over. Through the back window of the car, I saw Oliver’s head whip around. I ran then, slipped in fast and closed the door behind me. Oliver’s look of surprise gave way to outrage and a retreat behind guarded eyes.
His topknot had slipped sideways. A few curved strands of hair fanned over the green of his T-shirt. I forced my eyes away from the shape of his chest under the shirt. Maybe no one had paid him in groceries since I’d stopped shopping for him. I felt like a dick about that, but only for two seconds.
“How’s the freezer holding out?” I asked. “Still got a meal or two in there?” The poke.
“I banished you,” Oliver said. “Remember? I fired you for inappropriate conduct in the workplace.” And the sting.
“Don’t forget challenging the status quo. Oh, and insubordination.”
Oliver smirked. “Same old story, huh?”
“Nope. I’m off to Seattle tomorrow morning to arrange my new life. Back on Friday to pack up and take one last hike before I move in with Mitch until I can afford a room in a place with housemates.” The subtext I tried to convey was that I’d be in the vicinity on Saturday when Oliver tried to leave his property, in case his shit hit the fan before Freddie’s minivan boarded the ferry.
Oliver’s disdain, which I’d been certain would progress to full-on anger as I spoke, faded instead to a blank expression.
I forged ahead. “I’ve been worried about you, so I got some information from the library.” I opened my phone and forwarded the email from Isis to Oliver. “Call these folks if you need help with, like, you know… Aza, or not being able to leave your property.”
Oliver only stared at me.
“Anyway, I also wanted to tell you goodbye.” I rushed into the final bit to get it out before Oliver fainted or puked, or whatever his utter stillness was leading up to. “You’re annoying as hell, but you kicked my ass into gear. Your ridiculous assignments even helped me find a career. So, yeah. I’m grateful.” I waved my phone at him. “Read that email. You might need it when I’m not around.”
All the color drained from Oliver’s face.
He hadn’t moved a muscle.
But he was gone.
Chapter 74
Oliver
“I fell in love with my career,” my mother says. “As you did. That’s not an atrocity.”
“I wish you’d done it sooner, before we got married.”
“But then we wouldn’t have our Coyote.”
When I hear my mother say my animal name, it’s hard to pretend to sleep, because I want to smile. I try to record her voice in my mind, so I can remember it during the week when she’s not home. Her voice sounds the same color as her hair, which is the same color as my hair—red like the leaves falling from Granddad’s trees outside the kitchen window, but only after they rest on the ground for a while. I like to kneel and watch the leaves, to see if I can catch the exact second cadmium red turns to copper. When I put my elbows on the ground, my long hair covers the leaves and makes it easier to find the ones that look like my mother’s hair.
Dad says, “You love your career more than you love us.”
A sharp corner of Grant’s journal dug into my tailbone. I’d had a split second to hide the book before Grant blew into the DeVille. I pushed into the pain to stop the memory.
“What is going on with you?” Grant leaned toward me.
My fear of the memory morphed into anger at Grant. “What do you think is going on? The asshole who torpedoed my summer still hasn’t left. You’re trespassing, and I’m calling the cops.” I pretended to mean it. I powered up my phone, which opened on a photo of Grant’s collage wall.
Grant’s collage on my wall, I reminded myself, in my treehouse. “Where have you been sleeping?” I asked him.
That made Grant squirm.
“Well?” I put away the phone and kicked his thigh with my foot. I’d taken off my boots, so the kick wasn’t as satisfying as it could have been. “You’d better not be camping on my property.”
“At Clementine’s?”
“Sure you are. So now who’s the liar?”
Grant frowned. “I’m seriously worried about you.”
“Nice redirect. The irony here is that if
you left, I wouldn’t be—”
“Why do you lie to your friends?”
“That’s none of your business,” I said. “Like everything about my life.”
“I get why you want to be able to leave your property, but why with Freddie?”
You love your career more than you love us. I ground my tailbone onto the journal until it hurt. I let out a small yelp.
Grant narrowed his eyes and studied me. His massive body filled most of the back seat.
Hey, Coyote said, Grant’s massive body fills most of the back seat.
I pushed my toes under Grant’s thigh, gave him a thoughtful look with some heat in it.
“Oh no.” Grant pushed my feet away and scurried out of the DeVille. He left the door open and leaned in to say, “That’s not what this is about.”
“Come on,” I cajoled. “I told you, Freddie and I have an open relationship.”
“I saw Freddie’s face when you talked about your open relationship the day you sent me away. You want to mess with your boyfriend like that, go ahead, but keep me out of it. I also saw your face during that conversation. You don’t want an open relationship. And that’s one more lie.”
I reached behind my back to wedge Grant’s journal out of sight between the door and the seat, then slid across the seat and out. Grant leaned against the DeVille with his arms folded.
“We won’t talk about Freddie,” I said.
“You brought him up, but no problem. There’s no shortage of sore spots to poke.”
“Butt out. You agreed to my plan, which wasn’t an invitation to nose around in my life. I only wanted to help you to shift your perspective about work.”
“And you did. Thanks. Now tell me about Aza.”
I sighed and glared at the pushy jerk. With reluctance, I admitted to myself that if I told Grant a bit about Aza, relieved a little pressure, I might be able to slam the lid on my box of sad memories and rebury it, keep my mother underground where she belonged. When I left Vashon with Freddie, I would leave the triggers behind. Problem solved.
