by S. E. Hall
“So where are we going?” he frumpily asks.
I turn down his torture, aka the music. “I’ll tell you, but unless I say different, it’s between you and me. Okay?”
“Laney, you know the drill. If he asks, I won’t lie to him.”
“Well, he’d have to use a damn phone before he could ask, right? Maybe by the time he gets around to doing that, I’ll have decided he can know.”
“Did y’all have a fight?”
“Actually, no,” I pause to slap the hand sneaking for the music, “we didn’t. So I don’t know what’s up.”
“Shit, Laney, should we stop at the next store and check the back of milk cartons? I know my boy, and he wouldn’t ever ignore you.”
“He’s probably just busy with work.” I shrug my shoulders, not quite buying my own answer. It is odd, Dane usually texts me at least five times by this hour, and the mornings I don’t wake up with him curled around me, I wake up to a “Good Morning” call or text.
“On a Sunday?”
“He gets calls on Sundays all the time.”
“Why didn’t you stay with him last night anyway?”
“I don’t know.” Hmmm now that he mentions it, why didn’t Dane demand I stay with him on a Saturday night? I honestly hadn’t even been thinking logistics when he dropped me off, but now that’s it brought to my attention, something’s not computing.
“I’m gonna text him just in case.”
“Knock yourself out; he won’t answer.”
His big fingers are tapping away on his phone and I steal a quick glance and laugh; Sawyer’s a one finger typing bandit. I turn the music back up, but he lunges for it desperately.
“No, no more, please! I’ll be good, I swear,” he begs. “Back to my original question, where are we going?”
I suck in as much air as my expanding lungs will hold, then let it out in a calming, smooth exhale. “We’re going to see my mother. Well, I’m going to see my mother, you have to wait outside when we get there. Their rules, not mine.”
“Whose rules?” He mouth twists in question.
His reaction confirms it for me; Dane hadn’t told him my business, which I was pretty confident in, but it’s nice to have my trust reinforced.
“My mother’s not well. She left when I was very little and I never knew why, or where she’d gone.”
I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he stays silent. “Dane tracked her down, found out she has trouble.” I refuse to say exactly what, ‘cause honestly, I don’t know enough to explain any questions he would have. “She lives in a special home where they can help her.”
That’s as much as he’s getting, and I can’t believe I told him that much. But Sawyer’s all bark and no bite, one of the greatest guys I know, and I trust him.
“Do you go visit her often?”
“Never. This will be the first time I’ve seen her in almost a decade.”
He lets out a long whistle, rubbing a hand over his almost shaved head. “Why today, now? Dane should be here with you for this, Gidge, not my insensitive ass.”
Insensitive my ass. Who does he think he’s kidding? If you somehow get Sawyer, I just realized I don’t know his middle name, Beckett to take you into that caring, protective, hilarious, loyal bubble of his…you’ve struck gold. I’m very lucky to have him as a friend.
“One, we’ve already established why Dane’s not with me. Two, I am perfectly capable of making rash, emotional decisions by myself. And three,” I switch hands on the wheel to use my right for the jovial shoulder push I give him, “you’re not nearly as insensitive as you give yourself credit for there, Biggun’. In fact, I’m grateful to know you, have you here.”
Definite PMDD. I could write a tampon commercial write now. “Plus, I’m fucking hot.”
And Sawyer brings us right back on track.
“And that,” I concede with an eye roll he can’t see.
When I arrive, Joan, who I spoke with on the phone, and a short, dark-haired woman with kind, smiling eyes named Tammy meet me at the door. Joan hands me a badge to clip on my shirt right before she runs a wand thingy over my body. While she does this, Tammy, apparently my mother’s guardian and cousin, gushes on and on about the last time she saw me and how cute I was. She could have fallen out of a tree and landed on top of me and I wouldn’t have known her.
“I need you to remove your keys, phone and any jewelry from your pockets and place them in here.” She hands me a tray. “They’ll be returned to you when you leave.”
I don’t say WTF out loud, but I know my face screams it.
“It’s for safety reasons,” Tammy says and pats my shoulder, “they have to make sure nothing’s brought in that someone could use to hurt themselves.”
How do you hurt yourself with a cell phone? No—I don’t want to know.
“Your mom is having a really good day. She’s so excited to see you.” Tammy wraps me in an intrusive hug that for some reason, I allow. “I’m just so happy you came, Laney.”
I’m silent, not even attempting to come up with something to say. You could hand me a dictionary and thesaurus right now and I still wouldn’t be able to describe what I’m feeling. The culmination of every fear, insecurity and personal guard I’ve carried for years is coming to a head. By facing the woman waiting down the hall, I face the root of all it. If I face the problem head on, I know longer have it to hide behind…and that makes me feel completely and totally vulnerable.
Huh, I guess I can describe what I’m feeling after all.
I follow them down the hall, stepping over the lines where the tiles connect. You know the whole “step on a crack and you break your mother’s back” thing? Yeah, that little ditty started playing in my head, and so naturally, I’m now taking big steps like a moron. Like a scared little girl.
She’s sitting on the edge of her bed when we walk in, head down and staring at her hands in her lap, which is covered with a 70s puke green and orange quilt. Tammy announces our entry and her head lifts; now her I would know if she fell out of a tree on top of me. A few lines appear around her eyes, not as brown as mine but obviously where I get the green hue mine sometimes have. She’s very thin and frail looking and there’s hints of salt in her brown hair…but I’d know her anywhere.
I don’t smile, nor does she. I don’t move to her, she doesn’t rise.
Neither of us speak.
My eyes move around her room, which is bigger than I would have guessed and all hers as far as I can tell. The walls are a shrine to…me. There are pictures of me on every wall, mostly yearbook shots or newspaper softball articles that have been blown up and framed.
“Laney, would you like to have a seat?” Tammy asks politely.
I shake my head no, still taking in all the pictures, trying to dictate my scattered thoughts.
“Trish, why don’t you show Laney your album?” she again persuades the start of a conversation; anything to break the ice.
“Do you want to see it?”
If every sense wasn’t secretly, acutely trained on her right now, I wouldn’t have heard her. Make no mistake—I may be staring at the walls, making no eye contact, but I feel it when she blinks.
“Sure,” I reply, starting to think about maybe moving closer to her.
From under the quilt, she pulls out a large scrapbook; it was right under there, just waiting. “Laney won the Tennis Ball Throw in 6th grade at the Little Olympics. Second place in the 200 meter dash. Anchor on the Tug of War, they lost.”
Of course we lost! Kaitlyn had the flu and I was the only girl on the team with any meat on her bones. Westwood’s girls were corn-fed and smuggled in from the 10th grade, I’m sure of it!
Two different laughs, blending in harmony, startle me enough to turn and look. My mother’s face looks young when she smiles, holding her side through the fit of giggles. Tammy is doing much the same.
Ohhh…apparently my rant about the steroid-laden cheaters was out loud.
I’v
e also shuffled one inch closer to her, drawn to the melody of her amusement.
Gathering herself now, she turns the page. “Walker’s walk-off made front page news in eighth grade. A two-run homer by Laney Walker won the game and sent the Bandits to regionals. Missed that one; too far and Tammy can’t drive at night so well.” Her fingertips trace the letters on the yellowing page. “Laney is a power hitter, batting .480 this year. Coach Walker, her father, expects big things for this girl.”
Her speeches are jaunty, broken, and I think sometimes she’s reading and sometimes recollecting out loud, or maybe repeating what she’s been told…I can’t quite figure it out.
One inch closer. Page flip.
“‘Logson lineup this year to dominate. Two freshmen on the team the ones to watch.’”
Okay, that one was definitely verbatim from the article.
On and on it goes until the side of my leg is now touching the edge of her bed, and somewhere in the middle of her monologue depicting my high school graduation, where I had no idea I was the 418th person to walk on the stage, I sit down beside her.
She shuts the book and looks at me, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry, Laney.”
“For?”
“Trish—” Tammy tries to cut in but gets shushed with a brisk wave of my mother’s hand.
“For being the way that I am, for having to go. But I’m never too far way. Did you get your flowers?”
One sentence, lots of information, and what flowers are we talking about? I got flowers several times. I thought I had an admirer, then a creepy stalker. Turns out I had a not-well-but-watching mom. I like the last choice best.
“Laney?” Tammy comes to sit on the other side of me, taking my hand. “I know this is a lot to take in, and it’s important we go slow, talk about things over time, for your sake and your mom’s, but please know one thing. Your mom has always loved you. She always kept up with your life and all your great accomplishments.”
“I can tell her myself!” my mother snaps.
“Yes, of course you can,” Tammy apologizes.
It feels like it might be my turn. “I didn’t know it was you; I thought I had a stalker. You could have signed the cards. I didn’t know what happened to you until this past Christmas. Dane told me.”
“The young man I spoke to,” Tammy supplies.
“I know that!” My mother’s voice is still very agitated. “Is he your boyfriend?” she asks, her question to me suddenly gentle.
I face her, now misty-eyed myself. I’m about to discuss boys with my mother.
I’m about to discuss boys with my mother!!
Finally.
This is probably too soon and she hasn’t earned it, except for the whole giving birth to me part, but God, do I feel like my heart is flying—I’m having a heart-to-heart with my mom! It’s astonishing really, how much faster the heart forgives than the mind.
“Yes,” I swallow hard, “Mom, Dane is my boyfriend.”
Her smile warms her tired face and she shyly reaches a hand to my hair. “He’s good to you?”
“Very,” I squeak out and nod so much my head feels like it might fall off. I sigh. “You can’t imagine.” A tear traces its way down my cheek, maybe because I’m talking about Dane and feeling so disconnected from him today, or maybe it’s because my mother is petting my hair.
“That’s how it should be, angel, all your heart can hold. Laney is a good girl, never in trouble, good grades, loves her dad, so pretty and smart. Tammy says she dresses like a lady, goes home early. Laney is a daughter to be proud of.” Her hand continues to stroke my hair but her eyes change, the dim light behind them now out.
What just happened? I feel like I lost her.
“I told Dad I found you. He didn’t know where you were either.
He’s not mad though.”
Great, now I have Tourette’s.
I feel Tammy’s hand come down on my shoulder so I turn, seeing her saddened smile. “I think maybe we’re done for today, Laney.”
“I’m sorry, it just popped out. I shouldn’t—”
“Shhh, you’re fine, child. Your mama didn’t even hear that last part. Let’s say goodbye and talk on the way out, okay?”
“Oh, okay.” I stand, confused and disoriented.
My mother is laying back now, eyes open and on me. “Such a beautiful baby. You never cried, always just smiled and slobbered. Your first word was ‘Dada.’ They never say ‘Mama’ first,” she comments, her laugh laced with exhaustion.
I don’t want to leave. I want to stay and talk, ask questions, smell her, tell her all kinds of things, but she’s done.
“Bye, Mom,” I choke out, refusing to end my first visit crying. “See you.” I reach out to her hand and squeeze.
She squeezes back.
“How’d it go?” Sawyer hustles up the walk to sling an arm around my shoulder.
“Good, I guess.”
I have nothing to compare it to, but I assume it went pretty well. “You’re pale, Gidge. You okay? What happened?” His arm pulls me tighter to his side and he kisses the crown of my head. “I’ll drive, come on, girl.”
Sawyer helps me in the truck. All that I register is that he drives and there’s no music. Outside of that, I’m in a daze. It’s like that head in a bottle feeling, like when you have a really bad ear infection, and I can’t quite shake myself out of it.
“Are you close with your mom?” I randomly spurt out, shattering the long silence we’ve been traveling in.
“Nope,” he pops out effortlessly. “Do you miss her?”
“Maybe I miss having a mom, but I’d rather go without than have her version.”
“What’s her version?”
I have no filter…must be delirious from the “ear infection.”
“A cranked out, slap-happy whore.”
Damn. He must be having pseudo-auditory problems as well.
Aren’t we just a truck full of eloquence?
“Sawyer…” I had every intention of chastising him, but it just came out sympathetic and weary. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“No worries, Gidge. So sum up today’s visit with yours for me.”
“My mom’s not unkind or bad, her mind just doesn’t work like other people’s minds do; she can’t help it. She thought she was doing us a favor by leaving.”
I realize, with those few words, that I’ve forgiven her. I saw it firsthand today; she didn’t take off to travel or bag a different man and start a new family. She lives in her room, her world, thinking of me and trying to capture small pieces of what she had to let go so that I could have normalcy…whatever that means.
“What about your dad?” I ask him. “No idea.”
I could definitely have it worse. My dad is better than the best, and he never strapped me with an evil stepmother.
“Sawyer, I love you. Dane does, too. The whole Crew. You know you always have us, right?”
“Yeah, Gidge.” He turns his head and flashes me a Sawyer smile full of deep blue eyes and dimples. “I know. Don’t go feeling sorry for me over there. I’m all good.”
It’s the first lie Sawyer’s ever told me, but I don’t call him out on it. Instead I let it be, laying my head against my window, counting the rises and falls of my chest; I’m all talked out.
“Laney?”
Go away, talky dream thing.
“Gidge, wake up.”
My eyes open, Sawyer’s face looming over mine while he shakes me awake.
“Huh?” is all I manage. I guess I fell deep asleep on the way home.
“Do you trust me, Laney?”
“Huh?”
“You’re kinda a zombie when you wake up, aren’t ya?”
I’m coherent enough to take in Sawyer’s laughter at my disillusioned state. “Where are we?”
“Airport. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, Sawyer,” I bark, not appreciating the onslaught of weird vibes and questions upon just waking. “Why are we at the airport and w
hy do you need my trust?”
“Come on, I’ll explain on the plane.” He grabs my hand and helps me out of the truck.
Oh, ok, sure, let me just board a plane with you to God knows where immediately following the most emotionally-charged day of my life.
Is he high?
“Sawyer, stop! Explain now, you’re freaking me the fuck out.” I snatch my hand from his and dig in my heels.
“I’m not kidnapping ya!” He turns with a smug smirk that desperately needs wiped off his face. “Relax, I’m trying to help you, all of you. I swear, sometimes it really seems like you and Dane are one soul split in two bodies. You guys even unknowingly play your major drama cards on the same day. But then again, you tell each other nothing; not the big stuff anyway. You guys confuse the hell out of me.”
He. Is. Exasperating.
“Can you try that again, in say, English?” My shoulders droop and I sigh loudly. “What are you talking about?”
“I found Dane. Should have clicked sooner, but, like I said, you guys both have major breakthroughs and shitstorms on the same damn day, so it didn’t. Your boy’s had a big day and he needs you. I’m taking you to him.”
“Where is he?”
“Connecticut.”
Just around the corner; sure, let’s go. I wonder if my current friends know there are actually people in the world who have to wait for other people to pick up a phone or drive home because they don’t have private planes on standby.
Seeing as how I am staring at a plane, stairs down and ready to whisk us to Dane’s rescue, I guess not. “We’re flying to Connecticut?”
“Yep.”
“How’d you find him? That’s his plane, isn’t it?’
“Group effort and yes, one of them. I called Tate, Whitley, you name it, while you were visiting, and we finally fit the pieces together. Tate got us the flight and a car waiting on us, Whit tracked down the address where I’m sure we’ll find him. Now all I need is you on the plane.”
I slacken my stance, letting him pull me towards the awaiting plane now. He didn’t say he talked to Dane, which tells me we’re swooping in unannounced. If Whitley knew, and he’s in Connecticut, this is something about his past; his life before Georgia.
