“How are you tonight, Robby?”
“I’m good, but I found this,” he said in a rush. I struggled to comprehend. It was vitally important to me that I understand his words, not because I worried what he would say, but because he deserved that, and so much more. “It’s yours,” he said. “I found it at dinner. I got it back for you.”
I held out my hand and he placed a toothbrush into my outstretched fingers.
“It’s green. I know it’s yours because it looks like the one we got last night.” He hesitated, and I knew he was working to form the sounds correctly. “It fell out of Mrs. Huffman’s apron pocket when she bent down to pick up Marcus’ food. I don’t know why she had your toothbrush.” He looked at me expectantly.
Startled, I closed my hand around the brush. “I don’t know either, Robby, but thank you for bringing it back to me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, before stepping up to take his turn at the moon.
Chapter 18
I hated to leave the beautiful night and the excited children behind, but I wanted to get back to my room and have a look at the toothbrush Robby had handed me. I was certain it wasn’t the one he’d helped me pick out. I had used that one just after my shower earlier in the evening, and Robby said Mrs. Huffman dropped this one from her pocket during dinner.
All of which meant either by some coincidence Mrs. Huffman was carrying around a toothbrush that looked like mine, or I hadn’t forgotten mine at home after all. My open bedroom door of the previous night suddenly seemed more significant, the memory of my toiletry bag on the bathroom counter. I had assumed it was untouched simply because everything appeared to be in its place.
I waved goodnight to the children and walked quickly back to the Lodge, my head spinning. Sarah was still hard at work at the desk down the children’s wing, and on impulse I turned left, towards her office, sorry to disturb her but needing to speak with her. She looked up as I approached.
“Good evening, Ms. McIntosh. You must have found the kids outside stargazing.”
“I did. It’s a beautiful night for it.” I gestured towards the stack of file folders on her desk. “You’re working hard.”
“Always.” She made a wry face. “The paperwork is never done. Can I help you with anything?”
“I’m not sure.” I’d acted so quickly I hadn’t had time to formulate exactly what it was I wanted to ask her. I remembered hearing Bryan speaking with Robby when I headed for my room the night before, but I hadn’t heard Sarah. That seemed as good a place to start as any.
“Do you and Bryan always divide responsibilities?” I asked. “I know it’s an odd question, but I’m asking because I wondered if while he was running group last night you might have noticed something.”
“We do,” she confirmed. “Bryan hates charting, so I do that while he runs evening group.”
“So you were here last night, then, at about this time?”
“I was.” She looked concerned. “Is anything wrong?”
I hurried to reassure her. “No, not at all. I just wondered if you happened to see Mr. Huffman enter my room sometime during evening group.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t notice anything, but I get pretty caught up in my work. It’s certainly possible he went in without me seeing.” She looked at me curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s nothing, really.” I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. “It’s just that I was sure I’d locked my door before dinner, but it was open when I returned. I’m probably paranoid, having lived in L.A. for so many years.”
Her expression cleared. “No need to worry here. We’re still remote enough to be fairly safe. Besides, the Lodge stays locked from the outside. If Mr. Huffman did enter your room, I’m sure it was to leave towels or linens or something. The poor man never takes a break, he or his wife. I don’t know what we’d do without them.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I’d forgotten how peaceful the mountain is.” I turned to leave. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
“No problem.” She bent back over her work. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do, thanks.” As I walked down the hall on the way to my room I noticed Mr. and Mrs. Huffman’s light was on, glowing softly under their door. I could hear voices, low and insistent, but I couldn’t make out the words. I’ve always been an assertive person, and I was tempted to knock, but what could I say? “Excuse me, but did you break into my room and steal my toothbrush last night?” Instead, I unlocked my door and stepped inside, turning on the overhead and locking the door behind me.
It was mine, all right, complete with my dentist’s name and phone number stamped into the handle. My travel toothbrush, a freebie I’d gotten at my last cleaning. But why in the world would the Huffmans have wanted it? As I stood pondering that question, my cell rang. I fished it from the pocket of my jeans. John.
“Hello, gorgeous. How’s life on the range?” His voice was a welcome link to reality.
“In the words of Stacey, weird.”
“I won’t ask who Stacey is because you probably can’t tell me anyway, but what’s happening, sweetie? You sound stressed. More stressed than usual, I mean.”
I filled him in on the latest strangeness, and to his credit he let me finish before saying, “Honey, why in the world would somebody steal your toothbrush? I mean, I’ll be the first to say you have lovely teeth and your dental hygiene is exceptional, but really, don’t you think it’s possible you lost it somewhere along the way and the sweet old lady picked it up with the intention of returning it to you?”
“I don’t think so, John. I didn’t realize it was gone until I showered last night. Up until then, I hadn’t unpacked anything. There’s no way it could have fallen out or been misplaced.”
“I still think you’re jumping to conclusions,” he said. “I don’t mean to ridicule you, honey, you know that, but there could be a perfectly innocent explanation. After all, what is she going to do? Stab you to death with your own toothbrush?”
I smiled. Typical John.
“Sweetie,” he continued, “I think the fresh mountain air might be getting to you. After all, you’ve grown used to smog. Your brain probably needs it in order to function properly.”
Leave it to John to ground me with humor. He was right; I was freaking out over a toothbrush. I laughed.
“You do have a way with words. And you’re probably right. This whole situation is so surreal; I’m off balance with it.” I changed the topic. “So what are you guys up to tonight?”
John chuckled. “Mom and Michael are playing board games. They’ve quickly become best friends, I fear. He even let her win at Scrabble. Scrabble, Jessie! You know how awful she is at Scrabble! Seriously, though, he’s a good guy. Much better than your usual type. I like him.”
“Sorry, John, but he’s straight. And I think Steve might disapprove.”
“Very funny, Jessie. You know what I mean. What’s that old song? Maybe it’s time to come down from your fences, honey. What would Billy May say?”
“That’s unfair, John, and you know it.” I was irritated with him for that. It was way below the belt, and he did know it.
“Of course I know it. But what would she say?”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Point taken. But Billy May isn’t here, is she?”
“Jessie.” John’s voice grew serious. “It’s time to make some changes, honey. You have years and years ahead of you. Let’s see if you can make them happy ones.”
I gritted my teeth. I loved John but he was pushing it, and he knew that, too. “But enough about me,” I said, exasperated. “Let’s talk about you.”
John laughed. “All right, honey, I’ll drop it for now. Oh, I almost forgot. We went to the diner tonight for some of that famous key lime pie. Kay was there. She mentioned that Virgil hasn’t come in for the last couple of days, said that’s very unusual for him. No one else seemed to know where he’d gone to, either, so you make sure everyth
ing is locked up tight tonight. Until we get to the bottom of this thing, you need to be careful.”
“No worries, John. I hear the kids coming in now, which means we’re locked up for the night. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“You should come to town tomorrow. We’ll have lunch, and we can visit with the Sheriff if that’ll make you feel any better.”
I liked that idea. “I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll make plans.”
We signed off, and finally, at the end of a very long and exhausting day, I climbed into bed, covered my head with a pillow, and wept.
Chapter 19
Let’s see if you can make them happy ones, John had said, as if it were that simple. I was angry with him for that. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t tried. I’d spent the better part of my twenties modeling myself after my old college roommate, one of the happiest people I’d ever met, but it hadn’t worked. In spite of my best efforts, I’d never been able to banish the darkness that lurked at the edges of my vision, waiting for the chance to pull me under.
My roommate’s name was Tiffany, a fitting name for such a lighthearted young woman. Prior to meeting her, I’d recognized I wasn’t a bubbly sort of girl. I wasn’t the type of girl who whispered and giggled over boys or pinup posters. I was a serious child and an even more serious adult.
After meeting Tiffany, I understood that it was more than seriousness that plagued me; there was a darkness within me that I couldn’t define. It’s difficult to recount accurately the moments in time that shape our futures. We don’t necessarily know that the nuances of a certain moment can influence us forever, but that’s how it was with Tiffany. She influences me to this day; I continue to envy her lightness.
Billy May was fifty years old when I enrolled at Marshall. Until that time, she had never visited Huntington. I know that sounds crazy now, but I’d be willing to bet there are still old-timers up in those mountains who have never set foot in a city. In some places, the world moves on. In some, it simply doesn’t. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing? I don’t know. I only know that it’s true.
The day I moved in I was a bundle of nerves. I was a hillbilly from a town of less than two-hundred. I was book-smart, but I didn’t know anything about the world. Upon reflection, I suppose that isn’t entirely true. In some ways, I knew more than anyone about the world. After all, how many just-turned-thirteen year olds know what it is to lose a baby, particularly one sired by one’s stepfather? I was wise, and yet I wasn’t.
We didn’t own a car; everything we’d needed was within walking distance. The day I moved into the dorm, Raymond O’Brien drove us in his rattling blue Ford pickup truck. More than once I doubted we’d make it there before the tired old truck called it quits, but we did, backfiring and sputtering our way towards the school in spite of the plumes of oily exhaust trailing behind us.
We were awed by the sights and sounds around us, Billy May and I, but not Raymond. He’d been to Marshall several times with his daughter Isabelle, helping her just as he was helping me. Most recently, he and June had visited Marshall to pack up Isabelle’s things and haul them home for the last time. She had dropped out the semester before, disappearing alongside a history major with an insatiable appetite for weed. By the time I entered Marshall that fall of 1981, Isabelle and her history major had headed to New York City to break into modeling. At least this is what she told her heartbroken parents, and it may have been true at that time.
Isabelle was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, a stereotype of the sexy redhead, with brilliant red hair and porcelain skin, a tiny waist and endless legs. Boys from miles around had always come courting Isabelle. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it was because she was the youngest of Raymond and June’s children; whatever the reason, she was spoiled rotten and selfish to the core, as Billy May would have said.
Since she’d been old enough to date, with poor Raymond shooing away the endless line of boys lurking at the front door, Isabelle had made it known to anyone who’d listen that one day she’d leave West Virginia, and her family, without looking back. I don’t think Raymond took her seriously back then, chalking it up to adolescent angst, but Isabelle had been quite serious, as we were all to learn later. I’m sure Robby knew that better than anyone.
It must have been difficult for Raymond to drive Billy May and me to Marshall that sunny fall morning, but if it was, he didn’t show it. He busied himself carrying my boxes in, imparting advice, sharing any helpful information with me he could. If you work in the cafeteria, you can get discounted meals. You don’t need to be going hungry. Isabelle said your resident advisor is the one you can take any concerns to. She’s at the end of the hall. He even toured us around campus, pointing out the buildings with which he was familiar. I made mental notes as we walked, grateful for the information.
When I was safely settled in my room, busily decorating with what little I’d brought from home, he left Billy May alone with me for our goodbyes. Billy May was not a crier, but her eyes were moist that day. We didn’t say much; there wasn’t much we hadn’t already said, but when she hugged me she held on longer and tighter than usual before patting my cheek and letting herself quietly out the door.
It was right after Billy May left that I first met Tiffany. I admired her at first sight; everyone did. It was impossible not to admire Tiffany. Unpretentious, charmingly real, Tiffany had a way of taking over a room.
Just as I was tacking my last poster to the wall, cursing at the cheap tacks that kept impaling my thumbs, she came bursting through the door, talking a mile a minute. “Oh there you are! I wondered when you’d show up. I hope you don’t mind I took the bed by the window. Look at that adorable quilt! You have such cute things.” She wrestled with a box full of paraphernalia, dragging it through the door and across the room as she spoke. I left the job of fluffing my pillows to help her maneuver the box to her side of the room.
“I’m Tiffany,” she continued with barely a pause. “What’s your name?”
“Jessie,” I managed to interject, taking in her mussed blonde curls and Polo shirt before she was off again, breathless from fighting with the huge carton.
“I got in this morning. My mom finally left after taking me out for lunch. Thank goodness! I didn’t think she’d ever leave. We’re going to have so much fun this year, Jessie! Are you as excited as I am?”
I was excited, probably even as excited as Tiffany. Her exuberance caused me to wonder why I was so reluctant to show it. “I am,” I said, and I truly meant it.
We were opposites in many ways. Tiffany was petite and blonde; I was tall and dark. She was chatty and vivacious; I was quiet and reserved. She loved meeting new people and making friends; I was uncomfortable in crowds. It could have been disastrous, two young girls with such opposite personalities rooming together, but it wasn’t.
We were close during those years, and I’m sure we still would be, if it weren’t for me. Nowadays, we send Christmas cards and wish each other happy birthday on Facebook, but that’s the extent of our relationship. I feel guilty about that; I really do. It’s just that eternal optimism can be hard to swallow after a while, especially as one gets older and more jaded. Especially if that one is me. But back then I loved her. I suppose I still would, but being around her reminds me too much of how much I don’t love myself.
“You’re so grown up,” she would say. “I wish I could be more like you. People respect you, but no one takes me seriously.” And, “You’re so together. You know exactly what you want. I’m a mess; I can’t make up my mind from one day to the next.”
I found it hard to believe Tiffany would want to be anything like me. I, on the other hand, didn’t just want to be like her in those days; I wanted to be her. If I could have remade myself into anyone, Tiffany would have been it.
I watched her sometimes, the way she interacted with people. Tiffany brought energy into a room, a charge of atmosphere that was palpable. She had a gift for finding common ground with everyone
she met. I once heard Tiffany engage in a serious conversation about farm equipment with a shy country boy from the next dorm over. I listened, in disbelief, as she debated the merits of no-till farming. She made that boy feel important without even realizing it. That’s how she was.
Tiffany was most comfortable in the center of the crowd, but I could most often be found lurking in a corner, watching everything and praying no one would try to strike up a conversation with me. I lacked the ability to engage in small talk, or much of any kind of talk, for that matter. Whereas Tiffany infused energy, I felt like a black hole, as if my very existence might drain the light from those around me.
I had not acknowledged these things about myself until Tiffany. Truthfully, I don’t think I’d even recognized them. Her lightness emphasized my darkness, highlighting my inadequacies. It was only after meeting Tiffany that I realized just how damaged I really was.
Don’t misunderstand. It wasn’t as if I’d never felt joy, never laughed aloud, never relished the moment. I had. Of course I had. It’s just that, even as I did, the darkness loomed over me. Not even so much over me as under me, biding its time, waiting to engulf me. It never went away, not even on the brightest of days.
I did attempt psychotherapy, not once but twice. The first therapist outlined a meticulous treatment plan designed to encourage me to be an active participant in my own healing. She explained this to me in excruciating detail and I listened, desperate for help. We discussed my shortcomings and spent weeks devising action steps to assist me in reaching my goals. In the end, when confronted with so much paper and ink proof of my own shortcomings, I did what any rational person would do when confronted with such insurmountable odds. I quit.
The second therapist took a different track. He assured me of my inherent worth. He validated my feelings, no matter how terrible, how frighteningly horrid they were. He accepted me unconditionally, regaled me with never ending positive regard, sat in nonjudgmental acceptance of me. I quit him, too. If he couldn’t see the flaws so obviously apparent within me, I didn’t trust his abilities as a therapist.
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