by Deborah Reed
Elin stood. “I think I’ve heard enough.”
“It was all me, Elin. I swear. I was the one who convinced her Not the other way around.”
Elin sat back down and held her head in her hands, fury building beneath her skin. How could she have been so wrong about so many people?
“If I hadn’t ever called her the morning after you left, who knows how things might have turned out,” Neal said.
“Yeah, well, lucky for us all you can’t turn back time.”
“Of course not.”
“I mean it. You can’t get back what you lost. Don’t look at me that way. Leave it alone, Neal. Kate’s gone. The girls are here. That’s it.” She tossed her hands in the air. “That’s all we have. End of story.”
FORTY
THE FOLLOWING MORNING LILLIPUTIAN HANDS jostled Elin awake, and, like Gulliver, she felt large and heavy in the face of two tiny heads near her nose. She sprang up, assuming the worst. “Are you all right? What time is it?”
“Time for breakfast,” Averlee said.
“Wow. How did I sleep in?” Elin began gathering her clothes from the chair.
“You don’t have to hurry. We’re going down now. With Daddy.”
Elin froze, squeezing her shorts inside her fist. “I didn’t realize you’d arranged that.” Averlee was dressed in the red T-shirt and dark denim Elin had picked out for her. “That’s fine,” Elin said. “I’ll be down in a bit.”
“Come boy,” Quincy said, and Fluke followed them out of the room.
By the time Elin had dressed, washed her face, and pulled her hair back, Neal and the girls had already eaten and were in the living room laughing at Fluke scratching his back on the rug. Elin passed through on the way into the dining room, offering a slight nod to Neal. Shug was in good spirits again, the whole house light and airy except for Elin. She was an intruder now. They had shut her out the minute he arrived. Even Shug had forgotten Elin, so taken by this man, by the reunion itself, by the picture of a family reunited, a long lost father returned.
Elin took two small bites of oatmeal already gone cold from her staring too long at the dusty books on the shelves. The coffee churned her stomach just as coldly. My sister didn’t want this, she thought. Had Kate been buried she would surely be turning over in her grave.
A shared dinner alone so they could talk about Averlee and Quincy—this was all Neal wanted, all he said, giving nothing else away, except, “I need your advice,” which gave her the urge to laugh until a sobering thought quickly brought her around: Whatever needed to be said, whatever was going to be decided, should not occur anywhere near the girls.
Now the evening had arrived so quickly. She slipped into her sheer, sleeveless dress, its slender hem resting just above her knees. She slid on her black leather sandals with a single strap across the top of her tanned foot and breathed in the smell of leather. Shug had agreed to watch the girls.
Elin insisted she and Neal drive separately, and she rounded the sidewalk to the Cuban diner, anticipating his face, his words, his pleas perhaps. Her leather purse on her shoulder thumped her ribs like a reminder, a poke in the side like a warning to watch herself. She’d pulled her hair into a twist at the back of her neck, and several strands had come loose near her eyes and several more in the form of small curls at the back of her neck, and she let them slide in the breeze, giving the impression of someone less complicated, someone less wound up.
Year-round Christmas lights sparkled in the doorway, and blue and yellow curtains gave the evening sun a gauzy light. Neal was already inside, waiting at a booth, the tips of his wispy hair a bit more under control as if still damp from a shower. His skin appeared tanner against his pale green shirt. Milky white buttons trailed down his chest, causing his teeth to flash even whiter when he smiled.
Mambo music streamed through the speakers, happy rhythms—trumpets, bongos, cowbells, and maracas. It filled the air with such immediacy that when Neal jumped up to greet her it was as if he’d been called to dance.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. His smile was too eager for comfort, his skin lined by time and sorrow and clearly too much sun, all of which had somehow made him more appealing. Not more attractive, but rather had left a deeper character on his face.
“Elin,” he said, and stepped toward her with his hands out as if to hug her. But then he seemed to think better of it, and turned instead to the booth. He waited for her to sit. A trace of the same lemony aftershave passed as he lowered himself onto the airy vinyl seat.
Elin picked up her fork, and laid it back down.
A man was suddenly placing menus on their table. “Nice to see you this evening.” He bowed toward them both. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
Neal smiled at his back as he walked away.
“I’m sorry,” Elin said quickly, before losing her nerve. “I wasn’t very good at listening to you earlier.”
“There’s no need—”
“I apologize anyway.”
The music shifted to a call and response, a chorus repeating the vocals, jazz horns mixed in between with bongos, the clicking of claves, and Elin felt a shift in the whole mood of the place, a shift within herself.
“So, I assume you quit drinking out there, in Arizona?”
Neal nodded with a faint smile as if the memories were spinning rapidly through his brain. He rubbed the back of his hand. “I’m no longer a firefighter.”
“Oh.”
“I work at a clinic now.”
“A clinic? Doing what?”
“I’m a physician’s assistant.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“But isn’t that like a doctor or something? Didn’t you have to go to school?”
“Yes. And yes. I did. I’ve been busy. I got busy and it saved my life.”
“Do you like it?” She was having trouble picturing him shedding all that heavy gear, leaving behind the smell of soot for a crisp white coat, for a tongue depressor clamping down on sick tongues.
“I do. A lot. The pay is a whole lot more than what I used to make, and without the risk of dying on the job.”
“Well, that’s… great. Congratulations.”
“I can’t get over how much Averlee looks like you.”
Elin glanced at the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No. It’s fine.”
“It’s hard not to say it. It’s just so strange, seeing the two of you walk into a room, like—”
“What? Like what?” She could hear the agitation in her own voice.
“You seem really uncomfortable,” he said. “We can go somewhere else where it might be easier to talk. Take a walk around the lake.”
“What did you mean by ‘seeing us walk into a room like,’ what?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you saying that when people see us together they’ll just assume she’s my daughter? That it all worked out in the end?”
“Elin. No. Come on.”
The waiter returned. “Ready?” he asked.
“Sure,” Neal said. “How about two of the specials on the board.” He looked to Elin for approval. She clenched her jaw and nodded, reluctantly, and Neal handed the menus to the waiter, who glanced nervously at them both before turning away.
“I love Arizona,” Neal said.
What was he getting at now? “I’m very fond of Oregon,” Elin said.
“Never been.”
“Never been to Arizona except for driving straight through to get here.”
“It’s nice.”
“A lot of old people, I hear.”
“A lot of rain in Oregon.”
“Stop it, Neal,” she said.
“It doesn’t have to be so hard.”
But it was, and she cast her eyes around the squares of white linoleum for fear of breaking under pressure if her attention were not quickly drawn elsewhere.
He slid his hand across t
he table though he didn’t touch hers. Not quite. “How have the girls been since Kate died?”
“They’re all right.” She saw him looking at the pale circle on her finger where her wedding band used to be. He covered her whole hand with his own.
“I’m sorry about Kate. I know you two had your troubles, but”—he clasped her tighter—“I cared about her,” he said, and Elin could see that this was true. “It’s why I stayed, and it’s why I left. Faulty as it was.”
Elin concentrated on their joined hands, the sun streaming onto the checkered tablecloth that smelled of starch. She wondered if their memories differed, if they’d chosen to keep the same ones. Hers that glint of recognition in his face when she came home after only hours away, the instantaneous rejoining of souls hoisted up in greeting. She remembered, in vivid detail, making love with him, scenes that returned over the years while straddling Rudi. Neal had a way of falling back onto his pillow and laughing afterward. At the wonder of it, she guessed. He had made her laugh, too.
Neal smiled, sadly, having no idea what was going through her mind, seeing only what must have been a faraway look, and he let go of her hand, leaned back, took a drink of water, and finally met her eyes.
“I don’t think I can eat much right now,” Elin said, thinking of how years ago she had left him right at the height of some power, sirens going off inside her head, on her way to save the day, tending to something larger than herself. And then she wasn’t.
“I don’t have much of an appetite either,” he said.
“Kate wanted the girls to live with me,” Elin said. “It’s written in her will.”
He stood and then scooted in next to her, his hip, his thigh against hers. He placed his arm on top of the seat behind her, the white buttons of his cuff resting coolly against the warm skin of her neck, and she could see the fine demarcation drawn at her feet, the division between one kind of happiness and another. She thought of her sister, of a line from an old song about how “love was not a victory march.” One kind of happiness and another. She tried to prevent herself from seeing it, but couldn’t.
FORTY-ONE
WINK HAD SLEPT ON VIVVIE’S sofa. She’d heard his restlessness through the night, the creak of the frame beneath his shifting weight. More than once she threw the blanket off her legs with the intention of going in there and telling him to go home to his own bed. But she couldn’t bring herself to rise. Come morning she listened as he moved through her house, understanding that he did not want to leave her alone, not even for a minute, and she could feel him at intervals, standing in the doorway, looking down on her while she pretended to be asleep. She’d finally called out, “Good morning,” and he brought her coffee with toast. She managed to take in half of each.
He sat with her now on the bed. Ten o’clock in the morning and she was still in bed. It hurt to open her eyes. “Do you think I need a doctor?” she asked.
“Do you feel like you need a doctor?”
“I just feel sick is all.”
“You were pretty upset yesterday. Crying that hard will give you a hangover.”
Vivvie caught his eyes, a slipstream of understanding, visions of him hidden away next door, grieving before she knew him.
“I want to see my daughter,” she said.
“Which one?”
Vivvie smiled. “Elin.”
“Whew.”
“You’re a good man,” she said, and he turned away as if embarrassed, patting her arm as he stood. Vivvie reached for his hand, big and warm and familiar to her now.
“You think maybe you could get Elin on the phone? Tell her it isn’t about the girls. She doesn’t need to bring them with her. She shouldn’t bring them. She should come alone.”
“I can do that.”
“And would you mind bringing me the notebooks and letters? I think Elin should see them, too.”
“Holy crap, Mom.” Her mother was sitting in bed, face drawn, pink puffs rimming her bloodshot eyes. She appeared ancient, feeble compared to the robust woman Elin had seen just a week before. Kate’s notebooks were piled atop the tangled blankets around her mother’s legs. A stack of letters leaned against her knee and spilled onto her lap. Elin looked closely, recognizing Neal’s handwriting.
“I’ll be next door if you need anything,” Wink said. Elin had forgotten he was there. He slipped down the hall and out the front door.
“What’s going on?” Elin asked.
“Pull up the chair,” her mother said.
“You look awful. How long have you been like this?” Elin asked.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Are you sick?”
“I’m better than I was. Get the chair.”
Elin dragged the kitchen chair with the broken cross stick to the bed, unease spreading quickly, her legs going soft, cheeks heating along the bone like a child with a fever, her mind loose and otherworldly. What was happening here? Something awful was happening here.
Elin sat, waited for her mother to speak, to stop picking at the hem of the sheet and address the spinning spheres of stories already soaring off the pages on the bed. She waited for her mother to wrap her arms around her skinny shoulders, to ward off the horrors, the wicked tales too chilling to be true.
“I know you know what happened that day in the woods,” her mother said. “I know that Kate knew, too.”
Elin shot to her feet. What to do? Duck? Run? Turn and fight? It was impossible to find a clear thought with an icy stream for veins. Her brain paralyzed, her arms and legs disabled. It was all she could do to make a slight turn so that her mother could not see her face.
“When you were a teenager, I said something to you that I regret, about the dog. You were asking about the blood on his head. You had every right. But I was scared. You had nothing but hate for me then, and even if you hadn’t… Either way, I didn’t know what else to say. So I lied.”
Elin didn’t move, didn’t breathe as far as she could tell.
“I don’t want to talk about the rest, about what happened out there with your father,” her mother said. “I don’t want to have to explain myself. That’s not what this is. I just want you to know how sorry I am for all the pain I caused you and Kate. It wasn’t my intention. You might find it hard to believe but I’d meant for the exact opposite, the absolute reverse of what took place.”
She was crying now. Her mother was crying. When had Elin last heard her tears? Had she ever heard such a sound? Once. Beneath the window.
“I thought we could escape the grief. I wanted to spare you—”
“Mom. Don’t.”
“I want you to have Kate’s notebooks.”
“Fine.”
“There are some beautiful poems in there.”
“Whatever.”
“Look at me.”
Elin couldn’t turn around. She knew if she did the day in the woods would appear in her mother’s face, what her mother had done, the whole of what she’d actually done right there in her motherly eyes and mouth, because it was still there, of course it was, running fresh through her mother’s mind all the time because how could it not? Her mother had a slaughter stuck inside her head, a stain clouding everything she ever looked at, or ever tried to see. Including Elin. Maybe especially Elin.
Elin punched the wall with the side of her fist.
“Don’t,” her mother said. “Please. Sit down.”
Elin pounded again. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“Honey.”
Honey? Elin thawed. She turned to face her mother. “I’ve always known. I just didn’t want it to be true. I was and still am that little girl knowing, right here, right now, as if no time at all has passed, and I have no idea what to do with the weight of such a thing. What you’re saying now doesn’t make a difference to me. I wish I could say it did. That I think I understand now, as an adult, after seeing what Kate went through, that I understand at least why you did it, and that knowing is enough for me to say, ‘Oh, all right, sure, mercy kil
ling,’ and all that. But you know what? It isn’t true. I don’t know if it can ever be true. It’s suffocating.” Elin held a fist to her chest.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness.” Her mother clutched her hands together in her lap, lifted and let them fall softly, repeatedly.
“It matters, Mom. It just does. It so completely fucking matters.”
“Please don’t talk to me like that.”
Elin burst out laughing. “Don’t talk to you like that? We’re past manners, don’t you think?”
“No. I don’t. And I’m not trying to make excuses—”
“I get that. There’s nothing simple about any of this, no matter how many years I’ve spent trying to act like it never happened. Trying to pare it down into something digestible, something to look past, or barrel straight through. I couldn’t, I can’t—”
“I never meant for that to happen. You shouldn’t have to—”
“I even used it against my own sister.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t comprehend the meaning of it. The burden of it. I was just a kid and it was like some urban legend or something, some scary story to frighten other kids, to frighten Kate. It wasn’t real. It was, but it wasn’t just the same.”
“I never meant to hurt you and Kate.”
“Do you regret it? What you did? Is that what you’re saying?”
Her mother hesitated, eyes widening, mouth open, working up the words that would not come.
“Jesus, Mom!” Elin shook her head at the ceiling, trying to temper the tangle of emotion in her gut.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” her mother said. “I’m not asking you to understand.”
“How can you not wish to take it back?”
“Because I loved him more than I hated the act of what I did.”
“Really. Really? You weren’t just his wife, you know. You were our mother, too.”
“I’m sorry you ever learned the truth of it.”
Elin plopped into the chair, defeated. “Don’t you get it? The point is, you were shaped by it, Mom. It changed you And my knowing the truth, well, I guess my facing the truth, actually helps in the end. It helps to explain why you were such an awful mother.”
