by Deborah Reed
Elin met her mother’s flinty stare.
“I’m sorry,” Elin said, “but mothering was not your forte.” It sounded like something Averlee would say, the smart tone of it. A small laugh crept into the corner of Elin’s mouth.
Her mother’s, too.
Elin shook her head at the floor, drew her elbows in, and leaned forward as if speaking to her shoes. “Seeing the dog like that, and then the way you treated us with such distance, I mean we had lost our father. We lost him and then we lost you. It did a number on me, not to mention Kate. I’m not trying to fill you with any more guilt. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you company. But you need to understand that I’m sitting here holding onto every bit of grace I own, which isn’t a lot, I’ll grant you that, but what I have does not help me see past what you did.”
Her mother leaned forward, touched her knee. “I’m not asking anything of you at all. I’m sorry. That’s all. I wanted to say I’m sorry and you don’t have to say or do anything. You don’t have to accept it or reject it. I just didn’t want to die and you never know.”
Elin looked her straight in the face. She seemed to be aging right before her eyes. They would never speak of this again, and that was fine. That was what she wanted. “I’m done here,” Elin said.
“What do you mean?”
“This is my Chief Joseph moment. I will fight no more forever.”
“There is no one to fight, Elin. Nothing left to fight about.”
“The girls are going home with Neal.”
Her mother swallowed.
“He’ll let you visit them anytime you want,” Elin said. “He’ll bring them here to see you, he will. And you can go out there. Stay for weeks at a time. He said so.”
“But Kate wanted them to be with you. She wanted you to raise them.”
“I know, Mom, and I can’t say I’m not moved by the gesture. But it wasn’t as simple or straightforward as that. Her intention didn’t stop there. I see what she was trying to do. By giving me guardianship she meant to pull me into the mix. She knew the law would give them to Neal. Of course she did. But in the midst of trying to sort it all out, Neal and I would have been forced together again. I guess she thought that was all it would take for us to live happily ever after.”
Vivvie reached for one of the letters, unfolded the page. “I never liked the idiot for obvious reasons, you know that, but there’s no denying why you and Kate both had a thing for him. That soft-soap voice, that hair. He was always polite. I’ll give him that. But listen here. These are the letters he wrote to Averlee and Quincy. Kate never even opened them. Curiosity would have gotten the best of me. But not Kate. She just filed them away, saving them for some other purpose. Here he is telling Averlee and Quincy what it’s like out there where he lives. ‘Mountains red as fire. Cactus wrens like lovebirds, coming round in pairs…’ ”
“Quite the poet himself,” Elin said.
“Either that or a con artist, putting on airs.”
“Somehow I just don’t see that.”
“Me neither. I’ve just disliked him for so long it’s hard to change course.”
“I know how that is.” Elin blew the air from her chest with a burst. “I’ve got a lot of things to figure out. I need to go back to my life. Not to Rudi, but back to the life I was trying to get to in the first place. I’m sorry. But I guess you already knew that there was no way I was going to stay here. Not that you asked me to. Not that you want me to.”
Her mother smiled sadly. “The minute I saw you in my kitchen, when I said it looked like life was treating you well out there, I could see it wasn’t all true. I could see the trouble in you, but I saw the traces of something lighter, too, something you gained from leaving here. I don’t blame you for going. You deserve to be happy, Elin. Go on. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’ve got plenty to be sorry for.”
“Well, I’m afraid I’ve got you beat there.”
Elin gave a snort for a laugh. “Yeah. You’re the winner, all right. Or the loser.”
Her mother winced.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right.” She smirked and shook her head. “How does that old song go? ‘Gloom, despair, and agony on me’?”
“‘Deep dark depression, excessive misery.’ ”
“That’s it,” her mother said. “Story of my life.”
“You’re laughing, though. I don’t remember you ever being much for laughter. Must be that neighbor of yours getting under your skin.”
“He’s just the lawn boy.”
“I’ll bet he is.”
Her mother smiled, looked toward the window as if embarrassed. The window faced Wink’s house. “When do you plan on leaving?”
“Today.”
“Oh.” Vivvie pushed herself to the side of the bed with her fists and let her legs hang over the bed. “I’ll come visit this time, if you still want me to,” she said. “I’m not returning to Roth’s. I decided to retire. Time is on my side now,” she said.
Elin leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her mother. “Of course you can come visit. You can bring the girls with you, too. The fancy life, Mom,” she whispered, and they both gave a small laugh. “You and that lawn boy ought to take a cruise.”
FORTY-TWO
ELIN HAD TRIED TO IMAGINE their wild hair flapping in misty ocean breezes, the three of them together, crouched near a lighthouse in search of anemones in tide pools. She tried with deep conviction to picture herself helping with homework, with doing their hair, and making waffles on the weekends. She imagined driving through the Willamette Valley of tulips, mint, and vineyards. Imagined they were on their way to the mountain. “What’s all that?” the girls would ask. “Hops and grapes for beer and wine,” she’d say, and then their eyes, their gasps, their joy on the mountaintop beneath the falling snow.
But after weeks of trying to visualize this shared life together, a palpable impression never would form. What she clearly saw was her nieces slipping in and out of her life—holiday visits, emails, birthday and graduation cards filled with cash. What she saw was herself in the role of an aunt.
Now here she was saying good-bye to Shug in the kitchen. Good-bye to everything that might have been, all that could have begun in the rooms of this house but had instead come to an end. Elin thanked and hugged Shug for longer than a person comfortably ought to after having known her for such a short time, but Shug held tight and stroked Elin’s hair the way a mother would stroke a child’s.
“Well, come on now, darlin’,” Shug said. “You act like you’re saying some farewell finale here. Send me a line when you get a chance. I’d love to hear from you.”
“Of course you’ll hear from me. And you know where to find me, too. It’s not all rain. Come see for yourself.” Elin squeezed her again, sure she’d still be thinking of Shug years from now, and this house, and the way Shug had helped Elin take care of Averlee and Quincy, the way she’d looked after Fluke, but mostly the lesson she taught Elin about breezy contentment, an example of compassion, of how to live alone.
But for now the stairs felt like a death march. Averlee and Quincy were waiting for her in the room they’d shared, waiting for their lives to split apart.
They had piled into an armchair with Fluke, all three staring out the window at Elin’s packed car in the driveway. Elin kneeled beside them and Quincy wriggled free of the chair and grabbed onto her neck, held it as if she had no intention of letting go. She kissed Elin’s cheek, a small warm pucker of electricity. Elin had never loved a child before, and now she loved two. It was a terrible heartbreak kind of love, a severing and reassembling in a slightly altered order.
When Quincy lessened her hold Elin pulled a small box of postcards from her purse. Old Florida scenes of fruit crates, gators, and Weeki Wachee mermaids. “You can practice your writing on me. Tell me anything. Everything. What it’s like in Arizona. Keep me up on the latest with your sister.”
Averlee had
been watching the two of them, but at the mention of her name she turned her face to the window, petting Fluke in long strokes down his back.
“Thank you,” Quincy said. Several hugs later she was off down the hall with Fluke, playing and petting and laughing, though softly, and Elin wondered if she was making a conscious effort to respect the somber mood they were caught in, or if her careful quiet just came naturally, an innate understanding of how things worked without having to think.
Elin stood. “Are most of your things gathered in there?” she asked, gesturing toward the suitcase on the floor. “You still have some time. You aren’t leaving until tomorrow.”
“Then why are you leaving today?”
What could she say? Her own cowardliness had her on the run? That having to watch them drive off and leave her there alone was more than she thought she could bear? That she was afraid it might make her change her mind? “I’ve got a long way to go,” Elin said. “Even if I leave today I won’t get there for four or five days. You’ll be in Arizona in just a few hours on a plane.”
Averlee was quiet.
“So your things are in the suitcase, then?”
“Mostly,” Averlee said. “Yeah.”
“Thanks for helping your sister.”
Averlee didn’t look at her.
“It’s going to be fine. You two are in good hands.”
Averlee scratched the back of her hand, her sights still on the window.
“Come here,” Elin said, her arms open, and Averlee came forward, her face partially tucked into her neck, shoulders drawn as if to hide the grief building in her face, tears twisting her against her will.
Elin’s arms wrapped around her niece in a desperate grip that nearly frightened her. She hadn’t quite seen it coming, not like that, and hoped she hadn’t hurt the small bones entrusted to her. She did not want to fall apart in front of Averlee, told herself over and over not to, but then wondered if maybe she should. If maybe she was supposed to. Was staying strong the thing? Or openly expressing her sorrow? She’d have to be a monster to let a child cry against her like that and not show some emotion. She wasn’t a monster. Clearly. While her mind was busy analyzing dumb ideas, her own tears had made a run for it.
“You’ll come visit,” she said through the snot that was now running, too. “Spend whole summers with me, if you like.”
Averlee sobbed and Elin understood what Averlee could not say, perhaps not even inside her own head. Elin couldn’t love Neal the way Neal loved her. She could never be an ideal part of their lives. She would not be stepping in as a mother figure, helping in that way to mend the ruptured life her sister had left behind. Her role would always be that of aunt. Elin hoped Averlee understood, if not now then please someday, she thought, giving her an extra squeeze, someday she said to herself like a prayer, let this girl and her sister, but especially this one here, let her know that Elin could not lift her away from the injustice of it all, no matter how badly she wanted, she couldn’t keep Averlee from having to absorb the world’s achy, lopsided weight. The power was not all hers.
“You’re lucky to have a daddy,” Elin said into the top of Averlee’s head. “I never had one. Not that I remember well enough. Your mother didn’t either.”
“Yes she did. He looked just like her.”
Elin held her out, wiped her face.
“How do you know that?”
“I saw a picture.”
“Where?”
“At Grandma’s.”
“Really?”
“It’s in a box.”
“What box?”
Averlee shrugged.
“Are you sure?”
Averlee held onto her again, nodding into her chest.
“Well. I’ll have to ask Grandma about it. I’ve never seen it.” Elin rocked her gently in the quiet. “Can you tell me something before I go? About what your mother said, about me keeping secrets?”
Averlee’s shoulders stiffened.
“Why did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t want Quincy and me to be like you.”
Elin laughed. “Ha. Well. Mission accomplished. You’re nothing like us.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
“We’re like our mom.”
“Oh. Of course you are. You’re a lot like your mom. You both are. Of course.”
“She said she had some secrets, too.”
“Ah. Well. I guess she did.”
“You sound just like her. You remind me of her.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“She wouldn’t tell me the secrets, though.” Averlee said.
“They aren’t secrets once you tell.”
“That’s exactly what she said.”
“Some things are better left unsaid.”
“She said that, too.”
FORTY-THREE
NEAL HAD PACKED THE CAR the night before, and now the sun was barely on the rise as he wrangled his daughters into the backseat like little drunks, crawling, fumbling, squinting beneath the harsh overhead light. He slid up front and reached over the seat to help settle them in, but Averlee had already buckled Quincy’s seat belt, handed her the white fleece blanket from Shug, and tucked her own, in blue, between her shoulder and the door. Both girls stared straight ahead, hands folded on laps, expressionless eyes, waiting for the next thing.
Neal hit the automatic lock button and all four doors bolted, shutting off the interior light, and the quiet of the car, the smell of new upholstery, expanded in the dark.
Having them now did not mean the years of grief would stand down and leave him alone. He guessed the opposite was closer to the truth. Having them brought it all back. Even when he wasn’t thinking about the past, he was forced to think about the future, forced to grieve all that would never be. Elin was never going to walk through the door and take him back. Kate was never going to forgive him. He would have to learn how to give all that up, hand it in once and for all, in exchange for all that suddenly was.
“All set back there?” he asked, facing forward now, holding tight to the steering wheel. Elin had surprised him with a knock on his door before she left, and then surprised him again when she let him kiss her good-bye, when she kissed him back, long and hard, an everlasting kiss that went beyond two people parting in a doorway.
Averlee gave a thumbs-up in the mirror. Neal fastened his own belt, took one final look at the house, the dark windows, the empty bench on the porch. The pink and yellow sunrise was vanishing the stars on the horizon, others still clinging in the black through the skylight above their heads.
“Tell us again what it looks like,” Averlee said as soon as Neal backed out of the driveway.
“Well. Let’s see. The mountains are red as fire,” he said. “And a creek in the backyard is shallow enough for you to wade in, with soft round rocks, and the deer like to stop by in the early mornings and evenings for a drink.”
“And there are spiny lizards,” Quincy said.
“How do you know?” Averlee asked.
“I told her about them. Funny toads and spiny lizards and cactus like the ones you see in cartoons.”
They were quiet for so long Neal thought they might have fallen asleep. Then Averlee smiled at him in the mirror.
“I remember you from before,” she said.
“You do?”
“I remember the lake you took me to. We were in a giant swan boat.”
“That’s right You remember that? I’m surprised. You were so young.”
“And a real bird landed on the boat.”
“Yes,” he said. “It did. You’re right. A pelican. And it scared you.”
“Scared me. Why?”
“They’re huge, with giant feet and long beaks. A wingspan bigger than you are now.”
“I don’t remember being scared.”
“That’s good,” he said, and watched as Averlee sunk against the window, eyes gazing in the direction of the pine
s. “I’m glad to hear it.” Quincy rested her cheek on Averlee’s shoulder and closed her eyes. What Neal didn’t say was that even as he’d chased the pelican off, even as he told her there was nothing to be afraid of, pulled her against him, covered her small body with his arm, told her he was right there, I’m right here, even as this was happening, he was already planning on leaving her, already packed to go away.
Averlee’s lids bobbed, closed for a moment, and shot back open. It was clear she was fighting sleep. “It’s all right, Ave,” Neal said. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you at the airport.”
She glanced at her sleeping sister on her shoulder, yawned, and cleared her throat. “I’m not tired,” she said. “The early bird gets the worm.”
“You are, too,” Quincy said without opening her eyes.
Within seconds Averlee had sunk against the door, mouth open, her head lost in what must have been a deep state of dreams, waking only when Neal jostled her arm, took her hand, and led her, gently, from the car.
PART FOUR
FORTY-FOUR
THE FOLLOWING YEAR WINK STOOD in front of Vivvie’s bathroom sink across the hall from where she lay in bed, watching him through the open bedroom door. He was wearing a white T-shirt and white boxers that drooped in the seat. He shaved in slow, deliberate lines, his free hand cupped beneath the razor, careful not to drip any foam on the sink. When he finished he tapped the razor twice below the faucet, and flushed away flecks of whiskers left behind. He dried his face with a towel down the same lines he had shaved, smiled at himself in the mirror, and smacked his cheeks.
He came in and flopped next to her, smelling of aftershave and toothpaste.
“It’s Quincy’s birthday, week after next,” she said.
“Lucky seven,” he said.
Vivvie nodded, thinking of Averlee and Quincy’s pictures all over the fridge, the way each girl had begun to resemble Kate around the mouth and in the shape of their eyes, especially when they smiled. Vivvie missed Kate. All those years she was gone were nothing compared to the year that just passed. Hope of ever seeing her again had vanished into smoke, literally, the day her daughter was cremated. Vivvie was still learning how to let go of what she could, how to live with all the rest.
