The Desert Behind Me

by Shannon Baker

  “Not really. No. I think maybe she’s worried I’m not ready for a normal life. You know? Like when you have a baby, you introduce foods one at a time and make sure they tolerate those before you add something in.”

  Tara always took a moment to consider what I said. It didn’t bother me, since it often took me time to process a response. “Do you think you’re adding too much, too quickly?”

  “Maybe.”

  We both knew her job was to ask me the questions until we dug down to the meat. “Why do you think that?”

  I told her about Patricia’s seizure.

  Tara listened, of course. “Because of you, she got the help she needed right away. You were able to give the responders vital information. And you kept the kids calm.”

  “That’s all standard.”

  She drilled me with her eyes. “Stop minimizing. You handled yourself in an unexpected situation and you helped people.”

  That’s part of the life I used to take for granted. “Okay.”

  She wasn’t done convincing me. “Why do you volunteer for the Rangers?”

  “I volunteered because I have all this training I didn’t want to go to waste.”

  She clucked. “Because you like to help people and you’re good at it.”

  I couldn’t help the one person I should have.

  She gave me a stern pronouncement. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t save everyone.”

  More to distract her than anything, I brought up the drive with Grijalva and letting down my walls to talk about hiking. “When he asked me for coffee, I panicked. It took me all evening to calm down.”

  Grijalva asking you for coffee is not what upset you.

  “But you did calm down.”

  “Yes.”

  “Without meds?”

  “Yes.” Tara hadn’t been convinced cutting my meds was a good idea, but I’d argued and eventually won.

  “That’s progress. Would you like to go out with him?”

  My face warmed. “Maybe. But what if I get so nervous I can’t talk? What if I make a fool of myself?” What if going out with a man ends up like last time?

  Her kind face relaxed me. “What if?”

  “Then he’ll never want to see me again.” Or worse.

  “Then what?”

  “It. Well.” We were playing her game. One I knew well but fell for every time.

  She tapped her pen. “Exactly. Then you won’t see him again and that will change your life, how?”

  I shared her smile. “I won’t be any worse off than I am now.”

  “Except you will have gained experience to help you next time.”

  She scribbled on her notepad and looked up at me. “What did Frank and Maggie have to say about Grijalva? What’s his first name, by the way?”

  “Rafe.” Maggie had been with me as long as I could remember. Until four years ago, she’d been the strongest of only a few voices. Now, more urgent and insistent voices often drowned her out.

  “Short for Raphael?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Frank and Maggie, you talked to them last night?”

  “Frank, as usual, thought I was a moron and should have told Grijalva—”

  “Try calling him Rafe,” Tara interrupted.

  That sounded like what a friend would call him. I tried it out. “Frank wants me to tell Rafe to take a hike. Only in Frank’s less polite vocabulary. I’m kind of worried Frank will make me say or do something I don’t want to in front of Rafe.”

  “Frank is a voice. He can encourage or cajole, but he can’t make you do anything as long as you remember you’re in charge of him. It’s not like split personalities, where they take over and your main identity is overrun.”

  I nodded and reiterated mostly for myself. “I have voices, not split personalities.”

  “Right.” Tara nodded approval. “And Maggie? What did she say?”

  I looked at my hands fisted in my lap. “Maggie likes R-Rafe. She thinks he’s smart, kind, and safe.”

  Tara watched me as if I’d said something fascinating. “What’s wrong with listening to Maggie?”

  “She isn’t discerning. She likes everyone. She even likes me.”

  Tara took that as a joke and chuckled. “I like you, too.” She rested her pen on her pad and leaned back. “Did you tell your mother about Rafe?”

  My silence was her answer. She took up her pen and jotted on the pad. “You think she’d disapprove?”

  Disapprove sounded so negative. “She worries I’m not ready to make friends. She wants me to get a dog, maybe take up agility training. She thinks that will keep me busy.”

  “But you just told me you are busy.” She held my gaze a beat. “So, how do you feel about a dog?”

  “She never let me get one as a kid. Said they were too much work.”

  “But she wants you to get one now. Why, I wonder?”

  “She got the idea when we were talking about the Arizona Rangers and a woman I partner with quite a bit.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “Patricia Sanchez.”

  “Is she a friend of yours?”

  Friends teased and joked, shared confidences and details of their lives. “Not really.”

  “Would you like her to be?”

  Coffee and lunch. Movies, shopping, hikes. Laughter, tears. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “But your mother thinks a dog is better?”

  “She doesn’t want me to get hurt.”

  “And a friend would do that?”

  The conversation felt like shots fired from foxholes across the battle line. “Point taken. Can we move on?”

  She scribbled something then sat back. “Are you ready to start the memory work?”

  My stomach flipped. The last thing I wanted was this journey. Moving forward without going back first wasn’t possible. I swallowed around an island of dread in my throat.

  I closed my eyes and Tara’s quiet voice directed me back to a place before it happened. “Remember the difference between then and now. If this gets too much for you, come away from then and return to now.”

  “Okay.”

  She paused for a beat to let that settle in. “What do you see?”

  “We’re at Walgreens on Tuesday, right after track practice. We’d argued because she wanted McDonalds and I said we’d eat stir fry I made when we got home.”

  My voice sounded flat, almost sleepy, but inside, electricity shot through my veins. It was always like this when Tara guided me back and I saw her again.

  “She pulls a box of blue hair dye from the shelf and begs me to let her get it. Her blonde hair is so smooth and beautiful. Nothing like my mousy mane. I hate the idea of hiding it. I laugh and tell her about the time I dyed my hair deep auburn without telling Mom. When she saw it, Mom made me cut off two feet of my hair to a pixie so the color would grow out quicker.”

  Tears fell hot on my cheeks but this memory made me happy. “When I say yes, she gives me a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek in the aisle and an elderly man glares at us.”

  My heart beat faster. “Before we leave, she takes me to the hobby aisle. She and her friends decided to make matching obnoxious hair bows for the track team pictures and she needs red ribbon and a glue gun. I give her a lecture on spending too much money, but end up buying it for her anyway.”

  Pressure threatened to explode behind my eyes. “I have the key in the ignition when she squeals and dashes back into Walgreens. She comes out with a big box of Hot Tamales, like the kind you get at the movie theater. ‘I can’t do geometry without my tools.’ I roll my eyes.”

  For a moment I stayed in the dark car with her beside me. Then Tara intruded. “What’s next, Jamie?”

  I wanted to turn away from the scene before my closed eyes. “The porch light is on and I’m thinking about how much fun I’ve had tonight. She was right, now that she’s growing up, it won’t be long before she’s off to a life of her own. It’s time for me to start
going out.”

  My chest feels as though a house landed on it. “I call hello as I enter the front door. No answer. Her geometry book is open on the table. Pages scribbled with theorems and calculations are scattered across the table. The snippets of ribbon and hot glue gun are on the counter but the hair ribbon is gone. Hot Tamales litter the floor and dribble across her book. I run to her bedroom, to the living room, I’m probably screaming but I can’t remember.”

  My words started shooting out on hot breath and I knotted my hands. “She’s not in bed. Not watching TV. She’s not in my room. To the guest room. Kitchen. Garage. Back yard. I know I’m screaming and running down the sidewalk. I’ve seen this from the other side, the cop angle. I know what’s happening and I’m panicking, even as I can’t believe she’s missing. There’s an explanation. There has to be. Any second she’s going to call and say she is at a friend’s house. She’s going to walk through the door. I’m fighting it, hoping, praying, as I call her friends, knowing with each phone call my worst nightmare is forming my new reality.”

  By then, I was sobbing, hardly able to draw a breath. I hiccupped and eventually brought it down to a sniffle. The storm subsided and I drew in a deep breath.

  I opened my eyes to the tissue Tara held for me. “Thank you for your hard work.”

  By the end of our session, I felt drained.

  She walked me to the door. “I know this was difficult for you. But think about the progress you’re making with your new friends and the good work you’re doing with the Rangers. Don’t be surprised if you feel especially stressed for the next few days. Maybe experience some relapse. Be gentle with yourself. It’s okay to take your meds if you feel particularly vulnerable.”

  I assured her I felt stronger than I had for some time. But her worry nagged at me. Maybe she saw something I wasn’t aware of.

  I’d somehow not got around to telling her about Zoey Clark and that I’d followed her away from the school, allowed something terrible to happen to her. I might have been the last one to see her before she disappeared.

  Never even mentioned seeing the man, probably completely innocent, staring at me across the playground.

  “Not innocent,” Frank said.

  7

  The multi-use path along the Rillito River opened before me. My habit was to walk several miles after my appointments with Tara. It gave me a chance to talk to Frank, or anyone else I might need to debrief about the session. Since most desert dwellers used the path in the morning or evening to avoid the heat, in late afternoon, I had the path mostly to myself.

  The first mile I set a brisk pace and tried to clear my mind. After that, with my phone pressed to my ear, I let Frank have his rein.

  “You’re a moron.” He launched in. “Why in hell would Grijalva want to spend time with you? Think about it.”

  I’d been mulling that over since yesterday. “Maybe he wants to be friends.”

  Frank cackled in derision. “Right. Because you’re so fascinating and inviting.”

  I’d learned, just because Frank said something, didn’t make it true. “People used to like me. It’s not so strange they might again.”

  “Dream on, cupcake.” Before I shut down this line, Frank changed the subject on his own. “You saw that guy at the school.”

  An alarm erupted inside my brain. Is this what Frank meant when he told me I missed something? The man at the school was not the same man as the ball park, but something told me there was a connection. “Who is he?”

  “Maybe he’s no one. Maybe someone. You figure it out.”

  The smile, with those even white teeth. The arrogant stride. “Do I know him?”

  Frank taunted me. “Isn’t that why you spend so Goddamned much time on that couch? So you can answer your own stupid questions?”

  Frank’s belligerence didn’t penetrate my first skin layer. I gave him another mile before I turned back. Some days we marched ten miles before I felt steady enough to drive home. Tara didn’t know about the walks and Mom certainly didn’t. They might think a three-mile trek to ground myself was cause for alarm. Today, I counted it a victory that I hadn’t walked ten miles.

  My phone buzzed, interrupting Frank mid-rant. “Time’s up, buddy.”

  “I’m not done. There’s more you need to hear.”

  I checked the caller ID and punched to connect. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How was your meeting with Tara?”

  In Buffalo, the sun would be starting down, her office would be glaring with overhead industrial lighting. If today was like most from my childhood, she’d still be at that desk for another two to three hours. “Sun is shining here. It’s in the eighties. Lovely day.”

  She sighed.

  “That’s how small talk is done,” I teased.

  A smile crept into her voice. “Retired people have time for small talk.”

  “You could be retired. Stay up as late as you want, sleep in, read by the pool.” If I made it seem wonderful, maybe she’d believe I was happy. Maybe I would, too.

  “I’ll retire soon enough. So, how did it go with Tara today?”

  My footsteps kept a steady beat on the pavement and I passed under a mesquite tree. “About like yesterday and the day before.” Except I’d skipped yesterday because of the school assignment. Mom didn’t need to know that.

  Mom would be shuffling reports on her desk, scanning the highlights and talking to me at the same time. “Stick with it. It’s obviously doing you good.”

  An agave spread spiked leaves in the pea-gravel along the path. Like most living things in the desert, it protected itself against everything, not distinguishing between benevolent and evil intruders.

  “What did Tara think about you getting a dog?”

  I braced myself. She wouldn’t take rejection of her idea lightly. “I think I’ll hold off. Right now, I like having the flexibility to take assignments with the Rangers.”

  “Did Tara think that’s a good idea? The Rangers holds a huge risk of stress. Whereas a puppy would give you the responsibility of caring for someone else, assuage your loneliness, and let you practice a relationship.”

  “I’m not lonely.” Liar. “And if I were, the Rangers helps me get out socially, I take care of people, and I’m making friends.”

  “But are you really making friends? And are they the right kind? Law enforcement people tend to be cynical with a hard shell.”

  We both paused and then cracked up at the same time. She recovered first. “It’s good to laugh with you again.”

  The path curved around a saguaro, its arms raised like a bandit in surrender. “Come for a visit. We’ll laugh more then.”

  She answered predictably. “I’d love to. But I’ve got so much to do. Maybe next month, if I can keep everything from blowing up here.”

  “Sure.” Was I more relieved or disappointed? That teeter-totter remained unchanged for forty-five years.

  “I wish I’d made plans to be there for you this weekend.”

  It surprised me she’d thought of that. “I’m doing fine. No need for that.”

  “You thought you were good last year, too. And look what happened.”

  I didn’t want to look at what happened but there it was. The pain had overwhelmed me and I’d let Frank have too much power. By then, I’d known not to give in to him, but it hurt too much and he seemed to have a solution. With him directing me, I’d gathered the photos, the albums, and loose prints. So far removed, I’d watched my fingers light a match, mesmerized by Frank’s demands and the flickering yellow flame. I held up an 8 X 10 school photo. Her pink bodice disappeared and the flames lapped at her snaggle-toothed, seven-year-old grin. Frank wanted me to hold the photo and let the flames snap at my fingers, but I dropped it in the sink and grabbed another. And another. A whole album. Burned it all.

  “I’ve worked hard this year. I’m okay.”

  “It’s probably a good thing I didn’t fly out there. It’s a general cluster here.”

  A bench ne
stled in a nook of the trail surrounded by lush bougainvillea bushes. This signaled the end of my march, where I’d leave the path, wander through the well-kept office park, and make my way to my car.

  Mom and I said our I-love-yous and goodbyes. Phone off and slipped into my back pocket, mind on Rafe Grijalva. Frank wondered what Grijalva wanted from me? Was it naïve to believe in simple friendship?

  The magenta of the bougainvillea drew my attention and I stopped dead. As if a cluster bomb blew up in my gut, everything in me shut down. The man in the ball cap and blue shirt, dress trousers, those polished teeth. He sat on the bench amid the blooms, scrolling on his phone.

  Maybe I made a shocked noise. Maybe he sensed my frozen figure staring at him. He glanced up, registered me, then slowly rose and walked away. He didn’t seem alarmed, didn’t seem to recognize me.

  I stood rooted to the path and watched.

  Was it the same man? Had I imagined a stranger on a bench looked like another stranger outside a playground? Did either really exist?

  I’d felt so confident of my progress, sure that in a matter of time, I’d be like any other person. Maybe I’d inch toward happiness, or at least not constant bleakness.

  The man disappeared around a bend in the trail, dragging my hope with him.

  8

  Forty-five minutes on the path instead of the two hours she used to walk. He chuckled to himself. She thinks she’s getting better. Putting it all behind her, moving on.

  He’d show her how much progress she was making. The anniversary was approaching and she believed she could handle it. He’d make sure she’d self-destruct. And he’d be there to watch it.

  He was already chipping away at her. Bit by bit. He’d seen her pick out the little girl at the school. And the older girl, too. He had to admit to a certain resemblance. Both skinny with blonde hair, they’d naturally make Jamie remember.

  That made them perfect for him.

  She’d followed that little girl, worried for her safety. Jamie had practically served the girl to him on a silver platter. The older girl would take a little more effort, but he was up to the task.