The Long Way Home

by McQuestion, Karen

  Tonight she remembered Dave’s instructions and carefully locked the door behind her, then checked to make sure it was secure. She paused at Mrs. Benner’s door and listened. Nothing. She knew the old lady was there, though, and to test her theory she paused partway up the stairs. Click—there it was, the sound of Mrs. Benner’s door opening a crack—checking on her, no doubt. It happened nearly every time she came or went. If she backtracked, the door quickly shut. For a woman who liked her privacy, Mrs. Benner sure was nosy.

  She wondered if acknowledging the landlady’s presence violated the no-contact rule. “Good night, Mrs. Benner,” she called out softly before heading up to her place. “Sweet dreams and sleep well.”

  Chapter Five

  Marnie hadn’t even had her second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. In the two months she’d lived there no one had ever rung it, so for a minute she couldn’t place the noise. By the time she figured it out and made her way to the intercom, the visitor had rung again and again.

  She pressed the button to speak. “Yes?”

  “Hey, Marnie, it’s me, Jazzy. From the class last night?” As if she needed reminding. Jazzy continued, speaking in a rush as if they might get cut off. “I have my brother’s car today, so if you need help, I’m here for you.”

  Marnie, who’d spent half the night lying in bed worrying about her dead car, felt relief wash over her. “Really?”

  “Unless you made other plans?”

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Marnie pressed her mouth close to the intercom and spoke loudly. “I don’t have it worked out at all. I’m so glad you came.” She told Jazzy to hang on and went downstairs to let her in. When she opened the front door she saw that Jazzy had a different look than the night before. Today her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, and she wore a dark blue vest with a laminated name tag clipped to the front. The name was in large bold letters: JESSICA.

  “Hey,” Jazzy said. “Good morning.” Her smile was infectious, and Marnie found herself smiling back.

  “Good morning.” Marnie gestured to her smock. “Who’s ‘Jessica’?”

  Jazzy looked down. “Oh that.” She covered it with her hand. “That’s me, sort of. My boss insists on using our given names. I like Jazzy much better, though. Please don’t call me Jessica.”

  “I won’t. I like Jazzy. It suits you,” Marnie said.

  Jazzy leaned against the doorframe and got down to business. “I bought a car battery and thought we could see if that was the problem. I can put it in for you, and if it works, your troubles are over. If not, we can call for a tow truck and I can just return it. If that’s okay?”

  “That sounds wonderful.” What a comfort to have someone else handle things. Marnie went back upstairs to get her purse. A few minutes later, she was comfortably seated in the front seat of Jazzy’s brother’s car. Marnie had some trouble with the seat belt and Jazzy rushed in to help. “Let me get that,” she said, after Marnie had fumbled with it for a minute or so. “These darn things are so tricky.”

  Sitting in this car reminded Marnie of the family cars her parents had driven when she was a kid. As the youngest of three, she’d always had to sit on the ridge in the middle of the backseat. “I call, Marnie has to sit on the hump,” her brother would crow as the three of them ran out to the car. She was the smallest, so she had no say in the matter. She didn’t remember her parents interceding to make things fair. Her brother and sister had seniority, and that’s the way it was. She got whatever they didn’t want. The leftovers.

  Jazzy was a good driver, and talkative too. She said she lived with her brother, Dylan, for the time being. He’d gotten divorced the year before. It worked out well; she kicked in for the rent and used his car when he didn’t need it. They got along fine. Lately though, both she and Dylan had been thinking about moving elsewhere, going their separate ways. “I’ve reached a crossroads in life. I can’t live with my brother forever,” Jazzy said. “I know that, and yet I still find it hard to get myself to make the change.”

  When they turned into the parking lot of the rec center, Marnie was relieved to see that her car was still there. She’d been afraid that it would be towed or ticketed, but there it was, just the way she left it. Jazzy pulled up so the cars were nose to nose. “I have the new battery in the trunk. If you want to pop the hood, we can get right to it.”

  “You don’t think we should try jump-starting it first?” Marnie asked.

  “No, you definitely need a new battery,” Jazzy said firmly.

  “Okay then,” Marnie said, happy to let her take charge.

  Jazzy proved to be an expert at replacing a battery. “I’m handy,” she said, when Marnie commented on her skills. She’d pulled the old battery out and set it in a cardboard box she’d brought along. “Don’t touch that,” she said, when Marnie tried to help. “That battery acid is nasty stuff. I once ruined a pair of jeans carrying a used battery on my lap. It ate right through the fabric.” After Jazzy set the new battery in place, she swiftly pulled the cables to the correct knobs. “The red cable goes to the positive terminal and the black one is negative. I always remember because it’s Red Cross and black is negative energy.” She looked up and Marnie nodded, even though she knew in ten minutes the information would fly right out of her brain. Jazzy tightened the nuts with a wrench and took a step back. “That should do it,” she said. “Start it up and see if it works.”

  Marnie got into the car and held her breath as she turned the key. Not expecting it, she let out a gasp of joy when the engine came to life. Yesterday the car’s death had been a calamity, but now it seemed to be only a minor interruption in the flow of life. It struck her that the fix had been remarkably easy. Five minutes ago the car had been an immovable behemoth, and now, just by replacing a small box, it could be driven anywhere. All because one person stepped in to help. Amazing.

  Jazzy pulled the hood shut and came around to Marnie’s window. “Yay for you,” she said and applauded with hands extended, as if Marnie had been the one to fix it instead of the other way around.

  Marnie opened the door. “No, yay for you,” she said. “Between the ride home last night and the new battery today, I’m so grateful for your help.”

  “Oh, it was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing to me. It was…” Marnie stopped and searched for the right word. “…like you were sent from heaven. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  Jazzy shrugged. “If I hadn’t come around you would have figured something out,” she said. “I have a knack for reading people, and I can tell that you’re one of those smart, capable types.”

  “You think so?” Marnie asked dubiously. She didn’t feel smart or capable. In high school she’d been the nerd girl, the one with drab brown hair and awkward bangs and glasses that were too large for her face. She’d daydreamed and been socially inept. The glasses she wore now were chic, and she didn’t have bangs anymore, but most days she still felt like that girl. Lately she felt clumsy and out of sync. Like she’d been dropped into someone else’s body and couldn’t quite control the limbs.

  “Absolutely.” Jazzy’s tone was assured. “When we were in the class last night and you told that bossy woman that you wanted to take a pass, I thought that was awesome. All of the rest of those ladies were like little sheep, but you weren’t playing her game.”

  Marnie reflected on what Jazzy was saying. It was true that she had stood up to the very forceful Debbie, but she hadn’t thought her refusal to be a strength. More like a failure for not coming up with something to say.

  “And then, when Rita came over to us and was telling me about her daughter’s death, I saw your face and you looked devastated for her. You have a lot of heart, I can tell.”

  “Thank you.” A real compliment. When was the last time one had come her way? Certainly not from Brian, unless it was about her cooking. “Great meal, Marn,” he’d say nearly every night. But that was a compliment to the food, not her as a person. And looking back, she
realized it was almost reflexive on his part. The equivalent of “God bless you” after a sneeze. Troy was the only one who ever really complimented her; in fact, as a little guy he’d showered her with praise almost constantly. He said she was pretty and laughed at all her jokes. He preferred her to Brian for most everything from reading books to pouring juice to being tucked in at bedtime. So flattering for a stepmother. Or pseudo-stepmother, as her sister put it, since Brian had never married her. She was good enough to be a mother to his son for nearly ten years, but it was never quite the right time to legalize their relationship. Marnie had thought she’d had some fatal flaw that kept her from becoming a wife, but now a complete stranger had recognized her positive traits. She gripped the steering wheel and swallowed to keep the lump in her throat at bay. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “All true.”

  “So how much do I owe you? For the battery, I mean.”

  “It was just under sixty dollars. I can check the receipt to give you an exact amount.”

  “No, we can make it an even sixty.” Even as Marnie reached for her purse she knew she didn’t have that much money with her. And she could visualize her checkbook on the counter, right where she’d left it. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any cash with me. If you follow me to an ATM I can pay you right away.”

  Jazzy said, “I have to get to work, but don’t worry about it. It can wait until the next time I see you.”

  The next time? Oh, their class! Marnie, who hadn’t really planned on going back to the Good Grief class, suddenly found she was open to the idea. She could picture herself getting ready for class next Tuesday, making sure to tuck sixty dollars in her purse for Jazzy. Maybe she’d stop at Starbucks on the way and pick up one of those drinks Leticia mentioned. What was it? A Skinny Vanilla Latte? Yes, that’s what she’d get. The thought of it made her feel good, gave her a sense of purpose. She was someone who had plans for next week. Maybe she’d even call out to Mrs. Benner as she left the house—“I’m off to my class at the rec center, Mrs. Benner. I’ll be back at nine.” As sad as she was, it had to be worse for Mrs. Benner. Poor lady, whatever she’d been through to make her a hermit had to be horrendous. Maybe if Marnie shared little bits of her life with her, it would make her feel less alone.

  “Great,” Jazzy said. “Well, take care then and I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  “Sunday?”

  “For dinner. Remember? You invited me for a home-cooked meal.”

  All the cylinders in her brain clicked into place. Yes, now she knew. The thank-you dinner. But had she said Sunday? Jazzy seemed so certain. Marnie said, “Oh, of course. My mind just drew a blank for a second.”

  “We’re still on, then?”

  “You bet.” Marnie chuckled self-consciously. “I’ve been looking forward to it. Come around six. I’ll leave the front door unlocked. Just come on up. It’ll be great to have company.”

  Before Jazzy got into her car, a question came to Marnie. She leaned out the window and called out, “Jazzy!”

  Jazzy turned questioningly. “Yes?”

  “What kind of work do you do?”

  “I’m a cashier.” She twirled her keys around one finger. “At the Supercenter on Highway 63.”

  It sounded dreadful. Marnie’s job, teaching four-year-old kindergarteners—now that was a wonderful job! The younger the kids were, the better she liked them. Little children were so energetic and curious. Even the ones who wore her out with their shenanigans had redeeming qualities. And they were a joy to look at, so fresh-faced and perfect with their flawless skin and pearly white teeth. In her opinion, everybody was beautiful when they were young. Dealing with children was a joy because there was so much potential there. Everything lay before them. But working with the general public? Standing at a cash register for hours on end? Oh my, that had to be depressing. She asked, “Do you like your job?”

  Jazzy looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say I like it, but it’s what I need to be doing right now. You know how that goes.”

  Marnie nodded, even though she didn’t completely understand.

  “I know that my time there is limited,” Jazzy said. “Actually, I feel that I’ll be making a change soon. I have faith that when the time is right I’ll find what I’m really meant to do with my life, and it will all come together for me. For now, this is good.”

  Chapter Six

  Sunday evening, Laverne Benner peered through the blinds at the young blonde woman parked across the street and continued watching as she got out of the car and made her way up the walkway to the house. Laverne’s cat, Oscar, made figure eights between her legs until she nudged him away. Silly cat.

  She waited to see what the young woman would do when she reached the front door. Long ago, she’d had her son, Dave, disconnect the doorbell to her unit. The upstairs one still worked, and when it buzzed she could hear it through the ceiling. She ignored all visitors. Most of the time it was salespeople or church folk, no one she’d have wanted to talk to anyway.

  As the girl got closer, she could see her more clearly. She was a pretty thing with blonde shiny hair that swung as she moved, all bounce and animation, a big smile on her face, although there was no perceptible reason to smile.

  At the front door she didn’t pause but came right in. Laverne tensed for a second, afraid, but she could tell by the movement in the front hall the girl was headed for the stairs. Oh, okay, a guest of the new tenant. What a relief. At the top of the stairs she heard a knock and then the tenant’s voice greeting her guest. The girl said something and then let out a peal of laughter. Laverne found herself smiling. It was a lovely, infectious sound. Musical.

  She went to the door and opened it, hoping to hear more. At her feet, Oscar joined her in peering out, and then, before Laverne could block him with her foot, squeezed through the opening and was out.

  “Oscar,” Laverne said, in a hiss. “Come back here.”

  Chapter Seven

  Marnie had everything prepared. The money she owed for the car battery was in an envelope, ready to hand over as soon as Jazzy walked through the door. She’d cooked all day, a veritable Thanksgiving dinner of turkey, gravy, potatoes, rolls, and sweet potatoes. Too late she realized that everything on the menu was heavy. A green vegetable would have balanced things out nicely, but as it turned out, Jazzy didn’t seem to notice the lack.

  “This is delicious,” Jazzy said, more than once. She loved to talk and was good at it, telling stories about the people she knew from her job. Her gestures, punching the air in enthusiasm, were the equivalent of exclamation points. Her joy was so evident; it was hard to believe she needed to be in a grief group.

  It was nice to have company for dinner, Marnie decided. Before, when she lived with Brian and Troy, the mood was always serious. Brian had been so quiet, and not because he was paying attention. More often than not, he had mentally checked out. And it had nothing to do with her; she was sure of that because he was the same with his own son. Troy would talk about his school day—something funny about one of his teachers, or a food fight in the cafeteria—and later Brian would claim not to know anything about it. Living with Brian had been lonely, she could see that now. He was as much company to her dead as he was alive.

  When there was a pause in the conversation, Marnie asked, “If it’s not too personal, do you mind if I ask who died?”

  Jazzy looked puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked, helping herself to another serving of sweet potatoes. “No one died.”

  “I mean for the grief group at the rec center. Why did you sign up?”

  Jazzy cleared her throat and said, “It’s not really for me. It’s just that I seem to come into contact with a lot of people who have lost loved ones. I wanted to learn how to be sensitive to what they’re going through.”

  “Oh.” That made sense. So why did Jazzy look like Marnie had caught her in a lie? Odd.

  “I’m not technically signed up for the class,” Jazzy said, tucking her hair behind her ear
. “I thought I’d try it out first.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” Marnie said.

  Jazzy shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s allowed. I just sort of barged in on my own.” She changed the subject. “Why did you sign up? Who died?”

  “I was living with someone,” Marnie said, sighing. “A man. He was my fiancé, but we never got close to getting married. We probably never would have married, actually,” she said, being truthful. Brian had talked of marriage but never gave her a ring, never even discussed setting a date. Over the years, she found herself falling out of love with him, but she never considered breaking up and moving out, not even once. Even as her feelings for Brian faded, her love for his son, Troy, grew until it became bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Sometimes when he had a bad dream, he’d call for her from his room, and his cry of “Marnie” was so frantic and blurred that it sounded just like he was saying “Mommy.” The first time it happened, a swell of love for the boy imprinted on her heart. To leave Brian would have meant leaving Troy, and that was unfathomable. She’d been his substitute mom since he was four, and he depended on her. “He was only forty-five and he died unexpectedly. We were together almost ten years. I was very attached to his son. I felt like he was mine.”

  “I’m sure it was a great loss for you.” Jazzy gave her a small smile, and something about her expression, the sympathetic look in her clear blue eyes, made Marnie want to cry. Brian’s death had happened so quickly: she’d been in the basement doing laundry when it happened. First she heard a loud thump that turned out to be Brian falling to the floor, dead from a heart attack. Then Troy frantically yelled for her. “Marnie, Marnie, come quick!” She’d run up the stairs to see him kneeling over his dad, shaking and crying. The rest of what happened—the call to 911, the ambulance arriving—was all a blur. What was clear in her memory was how Troy had hugged her harder and longer than he had in years. After they carried Brian away, it was just the two of them left behind.