by Jen Waite
Ted Redmond.
It felt impossible that prior to this school year, she didn’t even know him—that he had existed elsewhere before her, and she, too, had had a whole life before him, before she walked into Spanish class a few months ago. He wasn’t even supposed to be at her new school—it was only due to a chain of fortuitous events that he had stepped foot inside Frederick H. Tuttle Middle School in South Burlington and into her Spanish class—and that thought, of them never knowing each other at all, caused Thea physical pain. She was in the midst of playing out this horrific scenario in her head when her mother’s voice burst into her consciousness, making her jump.
“Out of the shower. Let’s go!”
“Mom!” Thea projected her voice over the pounding water. “Don’t sneak up on me, I almost slipped in the shower. You could have killed me.”
“You have two more minutes to rinse,” came her mother’s reply from just outside the bathroom door. “The whole bathroom is completely fogged up, you know. Are you sure the water’s hot enough? Geez, Thea.” She heard her mom’s feet padding out of her bedroom.
Thea closed her eyes again as her mother’s voice trailed off. Leave me alone. The shower provided a temporary solace from her mother’s nagging. Instead of spinning the knob to off, she inched it farther and farther the other way, letting the water scald her skin until she could no longer stand it. She felt for the knob again and braced herself for the halt of hot water. Once the water stopped, she stood enveloped in thick, hot air for a moment and then opened the glass door to a burst of cold air. She inhaled the fresh air into her lungs and toweled herself off quickly, glancing at the comb on the counter before passing it by, continuing into her bedroom, where she pulled on jeans and a blue top. She was about to cross the threshold of her bedroom into the hallway when she circled back and ran into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth vigorously, spitting into the sink loudly at the end for her mother’s benefit, and then plodded very slowly to the staircase and made her way down the stairs, hanging on to the bannister and taking each step thoughtfully, much to her mother’s annoyance, she assumed. She stopped on the landing and looked up at the skylight. The rain was still coming down in thick streams and the water whisked over the glass, like river rapids. Thea closed her eyes and imagined the water cascading over her face and body; in her mind’s eye, she saw his initials, TR, a secret kept in her shower door.
When she first started at her new middle school that fall, she walked the strange halls with a knot in her stomach, hoping with equal amounts of fervor that no one or anyone would talk to her. It took forever, at least five days, but she eventually made a friend, a petite brunette named Olivia, in study hall. Livi introduced Thea to two other girls, Zoe and Gretchen. (“We formed a book club last year,” Livi had whispered. “You can be our fourth member. Just don’t tell anyone at school. Obviously.”) So by the second week of school, Thea had a thin shield of armor against the strangeness of the new place. But still, she dreaded the classes where she didn’t have a friend, particularly Spanish class, which was filled with glossy-haired girls and loud boys—the “popular kids” who somehow took up the whole room with their bodies, leaving nothing for Thea. She did her best to make herself invisible in Spanish class, which usually wasn’t difficult, considering no one noticed her anyway. Thea’s mom once told her that she had the kind of beauty that people would appreciate later in life. Thea had not responded to this obvious lie. She was content to be invisible, to blend in, to take up as little space as possible. That all changed, though, when she met Ted.
She opened her eyes when she heard her mother laughing.
“What are you doing, water bug?”
Thea glared. Her mother hadn’t called her water bug in years and, instead of the term feeling nostalgic and warm, it made the pit in her stomach clench even harder for everything she had lost. Her childhood was all ruined, and it was her mother’s fault. A month ago, everything had changed—her entire life, everything she knew, had unraveled in twenty-four hours—and her mother was blissfully, infuriatingly ignorant.
Now, her mother’s impatient voice cut into her thoughts again, “Breakfast is on the table.” Thea slumped toward the dining room, marveling again at how vastly different this house was from the place where she grew up.
As Thea spooned yogurt and muesli into her mouth, she felt her mom preparing to speak; across the table, her mother’s body shifted and she looked at Thea in a hopeful way before opening her mouth. “So, Thee. I was thinking, this weekend we could go away together. A little adventure!”
Shit. Panic rose up. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was spend time with her mother, especially just the two of them alone. Though, she realized with a tiny bit of relief, she wouldn’t have any chance to see him on the weekend anyway.
“Come on, it’ll be so much fun.” She heard a note of desperation creep into her mother’s voice. For one second, Thea’s throat closed up as she remembered their trip to Disney over her winter break. Sleeping side by side in a king-size bed, even though their suite had two bedrooms. And the sharpest memory from that trip was not seeing the magnificent castle for the first time, but waiting an hour in line for the Tower of Terror and then the panic Thea had felt when they finally approached the elevator. “Mom,” she had whispered, “I can’t. I can’t—” Her mom had grabbed her hand and laughed. “Oh, I’m so glad you said something! Come on, let’s get out of here.” And they’d spent the next ten minutes giggling with relief as they made their way through the dark hallways, hand in hand, weaving around the crowds of people waiting to drop through the air. Her mom turned to her when they reached fresh air. “Hey, Thee.” Her mom dropped to eye level with her. “Any time you don’t want to do anything, just tell me and we’ll leave. No questions asked. K?” Thea had nodded and enveloped herself in her mom’s warm body, completely safe, cocooned in her mom’s arms.
“What do you say, Thee?” Her mom was looking at her expectantly. “You and me and a cabin in the White Mountains. Look, this is the place.” Thea glanced at the iPhone her mom held out across the table; the cabin did look cozy and there was a huge flat-screen TV in the picture. As much as she dreaded spending an entire two days with her mother, she could imagine sprawling out on the comfy-looking sofa and watching a movie. Her favorite right now was Pride and Prejudice and she could bring the DVD—even though DVDs were probably going to be obsolete soon, she had asked her mom for it when they were checking out at Best Buy a few months ago because it was on sale for $4.99. She kept it in the top drawer of her dresser, like a prized possession, and watched it once a week.
“Mimi’s coming, too.” Her mom was still looking at her expectantly and smiling. “I thought we’d pick you up from school on Friday and head straight out. We could be there by dinner. I know you have book club on Fridays, but I’m sure Livi and the girls will understand.” Thea took in her mother’s pleading voice and the slightly wild look in her eyes; she could make any demands she wanted. Thea snatched the iPhone from her mom’s hand and zoomed in on the picture. “Do you think there’s Wi-Fi? Can I bring my phone?” Thea knew the answers would be yes and yes. And maybe this weekend she could talk to Mimi, ask her the questions she so desperately needed answered. She realized that Mimi had, by omission, lied to her as well, but she blamed her mom for this. She was sure that her grandmother would tell her the truth if she asked her directly.
Thea took another bite of yogurt, still looking at the living room of the cabin. Her heart sped up as she thought about Mr. Redmond and her warming their hands over the fireplace together, popping Pride and Prejudice into the DVD player. No. She shook her head to physically reset. Her and Ted. He had told her that she could call him Ted, at least when they were alone together. She repeated his first name in her head several times as she pinched the screen and the fire came closer and closer.
TWO DAYS
BEFORE THE CABIN
THE MAN
The man had been driving for a long time. He hadn’t stopped since he got out except when he needed to fuel up, piss, shit, or eat. He hadn’t dawdled. He’d gotten right back into his truck. A couple of hours ago he pulled into a dusty gas station that was set right off the highway. He filled up his tank and stretched his legs. It still felt odd to be allowed so much space. He stuck to walking in straight lines whenever possible. From his car to the gas pump. From the pump to the cashier. From the cashier back to his car. And then the straight line of the highway. This time, though, he could feel someone watching him as he unscrewed the gas cap and lifted the nozzle into the throat of the gas tank. His hand shook slightly and he concentrated on keeping his eyes downward, to his black cowboy boots. The tips were scuffed; they needed a good shine, though it had been ten years since he’d last worn them, so, all things considered, they looked pretty damn good. The abrupt release of the latch under his fingers signaled a full tank. He made his way to the small shop, keeping his eyes trained on his reflection in the double glass doors. His reflection always startled him. He looked ordinary, and for that he was grateful. In his last sessions, he had told them that the hunger was still there, would always be there, but they hadn’t listened. Fucking shrinks. What was the point if they didn’t listen. So far, though, he hadn’t gotten sidetracked. He was doing well. Only a few more hours and he’d have her.
The cashier was male and the man smiled to himself. Easy peasy. He asked for a pack of Marlboro Lights and a Bic. He threw a few crumpled bills onto the counter and waited for change. “Actually,” he said to the cashier, “keep the change.” He was feeling cocky; he could do this. He strode back to his car, eyes straight ahead. He didn’t look to the right even though he felt her there.
“Sir.” Her voice sounded like a song. “Excuse me, sir.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the woman jogging toward him, the one who had been watching him while she pumped gas at the station behind him.
“Your thingy is open,” she said. Then with a laugh, “I mean your gas thingy.”
“Oh.” His tongue felt thick. He managed to say, “Thanks,” and screw his mouth up in what he hoped looked like a smile. He walked around to the other side of his car and screwed the lid on until he heard the click. For the first time since he’d pulled into the gas station, he let his eyes wander. He watched the woman with the song-voice climb into her front seat. She raked her fingers through long dark hair and adjusted the rearview mirror. No one else in the car. Fucking bitch. He was doing so well and here she was, practically begging him. He slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. No. Not dark hair. The last one had dark hair. He pressed on the fleshy web between his thumb and pointer finger. The place where her teeth had left a crescent moon scar. He started his car and peeled out of the gas station, back onto the highway.
The man looked at himself in the rearview mirror. “You passed,” he said and grinned. The signs whizzed by; sixty-eight more miles until he was home.
ONE DAY
BEFORE THE CABIN
ROSE
Rose sipped her steaming mug of coffee and surveyed the mounds of snow from behind the glass door that led to her patio. Even with the outdoor lights on, she had to strain her eyes against the dark. She ran her eyes over what was visible of her backyard—her hydrangeas, rhododendrons, and rosebushes all covered in snow—and clucked, “How are you all holding up out there?” In a month, maybe less, she would start her morning routine by pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up her Bean boots, and taking her coffee outside. Early spring was a time for communing with her garden, cleaning up leaves, picking up sticks, talking to her plants, checking to see how everyone had weathered the winter. But for now, she could only sip in silence and wait for the snow to melt. It had poured a couple of days ago, the rain melting through most of the snow, and Rose had let herself hope that this was it—the true beginning of spring. But last night six inches of snow had been dumped from the sky; a mocking wink from Mother Nature, Gotcha!
These were her favorite hours, the hours between when she awoke, at three a.m., and when she left for the bakery, at five a.m. When she first started Rose’s Sweets, she struggled for months to adjust to the early rise schedule, but she insisted on always being the first one in the shop, always arriving at least a half hour before the first-shift bakers. When Sam grumbled and reached for her hand, trying to slide it into the warm crook of his arm, convincing her with grunts to stay in bed a few minutes longer, she would gently explain that she had to set a good example. “It’s the trickle-down effect, hun. If I’m late, even once, then the bar gets lowered, and before you know it—”
“Ok. Ok,” he’d mumble. “I’m so proud of you. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” and by the time she’d creaked off the bed, his breathing would be back to the deep exhalations and inhalations of the unconscious.
Even though she’d eventually entrusted her manager and staff with opening the bakery, her internal clock still woke her at 3:02 a.m. every morning. Usually, she shuffled around the house, picking up whatever she’d left about the night before, making coffee, tending to her garden (or staring at it wistfully depending on the season). But this morning she had things to do. Rose gazed through the glass for another minute and took one more swig of coffee, savoring the heat in her mouth, before striding to the oven. She pressed Bake and set the temperature to 350 degrees. She gathered the sugar and the butter she’d left on the counter overnight and tossed them into the KitchenAid. Cracking the eggs, stirring in the flour, and whisking baking soda into hot water (her signature move—well, that and the cornstarch) were all second nature; within minutes, she was spooning big chunks of chocolate chip cookie dough onto two large sheets.
She smiled to herself and hummed as she taste-tested the dough. Perfect. These were Thea’s favorite, and she couldn’t wait to watch her granddaughter’s face light up tomorrow in the car on the way to the cabin. She missed her granddaughter fiercely. She was still getting used to only seeing Thea and Anne every few weeks since they’d moved from Charlotte to Burlington. Two days at this cabin in the mountains sounded wonderful. And she hoped it would perhaps help to patch things up between her two loves. “A girls’ getaway,” Anne had said. How fun.
Rose spent the rest of the morning writing out a letter for her next-door neighbor, who would be looking after Sal. The border collie wouldn’t be awake for another couple of hours. He used to be up with her every morning, bounding around the house with a stuffed bear in his mouth, ready to expend massive amounts of energy at three a.m., only to be disappointed, every single morning, when Rose would rub him between the ears and whisper, “Bye, love. Daddy will be awake soon to take you out,” as she closed the door on his hopeful face. Now, Sal was going on fourteen and took his time getting up in the morning. Something, she knew, that Anne wished Rose would do a bit more of as well.
“Well,” Rose said aloud to her daughter’s chiding in her head, “I can relax when I’m dead.” She swept her eyes over the kitchen and living room, satisfied that everything was in place before she set off to the bakery. The genuine warmth and lightness in her body surprised her as she poured the last of the steaming coffee into a to-go mug. Isn’t it interesting, she thought, how many different people you can be in one lifetime.
ONE DAY
BEFORE THE CABIN
THE MAN
The man opened his eyes and peered up at the ceiling. He stretched out his legs. In the twin bed they reached past the bottom of the bed frame. His ankles scraped against the footboard. It felt strange but good to be back in his childhood home. Normally at this time of day on a Friday afternoon his mother would be puttering around downstairs, starting to take out ingredients for dinner that night, and, when he was younger, hollering for him and his brother to get outside into the fresh air.
He pulled the thick flannel sheets up around his chin, transferring the warmth from his lower
half to his chest. The sheets were red and green striped. He knew without looking at the tags that they were discount imitation L.L.Bean sheets purchased at Sears by his mother. He remembered her face that day on the way home from the store. The way she’d smiled too much at nothing and spoken too loudly to him in the passenger seat. And then the way afterward she had peeked glances at him, narrowing her eyes, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. They had gone out on a mother-son shopping trip, which was rare—usually his mom took him and his brother; it was more efficient, she said, to shop for both of them at once. This time, though, it was just the two of them.
“In the car. Right now. Nope, just you.” She’d nodded at him as he and his little brother both stood up from the couch, where they were watching cartoons on their TV with its bunny ears antenna. “I got a letter from the school that your first school dance is in a week, right before Christmas break. You didn’t tell me,” she said, looking up from rummaging in her purse. “You need slacks and a button-down. Where are my god darn keys.” She paused again, straightening her body. “Shoes. Coat. Car. Now.”
