Her mother chuckled. “They say if you do the same thing over and over expecting different results it’s a sign of mental illness.”
“Guilty as charged, I guess.” Though she was joking, inside Marissa could feel herself sobering. There was something to think over in what her mother had just said.
Later, after a stroll around the exterior of the golf course, Marissa headed home in a confused state of mind. A light drizzle had ended another spate of clear, cool weather and the scrape of the wipers was annoying.
She knew part of her was reeling from the idea that her parents had gotten high and she’d been conceived as a result but she sup-155
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posed it wasn’t that uncommon of a story. Added to her mother’s explanations of some of her hurtful behavior and general acceptance of Marissa as a lesbian, it was enough to feel as if she’d landed in the Twilight Zone.
But that wasn’t what left her feeling distracted and deeply puzzled. She kept turning over and over the idea that as a teen and young woman she’d been overeating, willfully. She had needed the food more than feeling good about herself. She knew she’d started wearing big clothes to hide her breasts. After a year of snacks, sweets and second helpings at the school cafeteria, the big clothes had fit.
Stopped at a long light with valley lights twinkling through the drizzle, she said aloud, “All those boys you pushed at me, Mom, I never got along with any of them. And more than one was a perv.
They had their hands all over me no matter what I said. You sent me on dates with boys and only you thought they were gentlemen.
I think . . . I think . . . because you got a friend to get their son to ask me out, they thought I was desperate and I’d let them do anything they wanted. I was the fat girl who was supposed to be grateful.”
The light flicked to green and she turned in the direction of the boulevard that would take her by the office. “Maybe I didn’t eat because I was unhappy. Not entirely, at least. I ate to be bigger than they were, so they’d stop grabbing me. When my waist was bigger than my bust, it worked. It worked like a charm.”
The Oreos, the donuts, the rice and gravy, she thought. I ate because college computer classes were mostly boys and they were all around me. I didn’t want college to be like high school. I wanted to be darned sure my work was what people knew about me. As soon as I went to work for that women’s clinic I stopped eating so much.
Oh, holy shit, how clichéd was that? She pulled up to the curb in front of the office building. The security guard glanced up from his desk and she sketched a wave as she got out of the car.
Once in the elevator she continued her monologue. “You know, 156
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Mom, I think I ate because I wanted the boys to stop thinking I was attractive. I was scared I was going to get raped. I mean, lots of people think lesbians are lesbians because they hate or can’t deal with men. Here I am overweight and obsessing about every little thing I do and eat because I let boys scare me into putting on twenty, thirty, fifty, seventy pounds? I thought I was smarter than that.”
Hell, her plan to get the boys off of her was smart. It had worked, hadn’t it? Jeez.
“Finally, Mom, I meet someone who actually finds me attractive for the me inside and she doesn’t scare me at all. In fact, because she likes the me inside, I’m trying to work on the me outside. I think it’s what I should do, even if she dumped me. Because I think she dumped me. Typical of me, I don’t even know if I’ve been dumped. Pathetic.”
She let herself into the Finders Keepers suite. She didn’t even need to go to her office. From Heather’s desk she took a set of ten bound pages and a sharp number two pencil. She was done being pathetic. She wondered how bad it would be to call that new client and ask for a nutritionist referral. Who cared? She’d do it first thing tomorrow.
Later, when she undressed for bed, Marissa eyed the flab and extra rolls that still hung from her body and muttered, “Boys. No way, no how, are boys going to win.”
She sat down at the table with a hot cup of peppermint tea. “If money was no object,” she read aloud, “which of the following three activities would you do?” Discarding attending Wimbledon and dining at a five-star Parisian restaurant, she carefully filled in the bubble for taking a flight on the space shuttle.
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Chapter 11
“You’re kidding, right?” Linda peered up at the gigantic structure. “This is ‘the cabin?’”
Matt gave a little grunt before saying, “Yes ma’am. Hard to believe you never visited when Mr. Bartok was alive.”
“It wasn’t something my mother was keen on.” Matt—no last name offered—had worked for her father for years as caretaker, mechanic and driver. “I know that may sound odd. Does it help explain a few things if I point out that when I was born my given last name was my mother’s, not my father’s?”
“Sounds like she’s a strong woman then.”
“If anyone could get that river down there to run backward, it would be her. Continental Divide be damned.” She gazed up at the sprawling house. The only real property she had inherited was this place and its contents, including the vehicles. She had been thinking “rustic” but the word simply didn’t apply.
They came to a halt in a large garage where a second car, an 158
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Outback, was housed on the far right. In between the spot where the Range Rover evidently belonged on the far left were stacks of bottled water and bagged wood pellets.
“This is just the handy emergency storage, ma’am. There’s more in the shed.”
“The shed—is that the building I saw behind the house that could sleep six?”
Matt cracked a smile. “We do things large here in Montana, ma’am.”
As Matt showed her the six bedrooms, kitchen and large study where her father had spent his days cataloging local flora, Linda was aware of the new shine of her boots squeaking on the hard-wood compared to the worn softness of Matt’s as he moved quietly and quickly from room to room.
“I really didn’t know him,” Linda said as she looked over the stack of bound volumes where he’d fastened dried leaves and blossoms then labeled them with their Latin and common names. “But because of him I tried to learn about the same things. Limited success.”
“Well, he was good people. He has a few scrapbooks about you in here. Was real proud of you being so beautiful.”
Not wanting Matt to see how that idea hurt rather than pleased, Linda made herself smile. It stung, the thought that her father had only known her from photographs. Nobody ever expected how backward “normal” had been in her life. “I wish my mother hadn’t been keeping us apart. I’m glad to be here now.
You’ve kept the place so well.”
“Thank you. You’re provisioned for two months of fuel at maximum consumption and as you saw a lot of drinking water should the well pumps fail. Solar panels will keep the backup batteries full, though. We get sun most every day.” Linda followed him back to the garage where he pointed out skis, boots and snowshoes neatly arranged in cupboards, fuse boxes and reset switches plainly labeled, then helped her carry up her suitcases and most of the boxes until Linda insisted she could carry the rest herself and waved him home to his “missus” and his supper.
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The picture window at the north end of the great room framed the still white-capped Gallatin Mountains. Stark white gave way to deep greens in patches and the peaks stood bare in shadowy blues as the day waned. The sun would be lost behind Lone Mountain in a few more minutes. She’d seen beauty like this before but never with a choice of six comfortable bedrooms and a fully-stocked kitchen and pantry at hand. In some ways she missed the tents and bedrolls.
Turning back to the room she said aloud, howe
ver, “Oh, who are you kidding?”
She made her way down to the garage for the last box, which contained the course books for the classes she would be taking at Yale this summer and fall, as well as the required readings for the prerequisite classes she’d taken years ago. She was frankly surprised that the admissions committee had agreed to accept her somewhat outdated previous work and had willingly agreed to three additional classes to bridge the time gap. That meant two classes during the accelerated summer “semester” and the remaining five during the fall semester. By the end of the year at least one of her life goals would be complete.
Not that she knew what she would do with an MBA. She wanted to finish what she’d begun, that was all. It was obvious she might be far happier spending her life immersed in her father’s botany and biology pursuits. Small wonder her mother had insisted that the natural sciences weren’t in the realm of possibilities. Lindsey Vanessa was a Price, not a Bartok, and the Prices went into business.
Perhaps by year’s end she’d know what she intended to do with her life, something that didn’t involve living through and for someone else. She wanted to get in touch with Marissa but was wary now that Marissa could be another kind of running away from the emptiness in her own life. Besides, it had been nearly three months and Marissa no doubt hated her and had moved on.
One idea that tickled was combining her hands-on cultural experiences and ecotouring with her MBA and looking for an envi-160
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ronmental group she could work with. She would finish up the loose ends of the past and then look around at what the world might need that she could give.
She explored the cabin thoroughly, finding more traces of her father. Her parents’ estrangement had been decades in duration.
She frowned at the painting of her father that hung in the study.
Though she’d not hinted anything to Matt, she was mad at her father sometimes. Just because he hadn’t gotten along with his wife didn’t mean he had a right to abandon his daughter. His absentee parenting had left her vulnerable to her mother’s twisted plans and he, better than anyone maybe, should have known what her mother was capable of. It was sad that he, like so many others, had only seen her as beautiful. He never knew she inherited a love of nature from him. They never had a chance to do any of the things they might have loved exploring together, and that was his choice.
She took down the painting, angry and hurt, but not confused.
She might as well acknowledge it, feel it. She’d put it behind her in due time. Meanwhile, the painting went into the closet. The bound volumes of his carefully preserved plant samples she would treasure.
Nightfall brought a beautiful vista of scattered sparkling lights down the mountain, then sprawling across the wide valley basin.
Above her was a dazzling array of stars. She hadn’t seen a night sky quite like it since the Alps. A glass of hot cider in hand she picked out familiar constellations and counted falling stars. She was not the same woman who had gazed at night skies from all over the world.
The icy wind threatened to freeze the tears in her eyes but she endured the cold a little longer. Only the weather was chilled.
Inside her heart, down the length of her spine, Linda felt hot and alive, the way she had during the most intense moments of the shipwreck. Except now she had the feeling most of the time—and she loved it.
Living in the present, thinking about the future—that was why she was here. The past would need occasional attention but it no 161
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longer controlled her choices. She would make mistakes. She’d talk to Dr. Kirkland again and no doubt at length. But she and no one else would be responsible for her life from now on.
The fire was reassuringly crackling as she lifted the first of three boxes onto the long library table in the middle of the study. Not the course books, not yet. She upended the box and watched as hundreds and hundreds of photographs spilled across the dark surface.
There had been a time when she couldn’t bear to look at herself in these pictures. Revulsion and dread fascination had warred until she had convinced herself the girl in the photos was a stranger. But teenage Linda was part of her.
She lifted one eight-by-ten to study the expressive face.
Teenage Linda’s disconnection from the pain in her life was complete as none of it showed in the glowing dark eyes or the elegant curve of full crimson lips.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to the girl she had been. “You survived and now we’re here, in our future.” She tenderly touched an image of hair burnished to a shimmer. “Thank you for being strong enough to endure.”
She spent the next two days snowshoeing in the mornings and picking over photographs in the afternoons. She had every intention of publishing the book even if she paid for it herself and printed only a dozen copies. It was a record. The remainder of the photographs needed to be put in some kind of order and then she would find some place to store them where, if she wanted to, she could look at the past. There could be a time in her life when she wanted to do so again.
With the weather predicted to bring in a late March four-foot snowfall, she decided it was time to see the little town of Big Sky and get some fresh food. The Range Rover handled the steep inclines going down as easily as it had coming up. The town was packed with snow enthusiasts and showed signs of recent and 162
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extensive growth. She found the grocery Matt had directed her to—one of two available—and was mostly pleased with the choices.
“Are you sure you want that cheese?” The checker’s question was directed at a nondescript lump of mild cheddar.
“Yes,” Linda said hesitantly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I see greens, kalamata olives, red onion and no feta. You can’t have Greek salad without feta.” Linda was regarded with a motherly gaze.
“I couldn’t find feta.”
“Over there,” the woman said, pointing over her shoulder. “I’ll finish ringing you up while you grab some.”
Aware of the waiting line, Linda scurried to what had been a hidden corner of the store. Feta, goat and pepper cheeses and deli-sliced mortadella were all welcome sights. First, “the cabin” turned out to be a luxury home and now the small grocery offered a few urban delights. She grabbed what she wanted and got back to the register just as the woman finished up with the rest. “Thank you so much.”
“Just good retailin’. Cash or credit?”
Linda handed over her credit card. “I’m new and was thinking I’d get a bite to eat—”
“Bugaboo, down to the highway, go left, make another quick left. Good people.”
“Thanks.” She carried her bags to the Rover and easily found the restaurant, which was steamy warm and crowded with skiers of all ages clomping around in snow gear. She fit right in, she decided, even if her boots were suspiciously new. A chair quickly opened up at the bar and she studied the menu as she sipped a Fat Tire beer quickly provided by the bartender.
“Need help with the description of anything?” The bartender wiped the counter again, then stood poised with her order book.
“Everything looks good,” Linda said, and it was the truth.
Stuffed crabmeat rolls and pulled BBQ pork both tempted. “I don’t have a big appetite is the thing.”
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“I can do you a half of anything, plus a side of mixed greens.
Our orange pepper balsamic dressing is really good.”
Linda found herself smiling at the thirty-something bartender, whose second earring on the left sported rainbow colors. “The pork then. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She tapped something into the screen at the end of the bar, then returned to say, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
“First time. The lady at
the grocery store sent me. I gather
‘good people’ is high praise.”
“Oh sure.” Firm shoulders shrugged under a grey-green ribbed sweater. “Around here anyone who can get through winter without needing a jump, hauled out of a ditch or who will give someone a jump or haul someone out of a ditch is good people. You pull your own weight, lend the occasional hand and this is a very tolerant place, you know?”
“Not a bad system.” Linda found herself keeping prolonged eye contact, then let her gaze flick to the rainbow earring and back.
“Where you staying?”
“I have a place on Osprey Ridge.” It came out as a question because she didn’t know if the name would mean anything.
Apparently it did, because the bartender whistled. “That is some high rent.”
“I inherited the place. It doesn’t . . . suck.”
A rich, amused chuckle drew the attention of people nearby.
“I’ll bet. Just you? Those places are huge.” Blue eyes softened in speculation. “You must feel all alone.”
Linda nearly said, “I’m sure you could think of a way to end my loneliness.” Then she thought of, “There are lots of spare bedrooms. It would be a while before we’d have to do laundry.”
She said none of her thoughts aloud, however, and felt the beginnings of an unusual, awkward blush. She was spared by someone calling “Chrissy! Phone for you.”
After a hurried sip from her beer, Linda realized she’d never felt like that before. She wasn’t sure she liked butterflies in her stom-164
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ach and feeling functionally mute. Did she have to give up being a consummate flirt as part of healing?
She had no answer for that but what she did know was that while she thought Chrissy was attractive and nice, she didn’t want to have sex with her. She didn’t have to have sex with her to control their interaction. And if at some point in the future she did want to have sex with Chrissy, she wanted Chrissy to want her back, the way Marissa had wanted her. For the person she was, not the body on the outside.
Finders Keepers Page 17
