by Ruth Morse
“Yeah, I guess.”
We remained silent for a while.
“When will you be back?” Mel asked then. Her voice was tense and quiet.
“I don’t know, Mel. If I stay longer, that’s a good sign.”
“And why is that?”
I hesitated. Seeing how Mel’s shoulders dropped dejectedly, I pulled her closer to my side and wrapped my arms around her. She squeezed me back tightly.
“I wish I could tell you right now, but I can’t. I promise, I’ll talk to you about everything when the dust settles,” I whispered, breathing in the familiar sweet berry smell of her hair.
Mel remained quiet. She stood still, her nose buried in my shoulder. It was so child-like and so not like her.
“Then just come back,” she murmured. A stifled gasp escaped her chest. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, taking a step back and looking her over.
Mel gave me a shy smile. She tried to sniff a few times quietly so that I wouldn’t notice. Catching my worried glance, she blushed and turned away. “I know, I know. I’m just feeling so… weird. Maybe it’s a full moon today or it’s because of my period.” She sobbed guiltily. “I’m sorry, Foxy, I don’t want to screw up your trip. Everything’s cool, really.”
But everything wasn’t cool. I knew exactly why Mel was crying. Thinking about that made me shiver.
I looked around. Mel, my strong and sensitive girl, my once in a lifetime friend, she had no idea why I was leaving and yet she knew something wasn’t right. I clasped her hand gratefully.
The house in which I grew up, my ally and my sworn enemy. It seemed to be much smaller than when I first saw it many years ago. The paint had peeled in some spots. My parents kept putting off repainting, even though we already chose the color. It was supposed to be light blue.
The curtains on the first floor were tightly closed; Dad demanded that he watch TV without any light falling on the screen and bothering him. Mom used to open up the curtains again and again, fighting for the light for her plants. After months of shouts and arguing, she relented. A luster of twilight consumed the first floor and the dim morning light barely seeped through the fabric.
I felt a dull pain somewhere near my heart. Calmly, without hysterics or deliberations, I realized I actually wished my parents were here. I wished they knew that I felt longing, looking at the damn curtains, breathing in that bittersweet smell of Mom’s plants. It was my home and I had the right to love it. To love that backyard. To love my parents. And I had the right to be loved as much as they had the right to take that love away from me. Pain spares no one, but you have the freedom to deal with it in your own way.
I wish I could help my parents understand that.
“Are you okay?”
I blinked and shook my head. Mel was looking at me with care, her hands gently holding me by the elbow.
“Thank you, Mel. You have no idea how much everything you’ve done means to me,” I said.
She snorted. “All right, a little less drama, Foxy.”
“Is the old Mel back?” I asked, a wide smile lighting up my face.
“Did you really think I’d stay so namby-pamby forever?” She chuckled.
“I liked you that way.” I sighed and unwillingly pulled away.
Mel gave me one last hug and finally took a step back. “All right, Foxy,” she said. “I bet Max is dying from waiting. It’s time to go.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We’ll drive through Portland. It’s almost a straight line there, around 750 miles. You ever been so far from home?”
I shook my head.
Max smiled at me cheerfully. “Don’t worry. It’s just a sixteen-hour ride.”
“Oh, I’m completely reassured now,” I said, looking at the trees on the roadside.
Max paused. He bit his lower lip, pondering something and then said, “You know, it’s still not too late to change your mind.” I shifted my gaze from the trees to him and rolled my eyes.
“Okay, okay. I’m just saying.”
Max’s left hand held the wheel, turning it with his open palm and then quickly returning to its former place while his right hand rested on my knee. I took off my shoes and drew my feet up underneath me.
“Should we turn on some music? I’m afraid to touch your records so let’s do the radio instead,” I said.
“Great idea,” Max replied, not shifting his gaze from the road. After a little pause, he glanced at me and added, “It doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you with my records. It’s just too much trouble.”
I raised one eyebrow, comprehending his words, and then burst out laughing. “I didn’t even think of it in that way,” I said and kissed him on the cheek.
A girly country song started playing.
“Do you want to change it?” Max asked.
“Let it be. It’s nice.”
I raised my arms up, stretched my shoulders, and leaned back in my seat. That’s much better.
Puffy clouds floated in the sky. They were moving faster than our van. It seemed like the sky was trying to race us. Soon we left Lakewood behind. I opened the window. The wind burst into the cabin, messing up my hair. The farther away from my home we got, the more anxiously my heart beat. It felt like fear, but it was just the opposite. Every single cell of my body tasted the freedom and found it freaking enjoyable.
“Let’s go faster!” I cried.
Max glanced at me. A knowing smile lit up his face. He turned up the volume and put both windows all the way down. I moved to the beat of the deafening music, singing and laughing at the same time. Max sang along. He was shifting his sparkling gaze from the road then back to me.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, trying to shout over the music.
I leaned over to him, both my hands holding his face, my curls slightly tickling his neck. My lips found his and I gave him a long, passionate kiss. Then I pulled away, stuck my head out the window and, taking a lungful of air, screamed, “FREEDOM!”
***
The fresh air intoxicated me. As evening approached, I wearily closed my eyes and didn’t notice how quickly I dozed off to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, I couldn’t figure out why the earth moved under my feet and my shoulders were covered with an unfamiliar beige blanket.
Max looked over at me, noticing that I woke up. “How was your nap?” he asked, helping me take the blanket off my shoulders.
“Like I was in a coma. Weird,” I murmured.
“Now you get the way I sleep,” he said with a sympathetic smile.
My stomach growled loudly. I winced.
“Let’s stop at some cafe or buy something while we refuel,” Max suggested.
“At the gas station. It’ll be faster that way.”
Max drove for one more mile and pulled off the highway. While he was busy at the pump, I went inside.
After wandering between the shelves, I chose the vacuum-packed sandwiches that looked the most edible and grabbed plenty of water. It was my turn at the cash register when Max appeared out of nowhere, holding out his card. I smiled confusedly, putting the cash back in my pocket.
The sandwich packages opened up with a loud pop, and saliva instantly filled up my mouth.
“Ham or turkey?” I asked busily, fiddling with the wrapping.
“Ham, please.”
I took a napkin and tucked one side into Max’s shirt collar. The napkins were decorated with gingerbread men and Christmas trees. It was very sweet, considering that it was the second half of July.
Max was driving so it was my duty to feed him. The dexterity of my hands could be envied, not one single crumb missed its target.
“Listen, I can pay next time,” I said with the last bite of my cold turkey sandwich.
Max winced. “Don’t even think about it. I asked you to join me, remember?” he said.
I nodded. “Well, anyway, thanks.”
“It’s me who has to thank you, Lana.” He ran his hand through my hair gently.
I glan
ced at the steering wheel, noticing a little crack in its dark brown cover, just an inch away from where Max put his hand. The cover looked slightly worn yet soft and comfortable. It gave off an aura of the old school days, just like everything else in this van. “You know what just popped into my mind?”
Max looked at me questioningly.
“Let’s give him a name.”
“Who?”
“Your van. He’s our home and calling him nothing more than just ‘van’ is unacceptable. After all, he has a soul.”
“Well then.” Max squinted. “What about Terry?”
“Why Terry?”
“He’s so shabby and big hearted, just like this old man who used to live in my neighborhood. He taught me how to play baseball. Everybody knew wherever Terry appeared, there’d always be ice cream. He brought it to me once too.” Max chuckled. “But I didn’t take it from him. He was so pissed off at me that he didn’t talk to me for the whole next day.”
“Why didn’t you take it?” I asked.
“I couldn’t, knowing that he had literally spent his last dollar on it,” Max said and shrugged. “Anyway, Terry was a good man. Our van definitely deserves to be given his name.”
“Okay. Terry it is then. I like it,” I said, stroking Max’s cheek with the back of my hand and smiling.
***
It was a few hours after midnight when we stopped for the night in Walmart’s parking lot. I trudged behind Max to the bed, feeling dizzy and tired.
“Let’s get some fresh air before we sleep,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
Once outside Terry, we walked a little to get away from the cold concrete and lights of the parking lot. I sank on the grass and peered up at the stars. The moon shone bright, illuminating the boundless field on the other side of the road. Max stretched out near me, his hands on the plaid blanket covering my shoulders.
“See this star?” he whispered, pointing with his index finger at the little bluish star to the left of us. “They say if this star shines bright, it’s a good sign. It means those who are seeking their way will find it.”
He talked about constellations, pointing at the stars with his right hand and gently stroking my shoulder with the other. I listened to him until his voice started to fade away. I closed my eyes. The chirping crickets lulled me. I turned to the other side, leaned my head against Max’s lap, and breathed in the smell of wet flowers from the field before drifting off to sleep.
***
“Lana, wake up.”
I murmured something unintelligible, burrowing deeper into my pillow.
“It’s time to wake up.”
“Just one more second, please,” I moaned.
“One more second was half an hour ago,” a gentle but demanding voice said.
The beautiful, velvet voice was the reason I wanted to stay in bed even longer. I winced and opened one eye. Eyes the color of green ash, like a mesmerizing pine forest in the fog, watched me, smiling. I reached for Max and caressed his neck with both my hands.
“What time is it?” I said with a sleepy rasp to my voice.
“It’s already the afternoon,” Max replied, twisting a lock of my hair between his fingers.
“Wow!” I rose up on my elbows. “I’ve slept for so long!”
“You had to rest. Yesterday wasn’t easy.”
“I wasn’t the one who spent the whole day behind the wheel,” I protested. “When did you wake up?”
“A couple of hours ago.”
“And what did you do all this time?”
“Made some breakfast. Sat here and watched you sleep.” His eyes twinkled with mischievous sparkles. “I hope you don’t mind?”
I bit my lower lip. “Only if I was snoring or sleeping with my mouth open.”
Max shook his head. “I would’ve quickly woken you up if anything wasn’t perfect.” He chuckled.
His lips covered my laughing mouth. I clung to his shoulders, shutting my eyes. Unfortunately, I had to open them again as soon as Max pulled away, saying, “Your coffee is ready.”
The rich smell of coffee wafted from the tiny kitchen and lured me inside. I sat at the table, my eyes following Max’s movements as he bent over the kitchen cabinet and took out a tin can of brown sugar. He poured two cups of that precious black drink we too arrogantly call just coffee. A Gift From Heaven was much more fitting.
“Jack has been waiting for us,” Max said, sitting down next to me. “Lily doesn’t know we’re coming. It’ll be a surprise.”
The moment Max said Lily’s name, his face darkened. I sighed. The whole way to San Francisco I tried to distract him from his sad thoughts, delay meeting reality for as long as possible. The closer we got to the hospital, the more anxiously my heart clenched and the deeper Max sank into sadness. I would give up anything if I could change that one thing.
CHAPTER TWENTY
San Francisco greeted us with an inconceivable number of cars stuck in traffic. We spent almost an hour searching for a place to park Terry. Finally, Max killed the engine and we got outside. The warm air immediately clung to my skin. I knew it was hot in California, but was surprised by just how dry the heat was compared to Washington.
We wandered through the streets, climbing up the hills and then quickly walking down.
With my eyes wide, I scanned every detail that jumped out at me from the busy streets. I felt dizzy and confused. I wasn’t prepared to be immersed in that insane flow of people. The city was filled to the brim with noises—a dramatic contrast with Lakewood’s cozy peace.
We walked down the street, not letting go of each other’s hands. My heart treacherously faltered when we took one last turn, and a huge glass building appeared. The hospital.
I hated hospitals. I’d never broken a single bone and hadn’t been sick with anything more serious than a cold. One day they put my mom on an IV drip because of acute bronchitis. Dad and I visited her, bringing some of her favorite apricots every day. I was four, so I didn’t remember much, but that smell of drugs and unnatural cleanliness was imprinted into my nose forever and stayed with me for a long time after Mom’s discharge.
Now I was in the kingdom of white again. People scurried through the corridors; their faces showed whether or not the doctor had given them good news. A nurse walked in front of us, moving silently in her white sneakers. She opened the next door and let us in.
We entered the visiting room. It was bright and spacious. The sofas in the corners were flooded with light from the huge glass windows.
It was the middle of visiting hours and the room was crowded. Parents talked with their children, sitting on the low colorful sofas. The sofas were arranged in such a way that each family had personal space and didn’t have to face people they didn’t know.
In the farthest corner sat an old woman, her heavy gaze glued to the window. At first I didn’t realize what had captured my attention, but then I shifted my gaze from her hunched frame to her long, thin fingers. She clutched a cup in her shaking hands and pounded it on a saucer with an incessant tinkling sound. Shivering, I turned away.
“Over here! My sweet boy!”
A vigorous, stout man with long dark hair turning silver at the temples hurried to stand up from his sofa. Max rushed to his side. One moment and he found himself in Jack’s big, soulful embrace.
“You’re so grown up!” Jack said, stepping back and scanning Max from head to toe.
I remained a little behind, feeling everybody’s gazes on my back. They were burning my skin. Our sudden appearance had broken their desired silence.
Max gently took me by the elbow and led me forward. “Jack, meet Lana,” he said, lowering his voice to an audible whisper.
Mr. Olsen shifted his glance to me. His hand reached for the back of his head and he smoothed down his hair with one fleeting movement. He cleared his throat and said, “It’s nice to meet you, dear. Thank you very much for coming. Both of you.”
Max put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “We couldn’t not be
here,” he said.
The anxiety he was trying to hide became clear, slipping into his wide open eyes, into his voice, husky and broken. I saw it in his compassion, in the way he looked at Jack, embarrassed by his inability to find the right words. Jack’s eyes teared up. He seemed to understand everything.
The door opened and the nurse entered the visiting room. She gently pushed a wheelchair in front of her. There was a little girl sitting in it, her arms crossed over her chest and her gaze was wandering over the room. She was searching for someone. Jack jumped to his feet and hurried to her side. I glanced at the girl. The chair was too big for such a tiny figure. She was wearing a denim jumpsuit and a black hat with cat ears. It contrasted with her pale, almost bloodless skin, making her look even smaller and weaker.
The girl noticed Max. Her eyes squinted at him in disbelief. The nurse approached us, bringing in the smell of drugs and camphor. She gave us a polite smile, wrote a few notes onto her clipboard, and left.
Lily broke the silence first. “What are you doing here?” she asked Max sternly.
She quickly straightened the ears on her hat. A tiny furrow appeared on her forehead as she continued to scowl at Max.
Lily was a beautiful child. Her face shape reminded me of a heart, tapering down gently to a pointed chin. It blended harmoniously with an upturned nose across which tiny freckles were scattered. Her eyebrows rested high above her eyes. Though pale and dry, her lips were still quite plump, pursed now in a cute way just like any child purses her lips to show her dissatisfaction.
Max crouched down next to Lily. “Hi, Li. I know, you’re happy to see me,” he said, smiling at her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she demanded.
“Wanted to surprise you,” Max replied.
Lily nodded and turned her head to me. Our eyes met.
“Li, meet Lana. She’s a very good friend of mine,” Max said. He glanced at me with a reassuring smile and his hand touched mine, slightly squeezing it.
“You mean girlfriend?” Lily asked.
Max’s lips stretched into a mischievous smile. I remembered how he described Lily’s eyes. Against her pale skin they were sapphires, reflecting calmness and not at all the fatigue you’d expect. One more moment and I’d break into tears. I shifted my glance to Mr. Olsen. He tried to sniff as quietly as he could, folding his trembling arms over his chest.
