The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  Martin flinched. He gazed at her for long moments, then held out his hand. “Will you sit down, so we can talk it out? I know I’m not as good at the talking stuff as your mom was.” His voice choked off for a moment, and his eyes shone with sudden tears, but he pressed on. “But I’m what you’re stuck with. I can get Naomi, if it’d be easier to talk to her.”

  Grace didn’t want to sit, and she sure didn’t want to talk. She folded her arms across her chest and took refuge in cool intellect, in orderly logic. “I don’t want to talk about it, to you or Naomi. Not ever.” Because she sounded petulant, even to her own ears, she took a few deep breaths. She was proud of how much calmer she sounded when she continued. “Research doesn’t support psychotherapy as an effective approach to restoring mental health, and it follows that ‘talking it out,’ especially without the benefit of an experienced professional –”

  “Gracie, sweetheart, you can’t outsmart this.”

  She stopped talking. He took a step towards her as he continued, ducking his head to meet her gaze.

  “You can’t think it right, or research it right, or create one of your scary cause-and-effect, future-scenario-probability spreadsheets. You can’t figure this out with your brain. I know I’m not the most touchy-feely guy, but even I know this. You have to feel it, work your way through it, so you can heal.”

  His words shredded her defenses, left her naked and vulnerable, feelings which were not to be endured. She backed up several more steps, glaring at him, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arms as far around herself as she could get them. “I am healed. I’m fine. My life is just fine the way it is, and I don’t need anything to be different.”

  “I held Lark today.”

  Her legs wobbled. When Martin moved towards her, she held out both hands, stopping him. “You…you what? What did you say?”

  “I held Lark. She’s beautiful, just as sweet and pretty as you were. And I talked to Quinn. He’s open to us being a part of their lives.”

  A low buzz started in Grace’s ears. She couldn’t think fast enough to get ahead of this, and the sensation reminded her of that basement room, of trying to make sense of the kind of violence she hadn’t known existed. She remembered how hard she’d tried to think her way out of the same fate as that long-dead girl, and how completely she’d failed. What had that girl’s name been? She couldn’t remember, and felt sick to her stomach.

  Her dad went on, a forced optimism in his tone that made her want to put her hands over her ears. “Quinn is determined to raise Lark as his daughter, and he doesn’t want her to ever know the truth. I have to say in this instance, I agree with him. When you’re ready, we’ll go together to see them again. It can be after Naomi and I get back, or we could postpone the trip if you want –”

  Grace shook her head, and couldn’t seem to stop. “No. No, no, no. Who said you could do that? What gave you the right, to talk to him, to see her, any of it?”

  Martin’s jaw tightened. “She’s my granddaughter. That’s what gave me the right.” He stared at her for a moment, his eyes bleak. “Gracie, I understand why you don’t want anything to do with her right now. But if you just gave her a chance –”

  “You understand? What makes you think you understand, Dad?”

  She turned away from him and gathered herself. Here it was. The confrontation she had done everything in her power to avoid. He thought he had this all figured out, but what she had to say was so much worse than what he had in his head. She turned back to face him. Fast, she needed to do this fast, like ripping off a bandage.

  “I won’t have anything to do with Lark, Dad. Not ever. I don’t feel for her what a mother is supposed to feel for her child. I don’t love her. I won’t ever be able to love her.” She held up a hand before he could interrupt. “And before you ask, yes, I have factored in the trauma of her conception and birth. Do you really think I didn’t research this? There’s no doubt those are factors, but here’s the thing: I’m no different than I was before. I haven’t changed like the rest of you. I didn’t take the evolutionary step. My theory is that I’m deficient emotionally –”

  “Deficient?” Martin shook his head, his forehead furrowed in angry confusion. “Jesus, Grace, you’re the least ‘deficient’ person I know.” She tried to interrupt and he plowed over her, voice rising, temper slipping. “No. I’m not going to listen to your bullshit theories. You think you’ve thought this all out, but you’re your own worst enemy. You’re trying to use your head to protect your heart, which is maybe the stupidest thing I’ve ever known you to do.”

  Time for another angle. “Dad, do you remember the first time you had sex?”

  Martin dropped down on the sofa and covered his face with his hands. “For the love of all that’s holy, Grace. What the hell?”

  “Do you?”

  “Of course I do! What does that have to do with anything?” He saw where she was headed too late to call back the words, and his face went pale before she even started talking.

  “I don’t. I was unconscious. I’m not telling you this to make you feel worse. Just hear me out. I was a virgin before those men raped me, but not because I was such a ‘good girl.’ I thought it through when I started dating William, and I didn’t think sex was a good idea. I had plans for my life, and even the best birth control isn’t 100%. And I never understood my friends when they said they ‘got carried away.’ I never felt that way. I doubt I ever will. I’m just not made like that.”

  Martin’s eyes were filled with tears again. “You were 17,” he said quietly. “Hardly more than a baby, in your first serious relationship. You can’t know those things about yourself. You can’t know if it would have been different with the right person. Not for sure.” His voice cracked. “Give yourself a chance, Grace. You can’t just decide not to love, not to live a normal life.”

  Something mean took her over then. “A ‘normal’ life? What the fuck does that even mean anymore, Dad? I was headed for college. Do you suppose that’s going to work out for me now? I wanted to get my doctorate, pursue a career in academia. You think any of the Ivy League schools will re-open their doors in my lifetime? So, okay, scratch that plan. What’s left? Hmm, let me think…” She tapped her chin and just let the ugliness seethe and roll. “Oh, I know! How about if I get married and have a kid! That’s ‘normal,’ right? And lucky me! I already have a kid! And my dead boyfriend’s brother is willing to marry me. He made that perfectly clear. Should we wait, do you think, until he’s 18?” She waved a hand, sneering. “Nah. No biggie. How’s that, huh? Is that fucking ‘normal’ enough for you, Dad?”

  Martin stood up. Grace had never argued with him before, not like this, and in some distant corner or her mind she was cold with fear. They stared at each other across the rift. Then, he said words she had never heard before, the worst words she could imagine.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Grace. You’re better than this. You’re a bigger person than this.” He turned away. “I think we both need some time to cool off. We’ll talk again when Naomi and I get back.”

  Grace’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish, but he didn’t notice. Didn’t look at her. Disappointed? She couldn’t breathe. He was quiet for a moment, then went on.

  “I’ve arranged for you and Persephone to stay with Anne at the library. Make sure you pack some things.” He finally looked up at her, but his face was unreadable, his eyes impenetrable. “I’ll let you know when I leave in the morning. It’ll be early.”

  With that, he turned and walked to his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Still, Grace stood there. She was afraid to move, afraid she’d just blow apart. She had never even imagined a world without her parents’ approval. It just didn’t compute. Finally, she wobbled over to the couch and sat down. Her eyes burned, but she couldn’t cry. Every breath she took ached, and her stomach was tight as a fist. Something was boiling in her chest, but she honestly wasn’t sure what it was.

  She h
ad told him the truth about herself, and he had been disappointed. He thought she was too young to know herself, to understand her own nature. Grace shuddered, and bile rose in her throat. She swallowed down the burn. Given how he had reacted to her honesty, maybe it was better to just let him keep thinking that.

  It was time to set her plans in motion. Better to rush things than to endure another confrontation like that. He was refusing to recognize the accuracy of her self-assessment. What would he think of her when he realized she’d been right?

  Through the long hours of the night, she rearranged and recalculated her timeline. By the time the sky lightened with the approaching dawn, she had mentally outlined a course of action, and her misery had been replaced by cold determination. As soon as her father left, she would get moving. When she heard his bedroom door open, she turned her face to the back of the couch and shut her eyes, though she didn’t really care whether he believed she was sleeping or not.

  Little nails clicking on the hardwood floor surprised her; she had assumed Persephone was with Naomi. Her dad must have had her shut in his room so they could talk. Little Persephone got so anxious when conflicts arose, and it bothered both of them to see her distressed. Grace rolled to her back just as Persephone leaped, wriggling and licking her way up Grace’s chest to her chin. Grace sputtered and turned her head, trying to escape the little dog’s early morning enthusiasm. A giggle surprised her, and she heard her laughter echoed in her father’s low chuckle.

  He crouched down beside the couch, his eyes on Persephone. Grace could smell the fresh scent of soap and water on his skin. He was dressed for riding, layered against the chill of the early morning, and a sense of purpose vibrated around him. He stroked a calming hand down Persephone’s back, then met Grace’s eyes. “Like Naomi says. Little moments of joy. This little girl gives both of us that.” He gazed at her for a few moments, then said, quietly, “I love you, Gracie.”

  He stood, then, and moved swiftly around the cabin, gathering the supplies he had set out the night before. He paused at the door, then lifted his hand in wordless farewell. Grace lifted her hand, too, and the door shut behind him.

  Peace settled around her heart. It would help him in the future, she knew, to remember the last words he’d spoken to her had been of his love, not of his anger.

  She let Persephone out, then fixed them both breakfast and packed her backpack with what little she wanted to take with her. She took a last look around the little cabin that had so briefly been her home, then slipped out and headed for the library. Her dad had found her a bicycle to make the back-and-forth trips easier, and they’d rigged up a basket for Persephone. The trip into town was almost all downhill, and she was parking her bike beside the library doors before the sun had even warmed the morning chill from the air.

  In the open space around the library, people were stirring, setting up tables. She had forgotten today was what people had taken to calling “Market Friday” – the last Friday in the month, when everyone in both the Carroll Lakes group and Ignacio’s people brought homemade goods or salvaged items to trade. Given the bumper crops of fruits and vegetables people were starting to harvest from their gardens, this place would be hopping today, and there would probably be festivities lasting well into the evening. Grace consulted her mental timeline and decided the event didn’t alter her plans significantly. In fact, the hub-bub could work in her favor. Scooping Persephone out of her basket, she let herself into the library and headed straight for her work area.

  Several hours later, Anne’s hand landed on her shoulder, startling her. Grace pulled a piece of paper over what she’d been working on and smiled up at the older woman. She was truly going to miss this spirited lady, so wounded, and so creative in adapting around that wound.

  “Good morning, Anne. Want to finalize our ideas for relocation this morning?”

  Anne took a sip of her hot water – she still grieved coffee like a lost lover – and nodded. “Sure. I was going to work with the girls on the catalog, but I’m sure they won’t mind being cut loose. It’ll give ‘em a chance to flirt their way around the gathering outside.”

  Grace and Anne shared mirror-image sneers, united in their disdain for the ever-wandering eyes of Karleigh and Viola, two of the teenagers from the Woodland Park community who were helping them with their card catalog project. The two of them whispered and giggled incessantly in the presence of any boy over thirteen or any man under thirty, both consumed by the agonies of teenage longing for love. Viewed in the context of the catastrophic changes that had swept the world, their adolescent flightiness offended Grace on every level. They were immature and frivolous. Then there was the kiss of death; Quinn was their current obsession. As if either one of them would ever, ever be good enough for him.

  Anne went to tell the girls of the change in plans, then returned, murmuring softly into her steaming mug of water. Her eyes were a little vague this morning, and when Grace recognized the opening lines from the Victorian-era poem “The Lady of Shallot,” she stifled a sigh. Anne “left the building,” as her father put it, whenever the past rose up to haunt her, and it looked like this was one of those times. Grace bent her head back over the project she was working on, hoping Anne would come back to herself before the day was out so she could go over all of this with her. Just in case, though, she’d leave a detailed summary and instructions, along with the letter she’d written for her father weeks ago.

  She took a break at lunchtime to eat a handful of nuts and an apple she’d brought from home, standing in the glass-fronted library and watching the activity outside. As she had predicted, the gathering was a hive of activity, tables piled high with fresh produce here, homemade tamales there, as well as the flotsam and jetsam people had salvaged from abandoned homes. Trading looked brisk, and children wove in and out of the crowd, their energy like bright ribbons among the adults. Grace spotted Ignacio, and with him, Ethan and Elise. As always, her heart started pounding heavily, then leapt and settled into a heavy thumping when her scanning eyes spotted Quinn.

  He was sitting on a blanket spread out underneath a nearby tree, flanked by the twins, Sam and Beck. And there she was, triangulated between the three of them, chubby arms and legs churning and waving as she lay on her back. Almost four months old now, Grace thought. As she watched, one of the twins held a brightly colored rattle over the baby’s head, trying to get her to reach for it.

  “Too soon,” Grace murmured. Maybe she’d looked up some information on developmental milestones for infants. You never knew when the information might come in handy. “Just put it in her hand.”

  As if he heard her, Quinn reached for the rattle, taking it gently from his friend and placing it in Lark’s chubby hand. She beamed a gummy grin up at him, then brought the rattle to her mouth and began gnawing enthusiastically, her dark eyes locked on the young man who smiled down at her. Faintly, Grace saw light flicker between them, what looked like green and pink lines, and she gasped softly. Was this what Piper saw? The bond-lines she spoke of? They were beautiful.

  Grace realized that she had both hands clenched in her shirt over her heart. If everything went as planned, this would be the last time she saw either one of them. Ever.

  “Your daughter will live in interesting times.”

  Grace spun around. A tiny golden fairy of a woman stood right behind her, head tilted to the side, a gentle smile on her face. The expression was not reassuring. Grace swallowed hard. Other than Macy’s memorial at Naomi’s cabin, she had never spoken to Woodland Park’s most eccentric and notorious resident.

  “Hi, Verity.”

  “Hello, Grace.” Verity glowed. Literally. “You remember me? I wasn’t sure if you would.”

  Grace managed not to roll her eyes. “You’re fairly unforgettable.”

  “Do you think so?” Verity preened for a moment, delighted by the praise. “Admiration is the best way for a friendship to start, I always say.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed. “You think we’
ll be friends?”

  Verity dimmed. “Well, no, actually I don’t. Social niceties and all that blah blah. I’m not very good at making friends, and when I do, they seem to die.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Huh. Wonder if I’m the common denominator there?” Then she focused on Grace once more. “Anyway. As I was saying, Lark will live in interesting times. That’s popularly thought to be a Chinese curse translated into English, but no Chinese attribution has ever been found. I looked that up a long time ago, and you’re just the person to appreciate my thorough research.”

  Grace’s squint became a frown. “Are you saying Lark is cursed?”

  “Not at all.” Verity looked past Grace’s shoulder, and her face softened as she watched Quinn play with the baby. “But like mother like daughter. Her path will be anything but ‘normal.’”

  What to focus on first? The fact that Verity somehow seemed to know about the argument she’d had with her dad? Impossible. She went with the one thing she was sure of. “Lark isn’t my daughter. She’s Quinn’s.”

  “Oh, yes, she truly is. They chose this in the time before time. They have loved each other through many lifetimes, and they are joyful to be together again in this one. You and Lark, on the other hand, are new to each other. Your path together will be complicated.” Verity returned her eyes to Grace, somehow managing to look stern and mischievous simultaneously. “Hopefully, though, you’ll both get your shit together and not have to go another round in your next incarnation.”

  Grace decided she had nothing to lose. “Have you ever been screened for clinical insanity? I don’t mean any disrespect – I’m truly just curious.”

  Verity laughed, a sound that combined Christmas jingle bells and a happily babbling brook. “Shuh. Of course. Now.” She checked a nonexistent watch. “I believe it’s time for you to burn a few bridges, and say your goodbyes. We’ll talk again, after.”

  Verity inclined her head towards the window, where Karleigh and Viola had taken up positions on the blanket beside Quinn, Lark and the twins. Karleigh’s arm was resting casually against Quinn’s thigh as she reclined beside him. He moved his leg, but she just shifted again, resting her hand on his knee as she made a show of cooing at Lark. A red haze dropped over Grace’s vision, and her feet were in motion before she took her next breath.