Far From You

by Lisa Schroeder

  whether you like it or not.

  And regardless of how you feel about me,

  I’ll do everything I can to get you home.”

  Through the whole

  heated exchange,

  Ivy had stayed glued

  to her chest,

  clutched hard,

  like a pillow

  after a terrible

  nightmare.

  When it got quiet,

  I watched

  as Victoria

  gently

  and lovingly

  loosened her grip,

  raised the baby up,

  and tenderly kissed

  her teeny-tiny

  face.

  I leaned over,

  closed my eyes,

  and put my warm cheek

  against

  the glass.

  Freezing.

  Frosty.

  Cold.

  into the night

  Black

  replaced

  white.

  Silence

  replaced

  shouting.

  Fear

  replaced

  anger.

  We kept the car on

  for a while,

  then turned it off

  to save the gas we had

  so we could get out

  when we were able.

  Victoria and I

  took turns

  holding Ivy,

  making quiet

  exchanges,

  the tension

  in the car

  thicker

  than the snowdrifts

  outside.

  She spoke first,

  in barely a whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Alice.

  We’ll be okay.

  I promise you.

  We will.”

  I started to argue,

  but before I did,

  I thought of Claire

  and how an apology

  from one of us

  would have kept the crack

  from turning into a

  canyon.

  It wasn’t the time

  to grow further apart.

  I pulled out

  a bag of chips

  and tore it open.

  “Dinner?” I asked.

  the good and the bad

  There was

  one small container of formula

  and two baby bottles

  Victoria brought along

  in case we needed to feed Ivy

  and couldn’t stop somewhere.

  Good.

  There were three

  bottles of water

  and one can of Diet Dr Pepper

  I bought at the store

  before we left.

  Pretty good.

  There was one sleeping bag

  for two and a half people.

  Pretty bad.

  There were two small bags of chips

  and one candy bar

  for two hungry people.

  Bad.

  We each had a couple of chips

  and a bite of candy bar

  for dinner,

  followed by

  some sips of water.

  “Somebody will find us,” she told me

  as I slid into the sleeping bag

  to take the first shift of sleep.

  My stomach

  grumbled a reply of

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  this isn’t Hollywood

  I don’t think

  there has ever been

  a night

  longer than

  that first night

  in all

  of

  eternity.

  We took turns

  curling up

  on the backseat

  in the sleeping bag,

  although it might as well have been called

  the tossing-and-turning bag

  because I don’t think

  either one of us

  actually slept.

  Ivy slept

  in fits and starts

  underneath the layers of clothes

  and three blankets

  she was swaddled in.

  We turned the car on

  throughout the night

  and ran the heat.

  As I lay there,

  dreaming of home,

  I thought of the movie

  The Snowman,

  where the snowman

  takes the little boy

  and flies through the air.

  Too bad

  real life

  is never anything

  like the movies.

  from scared to petrified

  When the darkness faded

  and a grayish light

  filled the sky,

  we saw

  that the monster

  had grown

  to gigantic proportions

  overnight.

  Not only

  had it not

  let us go,

  but it had

  completely

  and totally

  devoured us.

  We were

  savagely trapped

  in the snowy belly

  of the beast.

  day two

  We managed

  to make it out

  to the tree

  that had become

  Mother Nature’s bathroom,

  but the snow

  was now up to our knees.

  When the snow started to dump

  on us again,

  my hungry stomach

  tightened up in response,

  knowing

  the snow

  would only get

  deeper

  and deeper.

  “We have to do something,” I cried

  after a breakfast of Diet Dr Pepper

  and a lunch of a few chips.

  “We can’t just sit here and wait.

  Can’t we build a fire or something?

  So planes will see us?”

  “Do you have a match?” she asked me.

  “No, but—”

  “But what?

  We just have to wait.

  They’ll go looking for us

  when we don’t show up today.

  They will.

  And they’ll find us.”

  “Isn’t the cigarette lighter

  from the car in here somewhere?

  Check the glove box.”

  While she looked,

  I jumped in the back of the car,

  tossing items,

  searching,

  desperate to find something

  we could use.

  And that’s when I saw

  the brightly wrapped

  Christmas presents.

  merry Christmas early

  She didn’t find

  the lighter.

  I opened Ivy’s big gift,

  with lots of colorful paper,

  which would be

  the most helpful.

  I ripped carefully,

  trying to keep it

  as whole as possible,

  to wave in the air

  like a big flag.

  It was an antique stool,

  a few nicks

  here and there,

  obviously

  lovingly used.

  Victoria reached over

  and ran her hand over it,

  like it was a beloved pet.

  “The stool my grandma gave me,” she said.

  “They kept it all this time.”

  An image

  of a little girl

  named Ivy

  toddling up to the stool

  to wash her hands

  flashed through my brain.

  Before that moment,

  I hadn’t pictured her

  as anything

  but a little,

  annoying blob.

  But in an ins
tant,

  I saw what I couldn’t see,

  and it was

  wonderful

  and sad

  all at the same time.

  Next I opened

  the gift for Dad.

  A bottle of his favorite

  brandy.

  Victoria opened the bottle

  and took a swig.

  She handed it to me.

  I took a whiff

  and the smell

  sent shivers

  through my body.

  I put the cap on

  and decided I’d save it

  for a more desperate

  moment.

  When I got to my present,

  I paused before I opened it,

  hoping it would be something

  really useful

  in the coming hours.

  I gasped

  when I saw the antique book,

  the cover worn and

  corners frayed,

  a musty smell to it.

  Carefully

  I opened

  the front cover.

  1897.

  Incredible.

  My own antique edition

  of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

  Truly amazing,

  although not very helpful

  unless we could slip into

  the rabbit hole

  and find our way home.

  I realized

  Victoria must have told

  her mother that

  my parents named me

  after Alice.

  I was snapped out of my

  wonderland trance

  when Victoria asked,

  “May I open mine?”

  I handed her the tiny box,

  which wouldn’t do us much good

  as far as wrapping paper

  was concerned.

  Inside

  lay a gold locket

  with a tiny picture

  of Ivy inside.

  She slipped it on,

  then gave the locket

  a little

  kiss.

  “For luck,” she whispered.

  If only it were

  that easy.

  hocus-pocus

  Like three-year-olds being silly,

  we put socks on our hands

  and underwear on our heads,

  because we hadn’t thought

  we’d need

  gloves and hats

  in California.

  Then we stepped outside

  and waved

  our red and green paper

  through the white frosty air,

  with the hope

  that someone would fly by

  and see us.

  The trees stood above us,

  their branches a canopy

  that kept us

  from seeing

  much of the sky

  at all.

  As I waved the paper

  through the whiteness,

  I thought of Mom

  swirling her brush of paint

  across the white canvas,

  turning nothing

  into something

  magical.

  And I wished

  for some of that

  colorful magic

  to come

  to us.

  failed miserably

  It wasn’t long

  before our

  crisp, vibrant paper flags

  became a soggy mess,

  like tulips in a flower bed

  pummeled

  by an unexpected

  hailstorm.

  We threw the paper

  on the ground

  in defeat.

  I took the white underwear

  off my head

  as we trudged back

  to the car.

  I twirled it around

  on my finger,

  as if waving

  a different

  kind of flag.

  The kind that says

  we

  surrender.

  a first

  While we sat there,

  trying to warm up again,

  Vic asked me

  how my phone

  broke.

  And so

  I told her

  the whole

  ugly story

  of me

  and Claire.

  She listened,

  asking the right questions

  in the right places,

  like a good lawyer

  in a courtroom.

  And yet

  I didn’t feel her

  judging me.

  Instead

  what I felt

  was her

  trying

  to understand me.

  getting to know you

  Over the course

  of a couple of hours,

  I learned

  Vic’s favorite meal

  is meatloaf with mashed potatoes.

  But she never makes it

  because Dad told her

  I hate meatloaf.

  I learned

  her favorite movie

  is Sleepless in Seattle with Tom Hanks,

  which I’ve never seen.

  She told me we’d watch it together

  when we got home.

  I learned

  she was starting to miss

  her accounting job

  and hoped to go back to work

  part time when Ivy

  turned four months old.

  I learned

  some other stuff,

  but mostly

  I learned

  she’s pretty easy

  to talk to.

  kumbaya

  Vic reached over

  and grabbed my guitar.

  “Did your dad get you this?”

  I shook my head.

  “It was my mom’s.”

  She handed it to me.

  “Why don’t you play something?”

  I strummed

  a couple of chords,

  then tweaked a jingle

  Dad and I had made up

  about a cheap wine he likes.

  “When your car is stuck

  and you’re out of luck

  and there’s no tow truck

  in sight,

  and you’re horror struck

  and a sitting duck,

  drink Three Buck Chuck

  all night!”

  She laughed.

  “I could go for a bottle of that about now.”

  It was quiet for a minute.

  “I wonder what Dad’s doing,” I said softly.

  She reached over

  and touched my arm.

  “Everything he can to find us.”

  I nodded.

  She was right.

  She had to be.

  “Okay, now, let’s sing some campfire songs,” she said.

  And so,

  with no fire,

  except the one

  we kept dreaming about,

  I played

  and we sang.

  answers

  After two days

  of little food

  and lots of stress,

  Victoria’s milk

  started to wane.

  Ivy didn’t like

  the cold formula

  very well.

  It made

  Vic

  more worried

  than she had been.

  When darkness came,

  I held the baby

  as Victoria tried

  to sleep,

  and I noticed

  Ivy’s

  teeny

  tiny

  fingers.

  Tiny

  little

  icicles

  I tried to warm

  in my

  hands.

  I remembered the

  day Claire asked me

  all the questio
ns

  about her.

  I thought,

  If I could answer her now,

  I would tell her:

  Yes, she’s cute.

  She looks like my dad,

  with his flat nose

  and dimple in his chin.

  She has lots of dark hair.

  And Claire,

  although you didn’t ask me,

  I’ve come to learn

  that I love

  holding her

  in my arms,

  even if I pray as I do,

  Please keep her safe

  Please keep her safe

  Please keep her safe…

  dreaming

  I drifted

  in and out of sleep,

  dreaming of

  doughnuts with coconut

  and warm, smooth coffee.

  I dreamt of music

  in church,

  of a voice

  that filled me with

  joy,

  love,

  and hope.

  I dreamt of

  warm kisses

  from a hot boy

  with a burning flame

  for me in his heart.

  When I woke up,

  the warmth vanished

  faster than a bubble

  that’s been

  popped.

  melting hearts

  The clock on the dashboard

  said 5:07 when it was time