by Cathy Lamb
I thought about that.
He took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time I break a promise for the first time in my life and tell you something about your mom that will help this situation.”
I could not even speak when my dad was done with his story.
* * *
I drove by my and Zack’s old home up in the hills, above Portland, about a week later, after six days of “work” where every day I felt as if I were falling down an anti-accounting rabbit hole of doom.
I finally acknowledged that I felt as if I was in mourning. I was grieving. I have been running from a lot of feelings, trying to simply function normally, but I finally realized it.
I had lost my memory of the morning of my accident, which kept darting through my mind, a shadow here, a shadow there, something tapping me, begging me to remember what I couldn’t remember.
I had lost time in a suffocating, traumatizing coma.
I had lost time in rehab.
I had lost my ability to be an accountant.
I had lost my ability to walk without a wobble, but that was getting better.
I had lost my feeling of safety with the hit-and-run, the Barbie, the bird, and the bullet. I was scared, often.
I had lost my trust in Zack, as I knew he wasn’t telling me something.
We had lost the house.
I didn’t pity myself. I didn’t ask: Why me?
That’s stupid. Why not me? I am no better than anyone else. There was no reason I should be inured from tragedy or injury or anything else crappy life threw.
So I decided to do a full dive into what I’d lost in hopes of coming to terms with my life. I drove up into the hills of Portland, around the curves, to our old house, to help me move on.
I stopped in front of our house and I got out of my car. I made sure I had my balance, then I leaned against the hood as I studied our former home and the towering oak in the backyard. Zack had showed me the pictures of how it had looked when he’d first bought it, and I marveled again at his skills in transforming an older, traditional home into something special. It was gray-blue with black shutters. Two sprawling stories. He had bought it for an investment, and it had worked.
The house was impressive. The neighborhood was impressive.
I didn’t belong here.
I liked some of the neighbors. Others I didn’t, and I avoided. Overriding the neighborhood was this wealthy, elitist feel. A tone of entitlement. Designer this and that, vacations people bragged over, shiny new cars. I was from eastern Oregon. I had little in common with the people here who chased wealth and stuff and were rather snobby about their educations.
Although, not all of them. There were a few I liked. They were wealthy because they worked hard, all the time. Like Shaundra, who was an anesthesiologist, and Debbie, who was an artist, and Alejandria, who ran a nonprofit for homeless kids while her husband was a VP at a tech company.
“Oh, my gawd!”
I turned at the voice. Oh no. Melinda Lordman. Snobby trophy wife. Did not work. Obnoxious. Platinum hair, her heavy makeup a hard mask. About five women, exactly like Melinda, ran in a gang. A spoiled and privileged wife gang who went to the same exclusive downtown club and belonged to the same expensive private golf club. They were deadly.
“Natalie!” She flung her arms around me. She was in heels and a silk blouse and skirt, diamonds in her ears.
I was in my cowboy boots, black tights, a black skirt, and a leather jacket. Around my neck I’d thrown a scarf I’d bought in Alaska. My hair was down, and my homemade earrings were long and gold. We could not have been dressed more differently.
“I am so happy to see you! I am so glad you’re okay!” She gushed. “I couldn’t believe what happened to you. I was so upset. I cried all the time. I told the moms at school, I told my book club.” She started to smile, it had all been so exciting! “I told the women at the Axel Club downtown and the golf club and—”
“Hello, Melinda,” I interrupted when I’d had enough. She had told everyone about my accident? I know why she told them. Because it was so much fun to tell people about her friend in a coma! She, Melinda, could be the center of attention. She could fake that one of her “best friends” was in a coma, oh woe is her, you poor thing, worried about your dear friend. I’ll bet Melinda cried, too, appropriately misty eyed. She was going to be strong for her coma friend!
She borrowed my tragedy so she would have something to say. But Melinda never came to see me at the hospital. She never came to the rehab center. She never sent a card or called. She did do one thing, though.
“How are you, Natalie? I know you were in a coma. Can you think? Can you talk?”
“No, I can’t think and I can’t talk.”
“Oh, my gawd! You can’t?” Hand to her enhanced chest, gaudy rings glittering. “I am so sorry. Do you understand what I’m saying? Should I talk slowly?” She started talking slowly. “I can do that. Here. How. Are. You—”
“It was a joke, Melinda. I can think and talk. You might be seeing me doing both right now.”
“Oh. Ah. A joke.” First her shifty eyes showed her confusion, followed quickly by resentment as she knew I was making fun of her and she hadn’t caught it the first time.
“But what are you doing here? Oh. I know.” She swung her gaze to my old home. “You miss your house. You and Zack.” She false pouted. “You lost everything, didn’t you? Everything. Your whole lives.” One more false pout came out, collagen-filled lips turned down.
“No. I didn’t lose my life. I’m still here on the planet. Zack is alive, too.”
She was unsure what to do with that. Was Natalie being sarcastic? Maybe her brain wasn’t working?
“I have missed you so much!”
No, she hadn’t. We had never been close. She used to flirt with Zack. He always walked away from her. “Are you sure it’s me you missed? Maybe it’s Zack.”
“Zack? I miss him, too. How is he?”
She could not hide the eager lust in her eyes. She still wanted my husband. “He’s doing well.”
She twitched. Her lips tightened. She batted her false eyelashes.
“Are you still married to Albert, Melinda?”
“Yes. Yes. Absolutely. Married.” She turned the false pout into a false smile. “We would never divorce. We have a wondrous marriage. So happy. We’re always happy. Albert.” She said his name as if she had to remember who he was. “Being a vice president at a bank takes up so much time. He has so much responsibility. So many people under him. But then”—she giggled—“that’s what bought us our vacation house in Maui and our most recent trip. Did I tell you about it? My daughter and I—you remember Crystal, right? We went to Thailand for two weeks, then we cut down to New Zealand and Australia, took a cruise, whoee! We shouldn’t have, but we couldn’t resist! Then we cut back up to Maui to our vacation home. Albert wasn’t with us; he had to work, poor man.”
Unbelievably, she then began to tell me about her vacation, in depth. I got the days she stayed at this or that hotel, the friends she saw, the places they went, the wedding they attended, the expensive side trips....
In the middle of yet another monologue of Our-Lives-Are-Perfect, I said, “I think I’m going to go now, Melinda.”
“But let me show you a few of my photos from my vacation!” She grabbed her phone. “Have you ever seen pictures of our vacation home in Maui?”
“No, thank you.”
“What?”
“Melinda, I’m trying to recover from a head injury. And you are too much for me to handle.”
She sucked in her breath. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Melinda, that I didn’t like you when I lived here, and I don’t like you now.”
“I . . . I . . . well! Oh, my gawd!” She was befuddled! But mad. Why didn’t I like her? “I don’t like you, either, Natalie.”
“I know. It’s why you didn’t come and see me in the hospital, but told all your friends about what happened to me so you
could be the center of attention. You did come over and try to see Zack, though, didn’t you?”
I knew that to be true. Zack told me. We laughed. He never let her in. Even when she tried to come in with dinner. Three times.
“I was trying to help him.” She swung her blond hair. She avoided my eyes. Bad liar.
“I was in a coma and you were hitting on my husband.”
“I was not.” She flushed. Bright red.
We both knew she was. She couldn’t stand her husband. He couldn’t stand her, either. It didn’t take a genius to know that Albert sent his wife and stepdaughter out on a long vacation so he could get a break. Her eyes skittered away.
“Good-bye, Melinda. I don’t think you’ll be Mrs. Zack Shelton in the future. Sorry.”
“I don’t want to be Mrs. Zack Shelton.” She put her hands on her hips. “He doesn’t even have a home.”
I laughed. “But he’s Zack, and that beats a Maui vacation home any day.”
Her face got all scrunched up. This was not part of her perfect, monied world.
As I drove off, I laughed. I felt better. I went to the neighborhood to get rid of some of my grief from the losses, and it had worked spectacularly well. Good-bye, old life!
I did glance in my rearview window. Melinda was standing in the middle of the street flipping me off.
I stuck my hand out the window and flipped her off, too.
I should not take delight in flipping anyone off, but I did. I cackled.
My trip had been worth it!
* * *
As I drove down our street, and came to the intersection where I’d been hit, a crystal-clear image of me lying on Zack in bed and listening to him talk entered my head. He was upset. He was so angry . . . then he was telling me to get dressed. He kept saying, “Hurry.”
What happened? Did that happen?
* * *
“Did you ask me to hurry on the morning of my accident?” I asked Zack.
I swear he grew a little white around the edges. “I may have. I think you were going to be late to work.”
I didn’t think that. I was never late to work. I didn’t like being late. Zack would never have told me to hurry, either.
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything else?”
“No, baby.” He looked away.
Why does he keep lying to me?
Chapter 16
On another rainy evening, chilly and dark, before Zack got home, I thought about Lake Joseph.
Living in Lake Joseph was like living in a postcard. The blue-tinted mountains were close, the tranquil lake was closer. The fields rolled with farms and orchards. I loved my dad’s property, which used to be Grandma Dixie’s property, which used to be her parents’ property, and how our home had panoramic views and peace in all directions. I loved how the moon shone down, the stars were numbered in the zillions, the sunrises clear and pink and soft.
I didn’t appreciate it enough when I was a kid, because it was always there. I wanted out. It was small and I wanted the action of the city. I wanted to fly off and explore, I wanted to go to college, I wanted to live in the city and build a career and make money and never worry about losing my home again.
But now I missed it.
Lake Joseph had changed since I left for college at eighteen.
It had suffered over the years as a factory closed and the timber industry collapsed. But in the last ten or so years, new businesses had moved in. A cheese factory started up and not only employed a ton of people but also built the factory to attract tourists. You can watch the cheese being made and then you can get an ice-cream cone. People came from all over to see it.
A beer distillery set up shop, the owner three years ahead of me in school. Two other graduates of my high school, Janice and Tokai, set up a woolen mill and started making thick sweaters, and another woman came in and started a soap business and employed ten people.
The beauty of the area continued to attract artists—painters, sculptors, and ceramicists. It was cheap living where you could live on land. The artists needed some place to sell their art, so art galleries popped up. In the last three years the town had sponsored an art fair for a week in summer. Grenadine Scotch Wild came. They sold all of Grenadine’s paintings/collages and her husband, Kade’s, carved tables.
Stevie Barrett brought in ten of her fantastical, Alice in Wonderland type chairs and they were put in the middle of the town square. They had to hire a full-time officer at night to make sure they weren’t stolen, but all of the chairs sold the first day.
The Bommarito sisters, from Trillium River, brought in their famous oversized cupcakes and sold those in a booth. The line was over an hour long, but people waited patiently because their cupcakes are heaven.
Ellie Kozlovsky, who made my pillows, came, too. We called her “the pillow artist.” She set up a booth and sold her pillows. She was supposed to stay three days but sold out in one, so she went fishing instead with her sisters, Toni and Valerie.
Other businesses have popped up. Stores. Cafes. Restaurants. Gift shops. Bakeries.
Chick and Braxton’s LaSalle Hardware store has thrived. The lumber they sold flew out the door for new homes and businesses. Chick’s housewares section was like walking into home décor heaven, and I am picky about home décor. She said, “We sell the hard stuff and the soft stuff.”
The town passed a school, fire, and library bond. The library was rebuilt and a new high school constructed.
Lake Joseph is now this quirky, artsy, eastern Oregon town, a gateway to nature and mountains, the lake, fishing, and fun. But it was still small. Small and homey and people knew each other. There were homes right off Main Street, and kids and families were always outside, walking up and down, chatting and visiting. When I was in the hospital, so many of my friends had made the long drive, leaned over my near-corpse in my hospital bed, and cried/prayed/cast a healing spell/chanted Hindu verses/talked/read to me.
One of the quilting groups made me a quilt. They asked everyone to donate an old shirt or fabric, and they sewed them all into one gorgeous piece of quilting art. I received baskets of fruit; treats; and, from Eddie Tsako, steaks. He is proud of his cows. So many bouquets were delivered when I was in my Coma Coffin from friends in Lake Joseph, Zack told me it was like going home to a florist shop.
I have loved living in Portland. There is no city like it. There is serious business going on here but it’s funky, too. People ride bikes wearing feathered hats. It is not unusual to see demonstrations and protestors in Pioneer Square. People wear pink tights and business suits, dreadlocks and heels, high fashion and grunge. You can eat in fancy restaurants or head to a food cart. Coffee shops and breweries are everywhere. The sloppy person on the corner could be homeless, he could also be a millionaire tech geek. It’s close to the mountains and the beach. You can literally ski in the morning and catch the sunset at the beach in the same day.
It’s a thriving, quirky, live-as-you-are kind of city. I would always love it.
But I was finding it overwhelming and too busy. The cars, the buses, the noise. It was as if my head had crashed and my ability to be in a city every day had crashed, too.
I thought of those shining stars over my dad’s house.
I thought of the blue mountains and the lake.
I thought of the people who had made me a quilt.
I thought of Lake Joseph.
* * *
He was shooting me. I was standing in front of our old house holding two headless birds upside down, a Barbie attached to my chest, as the rain poured down like a wave. The bullets kept coming, again and again, blasting through my body. Finally, he put the gun down and giggled, his teeth a picket fence in his mouth, his tiny eyes evil.
I fell to the ground and Barbie died.
I woke up not being able to breathe, Zack soothing me. I told him the nightmare and he groaned.
* * *
A few days later, I decid
ed to quit. I had to leave Knight and Fox, even though I am the Fox.
“I’m quitting,” I told Zack.
“How do you feel about that?” His eyes were gentle and sympathetic.
“Utter sadness.” I flung an arm around his waist, the rays of the moon tunneling into our bedroom. We’d had a nice naked roll after I’d sauntered into the living room wearing a light pink negligee. An hour later, after all that passion, we were discussing life. Zack is awesome in bed, and awesome as my best friend. “But I feel relieved, too. It’s a loss. Everything I worked for, pfft. Gone. He took that from me.”
I hated that creep for doing so. I took a deep breath. “But I can’t do it anymore. I know I’ll continue to get better, Zack, but I will never get better to the point where I can do what I was doing as a CPA and the co-owner of our firm. The numbers swim, I can’t concentrate for that long, I can’t grasp the complexities of tax law anymore.”
He kissed my forehead, then he kissed the tears on my cheeks.
“Justine will buy me out, and we’ll use that money toward a down payment for a house.”
“You need to take it easy, Natalie, and this is the right decision.”
“I can’t not work.”
“Make your jewelry. Sell it.”
“I won’t make enough money.” I wiped the tears off my face.
“I don’t care how much money you make. My other houses are almost ready to sell, and we’ll be fine. But I think you will sell far more necklaces than you think you will when this becomes your full-time business.” His voice brooked no argument. “Natalie, I am not a woman. But even I look at your necklaces and think they’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before. You’ve got stones, metalwork, birds, a bunch of colorful beads, everything. I wear the necklaces you’ve made me and I’ve had men ask me about them. It feels kind of weird to be talking to other men about my necklaces, but I do it.”
