And then, success. I thank her with a shaky voice, say I’ll be there in a couple days. She makes sure I know that visiting hours are between ten and two. That’s it.
“You were on the list?” Mac asks, no more surprised than I am.
“Yep.”
“How? Who could have possibly put you on it?”
Something in John’s expression tells me he knows, but I had to find out for myself.
“Clinton Velvitt. My dad.”
42
SINCE I NEVER HAD LUNCH, and the pretzels didn’t quite cut it, Mac takes me to Lou’s. It’s busy, but the same spot where we were first introduced is empty.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks, as we slide into opposite sides of the booth.
I tell him about the amazing turkey-bacon club I had with Elaine.
“Then that’s what the birthday girl shall have.”
He grabs my hands across the table and gets playful, interlacing our fingers and flipping them over, back and forth. “What happened there?” He’s peering at the insides of my wrists.
“Remember when I told you Mary and I took a swig of vodka before we did that friendship-bonding thing?”
Mac nods, but continues to stare at the small, whitish spots.
“We used a match to burn friendship scars. I know it’s stupid.”
“But why do you have two?” he asks.
“So what’ll it be?” The waitress suddenly appears, snappy and ready to take our order. She pops her gum and taps her shoe, wants us to know she’s in a rush. Mac orders the club sandwich for me and a hamburger for him, no cheese.
“I’m coming with you,” he says, out of the blue.
“Is it about your car? Because I’ll take care of it. I promise. Didn’t I get us home from the wedding the other night without a scratch?”
“Yes, but no, it’s not about the car.”
“Then please let me go with Mary.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s my best friend.”
“I know,” he says, dipping a straw into his glass of water the waitress dropped off. “But I’m worried about the two of you making that kind of trip alone. It’s almost two thousand miles one way, Rosie.”
I put my hand on his. “I’ll—we’ll be fine. We always have been. Besides, she’s always wanted to escape to the mountains. This is her chance. She may never come back.”
Mac narrows his eyes, confused.
“She’s dealing with stuff at home, too,” I say, not comfortable telling him any more. It’s not my secret to share. “She’d never forgive me if I didn’t take her with me.”
“I don’t think Burlington is in the mountains. It’s really far east.”
“Yeah, but it’s close enough. Plus, I owe her, don’t you think?”
“Fair enough, but what about school? This trip will take at least two days up and two back.”
“I’m sure you remember the last week of senior year is a joke. Teachers are strictly babysitters. Plus, even if they did try reaching one of my ‘parents,’ they’d be unsuccessful since those two are on the high seas.”
“Perfect timing, I’d say.” He takes a long sip of his water. “I have to go to the restroom real quick. Be back in one minute.”
It wasn’t one minute. It was five. And he returns with the waitress who’s got one of those small chocolate cakes with a lit candle in the center. She winks at me, tells me I’ve got a keeper. Like I don’t already know.
“Happy birthday,” he says.
“Bathroom break, huh?”
“Make a wish.”
I repeat the one I made this morning over the cupcake Mary gave me, then blow the candle out in a single breath. I’m about to take a spoon to the cake when he says, “Lunch first. You need to eat.” Then he digs into his jeans under the table. “Here.” He hands me some cash. Two one-hundred-dollar bills.
“No, Mac. I can’t take it.”
“How are you going to pay for things? Lucy took the only money you had.” This is true. All of today’s drama made me forget.
“But it’s too much. I can’t—”
“Then let me come,” he suggests again. Of course, when he offered me the car keys in his office, it was with the intention that he’d be driving.
“No!” It comes out stronger than I intended.
“Fine,” he says. “Then take the money. It’ll pay for a couple cheap hotel rooms, some food.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me a credit card. “And use this for gas. About the only places that don’t check ID are gas stations.”
“I would say that I’ll never be able to repay you, but we know that’s not true.” I break into a smile, so happy I’ve got Mac, so happy that I’ll have plenty of money one day to buy him lunch. “When I return, I’m going back to that law office, only I’ll do it on my terms.”
“I’ll come with you then, if you want.”
“I want.”
“It’s a long trip, Rosie,” he says, getting serious again. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“And your car.”
“And my car,” he repeats, grinning. “Don’t forget. The top sticks.”
43
“SWEET RIDE,” Mary says, tossing a duffel bag into the backseat of Mac’s convertible. “Can we put the top down?”
“No. This isn’t a joyride,” I tell her. “We’re going, and then we’re coming back. At least I am.” Now that we’re actually going, I wonder if Mary’s got the courage to stay there, to really ditch her parents and never return. Her bag is kind of heavy and twice the size of mine.
I peel out of my driveway, knowing I took a chance even coming back here to get some things for the trip. For all I knew, Lucy and Judd canceled their cruise to come home and mope. But the promise of endless buffets, bars, and slot machines must have won out, because they weren’t home to prevent our escape.
Mary buckles her seat belt over a white tank top that accentuates her scrawny shoulders. “Maybe later,” she says.
“Later what?”
“We can put the top down.”
“I promised Mac that I wouldn’t. He says it sticks.”
The bottom half of her face twists in disappointment, so I say, “On the way back, okay?” Maybe this small incentive will keep her on track to come home with me.
“Okay.” She turns to me, her freckled face shiny and excited. “Now, let’s get this road trip started!”
There’s no tempering her enthusiasm, so I let her play with the radio for a while until I tell her it’s giving me a headache. I need to keep a level head, especially while driving. Mac told me to be careful with his car, never to stretch the gears, and not to let Mary drive. I agreed to everything, then kissed him until he broke free and made me promise not to put the top down because the mechanism is finicky.
I feel close to him, seated in his seat, my hands wrapped around his steering wheel as Mary and I drive the endless stretch of highway through the state of Florida. My plan is to make it to Valdosta, Georgia, before packing it in for the night, then get a super-early start in the morning.
Mary’s at peace. Finally, she’s on her way to the mountains. Well, sort of, since there aren’t any mountains in Burlington, but I told her maybe we’ll see some in the distance. Her bare feet are braced against the dash while she bobs her head to music only she can hear. She grows restless and rolls down the window to stick her feet out. Cars pass, and they don’t even look twice at the pretty girl with her toenails painted red.
• • •
Three hours in, around Orlando, the sun begins to set. A warm yellow sky is giving way to a dusty orange, and the headlights of oncoming traffic grow brighter in my eyes. We’ve been driving in silence for a while. I think Mary’s tired. She hasn’t spoken much since we left.
But then she turn
s to me, the side of her pale face bathed in that yellow-orange glow, and asks, “So what are you going to do about Lucy and everything?”
“Before today, I was actually going to let her have the money. But now? I’m going to give her a fight.” I haven’t told her that Lucy’s coughing fits now come with blood and that what I’m really fighting for is to keep the money out of Judd’s dirty mitts.
Mary has curled up on her side, staring at me through tired, droopy eyes. “Good for you, Rosie girl.”
“When we get back, I’m grabbing my things and slamming that black door behind me. And then I’m marching into Stephens & Stephens and setting those lawyers straight.”
“I think we should both just stay in Colorado.”
I shake my head. “I can’t, Mary. Elaine called this afternoon.”
“Ah, the fairy godmother,” she says, a little snarky.
“I guess she sort of is,” I agree, realizing it’s true. “I should be contacted by one of the admissions counselors at the Art Institute of Fort Lauderdale for an interview next week. Her daughter said my portfolio was excellent.”
“What happened to the Fashion House?”
“I didn’t get in.”
“Oh, Rosie,” she says, matching my disappointment. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Well, it doesn’t suck as bad now that I’ve at least got a shot somewhere else.”
“So staying has nothing to do with Mac.”
“No,” I semi-lie. “I want to give design school in South Florida a chance. There’s always time to make a move later if things don’t work out.”
Mary gets all pouty, but I keep my eyes on the road and my words decisive. “With the money my dad left me, I can rent an apartment this summer and begin school in the fall.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” The sadness in her voice is unexpected. I thought she’d be proud of me, taking charge of my life. With each passing mile, the inside of the car turns more gray, as does Mary’s mood.
Suddenly, “What about me?” Her voice is small and cracks on the last word.
“What about you? You’ve got your own plans, right?” I ask.
“Who knows? Thanks to your evil stepmother, I don’t even have our six hundred bucks.”
“But once my father’s estate is settled, I’m going to have tons,” I say.
“How’d he get all that money, anyway?”
“John said he probably had shares in the company. He was with Roland a long time, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” Mary says absently.
“If you decide to stay in Colorado, I’ll send you money. Whatever you need.” As hard as it is to support her, I’ll have to. My best friend deserves to be happy, too. Yet as the miles increase, so does my fear of losing her. Could she really stay behind out there? The thought of driving home without her fills me with dread.
I take my eyes off the road to get a good look at her and what I see gives me hope. I think she may be having second thoughts. She looks . . . I don’t know. Scared, maybe. I rest my hand on her thigh, warm and snug in her jeans. Her head lolls to the side, and she faces the window until the sky grows dark.
44
AS PLANNED, we arrive in Valdosta around midnight and pull into the first halfway decent place we find off the highway. My butt hurts from sitting so long, and my feet are tired from using the clutch. Duane’s Digs, a one-story U-shaped motel, boasts a fifty-nine-dollar-a-night rate on an illuminated sign, which fits my budget. I can’t wait to take a hot bath and hit the sack. We never stopped to eat, so now I’m starving and hope to find a vending machine that might have little sandwiches and bottles of juice. But one look at this place tells me I’ve set the bar too high.
When we enter the lobby to find a nasty-looking guy behind the counter, I know we haven’t made a great choice. He’s leaning back in a chair, boots propped up on a small table where a television showing Family Feud captures his attention.
“Sixty-three bucks,” he says, without looking over at us.
“But the sign says fifty-nine.” I tap the car keys on the counter to get his attention.
“State likes their tax, little lady. It’s actually sixty-three dollars and thirteen cents, but I’m cuttin’ you a break.” He spins around on the rolling chair. “You want it or not?”
Mary nods.
“We’ll take it.”
He screws up his pockmarked face, like I told him a riddle.
“Two double beds, please.”
“Whatever strikes your fancy,” he says, rolling his eyes while accepting my cash. He hands me a key card with instructions to the room. Then he leans across the counter, beer on his breath, and says, “By the way, there’s free porn on channel twelve,” as if it’s a perk, like complimentary breakfast or a morning newspaper.
I snort before responding. “Uh, we’re not a couple. Just friends.”
Mary puts her arms around me, plants a giant kiss on my cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby. The world’s changing.”
I giggle, but the desk clerk doesn’t find it funny. He stares at me with heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes and says, “Checkout’s at noon.” Then plops back in his chair and turns up the television with the toe of his boot.
• • •
Sketchy. That’s the best way to describe Duane’s Digs, so I make sure to use the dead bolt and leave on all the lights. The carpet smells like vomit and the tub is broken, forcing me to settle on a lukewarm shower. From my bed, I’ve got one eye on a roach in the far corner and one eye on the doorknob. If it even slightly moves, I’m grabbing Mary and crawling out the back window.
To my left, Mary’s curled up in her bed, a sheet of hair hiding her face. She clutches a pillow near her stomach, a low, almost inaudible snore coming from her nose. Her parents think she’s on the Senior Sunrise—an overnight trip to Key Biscayne where the graduating class spends all night on the beach and then rolls into the water before the sleep is even out of their eyes. I have no idea what she’s going to do when tomorrow comes and goes.
I’m having trouble falling asleep. I feel like I’m about to do something dreadful, like run a marathon or go off to jail. I should be excited. After all these months of wondering and searching, I’m going to meet my birth mother.
But I’ve got plenty of time to mentally prepare with another fourteen hundred miles to go. The plan: Get up at five a.m., drive until five p.m. Find a place to crash for a few hours in St. Louis, then hit the road again at midnight. The final ten-hour leg of the trip will get us to Burlington by about ten a.m. on Wednesday. As Mary said, “It’s a shitload of driving,” but we’ll take turns, even though Mac said he didn’t want her to. Drink Red Bull. Blast music. We’ll get there.
I’ve been gripping my phone like it’s a stone with magic powers, so when it buzzes, I jump under the scratchy sheets. It’s a text from Mac.
Just checking on you. (Typical Mac—proper punctuation, no text language. My heart warms.)
We r fine—snug in a motel
Get some sleep.
i will
Good night.
nite nite
There’s no way I’m getting any sleep. The roach in the corner will doze off before I do. My body may be tired but my brain is still running at full speed. I pull images of my mother into focus, then age them, hoping I’ll be able to recognize her. I imagine her wearing thin cotton pants and a long-sleeved shirt, then a soft denim dress, and then wonder if she even has a choice of clothes. Maybe she has to wear a robe all day, or something ugly like sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Although I’m sure that’s not the worst thing. Does she hear people screaming and crying all night? Is she one of them?
I force myself to stop thinking of her and that place.
My lids grow heavy and the long day wins around one a.m. I drift off, imagining my mother saying, “You finally f
ound me.” And making the wish I’ve made twice today come true.
45
WE STUCK TO MY PLAN and stayed on schedule: left Valdosta, stayed in St. Louis, then drove through the night. Mary slept most of the way, and only once asked me to stop so she could pee. I purposely kept my liquid intake to a minimum but did treat myself to a root beer around 3:30 a.m. which gave me a welcome shot of caffeine.
Around nine thirty Wednesday morning, we arrive in Burlington, Colorado, and within a few miles start seeing signs for the hospital. I should be exhausted. Instead, I’m ready to jump out of my skin and keep flipping down the rearview mirror to see if I look okay.
“Stop doing that or we’re going to miss the exit.” Mary stretches and says, “I have to get out of this goddamned car. But don’t worry, Rosie girl. You look great.”
So I resist the urge to check any more and ten long minutes later, we’re there.
The entrance to Oakridge makes it look more like a country club than a hospital. I pass between two stone pillars, bushes exploding with red berries at each base. One says, OAKRIDGE, the other, MENTAL HEALTH CARE FACILITY, and beneath that, EST. 1911. The grounds are wide and expansive, dotted by trees bursting with peach flowers. The morning sun breaks through a canopy of ficus trees lining a long road leading up to the building. I imagine if I roll down the windows, I’ll hear birds chirping, maybe a harp playing. It’s so beautiful out here, and I can tell by Mary’s serene expression that she feels the same way. Her gaze hasn’t left the window since we crossed the Colorado state line.
Large iron gates stop me at a small building. An old man with glasses perched on his bald head slides a window to the side, asks to see my identification. He studies my driver’s license when I hand it over, makes a phone call, then tells me to continue going straight until a parking lot appears on my left.
I choose the first available spot. We grab our things and cross the lot until we reach a brick walkway. I’m wearing my favorite black pants with a yellow tank/cardigan combo, and the scarf Elaine gave me wrapped loosely around my neck. I don’t care that the pink and red doesn’t match. I actually hope it triggers something in my mother that will show we both love to pair mismatched items. Mary’s dressed less fancy, in jeans and a sweatshirt, the same clothes she slept in. I wasn’t about to argue. She’s not here to impress anyone.
Rosie Girl Page 28
