Gemini: A Novel

by Cassella, Carol

  They got into the car and turned around, heading back to the coastal resort in Kalaloch. Raney stared out at the landscape—windblown trees, bent by the Pacific gales. She missed the lushness of Quentin—horizons hemmed so close by the forests and hills the world felt smaller. Something you might cope with. But there was a beauty here that she could imagine settling with, if they stayed for a while. If they had a place to live and a way to pay for it. And at almost the same moment that thought entered her mind, a red-and-black sign caught her eye—vivid in the spectrum of natural golds and greens. It was a For Rent sign, pointing up a gravel road that could have led to the moon, it was so empty. Nothing visible from the highway. She told David to stop the car and back up. They looked at the sign for a minute, and then turned up the rough drive.

  After a quarter of a mile with no man or man-made structure in sight, David was ready to turn around. But Raney was determined. “The sign didn’t look that old, and the road’s been used.” And then through the brush and cattails they saw a trailer, so brown and squat it popped into view like a nesting ground bird brooding her eggs. The image alone made Raney feel like it could be turned into a home. It was locked—they had to stand on stacked cinder blocks to see through the windows. The owner had built a lean-to along the front and busted out the wall so that it had more corners and rooms than a simple rectangle. They could see two small bedrooms; a tiny galley kitchen with a two-burner cooktop. A bathroom with a shower and double sink.

  Raney felt her first spark of hope since seeing her own house disappear in the Tahoe’s side-view mirror, and she made David hurry back down the driveway to copy the phone number off the sign, worried someone might rent it before they could call. “Oh, right!” he said. “There’s probably a backup on the highway waiting to get that phone number.” They had to drive four miles to find a cell signal. David let it ring ten times before he hung up, but Raney made him call back and try again, despite his smug protest that it was a waste of energy and they should keep driving. But this time someone answered. Raney held her breath.

  David asked a long string of questions about the trailer before Raney heard him ask if it was still available. He kept shaking his head and asking the owner to repeat his answers—“Barely understand his accent,” he whispered to Raney. Finally he asked what the rent was; she saw him wince. He told the owner he’d think about it and call back.

  “I don’t care what the rent is. Take it.” Raney caught Jake’s eyes in the visor mirror—he looked ready to jump whichever way she called it. “Will he rent to us by the month?” David nodded. “Okay, then. This month is yours. If the job doesn’t work out, we’ll move back. We could be home before school starts.”

  —

  The owner was a Korean grocer down in Aberdeen. The rent was pitifully low, but so was their money, and when he called the owner back, David wangled a way to work part of the rent off by doing some bookkeeping for the store. They had to drive to Aberdeen to sign the lease and pick up the keys. Before they left, David wanted to look at the trailer again, in case there were any obvious leaks or damage he might leverage into lower rent.

  Jake and Raney roamed the wide-open land that stretched uninhabited in every visible direction, only a few twisted barbed-wire fences marking the boundaries of what must be acres of property. The land had been clear-cut at some point in recent time, exposing a contour of marshy swales and hillocks gouged by logging trucks. Thorned blackberries and the forlorn stumps of decapitated trees stood in weedy patches aflame with fireweed and Indian paintbrush. Jake walked over the uneven turf with his hands in his Windbreaker pockets, scanning his new territory. There would be no worries about bullying neighbors here. There were no neighbors.

  Raney caught up to him, and they walked toward the closest marsh until the soaked earth sucked at their shoes and Jake got her laughing at the flatulent sounds. They picked cattails, broke open the felted brown rods, and threw the moist fluff in the air and on each other. He leaned over, trying to snare the largest reeds without falling knee-deep in mud, and Raney saw his hand fly to his back.

  “Jake? Is it your back?”

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said, his good humor turned sour.

  “No, you’re not. You’ve been lying about it, haven’t you? Why?”

  “Why complain? So David can say I’m just trying to get out of hard work?” He stormed ahead of her, his Windbreaker slung around his shoulders so his T-shirt was drawn taut against his spine. Raney wove toward drier ground to follow him, but when she looked up, she saw something so plainly she wondered if she’d been blind for the last weeks. Jake was limping. She walked faster, marking the fit of his blue jeans and the lay of his cotton shirt—it was suddenly obvious. One hip was riding higher than the other, as if his legs were uneven.

  David was waiting for them. After Jake got into the car and shut the door, she pulled David aside and told him what she’d seen. “I want to take him to a pediatrician in Aberdeen.”

  “Another doctor? And pay for it how?”

  “Some doctors take charity. We can sign up for Medicaid now. He’s limping. Like one leg is shorter, or something.”

  “Legs don’t shrink overnight. You’re under a lot of stress, Raney. So is he.”

  David started to open the car door, and Raney shut it again. “Something is wrong with him. I know it. I can feel it.”

  “Well, he hasn’t been taking his medicine, for one. Maybe he never took it. Started selling it from the beginning.”

  Raney was speechless, a band constricting her chest. “You think he did it, don’t you? You believe Jerrod and Tom Fielding more than your own . . .” David went a shade paler and stammered a word before Raney cut him off. “He needs a decent doctor. I’m taking my son to a doctor.”

  David looked out toward the wind-swept marsh. After a chilled moment he nodded. “Okay. We’ll see. Tomorrow might not be the best day. We’ll see.”

  —

  The grocer asked them to meet him at his store at nine the next morning. It was only a few hours’ drive to Aberdeen, but once in the city they would have to pay for a motel, so David pulled into a rest stop eight miles north and hauled out the sleeping bags and tarp. He hunted out the smoothest stretch of grass and kicked the larger rocks aside, then spread the tarp and arranged the sleeping bags side by side. Shortly after they fell asleep it began to rain so they shoved the wet tarp under the car, folded the seats down and made a pallet out of the three sleeping bags, then tried hopelessly to fall asleep again. They were back on the road at four forty-five, pulling into Aberdeen before daylight.

  They stopped at a McDonald’s for coffee and two breakfast sandwiches to split among the three of them. When David went to the bathroom Raney asked the cashier how to get to a marina or park where they could take a coin shower. Raney had turned her last pair of underwear inside out to last another day, but if she could wash her hair, she could tolerate the rest. One more day and they would have beds to sleep in. Hot water. She could stand anything for one more day.

  The marina was well outside town, and the shower was locked. A sign read “Open 8:30 a.m. to noon, 6:30 p.m. to 10:00 p.m.” She checked the windows to see if one might have been left unlatched. The whole city was still asleep. Along the docks metal halyards clanged against metal masts in broken music. It sounded so lonely in the gray mist of dawn. The space between her ears buzzed, as if so many nights of bad sleep had garbled the circuitry inside her brain. They all walked back to the car and sat inside with the doors locked and the radio on, waiting, until Raney said, “Just drive to the grocery store and park. Maybe he’ll get there early.”

  It was not a big city, but they still drove the wrong way up a one-way street and through a stop sign searching for the store. By the time they found it, they’d quit talking to each other—their collective patience used up. David pulled into the lot behind the store and parked, put his seat back as far as it would go, and s
lapped a T-shirt over his face. Raney said she was taking Jake with her to find a bathroom, beyond caring if David was still awake to hear. Let him worry if he woke to an empty car.

  They tried a gas station at the end of the block, but the bathroom was for customers only and the clerk showed no sympathy when Raney asked for the key. She stood on the corner looking for another option, then started up a hill toward a large, well-lit building—so many lights had to mean a lot of people, who must all, at some point, use a toilet.

  It was a hospital. For the first time in months, Raney felt like her luck had turned. She combed her filthy fingers through her hair and tried to do the same to Jake before he could pull away, then she followed the signs to the emergency room. She left Jake in a chair near the TV and found the registration desk, waited while an elderly couple in front of her dug out their insurance cards and filled in three pages of forms before they finally moved aside. When it was her turn, though, she had no idea what to say. Why was she here? Whatever Jake had, it wasn’t an emergency.

  “I’m new here. In Aberdeen. Well, not even Aberdeen—up the coast . . . We . . . I . . .” She stopped. The nurse blinked and folded his hands—Raney could tell he’d seen it all. She took a breath and leaned so close she was surprised the man didn’t back away. “Look, something is wrong with my son. His back, his joints—he hurts all the time and it’s getting worse.” She stopped for a minute to gauge whether he was taking her as seriously as he should. He raised his eyebrows, apparently ready for whatever came next. “He’s started to limp. I’ve taken him to three doctors. I am tired of being told it’s stress or depression or growing pains or ADD.” With the last word Raney’s voice broke and tears brimmed in her eyes—she wondered if she would hit the man if he turned her away.

  Instead, he nodded. He put a fresh form on a clipboard and made some Xs at the places she was supposed to sign. The emergency room doors whooshed open and two medics rushed past with a wailing child on a gurney; an IV bag swung wildly on a silver pole when they turned the corner. Raney stopped reading and handed back the clipboard. “I shouldn’t be here—in an emergency room. What I need is advice. A doctor’s name. A specialist. I don’t know where to go.” A woman walked up and stood quietly behind the nurse, listening. “I might as well tell you now, I don’t have any insurance. I don’t have Medicaid,” Raney said. “I’ll pay over time, whatever it takes.” There it was. All her cards on the table for the closed club of those privileged to give and receive the best medical care in the world. Jake’s fate was theirs to consider and decide.

  The man looked at the woman. “You want to take this?”

  She told Raney to take a seat in the waiting room, then she disappeared through a door at the far end of the corridor. Raney checked the time: seven thirty. Through all of this, Jake had kept his eyes fixed on the television set, which was tuned to some political talking heads—God alone knew what rage or pain had kept him awake through that. She changed the channel to cartoons and noticed that no one else in the room seemed any less enthralled by VeggieTales. She jumped, half-dozing, when the woman sat down next to Jake.

  “Ms. Boughton? I made up a packet for you.” She opened a large white envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “All the applications you’ll need for Medicaid and TANF—Temporary Assistance for Needy Families. It takes a while to get through the system, as you can guess.” She handed Raney another page. “This is a list of doctors in the county—addresses and specialties. Phone numbers. Sometimes it’s hard to get an appointment if you’re on assistance, so call soon.” She looked at Jake. “Did I hear you say it’s his back?”

  Raney answered, “Yes. Jake, can you stand up?” He hesitated for a minute, like he might be poked with something sharp. “She’s not going to do anything. Just show her your back.” Jake stood up, facing the woman. He looked solemn and resigned, and maybe, Raney thought, ready to end this game. The nurse asked him to turn around and Raney helped Jake pull off his filthy T-shirt.

  “Touch your toes for me, would you, Jake?” the woman said. He leaned over and let his hands dangle, then grabbed the toes of his tennis shoes. She stood directly behind him, scanning the bony knuckles of his skinny spine. Raney saw her face change—little more than a light leaving her eyes, a hint of doubt in her confident-nurse smile. “Thank you. That’s fine.” Then she turned to Raney. “I’m not allowed to give you any medical advice, since you aren’t registered in the ER. But if, say, I ran into you in the park or the grocery store and you asked me about a good doctor for our friend here, I would tell you to see this man.” She took a Sharpie out of her pocket and circled one name. James Lawrence, MD. Pediatric orthopedic surgeon. She smiled at Jake then, and Raney saw her tilt her head and look more closely. “You have a handsome son,” she said. She was looking at his eyes, Raney knew. People were always struck by Jake’s eyes.

  —

  When they got back to the car, it was empty. For a minute she felt bad about leaving David without a note, worried he was out searching for them. Or maybe a cop had seen him sleeping there with his unshaven face and dirt-streaked clothing and taken him in for vagrancy. Then she noticed the door to the grocery store was open. She told Jake to get in the backseat and wrap up in a sleeping bag, hoping he could fall asleep.

  There were no customers inside the store. The lights weren’t even on yet, only the white ghost-glow from the refrigerated cases. She called David’s name softly and walked down the middle aisle. At the back was an open, lit doorway. A small office with a desk and chair—little more than a broom closet. David wasn’t in there, but someone else was—a dark head bent over papers, half-hidden by a computer screen. Raney took a step backward, wishing she’d just waited in the car. “Mrs. Broughton? You Mrs. Broughton? Good, good! Please. I like you sign too.” The grocer was half a head shorter than Raney, a round man with a smile that buried his eyes in his cheeks. David had already been in and filled out the rental forms. He had waited awhile, then gone out to look for his wife and son. “He look you,” as their new landlord put it.

  Raney tried to make small talk. He seemed happy they were renting the trailer, but it was hard to pretend she felt anything but tired and dirty. His accent was so thick she had trouble understanding and gave answers that left him flummoxed once or twice, turning their conversation in circles.

  Finally Raney said, “Why don’t I go ahead and sign the lease and then I’ll hunt for David. My husband, Mr. Boughton. Let you get back to work.” The grocer looked concerned, but after a moment he smiled and pushed the lease across his desk. She scanned the pages, looking for the lines David had already signed, assuming she should just sign underneath. At the bottom of the second page a box caught her eye. It was for references. Six references with phone numbers and addresses. Six. Given all the bridges they had burned in Quentin, Raney was amazed to see that David had filled every one in. He had put Sandy’s name down first, of course, and Marina—the glassblower from the gallery who Raney barely knew, the only people he could be sure wouldn’t jinx the rental. He’d listed Jim, the owner of the dairy David had done a little work for. She suspected that had not ended on good terms—David had been vague when she asked why Jim never called him anymore. Then two names in Oregon, probably from when he’d lived in Medford. A name on the last line had been partially crossed out and written in again, the lines of ink doubled over each other for clarity against the cross-out so they indented the page. Shannon Boughton, in Florida. Shannon Boughton. David’s ex-wife. I’ll be damned, Raney thought. David had given the name of a dead woman as a reference. Had they really ended up with so few friends?

  —

  When she got back to the car, David was in the driver’s seat with the key in the ignition. “Where were you? I looked all over,” he said.

  The envelope from the hospital was in Raney’s purse. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t take it out and show it to him. It should have made him as relieved as it did her. A place
to start. The faintest glimmer of hope that Jake might get care without their having to sell the car. She thought about that later—her reluctance to tell him what she was planning. What part of her brain was already connecting dots to outline the face she was only beginning to see clearly?

  “The marina shower opens soon. Can we stop there before we drive home?” she said.

  He shook his head, his nerves frayed, she could tell. “I just want to go. We can take a shower in our own bathroom tonight.” He looked in the rearview mirror at Jake. “Right, Buddy? Want to shower in your own bathroom for a change?”

  Jake was quiet. Raney could feel him glaring back at David’s eyes in the mirror. Then Jake said, “My mother calls me Buddy.”

  Raney started to make a joke, impelled to lighten the impact, but she didn’t have the heart. How could she make David feel better about it without making Jake feel worse? She slid her hand across the seat so it rested against David’s thigh. He tensed and kept his hands on the steering wheel.

  The drive home seemed to take hours. Twice as far as they’d come. She was not consciously thinking about the rental application—they were almost to Queets when it hit her. It was so obvious she felt nauseous in the face of her own stupidity. David hadn’t given the name of a dead woman as a reference. Shannon Boughton was no more dead than Raney was.

  When they finally bumped down the rutted driveway and parked in front of the trailer, Raney told Jake to take the key and choose which room he wanted, resting her hand on David’s arm to stay him. After Jake was inside she said, “You want to explain?” The heat in her voice made it clear what she’d seen. He slumped against the car door with his eyes focused somewhere between the windshield and the dark hovel in his soul that had generated his lie. After a long time Raney asked, “So are you actually divorced from her? Or was that a lie too?”

  He rubbed his hand over his face; the slack fold of his jowl was dark with stubble. “Shannon called and told me she’d broken up with her boyfriend. She begged me to give us another try. Christ, she’d been my wife for eleven years—I thought I owed her a second chance. After two months we were worse together than we’d been before. I didn’t know a woman could be that . . . All I could think about was you, Raney. I should have told you the truth. But I thought I’d lose you.”