“Out,” Kerri said.
Now her mother turned and looked at her. “I’m in no mood, Kerri.”
Under the full brunt of her mother’s dark eyes, Kerri said, “I was at Lynn’s house. We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”
“You could have called,” she sighed, still looking at her. “You know how Timmy gets when you don’t come home.” Then, she asked, “Are you eating?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re looking anemic again.”
“I’m eating. I feel great, actually.”
Her mother took the magazine Kerri was looking at and smiled at something in it.
“Guess what?” Kerri pushed out a laugh, making another attempt to be different. “Lynn’s pregnant…again.”
Her mother’s facial expression didn’t change. She tossed the magazine aside. “You have always had weird friends, little girl,” she said, walking out of the room.
Kerri turned to the doorway her mother had just gone through and gave her the finger, but knew better than to risk holding the pose for more than an instant. Mother’s retaliations could be vicious and unpredictable.
Kerri was eight years old the first time she recognized her mother’s quiet cunning. They’d been bickering all day and that evening while Rebecca was trimming Kerri’s hair, there’d been a “slip with the scissors.” Rebecca had “no choice” but to cut her daughter’s beautiful, long hair short. Brutally short. Kerri had cried for days and Grammy—who had spent hours brushing Kerri’s “princess hair”—had gasped when she first saw it as if her granddaughter had come in missing an arm. Rebecca, however, claimed to like the new style (which wasn’t a style at all) and no amount of pleading or crying or fit-taking on Kerri’s part disrupted the monthly haircuts for the next year or so.
Kerri was repeatedly mistaken for a boy and when Mother overhead this, she’d laugh. The bigger fuss Kerri made when it was announced that she was “due for a haircut,” the shorter and more severe the cut would be. Grammy, who’d missed the long hair almost as much as Kerri did, was the key to growing it back. Kerri cried to Grammy and Grammy nagged Rebecca, insisting that Kerri was plenty old enough to choose her own hairstyle and should be allowed to grow it back if she chose to do so. “I don’t care what she does as long as she keeps it clean and brushed,” her mother had eventually said, as if that had anything to do with why it had been cut and kept short.
Kerri was putting on her coat when Timmy came back into the kitchen. He said in a low voice, “Why did you tell Mom you were at Lynn’s last night? I thought the whole point of screwing around with losers was to piss her off.”
She sat on the antique gossip bench and zipped up her boots. “I wasn’t with a loser last night.”
“Who then?”
“Someone who made me feel…who makes me want to be…” Hell! There was no way she could put it into words without sounding like a cardboard character in some cheesy romance. “I don’t know. But it was different. I didn’t tell Mom because it’s none of her business.” And it was even more than that. She felt protective of Seth, a sentiment that she didn’t remember ever feeling for anyone but herself. School started in a week and this kind of fraternizing with a student, even if she was no longer his student, would jeopardize his livelihood and very possibly bring an end to something he loved doing.
“Do I know him?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “because I’m sure that he has figured out by now that I’m a fuck-up and that getting involved with me would be the worst thing he could ever do.”
“You’re not a fuck-up, Kerri. I wish you’d stop saying that.”
She realized that she wanted to tell someone and that Timmy was the only person she really could tell. “You have to keep it quiet. I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Done. So?”
“Do you remember the hot teacher I was crushing on?”
“The guy who wrote the novel?”
She smiled and nodded.
Timmy raked the hair out of his eyes, his hand stopping halfway back his head as if stuck in his mop of hair. “You slept with your English professor?!”
“Shhh!”
“That’s the special guy?”
“I shouldn’t have told you.” Kerri turned to leave.
“No, no,” he grabbed her arm. “I’m just surprised. How…how old is he?”
Kerri pulled her arm away and continued to the car. “Goodbye, Timmy.”
“Kerri!” He followed her into the garage. “I’m just surprised that’s all. I wasn’t expecting that.”
Kerri got into her car and lowered the window. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Not your professor! You have to admit it sounds like typical bad-ass Kerri.”
“Well, it’s not. Maybe it started that way, but…” She remembered the way Seth had stayed naked throughout the evening, not posing or primping, but as if he’d forgotten that he was nude. His body was much like she had imagined it: muscular arms and shoulders, a nice chest, a flat stomach, well developed legs covered with soft, dark hair. What’s the matter, Ms. Engel? He’d said, catching her staring at him. Get in over your head?
“But…?” Timmy asked.
“I got in over my head.” She hit the garage door opener. “I’m late.”
“When do you get off tonight?”
“I have to close; I won’t be out till midnight.”
“I’ll wait up.”
The house was dark when Kerri returned from work, but that didn’t discourage her from bounding up the steps two at a time and bursting into Timmy’s room.
“Did you ever hear of knocking?” he said, sitting up in bed, reading a book.
“He called!” she said, climbing under the blankets. She had carried her phone with her all night, something that was against store policy, but she wasn’t about to risk missing the call even though she didn’t expect him to call at all and certainly not tonight. “I was in the men’s department and actually, at that very minute, was looking at a shirt that I thought would look really good on him and my phone started to vibrate with his call. Isn’t that weird?”
Timmy nodded that it was.
“I couldn’t believe it. He’s so funny, he always makes me laugh. He said that since I gave him an easy out, he was going to take the opportunity to really think about it, weigh it all out, what was best for me, for him, what was the best thing to do here, right?” Timmy motioned for her to talk quieter so as not to wake their mother downstairs. She nodded and continued in a lower voice, “But he couldn’t stop thinking about me, not for a minute! And last night was the best night he’d had since coming here five months ago, the best time he’d had in years. So he decided to wait at least twenty-four hours, but couldn’t! He just couldn’t do it. You’re not saying anything.”
“You’re not giving me a chance.”
“Right. Sorry. Well, anyway, he asked me if I had plans this Friday and of course, I told him that I didn’t and so he is taking me out to dinner.”
“You work Friday nights,” Timmy said.
“Yeah, I’ll call in sick. The hard part is going to be waiting two and a half days to see him again.”
Timmy was staring at her, his face void of any expression.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve never seen you this excited about a guy. About anything.”
“I never have been. I feel like I’m high.” She giggled. “Why are you looking so serious?”
“He has to be a lot older than you.”
“So what! He looks young. And he’s sexy and passionate. He’s the most passionate person I’ve ever met and being around him makes me feel passionate too. He makes me want to be better, be happy. What therapist ever did that for me? What doctor? What medication?”
“What if he just wants to mess around with a young girl for a while and you get hurt?”
“He’s not like that. I know he’s not. He covered me up when he thought
I was asleep. He made me breakfast. He took care of me when I was having an attack. He’s different. But even if I’m wrong about him, it’s worth the risk, Timmy. Isn’t it? My whole life has been a mess. One fuck up after another. I have to see where this goes. I have to. Please tell me you understand.”
Timmy nodded that he did.
She brushed the hair out of his eyes. “We have to keep it a secret until I know where it’s going.”
Timmy nodded, sort of sadly. He’d been keeping her secrets his whole life.
The first thing Kerri did Friday morning was call off of work. Feigning sickness was made easier with a voice groggy from lack of sleep. Thoughts of the dinner with Seth had kept her up most of the night. The second thing she did was lay out everything she was going to wear that evening, right down to the underwear. She’d changed her mind half a dozen times since Wednesday and packed and repacked an overnight bag—that would stay hidden in her trunk so as not to appear too eager—in case things went as wonderfully as they had on Monday.
Then Seth called and cancelled.
7
Seth was on his way back to Cherry Run for his Aunt Rita’s funeral when his youngest sister, Gail, called, sounding very un-Gail-like, frantic and near tears, “We can’t find Mom.”
“What?” he said, turning the radio down.
“She just took off,” Gail said, in a voice, hushed and anxious. “What do we do? I don’t know what to do?”
“I can barely hear you.”
“I’m in the car. Steffi’s asleep in the back seat and I don’t want to wake her.” Gail blew her nose. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I wasn’t thinking. I just call you and start babbling—”
“It’s okay. Just take a breath. Calm down,” he said like he used to do when they were at home and she’d wake him up after having a nightmare. That’s the Gail he saw in his mind just then—not the busy wife, mother, and hub of the family—but his baby sister wearing a pink Care Bear nightie with most of the sparkles worn off, her long, pin-straight hair framing a small face streaked with tears. Her big brother was always her first choice when she needed comforting, over Mom, over Tina, even over Dad. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“We were at the funeral home. Me and Mom,” she said, trying to compose herself. “She’d picked out Rita’s dress this morning and we met at the funeral home to go over the arrangements. I did most of the talking, made all the decisions. Mom just stood there like she was a million miles away. I kept asking her if she was okay and she said she was fine. Then she just walked out. Not a word. Nothing. I figured she needed some air so I gave her a few minutes but when I went outside, she was gone. Her car was gone.”
“Does she have the cell phone?”
“No. That’s the first thing I did. Dad answered. He said she left it on the kitchen table. We both thought she’d go home, but she didn’t. He’s worried too. He’s out in the truck so we can cover twice as much ground. Everyone else is still at work.”
“I’m sure she just needed to get away for a few minutes. This has to be really hard on her.”
“It can’t be any worse than the last seven years. If anything, it is a relief. Oh God, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“It’s okay. I know what you meant.” Alzheimer’s stole their sharp-witted, favorite aunt and their mom’s older sister and best friend from them one memory, one faculty at a time over the past years, leaving a shell of a person with a vacant stare who didn’t recognize any of them, couldn’t feed herself, or remember how to use the bathroom.
“If Mom needed to get away,” Gail said, “she would have said that. She wouldn’t just disappear. That isn’t like her at all and you know it.”
His sister was right. One of Janet Hardy’s greatest concerns was putting anyone out, being a burden in any way, worrying anyone. Taking off without telling a soul where she was going was absolutely out of character. “Picking out the clothes for her sister to be buried in, going to the funeral home, that’s stressful, painful,” he said. “A person acting strange at a time like this is not strange at all.”
But of course, this wasn’t why Gail was so upset. Their mom had become forgetful lately and they were all silently worried, quietly terrified that she might be showing early signs of the disease that robbed Aunt Rita of her life and her dignity years before actually killing her late last night. He heard his niece start to cry in the background and Gail instantly switched gears from scared daughter to nurturing mother. “It’s okay, baby,” she was saying. “Mommy’s here. We’re just going for a little ride. You like rides, don’t you?” Stephanie cried harder. Back into the phone, Gail said, “Poor girl has a terrible cold. I was hoping she’d sleep longer. I’m going to have to go. How far away are you?”
“Maybe an hour and a half. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Don’t speed, okay. I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“I’m not worried. Mom is fine. I’m sure of it. She just needed a little space, that’s all.”
“I’ll let you know if anything changes. If you don’t hear from me, call me as soon as you get in.” He could barely hear her over Stephanie’s wailing, “Oh, I know, honey, I know. Hey! Do you want to stop at the Dollar Store?” This seemed to quiet the little girl some and Gail said to Seth, “She loves going into the Dollar Store. You really think everything’s okay?”
“I do.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, Gail. Honestly.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding much calmer than she was a few minutes ago. “Thanks, Bro. See you soon.”
He tossed the phone on the passenger’s seat. He shut the radio all the way off so there was just the sound of the road whipping by under the tires and the wind of this cold, clear day. His mind raced and meandered and then drifted. Though he hadn’t lived in Cherry Run for nearly twenty years, he’d been back to visit his family as often as possible over that time so it was easy to picture the funeral home on Main Street and his mom’s old red Cobalt sitting in front of it. He could imagine her walking to the car, slow on account of her arthritic knees, wearing her puffy, pink winter coat and jeans and the boots she was proud of because she’d gotten them for half-price at the end of the season last year at the Walmart in Clarion. “I’ll just set these away and next winter, I’ll have a brand new pair ready to go,” he remembered her saying. She wouldn’t be wearing a hat because she hated the way they messed up her hair, which was shoulder-length and dyed to maintain its original light-brown. He could see her getting into the driver’s seat too, but that was as far as he could visualize. “What’s going on, Mom?” he said, aloud, as if she would somehow answer him.
Growing up, he’d idolized his dad, but his mom was his buddy. It was through her that he developed his penchant for believing in long shots and dreaming big. She was the first person he’d told that he wanted to be a writer. He’d just gotten his learner’s permit and she was teaching him how to drive. Even though he’d rarely seen her with a book, she’d told him that she knew he’d make a great writer. “Because I’m always reading?” he’d asked.
“Nope,” she’d said. “Because you never miss a beat. Ever since you was little, you listened more than you talked; you watched people and you always wanted to know how things worked and why people was the way they was. If that ain’t the makings of a good writer, I don’t know what is.” She’d told him then she had always wanted to be a movie star when she was his age and had planned to go to Hollywood.
“How come you didn’t?” he’d asked.
“I didn’t know how to go about it, I guess. Hollywood might as well a been the moon. Plus I suppose I was scared. Just didn’t have the gumption to take off on my own. Then I married your dad and had you kids and,” she’d laughed, “here I am, old and fat.”
He’d assured her that she was neither and she’d told him he was sweet but that mirrors didn’t lie. “Things are different with you though. You ain’t afraid. You jump rig
ht in. I don’t know where you got it, but you got it. You’ll be as famous as that Jack London or Stephen King,” she’d said, noting the two authors he’d read most often at that age. “You watch and see!”
Despite his best effort over the past several years, he couldn’t help but feel he’d let her down though her faith in him was unyielding. She believed in him as much now as she did during those driving lessons all those years ago. This fact was as comforting as it was upsetting.
Finally getting off the highway and driving down the winding country roads that led home, Seth found himself thinking about the long Sunday afternoon walks his family used to take together. It was something they’d done as far back as he could remember. Winter, spring, summer, and fall. Always in the woods. No parks—not that there were any in Cherry Run—but no well-marked trails either. The more remote, the better, like they were wandering around out there in search of something no one knew existed let alone thought to look for.
When his mom’s knees started getting bad, the family walks took on a different dynamic. Mom opted for country drives. Dad wasn’t interested in country drives and though it was never discussed, it didn’t seem to bother either of them, and the kids, of course, adapted. Seth walked with Dad and the two younger sisters—Tina and Gail—rode with Mom.
Aunt Rita started joining in on the rides, always riding shotgun, and Seth too would sometimes join them when it was raining or Dad couldn’t take the walk for some reason or another. On those occasions, Seth would pile in with the girls and they’d stop at the general store and load up on coffee and pop and chips and candy and set out for the most deserted roads they could find. Some paved, some not. Sometimes they’d go for over an hour without seeing another car.
Seth called Gail. “Remember the Sunday afternoon rides we used to take with Mom and Rita?”
“Oh my gosh! Why didn’t I think of that? I’m clear up in Clarion and Dad is all the way down in Butler.”
“I was usually walking with Dad. Do you remember some of the areas you used to go to?”
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