“You sure you’re okay with this?” he said. “I still sense storm clouds brewing.”
How could I tell Frank I wanted it to be just us for a while? Our first few months together had been anything but normal.
“It’s just a visit, Arlie. It’s not like we’re getting married.”
“Oh, I know,” I said. “I’m happy for you. Really. And I’m happy for us. To start over.”
Part of me was glad I was still seeing Jane and going to therapy. I had more to sort out than I’d thought.
In the chaos of the last few weeks, I’d forgotten to donate Mom’s clothing and her old suitcase to the thrift store. When Lloyd trashed our trailer, he’d dumped the contents onto the floor. I’d stuffed them back in until I was ready to deal with it again.
After Frank went to sleep, I opened the suitcase. I knew each piece by heart—which shirts used to be her favorites and which she rarely wore. I brought one of her tees up to my nose, hoping some last bit of her scent lingered. It didn’t.
It was time for me to move on. Frank was obviously excited about building a new life with Lily. I’d been given so many second chances that I’d lost count. Tomorrow, I’d wash the clothes and bring them to the thrift store.
I opened the drawer to the nightstand and retrieved Mom’s notebook. That, I’d keep. The writings might just be gibberish, but they obviously meant something to her. Mo suggested I use the words or phrases in the notebook to write a “found” poem. I’d never heard of using words found in everyday objects like magazines or books or menus or even a cereal box as inspiration for poems, but I liked the idea of creating something new out of the old.
Also in the nightstand was something else I planned to keep. Recently, Dora had left an envelope in our mailbox. A sticky note on top read, “I should have given this to you sooner. I love you and want to see you again when you’re ready.”
The envelope contained a letter from Mom, written the day she died.
Baby girl,
I hope you know I’d never let anyone hurt you, but today your stepdad was here. He found us. And it’s my fault. I stole some money from him before we left Albuquerque. I was stupid to think he wouldn’t track us down. I told him you’d run away to Texas. I have a brother there, in Corpus Christi. Frank. I know he’ll take you in.
I asked Dora to give you this letter if something happens to me. Just ask her or Mo for bus fare and get out of Durango.
Please be safe. Please go to college. Please find someone who’ll love you to the moon and back. You deserve it.
Love, Mom
I was safe now. And I’d found someone to love me to the moon and back. I hoped Mom knew these things now.
CHAPTER 34
Cody and Mo sat on either side of me. We’d been watching kayakers do rolls in the river. The Animas had hit its peak the first week in June so it was teeming with kayaks and commercial rafts holding a dozen people each. Every time a raft overturned, Mo and I described the frantic, bobbing tourists to Cody. Most of them just laughed after being plunged into the ice-cold water.
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t have gone rafting.” Mo handed me sunscreen, but I waved her away.
“Because the water is forty degrees,” Cody said. “And there are too many tourists. We’ll go soon.”
I was glad to just be on the shore with Mo and Cody, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the sense of normalcy they brought to my life. Since the beginning of summer, both had stuck to me like glue holding together a fragile, once-broken vase. I couldn’t blame them. The incident with Lloyd had made us all very aware of the importance of friendship and trust.
I hadn’t been able to rebuild trust with Dora as easily and hadn’t seen her since the day Lloyd confronted me. Still, I vowed to call her and ask if we could meet for coffee in the next few days. How could I still punish her for lying about Lloyd and Frank if everyone had forgiven me for my lies? Neither of us felt we had choices, and both of us were protecting people we loved.
Dora believed Mom’s overdose was an accident, but there was no way to know for sure. For a while, I tortured myself with speculating about whether she’d left me on purpose, what she could have done differently, and what I could have done differently. From time to time, I still wondered if Lloyd had played a larger role in her death.
Cody leaned in closer. “I don’t have to see your face to know you’ve gone somewhere dark.”
“What’s Cody talking about? You okay?” Mo was super-sensitive to my moods, and his remark drew her back to the conversation.
“Not too dark,” I assured them. “I have some complicated feelings to work through.”
“Well, you have me and Mo and Frank to talk to. And, of course, Jane,” Cody said.
“Especially Jane.” Mo rubbed my arm and then quickly turned her attention back to the river.
Since my arrest and subsequent release, I’d been seeing my therapist twice a week again. Although the plea bargain mandated it, I’d have gone on my own. Yes, it was difficult to look at how close I’d come to killing another human being, but I had to understand that piece of myself—the anger and fear and desperation that drove my actions. And I had to find a way to forgive myself and move on.
Mo and I had also worked hard to mend our friendship over the past month. She even suggested we see Jane together a couple of times, and it had made all the difference in how quickly we could trust each other again.
“I’m telling you, we’re missing out!” Mo pointed to another capsized raft. “Can we please go tomorrow?”
“Whatever you want, Mo,” Cody answered for us. We were a couple now, one unit.
When she ran down to the river’s edge to heckle some of her friends thrashing around in the water, I moved to Cody’s lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. I loved that when he kissed me, he was never the first one to pull away. I liked to think we’d go on kissing forever if I didn’t stop.
He reached up and ran his fingers through my hair. “I like it short. Will you keep it like this?”
His touch sent an electric current down my spine. “Definitely, if you promise to keep doing that.” I kissed him again.
I glanced up to see Mo had jumped in the river, fully clothed, and was now holding out a lost paddle to her friend.
“It’s so freaking cold!” she shouted to us.
“That maniac changed my life,” I said. “I’m a better person for knowing her.”
“I think you both changed each other’s lives for the better,” Cody said. “I know you’ve changed mine.”
“And you, mine.” Our lips met again and I shut out the summer sounds around us until Mo’s shouting broke through our PDA.
“Hey, look! It’s Frank and Lily!” She motioned for us to join her.
I took Cody by the elbow and guided him over the boulders until we reached the sandy strip near the water’s edge.
We whistled and hooted to get their attention. Lily waved first. When Frank spotted us, he raised his oar above his head. A silly grin stayed plastered to his face as the raft went by. He looked like a love-struck teenager. I hoped that was the way he felt. It’d just be one more thing we had in common.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Although writing can be a solitary endeavor, I’ve never felt alone on this journey. My husband, Andy, has been the consummate cheerleader/therapist/coffeemaker who reminded me countless times that it was a question of “when,” not “if.”
First, many thanks to my agent, J. L. Stermer of N. S. Bienstock, and her assistant, Sammy Bina, who embraced Arlie’s story and found it a home at Albert Whitman and Company. I’m grateful that my editor there, Wendy McClure, championed the project and made it even stronger.
The book, though, had many readers long before it went to press. I’m indebted to my critique partner, Micki Browning. Thanks also to the family members and friends who enthusiastically read first (or second, or third) drafts: Camm, Hunter, Haley, Erin, Tessa, Char, Kathy, Tracy B., Mari, Jenni, Wendi, a
nd countless others.
I’m especially grateful to two dear friends who’ve made this author business seem more real: Jenni Baker for designing my website and McCarson Jones for taking my professional photos.
It didn’t take me long to realize what a supportive community of writers exists online as well. These friends are so real to me that I sometimes forget they live all over the world and not just down the street. One special author and mentor, Summer Heacock (FizzyGrrl), championed the book in an online contest that resulted in substantive feedback and a much stronger story—the version that caught my agent’s attention. Fizzy taught me that laughing every day is the only way to stay sane.
And lastly, this book will forever be entwined with memories of my sweet nineteen-year-old cat, Lily, who stuck beside me (literally) for every word I wrote on this book. She deserves coauthor status.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 by Jolene Perry
Design by Jordan Kost
Cover image © Shutterstock.com
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1735-0
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