“Okay.”
“But here’s the trick. In that case, Simon can intervene. I can’t give her up for adoption without his consent.”
Amber starts fussing, so I get up to start the water boiling and measure out formula, but it’s not soon enough, because a wail fills the room. Tess waits till I’m sitting back down, feeding her, before she starts up again, and then she has to talk louder over Amber, who’s still fussing.
“What I can do is—wait, let me check my notes—what I can do is relinquish my parental rights and give custody to you. In the papers, I can add that if Simon tries to disrupt the adoption in any way, then the relinquishment is null and void.” She looks up. “Do you get it? If he doesn’t step in, it’s easy. She’s yours. And if he does, the adoption doesn’t go through and she’s mine.”
“But you don’t want her.”
She shrugs. “Simon won’t come through in the end. He’s too lazy. He’s a coward. He just wants to feel like he tried, that he gave it a shot. He just wants to get Jesus off his back.”
“Jesus is smarter than that,” Kay throws in.
“The money, the lawyer, the fight, the diapers,” Tess says. “It’s too much. He won’t even go so far as to give his spit. Because his spit will confirm it, and then he’s stuck for the rest of his life. He’ll let you legally adopt her. That’s what you want, right? Is that what you want? Be very sure. I’m willing to take the chance, if you are.”
There’s a long silence in the room before Amber wails again. Over the sound of her cry, I think I hear Kay. I think what she whispers is, “We can do it, Libby. This time, I think we can do it right.”
But I don’t need her to say that. Already I’m nodding, because some things are bright and clear in my mind.
FIFTEEN
The most beautiful blue dress I have ever seen appeared in the window of Ginger’s Boutique. It’s the color of sky and made of the softest material, and it feels like air.
There isn’t a damn dry cleaner in the vicinity, that’s what Kay said when she saw it. Then she wanted to know how much it was, and I wouldn’t tell her. Meanwhile, Tess was taking one long look at it and said, “Yep, that’s the perfect dress for you.”
It is perfect, and I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself for longer than I have ever done before. Amber is down below me, on a blanket on the floor, kicking at the air, and sometimes she stares at me. We spend a long-ass time just staring at each other, which I figure is as good a way to start a relationship as any—a real relationship that is.
My only regret is that Derek didn’t see me in this dress before he left. He stopped by on his way to Denver, and even though his truck was all packed up I had the feeling that if I’d said the right thing he would have stayed. But instead I hugged him goodbye, and I said goodbye like I meant it, and he leaned over and kissed me with one of his soft kisses and then I stood there, waving and smiling, and watched him drive off. It turned out just like I imagined and it felt right, only I wish I’d been wearing this blue dress.
I pick up Amber and walk to the kitchen door and lean against the doorframe, looking at the field. “That’s alfalfa. Alf-alf-a,” I say to her. “It’s a deep green with purple blooms, and I think you should know that.”
Isn’t it typical of a kid that she’s not listening to her mother at all? Amber’s not looking at the alfalfa, she’s staring like crazy at the marigolds. “All right,” I say. “Mar-i-golds. Let’s water them.”
I turn on the hose and realize, suddenly, how big they’ve gotten. All those spindly stalks have turned into bushes, and each is full of yellow heads bobbing up and down in the morning breeze. I remember planting them on the day Tess was at the hospital giving birth, my hands putting the dirt over the thin seeds, and that seems like a lifetime ago. Water splashes up from the ground and splatters across my blue dress, but I don’t care. In fact, they look fine next to each other, floating blue and bright yellow and sparkling water, each dancing with each other in the wind.
From atop the ladder, where she’s straining to reach the eave of the house, Tess says, “We’re running drugs too.”
“Holy shit, Tess.” I stare at her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I know. Thanks for saying it. I’m not going to listen, but it’s nice that you said it.”
She’s dripping paint everywhere. This is her goodbye gift, she says—the one thing she always wanted to do was to turn this brown into something a little more inspiring. Me and Amber are going to have the only purple house in the middle of a field in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado—of that I am pretty sure.
“Tess, you’re dripping paint everywhere! Drugs—that’s too much. That’s too dangerous. You’re going to get arrested.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You could get killed.”
“I doubt it.”
“Well, shit.”
“Well, I wanted to tell you. But I won’t be working with Clark anymore. I didn’t know—” She turns to look at me, and as she does a long line of paint falls from her brush to the grass below.
“Don’t drip so much! I didn’t know, either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, we didn’t know. Quit being a slob.”
“You went arrowhead hunting on Sunday, the same day I was driving. Maybe he was nervous. I don’t know. I don’t know why he did that.”
“Tess, please quit putting so much on the brush.”
She ignores me and turns to slop on some more paint. She looks ridiculous, wearing my clothes, which are way too big for her. And there’s purple paint in her hair and on the lawn and all over the ladder.
“Clark decided we might as well be efficient. Run two things at the same time. That first pick-up—that first job of mine—it wasn’t my fault. There was some trouble over the drugs, a cop was following me. I did just what Clark said to do, which was stay away.”
“He was never mad at you?”
She shakes her head, no.
“And Ed picked up the illegals?”
“I guess. He’s not part of the picture. He was acting on his own free will.” She looks down at me so I can see her roll her eyes. “Those saviors of the world.” But she says it like she doesn’t mean it.
“But you got this group fine? And Clark knew all along that you were coming?”
“Yes.” She tilts her head at me. “I think he regretted it, asking me to join him in this. Because he hated it being out of his control. He hated that he had to let it go and leave it up to me. He was all nervous. Jumpy and pissy on the phone. And I was teasing him about it, which made him madder—”
“And then I called him up and asked him on a date?”
“I guess. I’d just pissed him off—”
“It’s not your fault.” I know that’s what she wants to hear, and anyway it’s true. I’d like to tell her, though, that my sunburn hasn’t healed up yet, and neither have the scratches and bruises, and that noises make me jump and at certain moments I get washed over with this fear that’s so huge it makes me sick. But I want to keep those words to myself for a while. Plus I believe somehow that Clark won’t be coming around anymore. And on top of that, I feel enough life inside me to know that sometime soon I’m going to feel better.
“Libby, I’m leaving tonight. I can’t stay.”
I look down at Amber, who’s is sleeping in her car seat, and I touch the soft blond hairs on her head. She twitches underneath my finger, but she keeps sleeping.
“You’re going back to Durango?”
“Yeah. Waitress, drug runner, coyote. My new job description.”
She’s trying to make me smile, but I’m not in the mood so I just look away. “What you’re doing is so dangerous—”
“I know.”
“The stupid kind of dangerous.”
“Maybe.”
I watch her paint for a while and I’m offering up Miguel’s kind of prayer, hoping that she stays safe. Finally, I say, “Tess, I
miss you and I love you. And Tess?”
“Hmmm?”
“Can I just say one other thing? And it’s not about you, it’s about them. Don’t forget you’re dealing with humans.” I feel stupid and shy saying this, but I want to get it out. “Don’t forget to pretend to be them sometimes. So that you can realize what it feels like. They’re not numbers. They’re not money. They’re not even a ‘they.’ You know?”
Tess looks down at me, ready to give a smart-ass reply, and I look right back at her. She’s the one with the beautiful body and shiny hair and straight teeth and a life away from this town. But the one thing I got going for me, I figure, is that I’ve spent a lot of time in my mind, and that’s why what I’m saying makes sense to me and maybe doesn’t to her, and I wish I could give some of that to her, but I can’t. See people, I want to tell her. See them, and especially see them if at first you don’t think they’re worth noticing.
Tess mumbles something about me needing to lighten up, and I tell her to bug off, and we laugh because it’s nice to feel familiar again, although of course I’m feeling lousy too, because I love her and she’s going to leave. And because I know we’re going to talk of smaller and smaller things. We’re going to go backward, from love to not-knowing, and I don’t know how to stop that.
Amber rustles in her car seat. I look from her to Tess and back again. One thing is for sure, I’m not going to make the same mistake with Amber that I did with Tess. I’m not going to fill up my life with her. Because truth be told, she isn’t enough. And that isn’t the job of babies, anyway. And it’s not the job of a mom to depend on them to do that.
But I am going to love her, and watch her, and see her. And won’t it be interesting to watch her figure out how to fill up her life as I go along figuring out the same thing?
Amber rocks her head, back and forth, back and forth, just coming out of her sleep. Her eyes drift open, and they haze around for a moment before they settle on me. She makes a movement then, kicking her arms and legs, running with joy.
When Frank called and said, “What, you don’t eat anymore, don’t need to do any grocery shopping?” I agreed to do what he wanted, which was to come in and talk.
When I walk into the store, Arlene winks at me, which is nice, because I’m nervous as hell and because I’m not feeling all that great in that place in my stomach. Just like houses have standing spots, those spots that reach out and hold you—well, the body has those too. Spots where certain feelings hang around—like how sadness is in the throat, and love is in the chest, and guilty is in the stomach, which is where I’m feeling it now.
Arlene is busy ringing up a customer, so I wander around until I find Frank. He’s in the meat room, slicing ham. I look into the window till he sees me and waves me in.
“About time,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you to come in here. I’ve got a few things that folks have dropped off for Amber. Hey, kiddo.” He looks down at her. “You’re getting big.”
“She is.”
“Also, I want to talk to you.” He takes off his thin plastic gloves and turns to face me. “Libby, you are a fine person. I always wondered how you turned out so fine, in fact, considering. From a distance, I could tell it was hard. And if I’d looked closer, I’d have seen more.”
He clears his throat and runs his fingers down his big mustache. “Did you know your dad was the one who found my fiancée?” He sees me nod so he goes on. “I always felt like I owed your family for that. Which is not why I hired you. I hired you because you seemed like a good worker, and you were. There ought to be room for mistakes. There ought to be more times where we get to try again. Because if the world was set up that way—room for mistakes, chances to try again—the woman I was going to marry wouldn’t be dead. Right? Or I would have had the chance to say goodbye. Right?”
He waits for me to nod before he goes on. “There ought to be breaks, especially for the rare kind of people with a goodness inside of them. Like you. So what I’m saying is that you’re welcome back here any time. I’d hire you back in a flash.” He must see my eyebrows shoot up, because he smiles and shrugs. “I hear Baxter wants to hire you full-time, though, and that might be the better thing. I know this isn’t the best job in the world. And I can’t promote you because there’s only room for three, and unless Arlene quits there’s nowhere for you to go. But at least don’t avoid the place. I need your business.”
I smile back at him and then sigh. “Frank, I probably took seven twelve-packs. I lost count after a while. I don’t know why I did that. Just to see, I guess. Just to do it. To feel what it feels like. I don’t know.” I shrug.
“Well, you never collected your last paycheck. How about I subtract some from there and give you the rest before you leave today?”
“Okay. Thanks, Frank.”
“So do you want to come back? Right now Arlene and I are doing your job, but that can’t last forever. I can start looking for someone else.”
I look around the store. “I liked it here. I’ll say that. But I’d like to give Baxter’s a try. I want to go to school, too.”
“Well, we’ll miss you.”
Maybe he sees that I’m trying to say something, but I don’t know how to say it. Maybe he knows what it is and doesn’t need to actually hear it. He waves me out of the meat room and says, “Do some shopping, then. You don’t need to be in this smelly room any more.”
As I walk down the chip aisle, I feel his eyes on my back and I realize how funny it feels to be walking away when you know someone is watching you go and wishing things could be different.
Hasty Lake has its usual crowd: the migrant workers having a picnic, guys in ball caps fishing, families in beat-up RVs cooking out on the grills.
I meet Miguel and Alejandra near a shady area on the beach. She’s short and thick and keeps her head tilted down, and she’s smiling. She’s not showing yet but she keeps one hand on her stomach.
“Hola, mucho gusto. Soy Libby.”
“Alejandra,” she says, reaching out to shake my hand and then she backs up a little and pulls herself upright, and she’s dancing between feeling shy and unsure of a new life and finding her strength at the same time. Miguel’s got a smile in his eyes, and of course he can see it too: all of us struggling to bring our lives together, being unsure, and being sure, and trying to be true with each other.
Amber and I sit in the sand next to Miguel, with Alejandra on the other side. We all watch as Juan runs in and out of the water. He’s too busy playing at the shoreline to even notice that I’ve arrived, and I’m happy for him, that he can be that absorbed in something that makes the rest of the world disappear. Amber touches the sand with her hands, pulls them back, touches again, and I figure she’s in the same place.
“Caught a wiper already,” Miguel says to me. “White bass-striped bass mix. Got it in the ice box. Along with my Enjoy Polar Ice! bag, and I asked that bear if he remembered you.” He smiles at me, his eyes teasing, because once I told him about talking to those bears. “You wanna fish? I got an extra pole.” Then he whispers at me, “Her English isn’t so great and she doesn’t talk much anyway. But don’t worry. She’ll come forward. But right now, you know,” he shrugs at me, “just let her be.”
I nod and smile at them both. After a bit, I say, “Miguel, I have to ask you something. Did you know all along that Ed had left the dog?”
“Híjole, no.”
“He came to visit me this morning. He said he left Ringo and was hoping I’d adopt her, and knew I would, in fact, because I seemed the adopting type. Wanted me to have a dog around. He’d just found her abandoned, and he can’t have a dog because he has pet rabbits running all over the place, and he was driving back, past our house, and probably he knew about Tess being involved with Clark and all, though he didn’t say it. What he said was, ‘And I thought, Libby, that Libby person needs a dog.’ So he left her. And I said, ‘Why didn’t you just drop the dog off in the daytime?’ and he said, ‘Ah, things work out be
tter when they’re more random.’”
Miguel blinks at me. “That’s weird, man.”
“I know. He was going to come back and get the dog if nobody found her. But it worked out, just like he planned. After he left, I figured something else out—the alfalfa, his boxes of bees—it was never so much for the honey. You see what I mean? He knew what Clark and Tess were doing and he was worried. That’s funny, Miguel. Someone was watching me.”
Miguel’s eyes are good listening eyes. They’re just taking everything in like, Hmmm, ain’t that interesting? He says, “Does that creep you out?”
“No, it was a good kind of watching. But I do think Ed has too much time on his hands. There should be better things to do than watching out for some girl you don’t know. Although, come to think of it, that’s exactly what he would say. That we should take the time to watch out for someone we don’t know. But anyway, now we do know each other, I’m going to teach him how to watercolor and he’s going to teach me something about photography.”
I watch Juan, who’s on his hands and knees, stabbing the sand with a stick. Amber’s in my arms, watching him, or the water behind him. Alejandra is hugging her knees, looking even farther away.
I look across the lake, too, at how the sun hits water. A blue heron stands on the far shore, as still as can be, watching. And behind him, the faint outline of mountains, which is where Tess is now.
“It was Kay who told me that Shawny died,” I say. “When she told me, she was so hard. She said, ‘Your friend, she went and shot herself in the head, through the mouth. Dumb kid.’ I think Kay’s so hard because she’s been hurt so much. For such a long time, I didn’t believe her. I believed Shawny was still in California. But then you came back without her. I have trouble believing what’s real, I guess.”
He laughs softly. “Man, don’t we all.”
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