Unleaving

by Melissa Ostrom

  Maggie saw no other option. She had to go home.

  13

  THE NEXT MORNING, the decision to return to Carlton was Maggie’s first thought. Out of the murk of her dreams, she woke to it, faced it, like one drifting through a sludgy water but in close proximity to the shore—there, just waiting for her.

  Carlton was full of dark reminders. She didn’t know how well she’d deal with them or how much she’d be able to help her mom or if she’d manage to track down Jane Cannon. But the trip itself seemed straightforward enough. Get into a car and go.

  Maggie only needed the car.

  After telling her aunt she was taking a walk and would be back in an hour or so, she headed for Sam’s. She didn’t have his number to call him beforehand but wasn’t about to ask her aunt for it. Wren might get the wrong idea. Maggie and Sam’s relationship wasn’t romantic. There was only a friendship, and a new one at that. As much as Sam might complain about Linnie, he still painfully and obviously belonged to her, whether she wanted him or not.

  Besides, Maggie wasn’t interested in Sam.

  Snow crusted the sides of the parkway. She hunched in her coat and shoved her hands into her pockets. I will never be interested in any guy ever, ever, ever again …

  She shivered. The sun was out, but the air felt bitter cold. She should have worn her scarf and gloves. The wind blew from the north, rolling across the lake and shore, collecting the previous night’s snow, and sending the white across the road in sinuous rivulets, like snakes.

  Sam seemed like the best person to help Maggie figure out the car situation. She raised her face to the sun and exhaled a cloud. Okay, the only person. The aunt had enough on her mind—Maggie’s mom, a week of obligations, firing the sculpture.

  That sculpture … Maggie’s stomach turned queasily. Poor Wren didn’t need Maggie’s worries in addition to her own.

  The most pressing worry: finding a vehicle to use for a few days. Maggie didn’t have enough money to pay for a rental and wasn’t old enough anyway. But maybe Sam knew of someone who would lend her a car for a couple hundred.

  She reached Wayside, where the woods muffled the sun. The leafless branches cast dark webs on the snowy ground.

  The shadows made her uneasy. She walked faster. Her footsteps and breathing sounded loud to her own ears, and the stillness felt like a waiting thing. Heart thudding, she kept her eyes on the bright opening at the end of the tree-lined drive. A creature, maybe a squirrel or bird, created a flurry of movement in a maple’s lower branches. The racket startled her. She broke into a run.

  The tunnel of trees ended. The sun shone unimpeded, and a brilliance danced across the lake. She slowed to a slog to catch her breath and glanced around self-consciously, feeling stupid and frazzled and hoping no one had seen her running like a maniac.

  Sam’s pickup was in the driveway, and so was a sedan, not Thomas’s but a shabby Corolla, tan and trimmed with rust and bumper stickers supporting the World Wildlife Fund, Planned Parenthood, Greenpeace, and Bernie Sanders.

  She smiled faintly. Vermont would like this New Yorker.

  She walked past the cars and peered up at the house, its windows bright mirrors reflecting the sky and water. Should she come back later? Since it was Sunday, she’d figured she would find Sam at home but thought he’d be working on the sculpture, not entertaining a guest.

  A knock jarred the quiet. It was coming from inside. Maggie followed the noise toward the front and raised her hand to protect her eyes from the sun’s glare. She could just make out a slight movement behind the glass. Then no movement. The knocking stopped.

  Suddenly, a door opened. “Margaret.”

  Still shielding her eyes, she smiled, surprised. “Linnie.”

  “Are you here to rescue me again?”

  “Do you need rescuing?”

  “Not yet.” She stepped down to the landing.

  A paved path curved to the front of the house, its thin layer of snow trampled. Maggie followed the footprints.

  “Did you run into Caleb?”

  “Who?”

  “Caleb. You know. From a few weeks ago. When you gave me a ride? He drove me over this morning, then went off with his dog for a walk. I’m waiting for Kate to get back. Thomas took her to Allenport to pick up McDonald’s.” She smiled a little. “Which was what Caleb and I were going to do, but whatever.” She shrugged.

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder. From a distance, the drive’s opening into the woods looked like a gaping mouth. She turned quickly and walked the rest of the way up the path. “No. I didn’t see him.” Whoever he was. That night was a blur.

  Linnie stepped past Maggie and called, “Caleb!” She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Where the hell did he go?” Louder, she hollered, “Caleb!”

  “Jesus. Do you have to scream?” Appearing in the doorway, Sam nodded once at Maggie. “Hey.” He raked back his hair, and his frown grew into a scowl when Linnie shouted for Caleb a third time.

  Maggie’s stomach sank. This was probably a bad time to ask for help. Sam looked pissed.

  A dog barked. There was a whoop of laughter.

  Linnie waved. A big blond guy with a dog bounded toward the house. Along the way, a stick got thrown, chased, retrieved, and then wrangled over.

  Maggie did recognize him. It was the guy who’d pointed her in Linnie’s direction the night of the party.

  He whistled, called, “Fluffster! Come on, boy,” and strode to the door.

  “Fluffster.” Sam made a face, impatiently waved everyone inside, panting dog included, then closed the door. “Couldn’t you have come up with a better name?”

  He grinned. “He likes it.” His gaze fell on Maggie, and his face beamed happy surprise. “Oh, hey, I remember you. How’s it going?”

  Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You know each other?”

  “Not exactly,” Linnie said. “They met once, but I don’t think I introduced them.”

  “Ah.” Sam indicated Maggie with a wave. “So this is Wren Heed’s niece, Margaret.” He tilted his head. “Caleb Whitney.”

  He must have heard about her before. A flash of comprehension showed in his face, followed immediately by apprehension. Then sympathy. But he just said, “Nice to meet you.”

  Maggie mumbled a hello.

  There was an awkward shuffling by the door.

  With a cough, Caleb knelt by his dog—a German shepherd mix, not at all a furry Fluffster kind of creature—and gave his sleek head and back a brisk rubbing. The dog smiled around his pants, and his tail thumped the floor.

  Brushing his hands together, Caleb straightened. “No Kate?”

  “Not yet,” Sam said. He pulled out his phone and checked the time.

  “Just out for a walk, Margaret?” Linnie gave Maggie a nudge with her elbow. “What’s up?”

  “Not much.” She dropped her gaze to the polished floor and stared hard at the pine knots among the swirling grain, as if they might give her a clue for how to bring up a difficult topic. Finally, she said, “I’m in a bind. I was hoping Sam might help me. I—I need to take care of a situation.” Actually, more than one. But she didn’t want to get into Mom and Wren’s troubles—not with Caleb and Linnie around. Jane’s situation however … “It can’t wait. That is, I shouldn’t wait.” Any longer than I already have. Maggie pressed her fingers to her throat, then pushed back her curls.

  “What happened?” Linnie asked.

  “A girl from Carlton emailed me in September.” Maggie let go of her hair. “Then a few more times in October. I didn’t realize she’d been writing.” At first, anyway. Heat climbed her neck. “I hadn’t been checking my phone. From what I can gather, she was at a party and … and…” She hugged her sides, felt her ribs all the way through her coat. And what? Say it. Name it. “And someone raped her.”

  She released a long breath. She’d said it. Not an accident or a misunderstanding or a someone-just-got-carried-away or a disaster the victim brought upon herself or a shameful
secret. Raped.

  “Holy shit,” Linnie breathed.

  “Is she a friend of yours?” Caleb asked quietly.

  “I’ve never even met her, though she knows me, I mean”—Maggie pulled at the tab on her zipper—“heard about me.”

  “How’d she get your email address?” Linnie asked.

  “College ones are easy to figure out. They follow the same format.”

  Linnie absently patted the dog’s head. “She probably thought you’d understand.”

  Maggie nodded. “The police blew her off.” Like they did me. “Now she’s second-guessing herself, trying to get a handle on what happened, and not doing a very good job of it. She sounds pretty messed up.”

  “Did you write back?” Linnie asked.

  She nodded. Eventually. “I asked her to email or call me and told her to contact the dean and visit the crisis center. The problem is … I don’t think she has.”

  “Told the administration?” Caleb asked.

  “Told anyone, that I know of.”

  Sam plowed a hand through his hair. “You haven’t heard from her.”

  “At all. Not once. I sent her a couple more messages but haven’t gotten a single reply.”

  “That’s … really bad,” Caleb said.

  “You think she’s done something to herself?” Sam asked.

  Maggie pulled out her phone and found Jane’s last email. She handed him the phone.

  “Fuck,” he muttered after reading it.

  “Let me see.” Palming the phone, Linnie read the email and touched her upper lip with her tongue. She passed the phone to Caleb, then threw an arm over Maggie’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Try not to freak. If the girl’s missing, enough time has passed for someone to notice.”

  “Definitely,” Sam said. “A roommate, RA, parent, professor. A ton of people, most likely.”

  “But I still feel responsible. She reached out to me, and I, well … blew her off.”

  “Not intentionally,” Linnie said gently.

  Maggie fidgeted with her hair, smoothed it. “I think I need to go there.”

  Caleb handed her the phone. “To the college?”

  “Yeah. I feel bad that she was trying to contact me and I wasn’t answering. I also need to see my mom.”

  “How come?” Linnie asked.

  “Well … she and Aunt Wren talked on the phone recently. They…” She wrapped a curl around her finger. “They had a bad fight.” She and Sam shared a glance.

  Linnie and Caleb looked confused, but Sam just swiped the air and said, “Long story.”

  It was a long story. And in a couple of weeks, when the show opened, it would become a public story.

  Sam rubbed his forehead. “I’ll loan you my truck if I can figure out how to get Kate back and forth from school on the days Dad can’t take her. Oh, wait … crap. Kate’s got ballet Tuesday night.”

  “Ballet?” Linnie said. “Did she just start that?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Pain flitted across Linnie’s face. She lowered her gaze to the floor.

  Sam didn’t seem to notice. He was frowning at Maggie. “Dad needs his car on Tuesday. Still, maybe I can borrow Wren’s—”

  Maggie shook her head. “I appreciate that, but I’m not leaving you and Kate stranded without a car. And Wren’s not going to be able to help. She has to get herself all over the place this week.”

  Sam nodded, resigned. “She’s scrambling.”

  “If I could find someone willing to let me borrow a car just for a few days, I could give them what I have, a couple hundred.”

  Caleb, who’d knelt by the dog to rub his belly, rose. “Hell, take mine for free.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.” She barely knew him.

  “Sure you can. Half of my classes are online this semester anyway. I’m doing independent studies in the other two, easy enough to work around. Seriously. Take it.”

  “Hold on,” Linnie said. “Ever drive a stick shift, Margaret?”

  “Oh.” Her half smile died. “No.”

  “I could give you a lesson,” Caleb said. “It’s not too hard. You just don’t want to stall the engine, but as long as you properly engage the clutch, you’ll do fine. Only take care when you get close to Vermont. Hills can be tricky with this kind of car.”

  “And you don’t want to select the wrong gear by mistake,” Sam added.

  “You could damage the mechanical components,” Caleb explained.

  Sam grimaced. “Or lose control of the car.”

  Maggie gazed at them, dismayed, and Linnie sputtered a short laugh.

  Caleb flapped a hand. “But that’s super unlikely.”

  “This isn’t good,” Maggie said.

  “Want me to go with?” Linnie asked.

  “You know how to drive a stick shift?”

  “Um…” Linnie shook her head. “Not really.”

  Sam’s expression turned intent. “You should go. You could stop and see Mary Tate.”

  “Mary who?” Caleb asked.

  “Tate. Linnie’s neighbor from a long time ago. She still lives in Baldwinsville.”

  “Outside of Syracuse?”

  He nodded. To Linnie: “Would you go by there?”

  Linnie avoided his gaze. She raised a hand to her ear. “Sam, please—”

  “I think you should see her and pick up that letter. She went through a lot of trouble last August tracking down Dad’s number, and you won’t even call her back. Stop by. Find out what this letter’s all about.”

  Maggie and Caleb glanced at each other, bewildered.

  But Sam only said, “On your way back, do you mind swinging by Linnie’s old neighborhood?”

  “Sure,” Maggie said. “I mean, I’d be happy to once I figure out the transportation. But I’m not driving Caleb’s car”—she smiled a little at Sam and Linnie’s friend—“though I appreciate the offer. I’m afraid I’d do something wrong, like break the, you know, those mechanical things.” Or our bodies. I might break those, too. She pictured herself shifting gears incorrectly, losing control of the car, and shooting her and Linnie off a cliff, Thelma and Louise–style. Except accidentally.

  Caleb shrugged. “I’ve got an idea.”

  14

  “THIS IS SO nice of you.” Maggie peered around the muzzle panting in her face. A long tongue swiped her. She dried her cheek with her shoulder and jerked back to dodge another lick. “Really nice.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Fluffster, settle down. Down, boy.” Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, Caleb reached to the side, found the dog’s collar, and tugged him to the floor.

  Fluffster sat at Maggie’s feet for about ten seconds, then slunk up to her lap again.

  “Sorry about that,” Caleb said. “I usually make him stay in the back.”

  Linnie laughed. “You can’t ‘make’ him do anything. That’s the problem. Train your dog, man.” She scooted to the edge of the backseat. “But Margaret’s right. This is really nice.” In a stage whisper by Maggie’s ear, she added, “That’s Caleb’s thing: being really nice.”

  When Maggie turned to smile, the dog washed her neck. She grimaced.

  Caleb glanced in the rearview mirror. “Why is it when you say that, it doesn’t sound flattering?”

  Linnie snickered, and they started exchanging verbal jabs. The banter was friendly. Earlier in the morning, Maggie had learned that the two had known each other for a few years. They’d met even before they had lived in the same neighborhood, when Sam’s father had taught Caleb (“Thomas’s favorite geek of all time,” according to Linnie) four years ago. He’d been mentoring him ever since. “Sam’s dad is why I’m a history major,” Caleb had admitted. “He’s awesome.” The major had surprised Maggie. She’d pegged him as a future social worker.

  Ostensibly petting the dog’s face while really shifting him away from her, Maggie gazed out the window. They were close to I-90. It was Monday, just past eight o’clock. The worst of the morn
ing rush hour traffic was behind them. And Aunt Wren’s cabin was far behind them.

  Maggie felt like she was abandoning a safe place, leaving her second home. The previous day, after she’d returned to the cabin, Maggie told the aunt about her travel plans, without mentioning the Jane Cannon part of her agenda. Wren nodded decisively and said, “I’m glad. Min needs you. I hope … well, I don’t want to dump on you, honey, but maybe you can smooth things over for your mom and me.” With a heavy sigh, she started slicing the loaf of bread on the counter, then looked up with a startled, “Oh! I almost forgot. Your book club friends were here looking for you.” A bemused smile lifted the frown off her face. “Interesting bunch.”

  Maggie, when she’d recovered from this news, had said, “I’ll get in touch with them.” Later, she’d added silently. Then: So much for Marge.

  Now Maggie frowned at the traffic whizzing by. Caleb drove much slower than she did. Still, if delays and stops could be avoided, they would make it to Carlton by midafternoon.

  Then it would be a matter of finding Jane.

  * * *

  “Pretty town,” Linnie said.

  Maggie hummed her agreement around the lump in her throat.

  “Quaint.” Caleb turned onto Main Street and, driving slowly, stooped a little to eye the row of matching Victorian shops, three-story and brick, with melting snow dripping from the corners of their red awnings. “Even the bars are cute.” Caleb gave Penny’s Pub a disbelieving glance. “Look at that. Without the sign, I would have thought it was a boutique.”

  “This whole place reminds me of a movie set,” Linnie said.

  Maggie didn’t answer. She trained her gaze on the passing storefronts. The shops blurred.

  She’d expected this—this return—to be hard, a time-warp endeavor, plowing into old shame and hurt, heading into the heart of a wreckage. She knew she risked getting recognized, running into Matt Dawson’s former teammates and encountering his fans, the ones who revered everything about the young quarterback and considered his expulsion the worst injustice. To them, he’d always be Saint Matthew, taking the big hit for the beleaguered Tigers.