Unleaving

by Melissa Ostrom

  “Thank you for visiting.” Mrs. Cannon opened the door even wider—a pointed here’s the way out; now leave.

  With a hollow sense of defeat, she trudged outside. “Will you please tell her I stopped by, let her know she can call or write if she wants?”

  Without meeting Maggie’s gaze, she nodded, then murmured a fast “Thanks and bye now.”

  Maggie was left facing a closed door. She suspected the woman wouldn’t mention a word about her visit to Jane. In fact, Maggie doubted she’d ever hear from Jane Cannon again.

  * * *

  “Well,” Linnie said, “that was a waste of time.”

  Maggie turned. She and Caleb had been driving for almost twenty minutes and talking quietly, not wanting to disturb Linnie’s sleep.

  She struggled up from her backseat sprawl and yawned. A truck hauling logs roared past. Its lights cut into the car, skimming Linnie’s delicate features and heavy eyes. She massaged her forehead and faintly groaned. “So Jane’s not joining Margaret’s crime-fighting team of superheroes?”

  The sarcasm rattled Maggie.

  Caleb flicked Linnie a frown in the rearview mirror.

  Linnie ignored him. She stroked the head of Fluffster, curled on the backseat floor, and smiled humorlessly. “Let’s review our mission, see how we’ve fared. Storming the enemy’s camp at Timberline Tavern? No converts there. Pleading with Mrs. Arioli to give poor Wren a fucking break? Wuh-wuh. Enlisting Jane Cannon in the struggle for justice? Nope.” She grunted a laugh.

  Maggie stared. She closed her mouth.

  “Jesus.” Caleb stepped on the gas. “What is your problem?”

  “I have no problem. In fact, I have the answer. People suck. They don’t change. And it’s stupid to expect otherwise.”

  Maggie sat up straighter, not liking the implied insult to herself (a little naive maybe, but not stupid) and her mother (sad and scared, but that didn’t mean she sucked—and how the hell did Linnie know about Mom and Wren anyway?). She ordered her shoulders to relax and answered lightly, “Hopefully, we’ll have better luck tomorrow in Baldwinsville.”

  “With what? I have no idea why Sam’s so hot on my stopping in the old neighborhood.”

  “But that woman, Mary…”

  “Tate.” Linnie made a sound of disgust. “With the mystery letter. It’s a goddamn letter! Why doesn’t she just mail it?”

  “Maybe she’s afraid you’ll toss it in the garbage if it reaches you that way,” Caleb suggested.

  Linnie flung back her head and closed her eyes. “We are not stopping in Baldwinsville.”

  Maggie said, “But we promised Sam—”

  “Sam can go fuck himself.”

  Fluffster whined.

  “If there’s something important for you to learn from Mrs. Tate,” Maggie said haltingly, “shouldn’t we—”

  In a fierce rush, Linnie interrupted: “I never want to go back to that place. I’m not asking you to revisit your nightmare. Why would you ask me? Don’t make me compare my shit with yours, Margaret. Don’t make me go there.”

  The dog barked. Caleb shushed him.

  Maggie squeezed her hands together to stop the trembling. Linnie was right. “I’m sorry.”

  Caleb gave her a sympathetic glance, then sent the sympathy Linnie’s way in the rearview mirror. “All anyone hopes for in this car right now is for people to be happier and healthier.”

  “Speak for yourself!”

  The dog whined again.

  In a quieter tone, she bit out, “I have no such hope. I am not waiting for joy.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?” Caleb asked.

  Linnie didn’t answer. She stared out the window, briefly touching the glass. “Can we just go straight home tomorrow? Without stopping in Baldwinsville? Please?”

  “I guess so,” Maggie said, “if that’s what you want.” At Linnie’s slight nod, Maggie turned around, frustrated. She folded her arms, stared at the streaming darkness, and willed Linnie’s pessimism not to infect her.

  For the rest of the drive back to Carlton, no one spoke another word.

  18

  MAGGIE HAD TEXTED her parents after she and her friends left the Cannons’, and when they reached the house, supper was ready and waiting for them. Dad had ordered an enormous pizza and three dozen wings, and he’d picked up cupcakes from Fitz’s Bakery, too. He beamed when he presented the dessert, arranged on Mom’s Christmas-themed platter. “My Maggie loves Fitz’s cupcakes.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Maggie said, touched but also embarrassed. Her parents had a real knack for making her feel like she was ten years old.

  Unfortunately, his efforts to create a festive mood fell flat. Nobody had much to say at the dinner table. Maggie, reluctant to bring up Jane, was vague about how she and her friends had spent their afternoon. Linnie didn’t help. Distant and dreary, she picked at her meal and then excused herself from the table without finishing her slice of pizza, mumbling something about not feeling well and calling it a night. Caleb still seemed nervous around Maggie’s dad. And though Mom popped a question here and there, her preoccupied expression made it plain she wasn’t paying attention to anyone’s answers.

  Poor Dad just looked confused.

  After dinner, Mom waved away Caleb’s offer to help clean up, so he took Fluffster outside for a walk. She shooed Dad, too. “Maggie can help,” she said tersely.

  “Okay…?” With a bewildered frown, Dad tugged the sports page out of the newspaper and escaped into the living room.

  While Mom rinsed the plates for the dishwasher, Maggie wrapped up the leftovers and thought about how she’d be leaving for Wren’s in the morning—without having seen or talked to Jane. And then there was Linnie, refusing to stop by her old neighborhood to collect the letter …

  The letter.

  Maybe Maggie should write one. She and her friends could swing by the Cannons’ place once more on their way back to Wren’s, and Maggie could slip the letter into the mail slot. And if that didn’t get Jane to contact her, well then, Maggie would just have to make her peace with the situation.

  “It’s all set,” Mom whispered.

  She glanced up. “What is?”

  “Shh.” Standing at the sink, her mother slipped the platter into the sudsy water and peeked over her shoulder toward the dining room. “This Saturday. Your dad will pick you up. He doesn’t need to know why. I just told him things weren’t working out with Wren. We’ll get you squared away.” She scrubbed the frosting off the platter with unnecessary force. “And then we’ll have to pray for the best—with my sister, I mean. I keep hoping we’ll work through this mess.” She drew a shaky breath and continued mournfully, “If only she’d do the right thing and think twice about ruining everyone’s lives with her awful art show.”

  “I can’t agree with you on that one…”

  “You want her to ruin my life?”

  “I mean about doing the right thing. It is the right thing … for her.” Maggie shrugged. “Probably for everyone.”

  Mom’s laugh was shrill. “Since when is lying right?”

  “Oh, Mom.” How to bring up what she’d realized from studying the photo albums? This was so difficult! “Are you sure she’s—”

  Mom released a sob, threw the dishrag into the sink, and fled.

  Maggie stared after her. “Well, that went well.” Exasperated, she slogged to the sink to finish the dishes, wrinkled her nose at the snowman painted across the platter, and ran his jovial snowball face under the spigot, muttering under her breath, “Everything sucks.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Maggie got dressed, packed her duffel bag, and headed downstairs early, hoping to smooth over the previous evening’s tension. Though she found her dad in the kitchen drinking his coffee, her mother had apparently left for work. Dumbfounded, she glanced at the clock over the sink. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”

  Dad folded the newspaper. “Sorry, sweetheart. I wish she were here to see you
off. She practically ran out of the house—said something about an early meeting.” His expression was troubled.

  Maggie’s friends trudged into the kitchen, and her father greeted them, then leaned forward in his chair to pet Fluffster. “How about breakfast?” Dad asked. “I can zip over to Fitz’s and get us some pastries.”

  “Thanks, but we need to hit the road.” Linnie and Caleb had done a really nice thing, coming with her, driving her here. But Linnie looked sick and exhausted. And Maggie wouldn’t ask Caleb to miss more classes and schoolwork. It was time to go.

  Dad got to his feet and pulled Maggie into a hug. “I guess I’m picking you up this weekend?”

  “No.”

  “But your mom said—”

  “I’m not coming back yet.” She squeezed her dad’s hand. “But I’d love for you guys to visit me at Wren’s.”

  “That was the plan for Thanksgiving. Not certain how that will play out, with your mom in such a tizzy. Plus, your aunt … well, I’d rather you visit us here.”

  She smiled a little. “You don’t have to be scared of Wren.”

  “She’s scary,” he said simply, but softened the charge with a silly cringe of exaggerated fear. Then he said good-bye to Maggie’s friends, shook their hands, and—dead-seriously—warned Caleb, “Drive carefully, and mind the speed limit.”

  * * *

  “It’s you again.”

  Maggie jumped. Her hand flew to her throat. “Holy crap, you startled me.”

  The young woman who’d swung open the front door of the Cannons’ house nodded absently. She ran a fingertip over the edge of the envelope Maggie had just slipped through the mail slot. “I wondered if you’d come back.”

  “Jane?”

  She nodded again, barely, and flicked the sleek curtain of her brown hair away from her face—her expertly made-up face. Pale lipstick, hint of blush, lashes darkened with mascara …

  Maggie blinked up at the girl. Tall, broad-shouldered, calm, cool-eyed. Commanding. Not at all how Maggie had imagined her. After reading those sad emails and learning what Kimberly had revealed about her former roommate, she’d pictured someone wiry, dark, disheveled, nervous … Someone like me.

  “Your friends are waiting.” Jane glanced pointedly over Maggie’s shoulder. “I won’t keep you.”

  Maggie stuck her hands into her coat pockets and retreated a step. “I wasn’t sure if your mom would tell you I stopped by.”

  Jane raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “She—she didn’t seem all that glad to meet me and said you were having a rough time since…” Maggie shrugged lamely. “I was worried you wouldn’t know I’d tried to get in touch with you, and I, well, hated for you to think I was blowing you off, especially since it took me such a long time to write back to you.”

  “I assumed you’d moved on,” she said. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s what I’m doing.” With impatient finality, she added, “I appreciate your stopping by. Good luck with everything.” And she took hold of the door, as if preparing to close it.

  “Are you going to press charges?” Maggie blurted.

  Her face grew shuttered. “After all this time?” She breathed a caustic laugh. “What would be the point?”

  “You could inform the univer—”

  “I told you: I’m putting all that behind me.”

  “But—but what if the guy who raped you rapes someone else?”

  The amber eyes flashed, cracking the cool veneer. “Don’t say that,” she snapped. “I do not need to hear that. Isn’t there enough on my plate right now without your dishing out a big glob of guilt? If I never see that college again, it will be too soon. I have zero intention of stepping foot on that campus, and no one will make me change my plans, least of all you—a dropout! So save your hypocritical bullshit. You don’t want to go back to Carlton, either!” And then she slammed the door shut.

  * * *

  At least, as they headed back to Wren’s cabin, Maggie didn’t have to spell out what had happened. Caleb’s and Linnie’s oh-shit grimaces made it clear they’d gotten the gist of her conversation with Jane. She didn’t know if she could have talked about it even if they hadn’t. The interaction had drained her, left her feeling pummeled, sick. Depressed. Angry.

  She leaned her head against the window. Over the woods skirting the highway, a colorless sky loosened a damp snow, the flakes the size of feathers. Big flakes. Big globs of guilt. Hypocritical bullshit. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut. Jesus Christ, I only wanted to help.

  “Here.”

  Maggie turned. A tissue dangled in her face. “Oh.” She dried her eyes. “Thanks, Linnie.”

  “You tried,” she said soberly. “That’s all you can do.” Fluffster whined, and Linnie shushed him and crooned, “It’s okay, boy.”

  Maggie blew her nose. She had tried. But she’d failed miserably. With Jane, with Mom. “I didn’t accomplish anything. This whole trip … a total bust…” A sob tripped up her words.

  “Oh, no, no, Maggie, hey,” Caleb stammered, surprised. He gripped the steering wheel and glanced at her in alarm. “Don’t be sad.”

  “I’m not,” she choked out.

  “Sure you’re not,” Linnie murmured.

  “I’m mad!” And sad. Okay, so she was both.

  Fluffster whined again and poked his head up between the front seats to offer her a lick.

  For a long time, Maggie filled the car with the embarrassing sounds of sniffling and crying.

  Then, out of the blue, Linnie heaved a huge sigh and growled, “Fine. Let’s get the fucking letter from Mary Tate.”

  Maggie sat up. “Oh, Linnie, are you sure?”

  “No. But whatever.”

  Wide-eyed, Caleb glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “We’re heading to your old neighborhood?”

  “You’re heading to my old neighborhood. You can drop Maggie and me off at Stella’s Diner in Syracuse first.” She dug out her phone. “Let me pull up the directions. It’s on Wolf Street. We’ll order a sandwich for you and just hang out until you come get us.”

  He smiled hopefully. “Who knows? This Mary Tate could have good news. Maybe you’ll find out a distant relative left you an inheritance or something.”

  “Or something,” she muttered, her expression inscrutable. “You can find out. Or give the goddamn letter to Sam.” She harrumphed. “I’m sure he’ll love reading it.”

  “But—but it’s your letter,” Caleb said, confused.

  “I don’t want it.” She glared out the window. “Sam wants it. He can fucking well have it.” Under her breath, she grumbled, “Bossy, intrusive, patronizing jerk.” She leaned forward suddenly, shouldering Fluffster out of her way. “You know what’s annoying? Being turned into a project. It’s like everyone sees me as some work in progress.”

  Maggie smiled damply and reached toward the backseat. Linnie took her hand, and Maggie gave her a squeeze. “We all are.”

  * * *

  Ice had filled the ruts on Ash Drive. Caleb’s car, instead of slurping through mud, rumbled over cold-hardened ridges. Snow trimmed the branches on the straggle of trees, and the lake yawned straight ahead, a mouth full of steel.

  “It looks more like February than November,” Caleb said.

  “It seems like it should be February,” Linnie said. “Feels like we’ve been gone forever.”

  Wren must have seen them drive up. She opened the back door and, arms crossed over her dusty plaid shirt, waited on the frail landing.

  There was expectancy in the aunt’s wide eyes and parted mouth. Maggie’s stomach sank. She wished she could say, Good news. Mom’s sorry. She misses you. She’s seen the light and even plans to attend the exhibition.

  But she couldn’t.

  Wren searched Maggie’s face, caught her lower lip in her teeth, and looked away.

  When they gathered in the kitchen, the aunt bent to give the dog a pat, then welcomed Maggie with a pat, too. “Did you have fun?” she asked with deliber
ate cheerfulness. “Do anything special?”

  “We tried. Wish it had been more productive.”

  Caleb nodded distractedly. He hadn’t seemed at ease since returning from Mary Tate’s. Linnie had noted his shock on their way out of the diner and said, “Nice neighborhood, hmm?” He had only shaken his head. If he’d learned anything important, he hadn’t shared it. All he’d said was “I don’t think Sam has a right to this letter, Linnie. It’s yours.” But she’d just rolled her eyes and turned away.

  Now Linnie yawned. “I wouldn’t call the last three days a barrel of fun. But I’ll say this—” She stretched and let an arm land heavily across Maggie’s shoulders, pitching her off-balance.

  Maggie squeaked.

  With a laugh, Linnie hauled her into a tight hug. “Your niece here is pretty awesome.” Just as abruptly, she released her, then rested her forearm on her brow like a Victorian maiden preparing to swoon. “Fucking A. Am I glad to be back.”

  19

  WHILE MAGGIE WAS unpacking her duffel bag, her father called to make sure she’d gotten back safely. He repeated his offer to collect her on Saturday or “at least for Thanksgiving, honey. It’s a family holiday!”

  “Wren’s family, too,” Maggie said. “Is she invited?”

  Dad didn’t answer right away, then said, “Considering how your mom’s feeling about your aunt right now and that whole mess, whatever it is, I would have to say … um, no.”

  “Then I’m sorry. I can’t make it.”

  He didn’t ask again.

  November slipped by, a frantic spell for the aunt, who was scrambling to mix and apply glazes and fire her last sculpture in time for the exhibition. But for Maggie, the days were quiet and shrouded in snow. Though Dad called every now and then, her mother only texted—and infrequently, at that. Maggie read bitterness and hurt in the stretches of silence. Mom wanted Maggie to team up with her, and Maggie just wouldn’t. Taking her mother’s side in this conflict was wrong.