Unleaving

by Melissa Ostrom

Linnie stepped out of Wren’s one-armed hug and called for her daughter.

  Thomas put down his beer. “She was building with Legos in the playroom earlier. I’ll check in there.” He trudged through the dining area toward the basement door. When he headed down, he called, “Kate?”

  “She’s probably in her room.” Sam washed and dried his hands. “I’ll go look. My phone’s up there. Pepperoni okay with everyone?”

  “Get half with spinach and mushrooms, will you? Actually…” Wren took a hesitant step forward. “Mind showing me the email from Becky?”

  “Sure.” He smiled tiredly. “Laptop’s in the den. Come on up.”

  When everyone else disappeared, Maggie turned to Linnie.

  She was frowning. “Do you hear that?”

  Maggie raised her head and heard a soft whine.

  “Oh. I must have left the door open.” Linnie headed that way.

  Maggie grabbed her wrist. “You did, but I closed it.”

  Linnie’s eyes widened. Without a word, she tore her hand free, ran for the front door, and whipped it open. “Kate!”

  Darkness had fallen. In one of the trees along Wayside, the moon shone, gibbous and ringed and blurred by snow. It looked like an animal’s watchful eye.

  Linnie fumbled with the switches by the door until the exterior light unrolled a short carpet of illumination across the snow. The prints of small sneakers drew a path in the direction of the lake.

  “Oh no.” Linnie sprang outside.

  Maggie started following but stopped when she realized she wasn’t wearing shoes. Trembling, she stumbled back, ran for the boots she’d left by the door to the garage, and yelled for Sam as she grabbed her coat off the back of the chair.

  He flew down the stairs, his face filling with dread. “Is it Kate?”

  Wren descended more slowly. “What’s going on?”

  “Kate left.” Maggie made for the door. “Took off for the lake, I think.” She didn’t wait for them to follow, just ran after Linnie, straight into the night.

  Kate’s and Linnie’s prints made dotted lines that disappeared into the darkness. Maggie paused, surrounded by the cacophony of wind and water. She concentrated on the winks of the first stars until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then she moved forward again, more tenatively now, straining to find tracks in the moon’s pale shimmer.

  Snowflakes, small and hard, spangled the air. A gust swept her hair into her face. Smooth snow stretched ahead in bluish, seamless phosphorescence. She’d lost the footprints. Looking up, she shouted for Linnie.

  “Here!” The faint response didn’t drift from the short beach below or the woods to the right. It floated from the left, where the land narrowed and jutted out over the water.

  “Wait up!” Sam called. A flashlight beam, then two arcs of light whipped up alongside her.

  “Which way?” her aunt demanded, resting a hand on Thomas’s arm.

  “The bluff,” Maggie said.

  “Shit.” Sam lurched ahead, and his flashlight drew a brilliant zigzag through the darkness. “Linnie! Kate!”

  Linnie’s answer came from farther away this time.

  Sam ran after the sound of her voice.

  Maggie followed him. The flashlight’s narrow beam up ahead struck her as impossibly frail, a mere pinprick of shine in the blackness.

  A branch caught her coat. One tree, another, another—she ran under their boughs. Between the trees, moonlight pooled and sifted. The branches cast shadows like shawls. The snow was thinner here. Maggie slipped and nearly fell on an icy patch. A moment later, she did fall, tripping over a rock.

  She staggered to her feet. The trees thickened to a stand, even as the ground on which they grew narrowed. Thomas and Wren had fallen behind. Sam had sped ahead. So Maggie entered the thicket alone and almost blindly, with only the moonlight dappling the ground and lake.

  The water stretched close and loud on either side. Waves glugged over ice and shale. With her hands out to help her feel her way forward, Maggie rushed through the wilderness of Devil’s Tongue.

  Her feet were cold and wet in her boots. The trees towered around her, sentinels guarding a secret place. They penned her in. How many? Four, five, six. They circled her. She breathed fast, stumbled, used her fingers like claws in her panic and haste, tore through the vines and branches, caught a handful of thorns, winced. Her palms hurt. She was hurt. Hurt, hurry, get away, away, call Mom. Shirt, underwear, jeans, fast, faster, my phone, shit, where is my phone?

  A sob overrode her gasping breath. It was her own sob.

  The sound dragged her back to the present.

  Kate. Where was Kate? She seized a trunk and held herself steady.

  In that second, Wren caught up to her and wrapped her in a steely hug. “Jesus Christ, Margaret. Didn’t you hear me hollering for you to stop? You don’t run like a maniac through a stretch like this, not unless you want to plunge into Lake Ontario.” She gave her a little shake, then released her.

  Huffing and half-bent, Thomas reached them. “Oh my God,” he panted. A glowing beam shuddered and then disappeared as he stuffed the flashlight into his coat pocket. His arms fell across Maggie’s and Wren’s shoulders, as if to brace himself as much as to protect them.

  Sam’s voice cut through the crash of waves: “We’re here!”

  Thomas craned his neck to the side. “Where?”

  “Down here!”

  Not farther along then. Below. They inched their way to the right edge of the bluff, Sam’s father holding aside branches with his arm for them, Wren cursing as she stumbled over a rock, Maggie still disoriented and sweating, despite the cold.

  “Did you find her, son?”

  It was Linnie who answered, directly below where they stood. “Yes.” An indecipherable exchange followed: a soft question, a low retort, a child’s querulous demand. Then Linnie again, louder this time: “We’ve got her.”

  23

  IN THE COPPER glow of the cabin’s kitchen, Wren murmured, “Oh, good.” She tapped the screen of her phone. “Thomas wrote. Here’s our hospital update.” She read aloud, “‘No hypothermia, mild frostbite on her right hand, nothing serious, ready for home and hot cocoa. Linnie’s sleeping over.’”

  While the aunt texted back, Maggie dropped her forehead in her hand. Hot cocoa? She flared her eyes at the table.

  Her aunt set down the phone. “Well, it was an interesting plan—to stow away on the first pirate ship that swung by Devil’s Tongue. Didn’t work, but, hey, there’s the cocoa. Plus, her mom’s sticking close.”

  Maggie grunted.

  The aunt smiled. “Think a time-out’s more in order?” When Maggie shrugged, Wren shook her head and leaned back in her chair. “All kids want attention. It’s nice when it comes in the form of praise, but they’ll take what they can get and do just about anything to win it. Throw a temper tantrum, get attention. Run away, get attention.” She scrubbed her face and let her fingertips rest on her eyes. “Kate’s no different.” Heaving herself up from the table, she added tartly, “Besides, what were Sam and Linnie thinking, ranting and raving in front of Kate?”

  “That was dumb.”

  “Dumb and mean.” The aunt folded her arms. “Whatever mistakes those two made with each other, they’re not Kate’s fault. Keep up that bullshit, and they’ll have trouble on their hands and no one to blame but themselves.”

  Too late. Maggie also got to her feet but couldn’t muster the energy to do more than that. She stood there, gripping the back of the chair and staring at the table without seeing it.

  Instead, she saw bits and pieces of the long night: the snow, thin and stinging, a shivering Kate, the waves battering the bluff, Sam’s terrified eyes, Linnie’s shocked face, the snarl of branches, and herself—once again completely falling apart. Like a boat wrecked on the reefs of the shallows.

  “… use some sleep. Hmm? Maggie? Maggie?”

  She started. “Sorry?”

  The aunt gazed at her in alarm. “I think
we’d better call it a night. Come on.” She braced Maggie with a one-armed hug and steered her out of the kitchen. “Let’s get you to bed.” She turned off the kitchen lights. When they reached the hallway, she said softly, “Good night, sweetheart.”

  “’Night.”

  The aunt waited at the foot of the steep stairs as Maggie headed up, then asked abruptly, “You okay?”

  “Yes.” No.

  That was what she’d learned tonight. Still so not-okay.

  * * *

  Maggie woke to a drip, drip, drip along the eaves and down the roof, wet snow’s slide and plop. Spring sounds for a winter barely started.

  She pressed her hands together. Her palms ached from the brambles. Where else? Lower, her right hip and knees—they hurt from the fall. And her head. That hurt, too.

  She wished she could keep sleeping, just blank out the previous night—Kate’s disappearance, Sam and Linnie’s fight. Her own fucking head trip. Oh God. She burrowed deeper under the blankets.

  That moment on the bluff—the memory, experience, fact of it—drained her. It had been weeks since she’d suffered that kind of relapse. She had begun to hope she never would again. Only the previous morning, she’d thought, Look at me. I’m sleeping better. I can stay alone in Wren’s cabin and not be afraid. I have good friends. There’s some rough shit going on with Mom and Linnie and Jane, but I’m trying to make things better. Because I can. Because I’m up for the challenge. Because I’m stable and normal enough to help.

  Then just hours later, there it was again: the past tearing into the present, and so predictably, herself, getting swallowed by the old fear and pain and being back there.

  She hated it. She hated that she hadn’t seen it coming.

  * * *

  From downstairs came Wren’s cautious voice: “Honey? You all right?”

  Maggie dried her face with the flat sheet. “Yeah. Just tired.”

  The aunt was silent for a moment. “I made blueberry scones if you want some. They’re pretty bad, hard as rocks, actually, but tolerable if you dunk them in coffee.”

  Maggie closed her eyes. “Thanks. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  Eventually, she did make it to the table with one of the scones and a cup of coffee. Her head swam. When was the last time she’d eaten? Yesterday. Lunchtime. She’d had a bowl of soup while checking the messages on her phone. Dad had called. She’d planned to return the call last night. She should touch base with him and write back to Ran, too, who’d texted her a couple of days ago. And she should check on Linnie—make sure everything was okay with her and Sam and Kate. She should …

  She put her head on the table.

  “Hey.” Wren walked into the kitchen. Her hand fell on Maggie’s hair. She threaded her fingers through some curls. “My hair is just like yours. Wild.” Lightly, she continued, “Sometimes I study you and think, if I’d ever had a daughter, she probably would have looked a lot like you … with Min and me being twins and all. And if I’d had an affair with your dad, my daughter might have looked exactly like you.”

  Maggie laughed, a rough sound but still a laugh.

  Wren gave her one last pat, then headed for the coffeepot. Pouring a cup, she said without turning, “Want to try out the wheel again? Kate’s not here to pick on you.”

  “I—I’ve got some emails to answer. And texts and stuff.”

  “Maybe tonight, then.”

  Maggie nodded and heaved herself up from the table.

  The aunt caught up with her in the hallway. “Forgot your phone, Margaret.”

  Avoiding Wren’s eyes, she accepted the phone with a mumbled thank-you, then climbed the stairs to the loft and tossed her phone on the floor. Her messages could wait until later. She crawled back into bed.

  * * *

  “Move over.”

  At the nudge on her shoulder, Maggie awoke with a start. “What—” She twisted around and sprang back.

  An inch from Maggie’s face, Linnie smiled. “Wren thought you could use some company. She said you’ve been blue all week.”

  Had an entire week passed? Maggie waved away the invasion of pale hair and scrubbed at the lingering tickle on her nose. “Company’s nice.” The words sounded rough, snagged on sleep and emotion. She cleared her throat and slid over to make room. “How’s Kate?”

  “Kate is a girl getting what she wants. Or thinks she wants.”

  “You and Sam playing house again?”

  “Oh God, that appears to be the case.” She groaned a laugh. After a minute, she said, “She’s at school right now. I have to pick her up in a few hours.”

  So it was probably around noon. On … Thursday? Maggie prodded her face. Swollen eyes, gouged palms—the aches registered in a bracing way. Pull yourself together. She had to get up. She would. Soon. Eventually.

  Linnie brought one of Maggie’s ringlets close for an inspection and then wound the curl around her finger until the frizz was pressed out and the strands were smoothed to a sheen. “You remind me of myself a long time ago. Caught and nearly gutted.”

  Maggie thought about this. “How did you get loose?”

  “I just learned to avoid the hook. What did my old therapist say?” She mimicked a prying expression. “‘You’ve detached, Linnie.’” She rolled her eyes. “No shit.” She released Maggie’s curl, rolled onto her back, and raised her head an inch to free her own hair. After spreading it out over the pillow, she relaxed with a noisy exhalation. “Anything swimming too fast or too slow in my vicinity looks like bait, so I don’t bite.” Her forearm fell across her forehead. “Avoid, avoid, avoid, Margaret. That’s my mantra.”

  The words planted a sickness in Maggie’s belly. Avoidance. Of everything? A musty basement, keening wind, stand of trees, crashing waves—all triggers. What would the next one be? “Then how do you know what’s safe?”

  “You don’t. You surge ahead, faster and faster. That’s what I do. But it’s no good. I have to try something different—see a doctor, get back into therapy, straighten myself out … stop. I know I do.” She closed her eyes and thrust up her chin, exposing her neck. “Just stop. I’m so tired.”

  The roof began to ping with rain. “Do you think you can get better?” Maggie asked. The question for the oracle: Can you? Can I?

  Linnie opened her eyes and stared hard at the ceiling.

  Maggie saw her swallow. Fear was plain in Linnie’s face. Was she remembering Sunday night and Kate’s running away?

  “A week ago,” Linnie said gruffly, “I would have told you no, it’s hopeless. I’d given up, given up on myself—decided if I couldn’t help but be a shitty mom like mine was, Kate shouldn’t have to witness it. But Kate…” Sadness and affection loosened her features. Her lip trembled. She caught it in her teeth. After a moment, she said in a choked voice, “Kate won’t give up on me. So I’ll get better … because I have to. Because I love her.”

  * * *

  To the sound of rain drumming the roof, Maggie and Linnie fell asleep side by side. It was a short-lived nap. Maggie jerked awake when the aunt called from downstairs, “Margaret! Some friends here to see you.”

  Surprised, Maggie struggled out of her cocoon of blankets.

  “Who…?” Her brow creased in sleepy confusion, Linnie pushed herself up more slowly and armed her hair away from her flushed face.

  Ran appeared at the top of the stairs. Her gaze flitted to Linnie, then back to Maggie. “Mind if we come up?” she asked anxiously.

  I mind. Today I really do mind. “Of course not.” She rubbed her eyes and tried to rally her spirits. Oh God, I am so not up for this. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, good … yeah. We’re, uh, good.” She quickly climbed the rest of the stairs and then, as Hope, Julia, and Colleen followed, stood off to the side, wrapped her ponytail around her wrist, and glanced around searchingly, as if the right words were around here somewhere and she just had to track them down to know what to say. It was a strange look for Ran Kita.

  “That’
s good,” Maggie murmured lamely. She didn’t know what to say, either.

  The four girls stood in a huddle on the opposite side of the room, close to the stairs, so that their heads didn’t hit the angled ceiling. They smiled stiffly. Maggie smiled stiffly back.

  Linnie glanced at Maggie, her eyebrows raised.

  “Oh. This is Linnie.” Maggie introduced the girls, as well, and they exchanged greetings.

  Another lull followed. Maggie checked an impulse to groan. This was why she’d created Marge. Marge didn’t have a past that made chatty girls quiet and uncomfortable.

  Hope gave her shaved head a scrub. “Nice room.”

  “Thanks,” Maggie said.

  “Great view,” Colleen said. “Of the lake, I mean. Over there.” She pointed toward the windows behind Maggie’s and Linnie’s heads. Then, as if realizing how unnecessary it was to direct everyone’s attention to the lake’s location, she snatched back her hand, tucked it into her armpit, and laughed—a sickly hahaha.

  Julia sucked in her lips.

  Maggie sat up taller against the headboard and hugged her legs to her chest. “You guys want to sit?” They looked like prisoners facing a firing squad.

  Linnie drew up her legs, too. “There’s plenty of room.”

  “Thanks.” Ran swung her arms and sidled closer. Gingerly, she perched on the edge of the bed. Without looking directly at Maggie, she said, “We’ve missed you at book club.”

  “Oh, yeah, well…” Maggie pleated the top of the flat sheet. “It’s been kind of … hectic here. Sorry.”

  Hope sat heavily next to Ran. She slouched forward and clasped her hands.

  Julia and Colleen sat cross-legged on the floor.

  Julia tucked her hair behind her ears. “We hated to think you were avoiding us.”

  Colleen nodded. “And we felt really bad, learning what we did about you when we googled your name.”

  Hope gave her knee a small kick.

  Colleen frowned and whispered, “What?”

  “I wasn’t really avoiding you,” Maggie said. Only this. This weirdness. “I just didn’t want to talk about … you know.” She shrugged.