Wasp Canyon

by Danielle McCrory

  That’s not how grief works. Grief can change you. It can alter your perception—your reality. A future that once appeared promising and hopeful can transform into a nightmare of menacing shadows and foreboding turns in the road ahead. Silver tarnishes, a sunset fades to a murky gray, flowers wilt, fruit darkens and decays—and the brightness in one’s soul can dwindle away until it is nothing but ashes, with a few embers struggling to stay lit.

  Jessica shifted from side to side in the electronics aisle, impatient to finish this stupid shopping expedition. Now humoring her mother with these therapy sessions was going to cost her $129.99 plus tax. Sitting on the center shelf, surrounded by a colorful advertisement of fit, smiling people, was the QuikFit 2.0. The ad said it came equipped with the latest fitness tracking app, heart rate monitor, step counter, and Bluetooth capability so she could link all her fitness stats to her phone for easy review and comparison. It could also link to a Spotify account, and even had a speaker to play music if she didn’t want to be burdened with headphones. Heaven forbid. All someone could ever ask for when it comes to analyzing how long it takes to huff and puff up and down a mountain. Apparently, for the low, low price of $129.99, you are one step closer to becoming an Olympian. Plus tax.

  Jessica grabbed the QuikFit 2.0 box off the shelf without giving much thought to the other models and brands that were available, absentmindedly grabbing the one that came with a plum purple wristband. She had always liked purple, although she rarely paid attention to what color she wore anymore. Her clothes now sagged on her unflatteringly, and her hair often hung limp and lifeless on her narrow shoulders. She once had been considered a beautiful woman—a real stunner her dad would say—but her care in her appearance had diminished and eventually disappeared altogether. Before her dad got sick—which felt like many years ago and not just two—she had long, wavy blonde hair, startling green eyes, and an infectious smile. Jessica found that it was never hard for her to get a date; however, the desire to date—along with the care in her personal appearance—had died along with her father.

  Jessica’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished out the Samsung—also purple—and tapped the Home button. Claire’s smiling face illuminated the screen next to an icon for New Text Message. Jessica clicked on it and a message from Claire appeared.

  From: Claire Bear :-)

  Date: May 31, 2018

  Time: 4:52 PM

  Message: Hey gurl. How wuz the quack 2day? Im thinkin beers @ Lindy’s 2nite. U in?

  Jessica hit Reply and began typing, tucking the QuikFit 2.0 box under her arm.

  Compose Message: Hey U. The quack was f’ing fabulous as always. I got dinner with my mom 2nite. Beers 2morrow?

  Jessica hit Send and shoved the phone back into the pocket of her sagging jeans. She started working her way down the aisle toward the registers and the front door. She loved the self-checkout registers that had started taking over in the past few years, eliminating the need to make small talk with one of the fake-smiling cashiers. One less person she has to talk to—thank God.

  Chapter 3

  Jessica was born in Tucson, Arizona, in the winter of 1994. Her mother and father had her later in life, both nearly forty by the time Jessica was born. Her childhood was a pleasant one, full of school projects, festive holidays, and laughter around the dinner table. Looking back, those early memories always felt warm, joyful, and full of love.

  One of Jessica’s fondest memories from childhood was the monsoon season that arrived every summer without fail. She could remember running out each afternoon when she heard the deep rumbles of thunder traveling across the desert, her bare feet burning on the hot patio as she left the shelter of the porch and looked up eagerly at the mountains. The white, cotton candy tops of the cumulus clouds would appear first, peaking over the mountains in bright, pillowy bunches. As the clouds grew in size and poured over the mountain tops, their dark bellies would become visible, distant lightning illuminating their curves and crevices in brief bursts of light. Jessica would count the seconds after each bolt, continuing the count until she heard the deep rumbles of thunder that followed each flash. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand. She could almost taste the electricity in the air as the clouds swept closer, the thunder louder, the lightning brighter. The landscape would turn an eerie yellow just before the clouds blotted out the sun. And then the desert would be drenched by an onslaught of rain, a torrential downpour that pounded the hard soil and drowned out all other sound. Jessica would dance in the wetness and take in the wonderful smell of desert rain, a glorious earthly smell that could not be matched by any perfume.

  It was always around this point when her father would insist that her rain dancing was done for the day—that she needed to get under the porch’s roof and away from the lightning and the trembling trees, their branches rattling overhead as gusts of wind tore through their leaves. Jessica would begrudgingly return to the shelter of the patio, shivering in her wet clothes when only moments ago she was sweating in the desert’s heat. Her dad would attempt to pat her dry with a towel, tickling her in the process. She would giggle, throw her arms around his neck, and say, “I love you, Daddy” in his ear. She had to speak loudly to be heard over the rain. And he would always reply, equally as loud, “I love you too, Jess, even though you just made me a mess.” She would then look wide-eyed at his wet shirt and fall into another fit of giggles, ones he would eventually join with hearty laughter.

  ☼ ☼ ☼

  Roger Cleary fell in love with the desert when he moved to Tucson with his blushing bride, Andrea. The terrain, the animals, and the native plants all fascinated him. Back east saguaros were just things you saw in cartoons and in the National Geographic magazines. Their tall, thick trunks and swooping arms seemed like things of fantasy, but here in Arizona they were everywhere. In Tucson, saguaros covered the countryside and succulents bloomed on your front porch.

  Roger made a hobby out of identifying different desert plants, cataloguing them in notebooks, and attaching snapshots he took with those disposable point-and-shoot cameras from the convenience store. He found the resilience of these plants awe-inspiring. Cacti could sprout from the toughest of soils, could survive for months or even years without water, and their spiny defense mechanisms were as impressive as they were beautiful. The spines came in all kinds of colors, shapes, and patterns, jutting out of the cactus’s smooth, green surface in a haphazard yet organized fashion. No two cacti were alike, and Roger enjoyed spending his free time scouring the desert trails in search of new species to add to his ever-growing notebook collection.

  When he wasn’t on the hunt for a new cactus to catalogue, Roger was a teacher at North Tucson High School. His biology classes were always well-received by his students, but his best student of all had always been his daughter. Roger taught Jessica all about the desert in which they lived, his lessons including the types of rock the mountains were made from, the variety of animals they shared the land with, and—his personal favorite—the various plant-life that covered the terrain. As Jessica grew into a curious, young girl, Roger would take his little botanist into their backyard to point out the different types of cacti and succulents. Jessica would look at their spiny surfaces in awe, sometimes reaching out to touch one of the cactus’s needle-like spines. Roger would snatch Jess up before she could prick her finger, give her a kiss, and say, “Jess, if you touch that plant, you’re going to be a mess.” She would giggle and then demand to be set down to see more “pokey plants”.

  As Jessica got older her interest in “pokey plants” lessened, but she was always willing to go out back with Roger to observe some of his latest findings. She would lean forward and marvel at the red, curled barbs of a barrel cactus or gaze up at the copious arms of a well-aged organ pipe. And while Jessica may have only feigned interest in her father’s newest succulent discovery, her love for spending time with him never wavered.

  In the final months of Roger’s life, Jessica would sometimes u
rge him to go out and look at some cacti with her. She would insist she had found a new jumping cholla or prickly pear that he hadn’t seen before, although she was pretty sure there wasn’t one cactus Roger had missed during his cacti quests and meticulous cataloguing. Roger at first would humor her, grab his cane, and carefully try to navigate the rocky backyard to the supposed new cactus. He would exclaim, “Wow Jess! I can’t believe I missed this one!” Jessica and Roger would smile at each other, neither acknowledging that this particular cactus was already photographed and sitting in one of Roger’s notebooks.

  As the cancer began to eat away at Roger’s body, he found he no longer had the strength to go out and see Jessica’s “newest finding” in their great expanse of a backyard. Jessica at first would try to urge her father to accompany her; however, her gentle urging began to lessen as she saw the life slowly draining from her father’s eyes. In the last few weeks, when Jessica mentioned a new cactus, Roger would pat her hand and simply say, “I’m sorry Jess, I’m just too much of a mess.” And he was right—in the end, it was all just so much of a mess.

  Chapter 4

  Jessica arrived at her parents’ house—correction: mother’s house—shortly after six. She pulled her aging Camry into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and stared at the garage door. The garage door, along with the rest of the house, was light beige. Several years back her mother had the house repainted, and despite Jessica’s gentle teasing, her mom had decided to paint the house the exact same color it was originally. The paint from the more recent paint job was starting to peel around the edges of the garage door—the harsh desert sun taking no pity on Andrea Cleary’s beige paint. At least the paint underneath is the same damn color, Jessica thought. No one will even notice.

  Jessica dragged herself out of the car, leaving the Target bag containing the QuikFit 2.0 on the passenger seat. She brushed some of her lifeless hair out of her face and tried to smooth her wrinkled T-shirt over her slightly stained jeans. Should have done the laundry, she thought. Now Mom is really gonna think I’m not making progress with Dr. Wyatt. She took a deep breath and made her way up the driveway toward the front door. She made sure to keep her eyes pointed straight ahead, not allowing herself to look at any of the saguaros, chollas, or ocotillos that covered her parents’—correction: mother’s—front yard.

  ☼ ☼ ☼

  “Hey, Mom,” Jessica said with a wan smile as Andrea opened the door.

  Andrea had a marked resemblance to her only child, both women having blonde hair and striking green eyes. She had a small, sturdy frame and toned features shaped by years of Pilates and yoga. Unlike Jessica, Andrea kept her hair at shoulder length, something she considered any woman over sixty should do. Her makeup was lightly applied—she found she never required much even in her older years. However, since her husband’s passing, she did notice her under-eye concealer was disappearing at a faster rate. While Andrea was great at concealing her pain and loneliness to others, those dark circles under her eyes were becoming harder and harder to conceal.

  Andrea was deeply affected by the loss of her husband, although she did her best to not burden those around her with her grief. She never expected to become a widow at the age of sixty-two, but here she was trying to create some semblance of a life in the wake of her husband’s untimely death. Roger and her had married in their early twenties and had made it thirty-eight years before cancer came between them. Andrea had supported Roger every step of the way, sometimes having to carry him along both emotionally as well as physically, but in the end the cancer had won.

  Life went on, as it always seems to do, and Andrea tried to go on with it. She did her grocery shopping, completed the household chores, attended her Pilates classes and book club meetings, and kept up with her hair appointments. And late at night, as she lay alone in a bed that was meant for two, she would quietly cry in the dark and miss her husband so much that she thought her heart would literally stop beating altogether. Somehow, her heart continued to beat, the sun eventually rose over the eastern mountains as it always did, and another day would begin. Andrea would dab a little extra concealer under her eyes as she readied herself in the morning, and then go about the day’s tasks, never mentioning the sobs that racked her in the night and left her eyes swollen in the morning.

  ☼ ☼ ☼

  Jessica stood in the doorway, yanking on a strand of hair with one hand and trying to smooth her wrinkled shirt with the other. Her jeans hung loosely on her hips, something Andrea suspected Jessica was hoping to hide with her ill-fitting shirt. Her hair and makeup were not done, but at least it appeared that she had showered.

  “Come on in, dear,” Andrea said. She ushered Jessica inside and locked the front door behind her. Being a single woman living alone came with its own risks, and Andrea tried to take the necessary precautions to keep herself safe. “It looks like your washing machine might be on the fritz, huh?”

  “Oh, well, yeah I guess. I guess I forgot to buy detergent.”

  “I have plenty here if you would like to bring some home with you. It looks like your clothes would greatly appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Jessica said.

  “Where’s your purse, dear?”

  “I didn’t bring one.”

  “But where do you keep your things?”

  “I just have my keys and my phone. I didn’t really think I needed a purse.”

  Andrea looked Jessica up and down. Her daughter looked thin—frail even. Her shoulders were slumped, her hair tangled. Where was her vibrant, care-free daughter who laughed often and batted the boys away with a stick? Her daughter who took care of her appearance and wouldn’t be caught dead in stained, dirty clothes? Andrea had not seen that daughter in many months. That Dr. Wyatt sure doesn’t seem as competent as promised, she thought. Although she certainly does charge enough.

  “But what about your driver’s license? Your money?” Andrea asked.

  “I have my license and credit card in my back pocket, Mom. That’s what pockets are for. God.”

  “Ok, ok. I’ll let it go. I just want to make sure you have everything you need.” Andrea paused, wanting to express her concern but not wanting to push too hard. “I worry about you sometimes.”

  Jessica turned away from her mother, eyes downcast. “Well I am just fine. I’m seeing Dr. Wyatt just like you wanted. And she hasn’t committed me yet. So I can’t be that bad, right?”

  “Oh that’s right, you saw Dr. Wyatt today,” Andrea said. She already knew about the scheduled appointment, but wanted Jessica to be the one to bring it up. Now that she had, Andrea figured discussing her daughter’s therapy session was fair game. “How did it go today? Does she think you are making progress?”

  Jessica walked into the kitchen, shrugging her shoulders as she went. “It went fine, I guess,” she said. And after a pause: “She wants me to start running.”

  “Running? For exercise?” Andrea’s eyes widened and her face lit up. “Oh honey, I think that is a wonderful idea.”

  ☼ ☼ ☼

  After dinner was finished and Jessica had helped clear the dishes, Andrea decided to push a little harder with Dr. Wyatt’s suggestion for her daughter to begin exercising. She thought this was an excellent idea—finally that expensive psychologist was starting to pay off. Exercise will get Jessica out of her apartment, will give her a much-needed boost in her mood, and will hopefully get her to start taking better care of herself. It sounded like a perfect start on the path to recovery.

  “You know honey, I really enjoy my exercise classes. I think they make me feel better, both physically and mentally. If you want, I could give you some class schedules for my gym. They have classes for young people as well, not just old fogies like me.”

  Jessica was facing the sink, scrubbing some remnants of food off the dinner plates. “Mom, I said I don’t want to do any classes. I don’t want to be around a bunch of people. I agreed to try running. Alone.”

  “You are already alon
e so much, hon. That’s why I thought a class would bring you some camaraderie. You could even go out with some of the girls you meet after class and maybe make some new friends.”

  “You know I have friends. I have Claire.” Jessica continued to face the sink, even though the dish she was holding was thoroughly rinsed. She held onto it tightly, like a life-preserver.

  “I know. And Claire is a lovely girl. I just thought if you made some new friends at exercise class you’d know some people with different interests. Interests in exercise and healthy eating habits maybe. Claire seems to be mostly interested in boys—and drinking.”

  Jessica turned from the sink, her voice hardening. “Claire is my best friend. She has been my best friend for years and was there for me during all the stuff with Dad. And she isn’t a freaking drunk,” she said. She held onto the dish with such force that Andrea thought it might break. Jessica put the plate down in the sink, harder than necessary, and it made a loud, angry clang as it hit the stainless steel.

  Well this escalated quickly, Andrea thought with some dismay. She began back-peddling, trying to find some neutral ground. If only they could openly talk about how they felt. Unfortunately, that had never been their family’s strong suit. “I just want what is best for you, Jess.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  “What?” Andrea asked, confused. “Call you what?”

  “That’s what Dad used to call me. I don’t want anyone calling me that ever again.” Jessica pushed herself away from the sink and hurried toward the front door.

  Andrea dropped the towel she was holding and rushed after her, catching Jessica by the shoulder and turning her around. “Jessica, I love you more than anything. And I hate to see you hurting like this. I just want to help. That’s all I want. Please.”