Into Thin Air (49 page)

She took her time. Sometimes customers got so edgy that they called for another waitress or they just left. But when she came back with a new iced tea, the woman was still there. “You must be very proud,” the woman said. “Who takes care of her while you're working?”

“She lives full-time with her father,” Lee said. The woman gave a sympathetic cluck.

“Well, she's still your daughter,” the woman said.

“It's just for now,” Lee said. She gathered up a dirty cup and saucer and turned back toward the kitchen. As soon as Lee had said “just for now,” it had sounded just like the words “happily ever after.” Fairy-tale words, words you wanted to believe in, but you knew, after all, that nothing was that simple, because even heroines were not always willing participants, and sometimes what seemed most like reality had as much substance as a spell.

That evening, when she got off her shift, long after kids had cleared from the suburban streets and gone in to supper or schoolwork or just a night of TV, Lee stood in the dark across the street from Jim's house. The lights were on in the living room. She thought, I could just walk up to the porch and ring the bell. I could say “Listen, we have to talk, we have to settle this, you have to hear me.” Her breathing was so loud, she was stunned they didn't come out and confront her. She saw something moving in the bushes in the front, out of the corner of her eye, and, dazed by her own daring, moved close enough to see it was Joanna, her small shoulders heaving. Lee had a strange sick feeling, as if time were opening up for her. Whether she was supposed to be here or not, she couldn't just stand by while her daughter cried in the bushes alone. She took a step. And then, abruptly, the front door whined open, freezing her in place, and there was Lila, in a long white cotton nightgown and bare feet. “Honey,” Lila said. She stepped out onto the porch, She walked onto the dewy grass and moved exactly to the place where Joanna was, and then Joanna jumped out, her body still shaking, but with glee, and then, face shining, she threw herself into Lila's arms.

“Look what Fisher dug up,” Lila called toward the house, laughing.

Lee stepped back farther into the darkness. The door slapped open and Jim came out. “There's my wild babies,” Jim said. He stepped off the porch onto the front lawn. He nuzzled Lila's neck; he stroked back Joanna's hair.

“Can I sleep in your bed again tonight?” Joanna said. Lila looked across at Jim. “Our bed is your bed,” she said.

Joanna, arms and legs like elastic, ran around the lawn, in and out between Jim and Lila, looking up at both of them every time she made a full circle, marking her place.

“Who wants cocoa?” Lila said, and then Joanna stopped running and took Lila's hand, pulling her close. She didn't let go the whole lazy walk up the stairs, she kept hold as Jim opened up the screen door. “Ladies,” Jim said gallantly, ushering them back inside where it was warm and well lit, where Lee could hear a few chords of music before the door shut again on the house, the very same house she had run from, lifetimes ago.

Lee stood outside, and even though it was a warm night she was shivering. She couldn't see one single thing through the front window; she couldn't hear any sound. She could imagine them sipping cocoa at the same kitchen table she and Jim had bought; she could imagine them all curled up in the same bed she herself had once slept in, Joanna, warm and sleepy and safe, sandwiched in the middle. She moved closer, and then quickly, one by one, all the lights snapped out; the house grew dark and silent, and she felt a hurt so sudden and powerful, it caused her physical pain.

In the distance she heard a car. If it was a police car, if they saw her standing here half-hidden in the shadows, they might think she was a prowler, or a Peeping Tom. They might take her for a suspect personality, wondering over a life that didn't belong to her.

Lee started to walk, How could she have ever believed she could make things right? She had left a life she was too scared to love, to try and make peace with another, and she had never managed to live fully in either, so why did it surprise her now that it still all felt like running away?

She was walking down the same paths she used to take, following the exact same highways, feeling the same whiz and rush of the cars past her. From the first moment she had set foot in Baltimore she hadn't liked it, she hadn't felt at home, and the truth was that no matter how much she had tried, no matter how much she had kept waiting and waiting, she couldn't seem to like it now, either. She couldn't seem to feel at home. Suddenly she thought about Madison. She remembered a winter night so cold that a snow angel she had made had frozen solid in the ground. She remembered a bat hanging on her good winter coat like a fur collar and how Andy had helped her free it back into the night, where it belonged.

A car honked at her. She knew these roads. And she knew there was no longer any reason for her to keep walking them. She turned toward the main road and, exhausted, unthinking, started back to her apartment, where she would sleep, deep and dreamless, until morning.

She was at Keystone Bank ten minutes after it opened. She had eight thousand dollars left from her father. “I want to take everything out,” she said. The teller raised her brows. “You want it in cash?” she said.

“I want to put it in another account,” Lee said. “A trust fund.” She scribbled a name on the paper. “And this is who it's to belong to.”

She set it up so she didn't need to tell Jim or Lila anything at all. The money would sit there gathering interest, a secret that would reveal itself to Joanna when she turned sixteen, wild enough to get into the backs of cars with boys, but with money enough so she could climb on out again.

When Lee walked into the pharmacy, Jim immediately came toward her. “Hello, stranger,” he said.

“I thought it would be better.” She smiled uncertainly.

“It was. Thank you,” Jim said.

“Listen, I—I'm going back to Madison.”

He straightened, “You're leaving?”

Lee rubbed at her arm. “Joanna turned out wonderful.”

Jim looked at her. “Are you going to call a lawyer?” he said quietly.

“No lawyers,” she said. “No more disappearing. I just want to stay in touch. See what happens. I need to stay in touch.”

“It might take a long time with her, you know,” Jim said. “It might never happen.”

“And it might. You won't fight it, will you?”

He shook his head. “What are you going to do in Madison?”

She shrugged, “Undeclare myself dead,” she said. “Start living a life.”

“Haven't you been doing that?” he said.

“You're being kind,” she said. “That's nice.”

He watched her. She was still the loveliest woman he had ever seen, and already he could feel himself missing her. He reached forward and touched her shoulder.

“It's so funny,” Lee said. “You've got this life—a wife, a kid—”

“Hey. You didn't want it,” Jim said.

“I know,” Lee said. She looked around the pharmacy. “You, a pharmacist. Me, a chef. What do you think, if we had met now, would it have worked?”

Jim's face wavered. He thought of Lila, the night they had found Joanna, how she had slept in his arms. Joanna sandwiched between them. He thought of the wedding they were planning. “What good does it do to ask questions like that?” he said finally.

Inside the house he had always loved, his wife was probably reading, the daughter he had thought would bind Lee and him together was probably drawing, sprawled across the kitchen floor he himself had scrubbed that morning. Lee moved, and he felt a pull of desire. He remembered Lee at nineteen, the slope of her belly, the lift of her breasts. He remembered when she had started to show with Joanna, how he'd wait until she was asleep and then gently lay his head against her belly and talk to the baby, his wife's belly a conduit between them. He would tell it how things were going to be, and not one thing he had told his child or himself had even remotely come true. He had all manner of memories, and every one of them was ragged from remembering.

She wasn't looking at him. “I have to close up,” he told her. “Why don't you come by in the morning?”

She nodded. “I want to say good-bye to Joanna.” He nodded.

“You want me to wait for you to finish?” she said.

“No, you go on,” he said.

He heard her leaving, the soft sudden pull of the door. If he looked up, he would see her through the window. A flash of blonde hair. That long striding walk of hers. He sat on the stool.

He was so quiet when he came in the house that Lila asked him if something was wrong. He wrapped his arms about her, swaying her against him. “Don't be silly,” he said.

“Lee's leaving,” he said. “She's going back to Madison.”

Lila pulled apart from him.

“She wants to say good-bye to Joanna. I said okay.”

“This will never be over,” Lila said.

Jim kissed the pale skin at the base of her shoulders. “No,” he said, “but it'll be different now. It'll work out.” He folded her toward him, and then suddenly, at that moment, there wasn't anything that he felt he had ever wanted except for her, and there she was.

Lee was half an hour early, She had walked from the apartment, carrying a bag full of things she wanted to give her daughter, and she had ended up walking so quickly that she had misjudged her time. She was rounding the corner when she saw Jim and Lila, standing in the yard, kissing, and with an odd pang she remembered herself at seventeen, kissing Jim, feeling he was every escape she had ever wanted.

She waited until they had pulled apart, and then she lifted her hand awkwardly. “Hi,” she said.

Lee was sitting on the floor of Joanna's room, watching Joanna brush her bride doll's short chop of dark hair. Joanna refused to look at her. She refused to speak, and every time Lee moved so much as an inch closer, Joanna flinched three more inches away.

“I'm going away,” Lee said. “But not because of you.”

Joanna kept brushing her doll's hair, not looking up.

Lee unfurled the map she had, “Look,” she said. “It's Wisconsin. It's where I'll be.” Joanna kept brushing, but Lee stood up. She grabbed some tacks on the dresser and carefully pinned the map onto the bulletin board. “See this red tack? That's where I live. That's where you can find me. I'm not going anywhere. And Joanna—” Joanna continued to brush, her eyes down. “Joanna, I wrote a phone number right on the map. It's a restaurant but they'll know where to find me.” Lee felt her voice rushing faster and faster, speeding away from her. She felt as if any moment she might burst into tears. “And I wrote you a letter. It just explains things better than I've been able to. Maybe you'll want to read it.”

She looked desperately around the room. “Joanna,” she said, and this time Joanna looked up at her with a gaze so closed and stony that it made Lee feel as if she had been struck. “Here,” Lee said. She fumbled for the tack. “You'll always know where I am now. Always. That's a promise. You call me and I'll come.”

Joanna stopped brushing, her eyes on Lee. “Is that a true story?” she said.

“No,” Lee said quietly. “It's not a story at all.”

Lee crouched down beside Joanna. As soon as Lee bent down, Joanna stiffened. She grabbed at the hairbrush again and jerked her eyes down. Lee was so close, she could hear the light and spark of electricity as Joanna furiously brushed her bride doll's hair. She could see her daughter's hand tremble; she swore she could hear her daughter's closed fist of a heart loosen just a beat. Gently Lee reached up one hand and slowly, carefully, as if she were reaching for something as fragile and breakable as a dream, she touched Joanna's hair, and although Joanna didn't take her eyes from her doll, she didn't jerk her head away from Lee's hand. She didn't move away, not for a very long time.

When she left Joanna's room, Joanna, head down, was still furiously brushing the doll's hair. Lee saw Lila folding clothes in one of the rooms and stopped. Lila looked up, awkward. “Thank you,” Lee said, and slowly walked past.

Jim was at the front door, waiting for her.

“She's all right,” Lee said.

“What about you?” he said. “You don't look so good.”

She shrugged. “As soon as I have one, I'll give you my address and phone number. I'm going to get a place big enough for visits.”

“It's funny, isn't it,” Jim said. “All these years, and now I'll always know where you are. I can pick up the phone and call you.”

She leaned toward him and kissed him, so gently that he was startled when she pulled away, “No,” she said, “It's not funny at all.” She studied his face, “What should I say? I'll see you?”

He half smiled at her.

“Okay. I'll see you, Jim Archer.”

“I'll see you, Lee Archer.”

He touched her face, just for a moment, and then she stepped down from the porch and was gone.

Joanna hadn't said one thing about Lee's leaving. Jim walked into her room and saw with a small shock the map hanging on her bulletin board, but Joanna herself wasn't looking at it at all. He saw a sealed envelope on the dresser. Joanna's name was written in Lee's handwriting. “You all right, puss?” he said, stroking her hair. He crouched down beside her. “You know how much we love you?” he said. She continued to brush her doll's hair.

And when later Jim glanced out the window and saw her digging in the dark dirt by the rosebushes, Fisher's favorite bone-burying spot, he didn't call out to her. He didn't remind her to be careful of what she might one day miss. He waited until she had buried the map and letter deep in the earth, until she had come back inside. For a moment he thought of digging out the letter, of saving it for a time when she might one day want it, or of reading it himself, finding out what Lee's words to her daughter were; but then Joanna was beside him, smelling of the earth and the heat, and instead he simply placed one hand on her head.