Leaving Unknown (19 page)

“Me?” I giggled.

“Not every day we get a local hero. Is it true that after a bridge collapsed you yanked an old lady from a raging flood?”

“She rescued an escaped pet cockatiel from the storm earlier in the day too. Sort of a town mascot,” Noah informed him.

“Fantastic. You catch criminals too?”

“The only thing she’s going to catch is a cold, if she doesn’t call it a night soon.” Samuel nudged me. He’d been hovering protectively since we’d walked over from the clinic.

“I haven’t had my burger.” I laughed.

“Me either,” said Chuck Hall. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he told Vic. When the burgers arrived, we sat at the table surrounded by everyone, and tucked in. I answered the reporter’s questions, frequently interrupted or corrected by other witnesses participating in the interview, amplifying my daring.

When we were done, he said, “We’ll need a picture. Didn’t have time to bring someone down with me. You got a local guy?”

“Oh. It’s me, I guess,” I said.

“I can do it!” Tuesday trilled. “Who’s got a camera?” Someone handed her a digital camera. She beamed at me. “What do I push?”

Chuck had me pose surrounded by everyone raising his or her beer. Tuesday snapped the shot and promised to email it to Chuck.

A wave of tiredness hit me. Samuel saw it happen, and stood. “All right, folks. Time to get Wonder Woman home.”

“Spoilsport,” I managed, around my yawn.

“Who looked the other way when you chased the painkiller I gave you with beer?” he teased.

He insisted on driving me home, and I didn’t protest. Though it was only a few blocks, he had to shake me awake when we arrived. “I’ll let you sleep,” he said, giving me a kiss at the door before walking back to his car. “I’ll check on Helen at the hospital in the morning and come by the bookstore with a report.” I nodded sleepily. He paused. “What you did today took courage,” he said. “Not many people would have done it.”

I blew him a kiss and headed to my room. I registered as I
passed that Lulabell seemed no worse for the wear, and Oliver had been returned and shared the safety of her cage.

When I woke I was sore all over. I groaned and swallowed two painkillers as soon as I was upright. I debated changing into pajamas since I’d fallen asleep in my clothes. It didn’t seem right to go from clothes to clothes. I settled on my favorite Kalyx yoga pants as a happy compromise. Then I headed to the bookstore. It was early, but I couldn’t wait to see the paper.

April called after me on my way out. “Hold up, Atalanta. We’re coming too.” She, Ruby, and Busy fell in. We walked at a good clip. I couldn’t help but marvel at the bright blue of the sky and strength of the sun. It was like the storm never happened. But I felt transformed by the events of the day before.

We arrived to find Bruce, Liz, and little Tommy chatting on the step.

“Wall, there she is,” said Bruce. “Thought I’d come for coffee, wait for the paper.”

“Look Tommy,” Liz said. “Maeve has a wrap on her wrist, like you.”

“Did you fall out of a tree?” Tommy asked.

“Maeve was very brave,” Liz explained. “She saved Helen Rausch from drowning in the river yesterday.”

Tommy looked baffled. “Why?”

By 9:30
A.M.
there was a crowd sipping coffee. Pavlov would have been proud. Every time the bells sounded, we looked up expectantly, but it was always another customer to have coffee and wait for the paper. When it seemed like everyone in town was crammed into the store, we turned in response to the bells, only to groan collectively as Helen walked in with Samuel, who bore a rare look of irritation.

She marched up to the counter. “Half caf, half decaf vanilla
cappuccino with two-percent milk, and I want that milk piping hot.” She looked around at everyone staring. “What?”

She swung back toward me. “If you think you get some kind of special treatment or thank-you from me, you’ve got a another think coming,” she snapped. “So? Do you work here or not? My cappuccino?” Brushes with death do not, apparently, have the same effect on everyone.

The entrance tinkled again. The newspaper deliveryman was not expecting a stampede, and dropped the bundle of papers on his foot in alarm when the crowd surged toward him. He staggered out in a hurry, leaving it to Bruce to cut the ties and disseminate papers.

Noah waved off bills. “On the house today,” he said, grinning.

Tuesday brought me a copy, and we scanned for the article. It wasn’t hard to find. Right on the front page was the headline L
OCAL
G
IRL
S
AVES
U
NKNOWN
W
OMAN
.

I cut out a copy of the article and mailed it to my family. It was a good thing there was a caption with my name below the photo, though, as the picture was too blurry to recognize my face.

Ruby was in the kitchen having tea that night when I got home from work. Without a word she stood and switched on the kettle when I walked in.

I sat down. She set homemade coffee cake before me.

“Maeve, I owe you an apology. In all the excitement yesterday I never acknowledged it.”

My mouth dropped as she beat me to the words I’d been forming. Didn’t I owe her the apology?

“I should have attended to clipping Lulabell’s wings some time ago. She is not accustomed to free flight. I overlooked
the proper care of my bird as I pursued my attempt at playwriting.”

“You’re writing a play?” It was the first I’d heard of it.

“One of the projects I’ve been able to undertake with your assistance around the house. It turns out, however, that I do not have a talent for playwriting. The world shall live in wonder over the founding mothers of Unknown.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. It was hard to imagine Ruby not accomplishing whatever she set her mind to in a fluid manner. Unnerving, in fact. She was like my opposite, her competence a necessary offset to my calamity.

“Ruby, do you believe in luck?”

Ruby didn’t speak as she prepared my tea, one hand squeezing the honey bear, the other pouring water; one hand reaching for a spoon, the other dipping the tea bag. If she’d had the arms of Shiva or Vishnu, imagine what she could accomplish. The cup didn’t make a sound as she set it precisely on the table.

“I believe that birds fly away because their wings have not been clipped, not because they are in the company of someone afflicted with bad luck. I also believe it is reasonable that young girls who have had bad things happen through no fault of their own might believe in bad luck.”

I looked off. “When I first got sick I walked around in a cloud of angry with a chance of rage. I’d see people smoking cigarettes or eating fried eggs on cheeseburgers and couldn’t understand it. Axe murderers and rapists were perfectly healthy in the body, and I, who had never done anything to anyone, was fighting for my life. What had I done to deserve it?”

“You could conjure a variety of explanations where you internalize responsibility for becoming ill, but they would all be incorrect. Our own worst enemy is often ourselves. I would hope that yesterday demonstrated to you your own capabilities.”

“I’m good at one thing, at least,” I said. “I can run.”

“We all have the potential to be good at anything we choose. Have you heard of deliberate practice?” Ruby asked.

I shook my head.

“It’s a way of thinking about achievement. Researchers suggest we’ve historically been incorrect in our belief that talent is integral to success. It’s not that talent doesn’t exist, but rather, that it may be irrelevant. Studies of accomplished musicians, athletes, artists, and thinkers reveal no early indication of future potential before intensive training.”

“What about Bill Gates?”

“He may have written his first software at age thirteen, but his story doesn’t suggest extraordinary abilities. It was a tic-tac-toe program. Many young boys were fascinated with computers at that time. The real question is, why did Bill Gates rise to the top?”

“You don’t believe in natural talent?”

“The premise can be insidious. If we find something doesn’t come naturally, we might conclude we have no talent for it and abandon the pursuit, even if it’s to our detriment.”

“So what causes success?”

“If you believe in deliberate practice, carefully designed hard work and always stretching beyond your abilities. It’s not as simple as ‘Practice makes perfect.’ It’s continually focusing on your weakest elements and trying to improve them. Those who persevere are high achievers.”

“So I’m not born a violin prodigy?”

“I believe you could become a violin prodigy without innate talent if you wanted it badly enough. The key lies in knowing what you deeply want. The more you want something, the easier it is to sweat through the deliberate practice.”

“So you can make your own luck?” I considered my quest for the Maeve that would have been. It was pretty clear there
was no “parallel me” I could jump to and pick up the trail mid-stride. I liked the idea that if I figured out what I
wanted
to be, I didn’t have to settle for the mess I had.

“Why not?”

“So what you’re saying is, if I don’t have any talent for playwriting, but engage in deliberate practice of the craft, my community might be able to see the story of our founding mothers performed at the Monkey Flower Festival?” I said, smile sly.

Ruby looked surprised, then laughed. “I suppose I am.”

“You’ll glue them to their seats,” I predicted.

“How clever of you to think of that.” And with that she got to her feet, folded the newspaper, collected the coffee cake, and retrieved my empty cup as if she had six hands.

T
he phone rang so many times I thought she might not answer. Part of me was relieved. I’d struggled with my preference to send an email, but it wasn’t right. Deliberate practice.

“Hello?”

“Jules! Happy birthday!”

“Who’s this?”

“It’s me. Maeve!”

There was quiet. Then, “You’re shitting me. Damn, girl, I haven’t heard from you in forever,” said my closest friend in Charlotte.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called.” I meant it.

“I left you, like, seventy-eleven messages. I thought maybe…”

“No,” I said. “I’m fine. I really am. Great, in fact. I’m just an asshole for not calling.”

“How’s LA?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. Elsie broke down in this place called Unknown, Arizona.”

“All this time? That’s crazy!”

“The funny thing is, I kind of like it here. It’s like
Northern Exposure
in Arizona.
Southern Overexposure
, SPF 90 required.”

“So you’re gonna stay?”

I puckered my brow, then rubbed out the dent. “Of course not. I’m going to LA as soon as Elsie’s operational.”

“Well, good, because I’m still planning to come and visit. Though you might have to make room for two…” She giggled.

“Tell me.” She radiated new-love euphoria and was dying to talk about it.

“He’s awesome. His name is David. He’s this sexy cowboy with crazy sideburns and he drives a motorcycle and plays the sax.”

“Sounds hot, fembot.”

“I’m nuts about him. You know that feeling when you’ve been out a coupla times and it zings into your soul that this could actually be a person you spend the rest of your life with?” I did know that feeling. Unbidden, an image popped into my mind, but it wasn’t Samuel. I frowned again, then rubbed irritably at my forehead. Jules continued gushing.

“It gets better the more time I spend with him. He’s funny, smart, sexy, and he makes
me
feel funny, smart, and sexy. I swear the other night we were falling asleep and I knew without a doubt that I’d never been happier in my whole life. Of course I told him, and you know what he said? He said it would be better if we were falling asleep on a big pile of money…”

I let Jules ramble. I was thinking. Really, I should be interrupting, talking over her to share my own passion for Samuel, but I didn’t. I couldn’t match her exuberance.

“I’m really happy for you, Jules,” I said at last.

“Thanks for remembering my birthday, pal. And thanks for that little doll you put in the shoebox. That was really cool.”

“I…”

“I know.”

“I’m working on being better.”

“Don’t be too tough on yourself, kid. You’re better than you realize.”

“Really?”

She laughed. “Not really. But I get you.”

“Thanks Jules.

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you back.” I was surprised at how easily it came. Maybe I
was
getting better.

“But if you wait until next year to call me again, you can suck it.”

The candlelight played on the planes of Samuel’s face, his eyes warm chocolate. We were back at the Velvet Elvis. We’d made a special date to talk. We hadn’t yet discussed what had happened. I’d needed a little time. Now I was feeling ready.

“I like your hair down.” He smiled. My hair was down in smooth waves. I’d brushed it one hundred strokes, like I used to do when I was young. After I stopped chemo and radiation, I’d been surprised at how strong and fast my hair grew back. I had refused to cut it, in case it was a fluke, but it had gotten in the way when I ran, sticking to my sweaty face and neck. That’s when I began my habit of wearing braids.

I tucked a strand behind my ear. “I’m trying to let it all hang out a little more.”

“I’m sorry Maeve.” He repeated his apology. “It wasn’t my place to tell people.”

“It’s okay.” I meant it. “Part of me was relieved.”

“It was torture watching you torment yourself.”

“I always wondered if politicians felt relieved when their skeletons were sprung from the closet. If they’re thankful when the mistress is finally revealed once they are securely in office, so the dread goes away.”

“What held you back?”

“A mean and hurtful third-grade teacher,” I quipped. He gave me a look that let me know what he thought of my joke. I answered his question seriously. “I guess I thought I didn’t get an election day. No ‘safety point’ after which people can’t change their minds about you and stop being your friend.”

“Either you own up to all that makes you who you are, or you’re forever in hiding.”

“How’d you get so smart?”

“Native American. We’re born mystical and shit.” He grinned.

“Watch one episode of
Antiques Road Show
and your powers will be neutralized. It’s ethnic kryptonite—strictly white-people stuff.”

“The old folks say you can’t kill emotion. You might squash it flat, but it doesn’t lose mass—it will spread wide, seep through the cracks, find a way.”

“Turn into rashes on my tummy?”

He smiled. “You’re my favorite hypochondriac.”

“Maybe I was trying to get face time with the hot doctor.”

“You didn’t have to work that hard. Is there anything you want to ask me? Other than how the Great Spirit gave maize to my people?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” I hesitated. I’d asked The Gerberator all the questions back in the day.
Am I going to die? Will it keep coming back? Will I be able to have children? Why me?
But there
was
one thing. The risk was if I didn’t like the answer.

“Do I…” I stopped. Count to three. Try again. “Does it feel
different
when we…? You know, my body. Can you tell I was sick?”

“No.” He answered like he’d been expecting the question.

“Not at all?”

“I’d say, ‘Absolutely not, that’s the silliest question ever,’ but I’m afraid you’d throw a breadstick at me.”

I threw a breadstick at him, looking away to hide my relief. During chemo, I’d fought a macabre battle between the demand of my hyper-dry skin to remain hydrated, and the resulting torment of using the bathroom.

“The most rapidly dying and regenerating cells are the ones most impacted by chemotherapy,” my doctor had explained. “That’s why you’re getting sores in your mouth. Vaginal skin is like that too. Think of it as another mouth,” he had suggested.

But it wasn’t another mouth. I’d stopped feeling desirable or female. There were times I thought I’d never want sex again. Until Samuel, who knew everything and wanted me just the same.

He grabbed my hand now, grinning. “There is nothing about your body that isn’t perfect.”

“There are the scars.” I tugged my hand, flustered.

He refused to let go. It seemed to be a habit with the men in Unknown. “Scars are cool.”

“Ugh. They remind me of the creepy little aliens that lived in my arm and side.”

“Those aliens were perfectly innocent ports that delivered life-saving medicine.”

“When I was in remission, everyone asked if I was excited. I wasn’t anything. I didn’t feel invincible. I didn’t feel depressed. I’d come to the end of my to-do list and didn’t know what to do next. I sort of panicked. The routine had grounded me, and I didn’t know what I was going to do without it.”

“That’s common.”

“My body and I didn’t belong to each other anymore, so we couldn’t celebrate being better or chart a course of what to do next.”

“Maeve, your body
does
belong to you. And it’s beautiful. Inside and out. Ah, perfect timing!” He looked up to see the waitress approaching with a cake and candles. Behind her were three others. When they reached the table, they broke into a chorus of “Happy birthday.” Soon the entire pizza joint was singing.

I let them serenade me, blushing and sending Samuel filthy looks across the table.

“Thank you! Thank you!” I waved to everyone as the entire restaurant clapped, and blew out my candle. “Just so you know,” I hissed, “I wished for you to wake up and realize you are naked in a room full of hundreds of colleagues taking the medical board recertification exams.”

“You only have to take the boards once.” He grinned. “I’m safe. But I like you thinking of me naked.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Samuel! It’s
not
my birthday!”

“It is for part of you. Healthy cells are being born by the hundreds as we speak. Today is
their
birthday. Instead of pretending nothing happened, why don’t we celebrate what
did
happen. In many ways you’re a miracle.” His look got earnest. “Today could be your
re
birth day.”

“You’re not going to make me go through some weird ceremony where I crawl out of a pair of pantyhose in a turtle-shaped baby pool filled with jelly, are you?”

“No. I’m going to give you this.” He reached down and pulled out a thick folder and two oblong packages wrapped in bright paper.

“What is it?” I was curious.

“It’s a rebirthday gift. It has three parts. This first.” He flipped open the folder. “Here. This is a study about cancer recidivism. And see here, these are your last blood test results. Now do you see how when you were twenty and you relapsed…”

I stared in wonder as Samuel patiently and carefully showed me just how healthy I was, with charts and diagrams and medical records. My heart constricted.

“So you see,” he said at last, “there is no reason you won’t live a long and healthy life. At this point you’re no different from anyone else.” He smiled. “Except your cells are younger and sexier.”

“Are you getting fresh with my plasma?”

“Beauty is only skin deep.”

“That’s deep enough for me.”

“Open it.” He pushed the first present toward me. I did. It was a framed image.

“Your last scan.” He explained. “I had it framed so you won’t forget.” It was oddly beautiful, the radioactive tracer injected in my veins lit up to provide a color-coded picture of my body. “Now this one.” He pushed over the second gift. It was a beautiful leather-bound
Taber’s Cyclopedic Medical Dictionary
, like the ones in his office. This one was inscribed. It read,
A book full of things that don’t apply to you. Trust me, I’m a doctor. Samuel
.

“Every day you’re supposed to look up something you don’t have. Go on, try it.”

I flipped to a page near the beginning. “Ankylosing spondylitis. A form of chronic inflammation of the spine and the sacroiliac joints.”

“Excellent choice.” He beamed at me. “Swollen sacroiliac joints are less sexy than hairy moles.”

This was fun. “Can I do another?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “There are only so many entries in the book, and you have a lot of mornings left. Maybe you want to go slow.”

I looked at the voluminous tome and thought about having more days than it had entries. What would I do with them all? It was a little terrifying. In that, I was no different from anyone else.

I looked across the table at Samuel, blinking back tears. His thoughtfulness was overwhelming. And I felt warmth. And affection. And that was all.

“Samuel,” I said.

He met my gaze, and nodded. Then he covered my hands.

“It’s just…”

“We’re friends.” His eyes were sad.

That was it exactly. “I think you’re wonderful.”

“I think you’re pretty wonderful yourself.”

“Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

His smile was rueful. “I did too good a job, I’m afraid. I don’t think you want someone taking care of you anymore.”

“Maybe. I want more for both of us. Passion, crazy climbing-all-over-you need, and joy. And we’re…we’re like a warm bath.”

“I know.”

“Really?” Irrationally, I was upset. I didn’t want
him
to not want
me
.

“I’m glad you said something first.” Technically, I hadn’t. But wait. This was what I wanted.

“Thank you,” I said. “For being you.”

He squeezed my hand and grinned. “Breakup sex?”

“Check please!” I smiled back.