Monsoon Season (22 page)

‘Besides my parents?’

‘And your brother.’

Dave pushed his feet into her lap. ‘I’d kind of like to invite my nana, but technically she’s been dead for three years.’

‘Technically?’

‘Well, I like to pretend she’s still puttering around her house and I just haven’t visited in a while.’

‘You haven’t visited your nana in three years? Are you sure she’d even come to the wedding? She might have disowned you by now.’

‘Nah. She’s very understanding.’

Donna patted his shin. ‘I think they call that denial.’

He closed his eyes and made a noise to indicate he was okay with that.

‘Hey.’ She tickled the arch of his foot. ‘You have to help me with this.’

‘I don’t really like crowds,’ he admitted.

Neither did she. ‘Well, it is our day.’ Donna passed him the notepad. ‘How’s that?’

He looked it over. His eyes paused at the fifth name. ‘You think she’ll come?’

‘She has to.’

When Riley had moved to Tucson, Donna was excited to have a project. She’d hit several roadblocks in her own life at the time so it was nice to have something else to focus on. Her mother had started dating some new loser and had dropped off the radar. It happened from time to time; Donna was used to it. Then Judy had left. She missed the company of a roommate, the built-in social life. She’d got to show Riley around the city, teach her how to make frittatas, show her the ropes at the restaurant. In the evening, they got all slutted up, went to clubs and danced with each other. Or they stayed in and watched one of Donna’s favourite movies. Riley was the little sister Donna had always longed for.

When Riley had fallen for Ben, Donna had expected all of that to end. When it didn’t, she signed up for life. Riley was a keeper.

Donna used to tease her about the old men at the restaurant who were so clearly taken with her. Riley could mess up their order, spill their drinks and still get a big tip. If she wanted a sugar daddy, she could take her pick.

Riley just laughed. ‘You know how there are those people you either love or hate?’ she asked Donna once. ‘Well, I’m not like that. People either love me or they’re completely ambivalent about me.’

It was a funny thing to say, but Donna didn’t think it was true. Everyone she knew fell in love with Riley: the old men at the restaurant, the other waitresses, her mother, Ben’s family.

But Riley was selective about the people she let love her. It made Donna feel special.

Once they’d whittled the guest list down to such a reasonable number, there wasn’t a whole lot more planning to do. They’d take the tram up the Sabino Canyon Trail and have the ceremony at the creek. Dave had reserved a tram, even though Donna was pretty sure there wouldn’t be a big crowd this late in the summer. They usually closed at four, but Dave talked them into staying open an extra half-hour. It would be sixty-four dollars for eight people.

Donna was getting more and more into the idea of bucking tradition. The answer to any question became ‘It’s
our
day.’ Pictures? John had a nice camera. Flowers? Meh. Dress? Donna hated dresses, hadn’t worn one since her prom and she had been uncomfortable that whole night, fighting the bizarre sensation that her skirt was somehow tucked into her underwear. She refused to be uncomfortable at her own wedding. It was their day. She had a lacy white blouse she was going to wear with her favourite pair of blue jeans.

And when you have only five guests at the ceremony, you can afford to have the reception at your favourite fancy restaurant.

Donna was washing potatoes in the sink when the phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but she hit a button by accident. ‘Uh, hello?’

‘Donna?’

‘Riley?’

‘Yes!’ She was laughing. That was good to hear. ‘This is my new cell phone. I just got it. I went to New York to see Jack. I had so much fun. Long drive, though. Almost home. Jiggity jig.’ She was talking fast. ‘How
are
you?’

‘I’m great.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Actually, I have some news.’

‘Are you pregnant?’

‘No, Mom, I’m not pregnant.’

Donna had decided to tell her mother in a public place to minimize the drama. Unfortunately they had asked to be seated outside and the rest of the tables were empty. Most Tusconans prefer to be over-air-conditioned in August.

Her mother narrowed her eyes.

‘I’m not.’

‘Then what’s the rush?’

‘There’s no rush. We’re ready.’

She shook her head.

‘It’s
Dave
. You like Dave.’

‘Of course I like Dave. I love Dave. I just don’t know why you have to marry him.’

‘I don’t have to. I want to.’

She tipped her head at her daughter, like she was impossibly naïve. An adorable, helpless puppy. ‘You’re so young.’

Donna pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. ‘Mom.’ And another. She’d practised this part. ‘I’m not here to ask your permission. I’m here to share my happiness with you. Can you be happy for me?’

It took her mother a moment to register her defeat and turn it into something more palatable. She rearranged the worry on her face into another expression, one that almost resembled a smile. ‘Of course I’m happy for you, sweetie.’

‘Do you want to hear about the wedding plans?’

She nodded. It was all understood. Her concerns had been noted. Noted and filed away. Saying any more would only threaten visitation rights with future grandchildren.

‘Tell me everything,’ she said.

Check and mate.

‘It’s going to be small. Just family. And Riley.’

That got a genuine smile. ‘Riley’s coming?’

‘Of course.’

‘Have you set a date?’ she asked, lifting her water glass to her lips.

Donna waited for her to swallow. ‘It’s Saturday.’

Riley had been gone for more than a month when Donna saw Ben at the grocery store. She pushed her cart into the checkout line and there he was, right in front of her, buying a six-pack and some Marlboros. He didn’t look up as he dug for change in his pocket and handed it over.

Donna stood there, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the handles of the grocery cart. The plan of what she’d say if she saw him went out of her head. Someone got in line behind her and she couldn’t leave. She was so close that a slight shove would have sent the cart crashing into him. She could have knocked him over, run him down.

Instead she watched him leave.

Sometimes we ate dinner on the screen porch. My dad liked sunsets.

The big pot of corn sat in the middle of the table, steaming. My father reached in and pulled out a cob, dropping it onto his plate and shaking his hand in the air to cool it. I used an oven mitt to grasp a hold of mine. I was still coating it with butter as my dad chewed the kernels row by row. I lifted my corncob and blew on it as my dad reached into the pot for another.

‘I’m going back to Tucson for a few days,’ I said casually, chasing the food around my plate. I added quickly, ‘For Donna’s wedding.’

‘Donna’s getting married?’ my mother asked.

‘Yeah, on Saturday.’

‘That’s rather sudden, isn’t it?’

I shrugged. ‘Donna’s a spontaneous person. It’s going to be a small wedding. Just parents and me and Dave’s brother.’

‘That is small.’

My dad said nothing, shovelled the food into his mouth, cleaned his plate.

‘So when do you fly out?’ Mom asked.

‘Day after tomorrow. For five days.’

‘That sounds nice,’ she said, leaning back in her chair. ‘The corn has been really great this summer,’ she said, almost to herself.

I nodded.

My dad put his arm around her. ‘Dinner was great, babe. Why don’t you go up to bed? Riley and I will clean up.’

She smiled. I could tell she was tired. ‘All right,’ she said. Her chair scraped against the worn floorboards. ‘I guess I’ll do some reading until you come to bed.’

I carried the plates to the kitchen. My dad was close behind me.

‘I hope you’re not planning on seeing him,’ he said. He was whispering and the words came out in a hiss.

It wasn’t a question so I didn’t have an answer. I slid the scraps off the top plate and into Gracie’s bowl for later.

He opened a drawer and slammed it shut. He ripped a sheet of plastic along metal teeth. He waited.

‘What do you want me to say?’ I asked.

‘I want you to say that you’re done with him.’

‘I am.’

He leaned both hands on the counter, staring at the bowl he’d just covered with Saran Wrap. He was shaking.

I reached out, put my hand over his. ‘I’m done. I promise.’

He nodded, cleared his throat and put the bowl in the fridge.

My mother drove me to the airport. We didn’t talk during the drive. It was early. She hummed along with the radio and I kept my eyes closed until the car slowed at the kerb outside Departures. I stretched and yawned. My mother turned to me then, hesitating.

‘Before you go, I just need to say something.’

‘Oh?’ My pulse quickened.

‘I know something happened between you and your father,’ she said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s been quieter than usual. And last night he tossed around in his sleep so much that I had to sleep on the couch.’

‘I don’t—’

‘He won’t tell me what happened and you don’t have to tell me, but I need you to know that, whatever it is, it’s okay.’

I stared into my lap. With my thumb, I traced a crease in my palm. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Because I am your mother. And there’s nothing we can’t get through as a family. There’s nothing that can’t be forgiven.’

I chewed my lip, looked up at her. ‘What if I’m not sorry?’

She tipped her head. ‘Maybe it isn’t a matter of forgiveness, then. Maybe it’s just love.’

‘I know you love me.’

‘Your father loves you too.’ She watched my profile. ‘He does.’

I nodded slowly.

‘He’s protecting this secret of yours.’

‘Maybe he’s protecting you.’

‘Maybe both.’ She sighed. ‘I love your father and I trust him on most things but . . .’ she paused, squinting through the windshield ‘. . . sometimes he underestimates how much I can handle.’ She turned back to me and reached out with her good arm, tucking my hair behind my ear, smiling. ‘Maybe you’re underestimating me too.’

‘Mom—’

‘I know, I know. Look, I don’t want to pry. I don’t. I just want you to feel like you can come to me with whatever this is. If you want. Whenever.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Okay.’ She held my gaze. ‘You know, my mother died before we ever really got to know each other. I don’t want that for us.’

‘I don’t either.’

‘Good. So, yeah, think about it.’

‘Okay.’ I blinked the wetness from my eyes and hugged her. ‘I should go.’

‘Have fun, sweetie.’

I turned away and stepped out of the car. ‘Thanks,’ I said, shutting the door and hurrying inside.

I looked through the window as the plane eased its way across the country. Beneath the clouds, the land passed by an inch at a time. As we neared Phoenix, roads wove through brown grass, like lines on an Etch-a-Sketch. One body of water looked like a horseshoe with flames. A bigger river reminded me of a Chinese dragon, then disappeared into a smaller stream. From my seat, it looked like something I could just step across but it could have been miles wide in reality. There were golf courses everywhere. It seemed unreasonable to require fields of perfect green in a desert, but Phoenix was covered with rectangular patches of grass or pavement, neighbourhoods of identical houses with matching pools.

I’d learned how to swim in natural water, in lakes and ponds. I was well into my teens before I’d ever stepped into a pool. It still felt so unusual to climb down into the water, to see the bottom so clearly. My father taught me to swim; my mother taught me to skip stones. I was still fond of the shallows, never had quite picked up that certain flick of the wrist. In high school, my father would help me with my algebra homework. When I didn’t get it, he’d start over, explaining each step exactly as he had the first time. Eventually I’d pretend to understand so that I could go upstairs to my room and cry. I did manage to get through the class, though I’ve never had to use algebra again. I got roller skates for my tenth birthday, and after a week of my mother walking in front or behind me as I wobbled down our quiet side-street, it was decided that I should skate only in the carpeted downstairs basement. These were the lessons they’d meant to teach, but I had learned other things, like commitment, patience, the value of trying.

We all have stories from our lives as children, bits of our history that have shaped who we have become. The tricky part is that sometimes our memories don’t quite get the stories right. I had been shaped by a story about my parents that might not even have been theirs. My mother’s love had always been so clear. It was in her words, in her arms around me. My father’s love was in his hands shaking in the kitchen, crying over my mother’s hospital bed. It was different, harder to see, but just as real.

Donna met me at the airport. This time, when she hugged me in Baggage Claim, we were two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while.

The next day, Donna and I drove up Mount Lemmon. As we got closer to the top, the evidence of the fire became more apparent. Clusters of trees were bare and shone black, like patent leather. Charred pines stood next to groups of healthy green ones. It looked like the fire had jumped over certain spots, leaving some areas totally unscathed, while others were ruined.

At the top of the mountain, in Summerhaven, the damage was uneven. On one side of the street, the restaurant had burned to the ground. All that was left was the cement and brick foundation. On the other side, the café where Ben and I had had our first date was practically untouched.

‘It’s still here,’ I murmured, as Donna pulled into a parking space.

‘Yep.’ She reached for her purse in the back seat. ‘I thought you’d be happy about that. Come on. Let’s get some pie.’

We sat out on the patio in white plastic chairs. ‘Hard to believe we’re in Tucson,’ I said. ‘This is exactly what it’s like back home.’