Ready to Fall (13 page)

“It was the beginning of a shit storm in my life.”

“What happened next?”

“My mom died.”

“Oh shit, shit. Shit. The same summer?”

“A week later.” No turning back now. “You sure you want to hear the story?”

“Only if you want to tell it.”

“My mom had driven over to be with me when I had the surgery and set me up in my apartment after.”

“She sounds like a good mom.”

“She was.”

We fell into silence while scenes from that summer flowed through my mind.

“I didn’t know it was the last time I’d see her, that any of us would see her. She hit a summer snowstorm up at the top of Snoqualmie Pass. White out.”

Diane stood up from her chair and joined me on the sofa. Tears already crested her lower lids, but she didn’t say anything. If I was going to finish the story, I couldn’t watch her crying. Turning my head toward the windows, I continued.

“The news said the pass closed because of an accident involving a jack-knifed semi. No one knew if she got trapped on the other side because there isn’t great cell phone service up there. We didn’t know for hours. Everyone kept calling her cell phone. She was dead and her phone kept ringing. And we kept leaving messages thinking she’d forgotten to charge her phone or stopped for something stupid like going to the mall. She never heard any of our messages.”

“Oh, God.” Her voice nothing more than a whisper, a quiet prayer.

“She never would’ve been on the pass if not for me and my knee. If I hadn’t pushed to stay for soccer camp that summer, I would’ve been working in the woods with my uncle. It’s my fault she was there.”

She reached over and took my hand. I contemplated our fingers and then peeked up at her face. She shook her head no. I chose not to argue with her over the facts. It was my fault. All my fault.

“I guess the state bulls got in touch with the sheriff here on the island so they could let my dad know.” I rubbed my eyes, anger replaced the sadness. “They couldn’t find my dad at home. Or at his usual bar.”

“Where was he?” Trepidation clouded her words.

“At Joyce’s house. He was closing his pants when he opened the door for the officer.”

“No,” she gasped.

“Yep. Island’s a small place. Didn’t take long for the story to get around.”

“Oh, John.”

“Don’t. Don’t give me your pity.”

“I’m not. I’m just… that’s really…” Her words faded away.

“Fucked up. It was fucked up.”

“Beyond fucked up.” She rubbed her nose on the sleeve of that damn gray sweater. “Joyce even showed up at the funeral.”

“Wow. Wait … Joyce? As in your stepmother?”

“My father’s wife. Yep. Same woman. He married her less than a year later.”

“Wow. That’s so wrong.”

“Yep.”

The silence wrapped itself around us, cocooning us in our thoughts while we sat on the couch. Diane crept closer and half hugged me, resting her head on my shoulder. I extended my arm behind her, embracing her against my side. Outside the rain fell, making ripples in the puddles on the deck. The house felt like an ark with the two of us alone in the world, alone in the silence of my fucked up past.

T
ALKING
ABOUT
MY
mom put an end to “Truth and Pyramids” for a while. Diane tried to stop frowning when she regarded me, but she often failed. Our visits became further apart. I told myself I wasn’t pulling away, but I knew I was lying to myself. There was something uncomfortable having my story voiced aloud that changed everything. I expected the pity and found it. And who wants to see that in someone’s eyes? Not me.

Storms passed and the skies would clear up for a day or two before another wall of gray clouds descended. Trees and earth began the long thaw into spring while each day grew a little less dark in the morning.

One Saturday toward the end of March, I stood at the window facing my deck, drinking my coffee while deciding what I’d do for the day. The clouds floated high over the Olympics and the weather guy said they’d clear by the afternoon. Could mean rain all day, but my guess was it would mist rather than pour.

A knock at the door and Diane waving at me through the glass broke me out of my thoughts. She wore jeans and the ugly cardigan. My eyes wandered to her face and I saw distress in her eyes.

After motioning her inside, I offered her coffee as a way of greeting.

“You want cream in it?”

“Milk’s fine. Sorry for barging over. I know we didn’t have plans, but I needed someone to talk to about this.” I noticed she held an envelope in her hand, crumpled from her grip.

“Whatcha got there?” I asked, handing her a cup.

“Letter from Kip.”

“Who’s Kip?” My brain wandered through the names of her friends and family I’d learned over the past few months. No Kip came to mind.

She stared at me with her mouth agape. Guess I should have known who Kip was. I shrugged.

“Kip! Kip Woodley? My ex-husband?” Her voice raised with each word until it reached a high-pitched level of incredulity.

Racking my memory for some story of her telling me her husband’s name, I still came up blank. “You know, I don’t think you ever told me his first name. We called him Mr. Not-so-Perfect or Woodley. You married a man named Kip?”

“Kenneth Pennington Woodley Junior, thank you. And I divorced a man named Kip.”

“Seriously? Could his name be more pretentious?”

“You’re not listening!” She took out her frustration by throwing the envelope on the counter.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I was distracted by Kip. What’s up?” I backed away from her with my hands held up in case she turned completely feral, and attacked.

“I divorced him. Done. Finito. He’s agreed to the settlement.” She gestured to the crumpled paper.

“That’s a good thing, right? Being finished with it?”

“It should be. It is. Only Kip had to add a personal letter to me. Asshole.”

“And? What did it say?”

“I only read the first paragraph and headed over here.”

“Okay. Want me to read it?”

“No. Yes. No. Gah! He can’t have this hold on me anymore. He lost that right.” She turned and paced to the window and back. Babe watched her from his perch on the couch. Back and forth. Back and forth. On her third lap, I made the decision this wasn’t an event for coffee. We needed whiskey.

I poured some into her coffee. Maybe a finger or two’s worth. Maybe a little more.

“Thanks.” Sipping her coffee, Diane flopped on the couch next to Babe and petted his head.

“Right. Now we’re prepared, do you want to read his letter?”

“Not really. But I should. I think.”

“Up to you. You’re legally done with him. There are no ‘have-to’s’ in this situation. Should you? Maybe. Must? No.”

“Okay, I’ll read it. But not out loud. Is that okay?”

She was ridiculous, but who was I to push on emotional issues?

I handed her the envelope and she pulled out the letter— a single typed sheet. What asshole types a personal letter? Right. Her ex-husband. Asshole.

Her eyes scanned the letter quickly, then settled on the top of the page and moved slowly over the paper. I waited, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs next to the couch.

Finally, she scrunched up the paper and threw it across the room. Her aim indicated the fireplace, but she missed wide right. She drained the contents of her mug and held it out to me for a refill.

“Want me to bother with the coffee this time?” I asked, eyeing her before taking the cup.

“No. Don’t bother.”

Oh boy. Emotional women were not my thing. I added more coffee to my cup along with some whiskey before facing the potential emotional bomb on my couch.

Diane drained her cup in two big swallows and cringed. After wiping her mouth on the back of her hand with her eyes closed, she shook her head a few times when the whiskey burned down her throat.

I kept silent and waited.

A few minutes passed while she glowered at the crumbled paper sitting on the floor.

“He’s engaged.”

“He’s engaged.” I confirmed more than asked.

“To one of the girlfriends. Who was married when they ‘dated’. Dated. As if they were both single at the time. You can’t date when you’re married.”

“What an asshole.”

“That’s not the worst part.”

I braced myself when her eyelids turned pink with the coming tears. Fuck, there was going to be crying. Last time we hung out on this sofa there was crying. Clearly it was cursed and probably should be replaced. Or burned.

“What’s the worst part?” Getting up, I refilled her cup before returning with the bottle and setting it on the coffee table.

“They’re pregnant. He wanted me to hear it from him before someone else told me when she starts showing.”

“Wow.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Pregnant! She’s pregnant! He always said he wanted to wait. Wait until we were thirty. Wait until we had the house in Greenwich in the best school district.” The tears broke the dam and spilled down her cheeks. She pulled down the sleeves of her cardigan and wiped at her eyes and nose. We could burn the sweater with the couch.

“I see you giving my sweater the stink eye, mister.”

I had to laugh. Falling apart on my couch, well on her way to drunk, and she was mad about my sweater hate. “Let me get you something so you don’t have to use your sleeves.”

I pulled out a bandana from the clean laundry basket down the hall.

“Here.” I handed it to her. “I wouldn’t want you to damage your security blanket, Linus.”

“You hate this sweater.” She sniffled and blew her nose into the bandana.

“I do hate it. I hate everything it stands for.”

“Comfort and warmth? Harsh.” Her tears still tracked down her cheeks, but talk of the sweater distracted her from Kip. Kip the asshole.

“Yes, I’m against comfort and warmth. Both are overrated. No. I hate it because you use it to hide. It’s a sign of sadness.”

She responded by wrapping it more tightly around herself the same way she did on her first visit here. Damn this cursed couch. Definitely going into a bonfire.

“I’m sorry. Here I am, once again sitting on your couch being an emotional girl.”

“Well, the girl part you can’t change. If I got a letter from an ex like that, I’d be upset, too. I’d probably punch something or split wood, but I get it. Did I tell you yet your ex is an asshole?”

She smiled, barely lifting the corners of her mouth. It didn’t light up her face, but was better than a frown. Or more tears. “You may have said it once. Or twice.”

“Good. I’ll keep saying it. He didn’t deserve you, but sounds like he deserves her. Marriage vows are sacred. You don’t walk out on them and fuck other people.”

“Like your dad.” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she said into her palm.

Fuck.

She knew about my parents, of course she’d make the connection. I nodded. “My dad was an asshole, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry. I’m in the minority about my dad still being an asshole. My aunt thinks it’s wonderful he found someone to spend his life with rather than be alone. My brother even calls Joyce ‘Mom’.” I scowled. “But we’re talking about your asshole, not mine.”

Her laughter sounded genuine and loud. “I didn’t realize the conversation had turned to our anatomy.”

“We weren’t—” My own laughter joined hers.

“I think I’m feeling the whiskey.” She giggled.

“Listen, I’m sorry your ex is an asshole. But you’re done with him. He’s out of your life completely. You’re an entire continent away from him here.”

“You’re right. Fuck him and the entire eastern seaboard!” She raised her cup and gave a salute.

“There’s the spirit.” I leaned forward from my chair and clinked cups with her.

“We should do something to honor this day.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” She flopped back into the cushions of the sofa. “Drink whiskey and then nap?”

“You’re on your way with the whiskey, but we need something more than napping.”

“Naps are the best.” To emphasize her point, she snuggled into the couch, curling around Babe who shifted to expose his belly to her.

“Not dissing naps, but you need something to blow the stink off from Kip.” I couldn’t say his name without frowning or laughing.

She pinched up her face and squinted at me through one eye. After she gazed out at the brightening sky, she nodded and said, “Okay. Stink blowing off first. Naps later. Let’s go see something I’ve never seen before.”

“What haven’t you seen before?”

“Lots of stuff.” Tapping her chin with the lip of her mug before continuing, she said, “I’ve never seen a banana slug. Or one of those gooey ducks.”

“I don’t think phallic creatures should be our focus today. You might want to kill one in a symbolic gesture.”

“True. Keep yours in your pants, just in case.”

My eyes widened. Was she talking about my cock?

“Let’s forget I said anything. Let’s never speak of it again. Ever.” She attempted to hide behind her mug.

“Okay, change of subject. How about we get in my truck and drive. We’ll figure out where we’re going when we get there.”