Riversong (8 page)

Lee felt hot from the memory and washed her face at the sink. She wished she could call Linus but knew she could not risk alerting Von to her new location. It seemed like a month since she left him when really it was just fourteen hours since she'd said good-bye.

It felt like the last eighteen years were a dream, and maybe she'd never really left. She felt the old sensation of being invisible, unsure if she even existed.

She stared into the empty sink, thinking about the old adage that you learned how to be a mother from your own mother. If that was true, there was no way she could have a baby. The fact that her life mirrored her mother's, even with all her efforts to break the cycle made her feel almost hopeless. She had never known the feeling of wanting to give up before and it disoriented her. Even during all the difficult years in this house she always had a plan, a vision, for what her life could be. She used to think if she could just make it to her eighteenth birthday intact, she would have a chance to steer her own destiny.

She looked around the faded kitchen and thought there was no way she could bring a child into her messed up life.

Not letting herself think, she called information from the leased cell phone, asking for the nearest Planned Parenthood office. She asked for an appointment for an abortion. The calm voice on the other end of the line explained she must have an initial consultation before the procedure could be scheduled.

“But I've made up my mind.”

“Sorry, Miss, it's policy.” They scheduled an appointment for three days later.

T
he next day, Lee slowed her minivan to 25 mph as she crested a slight hill, glancing at the sign, “Welcome to River Valley, pop. 1432”. Her stomach tightened, thinking the population was the same as when she left, eighteen years before. Like many of the small towns that peppered the West, the population of the city limits did not reflect the residences scattered throughout the area, down country roads, deep into the woods, perched on sides of mountains – around five thousand people total, Lee guessed. Regardless, she thought, there had been no growth in this area for twenty years, even as the rest of the West expanded with opportunity.

From the city limits sign, she saw from one end of town to the other. It was one main street with a series of shabby worn out buildings that held the essence of despair. It was the sag of the town, the way it looked like it had given up, that depressed her. It possessed all the same things every small town has, two grocery stores, two gas stations, five or six bars, eight churches, a library, schools, a bank with a sign that tells you the time and temperature, and the state regulated liquor store. There was nothing remarkable in it, she thought, except the way the dramatic mountains surrounded the valley, and the expansive sky that made her want to hold out her arms and soar up into the blue. Perhaps it was the giant sky or the loom of the mountains that made the shriveled faded town lose heart. Next to their splendor, anything man made might feel beleaguered but especially these low slung sad structures.

As she drove, she saw several wooden signs that read, “Thank you to the Beautify River Valley committee for these improvements.” Looking for the professed improvements, she guessed it must be the flower boxes and the turquoise paint color scheme adopted by many of the businesses.

She turned left off the main street and drove by the Junior High, curious to see if it was still standing. Behind the brick building was the football field and bleachers where Mark Caldwell and Doug Flanders yelled out to her one day.
“You know what a blow job is?” “No, but I'll give you one if you don't shut up,” she called back
. For years she wondered why they fell over each other with laughter. She smiled thinking of it, though the feeling of confused embarrassment, knowing there was something risqué or sexual in their request but too naïve and unaware to understand what, lived near the surface of her, even now.

She drove further up the street past the high school. She turned back onto the main street and parked, checking her hair in the rearview mirror and reapplying her lipstick before surveying the line of businesses. She chose Ray's Accounting, Taxes and Bookkeeping. She walked into the small office, warm air blasting her face from the overhead heating as the door closed behind her. The office was bare except for a desk with a computer and a bookshelf of tax manuals. A man between fifty and sixty, with a helmet of brown hair that Lee suspected was a toupee, sat at the desk playing a game of solitaire on his computer. When the door closed he sprung from his desk, knocking his stapler on the floor. “You need your taxes done?” He wore a short sleeved, wrinkled, button down shirt, and brown polyester pants with a yellow mustard stain on the left leg.

Lee slung her bag over her shoulder. “No, I'm new to town and wondered if you needed any help?”

He came around his desk, and Lee detected the sour smell of Ben Gay. “Gosh, I don't have enough business for a helper.” He held out his hand, introducing himself as Ray Zander. He stroked his chin, his pace of speech slow and drawn out. “Sure wish I did.” He scratched his arm and flakes of dry skin floated through the air, propelled by the blast of hot air from the heater vent. “Only folks making any money seem to be the crystal meth makers, and they don't pay taxes.”

The back of Lee's throat ached, and she felt cruel from the anxiety that crept up the back of her spine. She forced politeness in her voice. “That's a shame.”

“We got a couple of new wineries outside of town. I do their books but they're not hiring right now.”

Lee moved her bag to the other shoulder. “What about the banks? Think they have any openings?”

“Unlikely. Where'd you come from?”

“Seattle. But I grew up here.”

Ray arched his eyebrows. “That right? What's your name?”

“Lee Tucker.” This was the first time she'd said her maiden name in five years and felt like an imposter.

“What brings you back?”

“My mother died last year and I'm fixing up her house.”

“What kind of work you do?”

“I was the president of a small high tech firm.”

‘Dot com? You go bust? I told my investment club, all those crazy ideas would flop. Everybody jumping on the whole ecommerce thing like a bunch of sheep!”

She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear, all of the sudden hot in her sweater. Sweat beaded on the tip of her nose and she resisted the urge to wipe it with her fingers. “We started our business after the dot com bust.”

“That right? What kind of product?”

“A computer game - for extreme gamers.”

He looked at her blankly and she turned towards the door, noticing rain drops on the sidewalk. “Thanks for your help.” She pushed the door open with her shoulder and stepped onto the sidewalk, already two steps down the street before she realized he was on her heels.

Hands in his pockets, Ray strolled beside her, continuing the same slow pace of talking. “What happened to your company?”

She stopped walking, and wondered how much she should reveal? It would be all over town in a matter of minutes so she needed a sustainable story, especially if she wanted anyone to hire her. “My husband died unexpectedly and I lost the company.”

Ray's eyes softened and he patted her arm. “Sorry to hear that. I lost my wife last year to cancer.” He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and his tone shifted to lower in his chest. “Just brings it back for me every time I hear of someone else losing their spouse.” He studied her face and then looked up at the sky, snapping his fingers. “You know, there
is
one place to try. It wouldn't be the type of thing you'd want long term but it'd keep the wolf away, if that's what you need. Mike opened a little restaurant six months ago.” He pointed down the street. “You remember where the old grocery store was?”

“Sure.” It was run by Steve Turner, reputed to give free groceries to needy customers and hire the down and out, before one of the big chains opened in the mid-80's and forced him out of business. Lee remembered him as a gentle soul, lids half closed, slipping her a piece of chocolate every now and then. “My mother worked there for awhile in the ‘70's.”

“You said your last name is Tucker? By golly, your mother was Eleanor Tucker. Sure, I remember her now.” He shuffled his feet and glanced again at the sky. “She had some health problems?”

“You could say that.”

His face softened as he connected her to the memory. “I remember you too, now you mention it. Little red head, thick glasses, sweet thing huddled behind your mother's check stand.” He half smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Embarrassed to say I used to go in there for smokes. Kicked the habit now but I was in there every other day and if your mother was on shift in the late afternoon or evening, there you'd be, curled up with your nose in a book.” He cocked his head to one side and said with admiration in his voice, and a hint of surprise. “You turned out real pretty.”

“I got contacts.”

“It's more than just the contacts. You've done well for yourself, I can see that, in spite of your-.” He cleared his throat, but Lee knew what he thought, even though he was too courteous to say,
in spite of your mother
. This she hated, this small town peculiarity, where everyone thinks they know everything about you, but in fact it is only a half truth, a piece of your life that is public, the rest of you obscured by the collective narrative.

He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “Mike opened this restaurant in the old market space and his son's running it. Rumor has it, the boy's mixed up in some bad stuff. Mike, he's kind of our honorary mayor and he's always talking about how to get tourists in here and thought a nice restaurant might tempt folks to stop on their way through, but so far they just keep on driving.” He glanced around as if someone might hear. “Now I shouldn't say this, but I do their books, and the restaurant's bleeding cash. Course he's rich as all get out, his family's owned the mill for three generations, but Mike doesn't like to lose money. They could use a real business woman to help them out, get it profitable.” He patted her shoulder again.

She wanted to rip the toupee off his head and dash it with her high heeled boot. She could be ten years old the way his kindness ripped her of pride and made her the meek impoverished charity case. She dared not look in the window below the hand painted ‘Ray's Accounting' sign for fear she'd spy the reflection of the pitiful little girl and her drunken mother stumble out of the grocery store on their way home to their cold, cigarette infested house, to eat their television dinners in front of the black and white television with the broken sound, the clink of ice cubes in the high ball glass occasionally drowning out the show.

Ray puffed out his chest, clapping his hands, his toupee shifting higher on his forehead. “Tell you what, I'm gonna call Mike right now. Come on back to my office.”

When she stepped inside the restaurant, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the muted light, holding her breath against the odors of grease and stale beer. Plastic tables, folding metal chairs, and artificial plants were scattered about the room. There were two guitar amplifiers and a microphone in the front corner. A man, his back to the door, sat at one of the red checked plastic covered tables, punching numbers into an adding machine and scribbling in a notebook. “We're not open.” His hand jerked when the lead of his pencil snapped. “Dammit.”

“Excuse me, I'm here to meet Mike.” Her boots squeaked on the rough uneven slabs of wood, dull and scratched from dirt and wet shoes. She sneezed and grabbed a napkin from one of the tables. There was dust and grime along the floorboards and her boot squished on a limp greasy fry on the floor.

“This time of day he's at the mill.”

He raised his head and Lee stifled a gasp. It was Zac Huller from high school, except his face seemed expanded like there was a centimeter of water under the surface of his skin.

He stopped writing and looked at her. “You look familiar.” He came over to where she stood, putting his hands in his pockets and staring at her. “Lee Tucker?”

She nodded. “Zac.”

“I haven't seen you since that one party on senior skip day. That was some party! What I remember of it anyway.” He chuckled and rubbed his hand on his back pocket. “Some weird shit went down that day.”

A trickle of sweat made its way down Lee's back. “It's been a long time.”

“What've you been up to?”

“I've been in Seattle.”

“That right? You visiting?”

“My mother died last year so I'm here to take care of some things.”

“Bummer.” He stared at her and his eyes blazed. “You married?”

Lee adjusted her sweater over her stomach. “No.”

“I married Lindsey. You remember her?”

“Sure.”

“We got divorced after a couple of years. She turned out to be a crazy bitch.”

“That's too bad.”

“I'm the manager here. Temporarily. I'm just helping my dad out for a few months and then I'm moving south, to the beach.”

“Great.”

He moved closer. “Well, you look different. I'm impressed.”

“Oh, thanks.” Lee clasped her hands together to control the shaking. “I should go.”

“Stay, have a beer with me. We can talk about the old days. Man, it seems like yesterday.”