“I need to get out of here.”
MacKenzie puts the truck into reverse, and I quickly jump down from the bed.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says wearily through the open window. “But not tonight.”
He waves half-heartedly. “Thanks. I guess. For the ride.”
“Motel taxi service, that’s me.”
And with that, she is gone and we are suddenly alone.
He tried to clean me away.
He goes straight into the bathroom and starts throwing things into his toiletry bag with rash, angry movements. Toothbrush, toothpaste, razor. Everything piles up in an unsorted heap that just makes him angrier. The mess riles him up. The fact he is still here riles him up. As he grabs his backpack and starts throwing his clothes into it, he misses the bag practically every other time.
“Of course you can’t leave me,” I say to his back. “We belong together. We always have. And you can’t leave here now. I haven’t even been buried yet. Later, maybe, once I’m gone, but definitely not yet.”
He snatches a T-shirt from the floor and shoves it into his bag. There are still a few left in the drawer, all neatly folded.
I put my hands on my hips. Move right in front of him. In his way. I’m not going to leave him in peace so he can carry on like this.
“You might think you can just go on with your life like none of this meant anything,” I say. “But it did. Don’t kid yourself otherwise. You’re going to remember me, whether you want to or not. And you’re going to miss me.”
He moves over to his collection of rocks on the dresser. Picks up two from Oregon, takes them out onto the porch, and throws them away, one after the other.
“Michael,” I say. “Stop!”
But he just goes back to the dresser and grabs the swirled piece of blueschist that I held in my hand.
His little piece of Oregon.
I think he’s hesitating. I hope he is. But it must just be my imagination, because he readies himself and puts all his energy into sending the rock high into the air, into the forest.
Chapter 14
“What Do You Want from Me, Henny?”
During our weekend together, we only once spoke about what we were doing.
It was Saturday night, and we grabbed some blankets and pillows and lay down on the grass by the river, the invisible mountains up ahead and Oregon’s countless stars above.
His head was on my shoulder, and my fingers moved slowly over his back. I lingered on one of the three pale freckles on his shoulder blade and found myself thinking about how many other women must have touched him over the years.
I didn’t know where the thought had come from, but it was definitely there. The world had caught up with me again, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that our time was running out.
I had no idea how long he would be staying, but it was Saturday evening. My weekend would soon be over. I had to be back at the reception desk the next afternoon.
I must have shifted slightly, because he looked up at me and realized I was watching him.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said.
And then: “All those years after you left, didn’t you miss your family?”
I tried to keep the tone of my voice light, but what I really wanted to know was: Didn’t you miss me?
Michael pulled away from me, rolling onto his back. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. “You want to talk about my family?” he said.
“I just thought… You didn’t even come back for Thanksgiving or Christmas, or…”
“Why would I come back? I don’t understand people who spend the whole year moaning about their families and then still head home for Christmas. Why not celebrate with someone they actually like instead?”
Was that what you did? I wondered, though I didn’t ask it aloud. Even in my head, it sounded jealous.
“And you never wondered how they were, or whether they missed you?”
Whether I had missed him. Why didn’t he come home just as an excuse to see me? Did I really mean so little to him that he could leave me the same way he left his parents and the rest of town?
“Derek was there, and he was always the one who meant the most to them.” Michael sounded deliberately indifferent, but a note of nostalgia had crept into his voice. “Do you remember when he played football? The whole town would show up. Every single game.” He shook his head. “I thought he would get away from here.”
That was how Michael always talked about Pine Creek. As something he had managed to escape. He was convinced that if you weren’t careful, you would wake up one day twenty years later with a wife and four kids. And that would have been awful.
“How…how are they?” he asked. He seemed embarrassed by the fact that he still cared.
“I don’t know,” I said. We had never been close. I would say hello to Joyce if I saw her in town, but I had never liked Mr. Callahan. “Are you going to see them now that you’re back?”
Michael shrugged. I could feel it beside me. He stubbornly stared up at the stars. I looked up, too, but moved imperceptibly closer to him until my hand was resting against his thigh.
“Maybe you have to move on,” I said. “I don’t know how long you’re planning to stay. I’m sure you’re busy and…”
I lost my trail of thought. “What are we doing, Michael?”
“What do you mean?”
“Am I going to wake up one day and see you packing your things?”
“Come on, Henny. Is that really what you think of me?”
That was what happened the last time.
From that very first summer we spent together, I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I never tried to fool myself. I loved him, and that was that.
I think he loved me, too, but we were so young. I still hadn’t learned that love isn’t always enough. He already had a plan. He wanted to leave Pine Creek, and that’s precisely what he did.
I never found anyone I wanted as much as Michael, and after he left, I wasn’t prepared to settle for any less. It’s a special kind of curse to experience love like that at such a young age, and as I lay there and looked up at the dark night sky, I wondered what it had been like for him.
Maybe he had a woman in every corner of the world. One for every starry sky.
Michael propped himself up on one elbow and studied me intensely. I could see all kinds of emotions flickering through his eyes, but I had no idea what they meant: desire, longing, tenderness, loss, uncertainty. I thought I could see regret, but I didn’t know whether it was over the past or the future.
“I have no idea what we’re doing,” he said. “This wasn’t something I planned. Maybe I should have given it more thought, but I didn’t. I definitely wasn’t planning for you to kiss me.”
“You kissed me, too!”
“I didn’t plan that, either.”
He took my hand. Hesitantly, as if he expected me to pull it back. He turned it over in his hand and followed the lines on my palm as though he was looking for the answers there.
“What do you want from me, Henny?” he asked.
PINE CREEK GAZETTE
OBITUARIES
John Richard Lewis
John “Johnnie” Richard Lewis has passed away after a long illness. Born February 17, 1945, he was the youngest of six handsome brothers. Sadly, he never had as much luck with the fish as his brothers, who always landed bigger catches, and though he tried valiantly, he was never quite as tall, strong, or handsome, either. He worked at all three sawmills in Pine Creek and insisted, right up until his death, that it was pure coincidence that every one had closed down. Aside from his unfortunate fondness for fishing, his passions in life were football, the Ducks, and the wife. In no particular order. He i
s survived by his wife, children, and grandchildren, and by his five older and more handsome brothers, who paid for this obituary.
Sarah Elizabeth Robinson
Sarah Elizabeth Robinson, born May 5, 1927, has left this earthly life in favor of the heavenly. She passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by her beloved family and her cats: Moe, Larry, and Curly. Sarah loved her cats, her family, Jesus, and her church; she was always there for those who needed her, a warm and attentive listener, a loyal friend, and a pillar of the community. A memorial will be held Tuesday at Sacred Faith Evangelical Church. The congregation will care for the cats.
Henny Broek
Henny was born July 23, 1983. She lived in Pine Creek, Oregon. She is survived by her father, Robert Broek. Her traditional and perfectly normal funeral will take place at 3:00 p.m. Friday at Pine Creek United Methodist Church.
Chapter 15
Half Sounds and Half Lives
Sitting on Cheryl’s sofa, MacKenzie looks incredibly young. She is peering around the room as though she can’t quite work out how she ended up here.
There’s a pretty simple explanation: Cheryl called MacKenzie an hour ago and asked her to stop by when she had a moment. It’s the first time in fifteen years that we’ve been to Cheryl’s place, and I can’t decide what’s so strange about it—the fact that we’re here, or that we’ve stayed away for so long.
Neither MacKenzie nor I have any idea why Cheryl wanted to see her.
Cheryl hands MacKenzie a cup of coffee. “It should probably be hot chocolate,” she says.
“With peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” says MacKenzie. “No crusts, obviously.”
She glances around the room. “I can’t believe it’s so long since I was last here,” she says. “Not since…” She self-consciously lets her voice trail off, and Cheryl looks embarrassed, too.
“I still drive like a madwoman,” MacKenzie quickly adds.
Cheryl smiles. Seeing them together now, the fury that once separated them seems even more incomprehensible. I think they feel that, too.
We were sitting just like this the first time Cheryl saved us.
We were sixteen at the time, and MacKenzie’s father was having a particularly intense episode. The first of many. MacKenzie’s mere existence seemed to provoke him more and more the older she got.
On that particular day, she didn’t want to go home until he had calmed down or passed out. She was afraid. My strong, brave, invincible MacKenzie’s face was pale and uncertain. And so we sat on a bench on Water Street, pretending everything was fine, pretending we were just hanging out like usual.
It’s hard to pretend you want to be outside on a cold, damp evening in October, but we did our best. We sat there in the hazy glow of a streetlamp and saw the lights come on in the houses all around us, eventually going off again, one by one.
The last dog owners had long since passed by on their evening walks and were now back in the warmth of their houses. In a way, it was a relief not to have to pretend everything was fine to their curious faces.
I was already hopelessly late. I knew Dad would be furious, but I also couldn’t leave MacKenzie on her own, so I stayed there with her. Neither of us had eaten dinner. We laughed in embarrassment whenever either of our stomachs rumbled.
MacKenzie pulled her hands into the sleeves of her thin denim jacket and refused to take my scarf. The damp chill had gotten under our skin, but we eventually stopped shivering out of sheer exhaustion.
“It could be worse,” I said. “It could be snowing.”
MacKenzie laughed. It was a weak laugh, but a victory all the same. Then she told me to go home. Again. Like before, I ignored her.
We never saw Cheryl approaching. Suddenly she was just there in front of us, wearing pale-pink sweatpants and her husband’s oversize coat.
“What’s going on here, girls?” she asked. She must have seen us from her kitchen window.
MacKenzie didn’t reply.
Cheryl glanced from her to me.
“Nothing, Mrs. Stone,” I eventually said.
I shifted closer to MacKenzie for support, but her body was stiff and cold against mine. She felt much smaller than usual.
“Henny?” Cheryl asked.
She isn’t going to give in, I thought. She’s going to insist on taking us back to Dad’s, and I can’t just turn up there with MacKenzie. Dad had clear rules about visitors and overnight stays.
I can’t fix this on my own, I thought.
I didn’t dare look at MacKenzie as I said, “MacKenzie can’t go home.”
Cheryl’s eyes moved back and forth between us. MacKenzie tried to look brave, but she couldn’t quite manage it like usual.
“Well, you can’t sit here all night,” Cheryl said. “Come with me, girls.”
Cheryl’s kitchen was wonderfully warm and much, much better than the park bench. I went to the bathroom, and by the time I got back, she had made hot chocolate. MacKenzie’s frozen fingers were already wrapped around her steaming-hot mug, and there was another waiting for me.
Cheryl spread peanut butter and jelly onto slices of bread and then cut away the crusts, and it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten. She made a whole mountain of them, and MacKenzie and I took as many as we dared, slowly thawing out. The worst desperation had disappeared from MacKenzie’s eyes.
While we were eating, Cheryl went over to the phone in the hallway and called Dad, just like that, telling him that MacKenzie and I were staying at her house that night. “I don’t think we’ll bother calling your dad,” she said, and MacKenzie laughed.
Cheryl Stone was the bravest person I had ever met.
Both MacKenzie and Cheryl are thinking back to that evening now.
The living room has barely changed over the years. It might be a little less chaotic now that Cheryl’s sons are older, but the whole room is still practical and cozy. Durable fabric on all of the furniture, comfortable armchairs meant for curling up in, paintings that never seem to be hanging straight, flowers on every free surface.
It was Cheryl who taught MacKenzie to drive. Her dad was never sober long enough to care about her driver’s license, so one day after that first evening, Cheryl simply took charge as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I’m sure she paid for some lessons for MacKenzie, too.
“So…how are you?” Cheryl asks. “Are you coping?”
MacKenzie shrugs. “It is what it is,” she says.
“I…I’m sorry.” She says it warmly and naturally: real sympathy, not something people force themselves to blurt out when they don’t know what else to say.
MacKenzie nods.
“I’d like to ask you a favor,” Cheryl says. “But I don’t really know how to put it.”
“It’s normally easiest just to come out and say it.”
“Do you think you could consider…not going to Henny’s funeral?”
She shouldn’t have just come out and said it, I think.
Cheryl continues before MacKenzie has time to reply: “It’s not for my sake. It’s Robert. He’s afraid everyone would just focus on your…relationship, rather than the funeral.”
“Our relationship,” MacKenzie echoes. She puts down her cup.
“He’s very upset about the whole thing. Not that you shouldn’t be able to go to the funeral, of course, because obviously you should.”
MacKenzie no longer looks young.
Cheryl continues. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on certain things—”
“True. You said I’d burn in hell. I didn’t agree.”
“—but it’s for Robert’s sake. I’m worried about him. He’s lost everything, and now he’s obsessed with the idea that people will talk. About…well, you and Henny.”
“Jesus Christ, Cheryl. Even you must know there that was never anything goin
g on between us. Or have you found some kind of Bible passage that forbids friendship?”
“But you can understand why people might wonder, can’t you? It’s not really that surprising, is it? You lived together, and you’re, well, you, and you made such a big deal of it and…”
“I made a big deal of it?”
“Does it really mean that much to you?” Cheryl asks in desperation. “You don’t even go to church anymore. What do a few psalms and a boring pastor matter?”
Begging now, she adds: “And just imagine how hard all this is for Robert. Yes, he’s obsessing over the funeral, but he’s always been like that. Proper, correct. Hates it when people talk about him. He just wants to be left in peace.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“And now he’s finding everything so difficult, it’s such a hard time for him… If we can make things any easier for him, don’t you think we should do our best to do that?”
MacKenzie slowly gets to her feet. “I’ll think about it,” she says.
* * *
MacKenzie drives straight back to the hotel and gets to work. She pretends that she just needs to start cleaning, and begins with room 3.
But the universe seems to have turned against her. The bag in the vacuum cleaner is full. She accidentally picks up two duvet covers instead of one sheet. The light bulb goes out.
“I can’t believe she said all those things!” I shout when MacKenzie returns with a fresh vacuum bag. And a sheet. And a new bulb. “What right does she have to stick her nose into who comes to my funeral? And Dad! Who said he gets to decide everything? You should be choosing at least half of the songs. And giving a eulogy. I really hope you just turn up and tell them about our long, close friendship. Very close. Half the town thinks we’re a couple anyway, so why disappoint them? You can bring champagne. Toast to me in the church and say that we drank it for breakfast every day.”
MacKenzie bashes her toe as she changes the sheets. I grimace as a goddamn it flashes through her eyes. Her body tenses, more from irritation than pain.
Then she relaxes. With forced indifference, at first: What does it matter? It’s just a toe. Then, slowly, genuine indifference takes over: What does anything matter anymore?
Check in at the Pine Away Motel (ARC) Page 11