The Infinite Onion

by Alice Archer

  The papers on the dining table weren’t mine. I flipped through the first few drawings in the pile and wished I had more time to look, even though they were drawings of Freddie with an Asian boy asleep on his chest. They were exquisite. I tore my eyes away and moved on, gave the guest bathroom a cursory check.

  Oliver’s bedroom door wasn’t locked.

  I had to know if he was okay.

  I gave the door a push and strode right in, passed the bed to reach the doors in the far corner. Closet. No Oliver. The other door led to Oliver’s bathroom—his large, empty bathroom. No Oliver unconscious in the bathtub. I blew out a breath and turned around. Also no Oliver in a mess on the floor between the bed and the window. I exhaled another sigh of relief.

  I’d lock up the house, check the garage and behind the holly wall, and then call it quits. If I had to offer my infinite apology by text instead of in person, so be it. Oliver could share a laugh with Freddie about me as they floated off to Whidbey.

  The tarp on the floor of Oliver’s bedroom was gone. I caught a glimpse of a large painting on the wall—bare feet and grass—and averted my eyes. If the drawings I’d found on the dining table were preliminary sketches, I didn’t want to see more. I didn’t need Oliver’s larger-than-life painting of Freddie burned into my retinas for all time.

  I would have slid out of the room without a closer look, except the utter beauty of the few inches I’d caught sight of made my breath hitch.

  I turned my back on the painting, walked to the bed, closed my eyes, and sat. Before I looked up, I gave myself a lecture. You butted into the guy’s life when you weren’t wanted. You know you shouldn’t be here. Now do what he told you to do and let go. Accept reality. Freddie will be Oliver’s other loop, the man who peels Oliver’s layers over time. Just… let him go, buddy.

  I lifted my eyes to the left side of the painting, to avoid Freddie’s face. Most of the surface remained white under tangles of grey sketches. The few painted areas shimmered and pulsed with life. Small scenes, like painted stories, filled the shadows under Freddie’s feet. I stood to take a closer look.

  My bramble adventure with the kids played out under an umbrella of salal leaves. Tiny versions of me and the kids in a bramble cave—and Oliver. His smile must have required the world’s tiniest paintbrush, yet the speck of red paint depicted Oliver’s smile to perfection.

  Beyond the vines twirled around Freddie’s bare toes, Oliver had conjured the darkened interior of a car. A woman with auburn hair sat opposite a boy with auburn hair who slumped in a car seat beside a large man. The man covered Oliver’s head with his hand.

  A blond boy climbed the steep slope of Freddie’s finger, the colors of the rainbow flag on a staff in his hand vivid against the black of the sleeping boy’s hair.

  I held my breath and risked a look at Freddie’s face.

  Closed my eyes again, certain I’d conjured the image.

  Not Freddie.

  Me.

  I held the sleeping boy.

  The viewpoint was from slightly above the sleeping figures, as though Oliver had sat at the edge of the road to paint every loose thread of the tattered clothes I’d worn that day, every eyelash and blade of grass. All in living color, exactly how it had been.

  Almost exactly.

  An infinity symbol, white-gold against the greenery, glowed above Aza’s black hair. I recognized him from the photos in Clementine’s living room. He lay peaceful in my arms, no sign of pain on his tranquil features.

  My painted face turned toward the viewer, toward the artist, toward Oliver. I gazed out at Oliver with enough love to make my knees wobble. In my eyes, as Oliver had painted me, I saw what I’d been missing, what Oliver had noticed that I hadn’t.

  I love him. I had looked at Oliver like that. I felt the memory of it on my face.

  I didn’t want to leave the painting. I couldn’t bear to leave it, but I needed answers.

  Oliver had noticed that look, painted it, put his house in order, and… Jesus, then what? Sent me packing and gone off to be exclusive with Freddie? Or had Oliver done something much worse? I needed to go, but the painting drew my attention again. The subtle crown of leaves and birds above my head almost disappeared against the flowering bush in the background.

  I closed my eyes and shuffled out of bedroom to escape.

  Outside, with the front door locked behind me, I checked the time. Oliver needed to go, if he hadn’t already gone, or he wouldn’t make the ferry.

  My head spun with confusion.

  The distant sound of an engine filtered through the woodland chitter and bustle. I paused to listen, thought it might be someone come to fetch Oliver, but no one came down the driveway.

  I managed to hoist my heavy body over the locked gate in the holly wall on the third try, only to land in an uncoordinated heap on the other side. I brushed myself off and turned to confront my fear that Oliver had—

  A patch of blackened earth. Parallel rows of bent grass. I followed them out beyond the curve of the holly wall, where a track ran along the bluff and away to the right.

  Jesus Christ. Oliver had done it.

  He’d stowed his fucking suitcase in his dad’s Cadillac and driven himself to meet Freddie and their future together.

  The track would only lead to a road that would lead to the ferry dock. I scrambled back over the gate and bolted for Oliver’s van.

  I could make it.

  I hoped I could make it.

  Chapter 82

  Grant

  After I passed through town on Vashon Highway, I jammed the accelerator to the floor and kept it there.

  Top speed in Oliver’s van turned out to be two miles over the speed limit.

  I had less than ten minutes to find Freddie’s car at the ferry, see if Oliver was okay, and apologize.

  I slowed when I reached the ferry line-up, but didn’t see Freddie’s shit minivan. All the while, the ferry floated closer.

  On the dock, I drove to the end of the row of parking spaces and pulled in next to the waiting room building. I’d put the van in reverse, to turn around and go back up the hill for another look at the vehicles, when a shout came from behind me. Foot on the brake, I checked the rearview mirror, expecting to see a pedestrian from the waiting room who’d been alarmed by the van’s reverse lights.

  Fucking Freddie trotted over from the line of vehicles on the dock.

  He pushed his smile into the open driver’s side window with happy laugh. “Why didn’t you park in the upper lot?” When he realized I wasn’t Oliver, his face twisted into a grimace.

  “Oops,” I said, to acknowledge his blunder. “Surprise.”

  “You. What are you doing here?” Freddie’s scan of the van’s interior put a scowl on his face. “Where’s Oliver?”

  “Hang on.” I put the van into park and got out, tapped Freddie’s shoulder to urge him back.

  “Keep your hands off me,” he said.

  “Then move your snarl out of my face.” I took a step toward the dock railing.

  “Why are you driving Oliver’s van without him in it?”

  From where I stood, I had a clear view of the road down from the upper lot.

  “If Oliver doesn’t show, I’ll blame you,” Freddie said.

  “If he doesn’t show, you probably should blame me.”

  Freddie moved in close again. “He was fine until you butted in.”

  “By fine, I assume you mean Oliver seemed content to stay home alone while you fucked around elsewhere for months on end.”

  “He made his own choices.”

  “Sure. And yet you’re in a huff because Oliver called you on your bullshit and chose to fuck someone else.” The unfairness of Freddie’s misdirected anger made me lean into his face. “Namely, me.”

  As if I’d given Freddie permission to have at me,
he tensed and took another step toward me.

  “You want to hit me?” I said. “Go for it.” The top of Freddie’s head came up to my chin. I crossed my arms to display my biceps, squared my shoulders, and puffed out my chest. It was fun.

  Two spots of pink on Freddie’s cheeks spread into a full flush. He stomped off to fume, but didn’t go far. I guess he wasn’t done with me yet.

  Freddie’s minivan rust-bucket wasn’t in the line-up, but a Ford pickup halfway along the dock caught my attention when two guys in jeans and flannel shirts emerged from it and made a beeline toward Freddie and me.

  Green Flannel reached us first. “Problem?” he asked Freddie. It must have been obvious that I could put Freddie down with one hand behind my back.

  Green Flannel cocked his head at Freddie and narrowed his eyes. Freddie ignored him.

  Red Flannel approached me. “Do you know Rossi?” He nodded at Oliver’s van.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Who are you?”

  “Oh my God,” Green Flannel said. “You’re Fredrik Tolliver.”

  Freddie nodded but kept his eyes on me.

  With a laugh, Green Flannel stuck out his hand. “Man,” he gushed. “I can’t believe this. Those articles of yours in International Culture and Business kicked ass—the ones on the Japanese space agency. My wife and I read the whole series aloud to each other in one evening. We couldn’t put it down.”

  “Seriously?” Freddie said. I felt sure he hadn’t intended his voice to come out that high.

  “Yeah. Sheri and I were both hoarse the next day.”

  How sweet. Freddie has a fan.

  “Is Rossi back on the island?” Red Flannel asked me. “I haven’t seen him in way too long.”

  “Yeah,” I told him. I turned my head and raised my voice to say, “Freddie. Can I talk to you?”

  He shot me an eye roll and continued to talk with his admirer.

  “Real quick,” I added. For privacy, I walked the few yards to the dock railing.

  “Be right back,” Freddie told Green Flannel. “What?” he snapped at me.

  I waited until he got closer before I said, “I’m a real dick to do this, but I have to say it, in case it’s my last chance. Now that I’m in your presence again, I remember the many ways you’re wrong for Oliver. If he shows up and goes with you, it will fall apart before the ferry docks in West Seattle.”

  “I don’t give a fuck what you think. Stop talking to me.” Freddie turned to go.

  “Wait,” I said. “Just wait a sec.”

  Oliver had driven off in the DeVille before I headed out in his van. Where did Oliver get stuck? I wished I’d followed the track instead of driving to the ferry. Then I might have found him, frustrated and falling apart at the edge of his property, and stayed with him so he didn’t have to fight that fight alone.

  “It’s likely Oliver won’t show at all,” I said.

  Freddie’s hand came up fast and I grabbed his wrist out of instinct.

  “I’m not trying to hit you, loser,” he said. “I’m showing you my phone.” He wiggled it in front of my face.

  I turned Freddie’s wrist and saw a text message from Oliver: Running late. On my way.

  “Well, then.” I exhaled and let go of Freddie, took a step back. Good for Oliver. The moment narrowed to a dramatic roar in my ears, until the seawater beyond the railing swelled and the roar sorted into the sound of the ferry closing in on the dock.

  Deckhands tied up the ferry. Freddie returned to Green Flannel. The dock ramp lowered with a reverberating clang. Vehicles began to file off the ferry in two parallel lines.

  Now or never, Oliver.

  Freddie chatted with Green Flannel but kept his eyes on his phone and on the road from the upper lot, which remained empty.

  Walk-on passengers emerged from the waiting room building and milled around, waiting to board the ferry. To avoid them, I slunk back until my shoulder blades hit the building, slid sideways into a wedge of shadow at the railing. I didn’t want to be seen trying to keep my shit together if Oliver ran down to the dock at the last minute and got into Freddie’s car.

  The last few cars rattled off the ferry.

  Time’s up.

  In the relative silence, the blare of a car horn sounded in the distance, high up the hill on the main road. Someone tapped a few staccato horn blasts. A different car honked. Then another. Before the sound died, the DeVille swooped around the curve of Vashon Highway and onto the dock, Oliver’s loose hair blowing out the open car window.

  Freddie let out a whoop and turned toward me. The combination of victory and shock on his face gave me a small, bitter thrill. I already knew about the car, I mouthed to him, to be a jerk, but he’d already turned away. Oliver eased the massive car into a parking spot at the shore end of the dock.

  I watched it all from the shadow. Wished I’d stayed in the treehouse. Wished I hadn’t found the throne or Oliver’s half-finished painting. Wished I knew what any of it meant. Wished to be anywhere else.

  Freddie’s hug twirled Oliver off his feet, made Oliver’s hair float—hair Oliver had let down for Freddie.

  Based on Freddie’s smiles and the sweep of his arm at the DeVille, he was thrilled. He wrapped a protective arm around Oliver’s shoulder, grabbed the suitcase Oliver lifted from the trunk, and walked him down the dock to a car I didn’t recognize, near the front of the line-up.

  I wished I didn’t have to know—would always know—how Oliver looked as he walked away with Freddie. His pinched expression of the past weeks had been replaced with… I didn’t know what to call that look. Determination? Confidence? Peace?

  To get out of sight even more, I crouched down. Saltwater lapped at the pilings beneath the dock. I couldn’t wait to get back to the woods where I belonged. My crouch and the van hid me from Freddie’s car, but gave me a view down the dock to the DeVille, polished to a high shine. A few people must have left their cars in the line-up to check it out, their smiles so big I couldn’t miss them, even from the other end of the dock.

  Drivers of the vehicles at the front of the line started their engines.

  I could swallow my pride, run to Freddie’s car, and blurt my apology before Oliver left. Do it. I swallowed hard.

  I got as far as the back of Oliver’s van. A deckhand, poised to wave vehicles onto the ferry, noticed me and stopped me with a hand and a stern look. He gestured the first car forward, pointed them toward the loading ramp.

  Five cars back, Freddie started the engine.

  From where I stood, all I could see of Oliver in the front passenger seat was his knee.

  Freddie stuck his arm out the open window and raised his hand above the roof of the car to give me the finger.

  The deckhand waved Freddie forward.

  I threw the van keys into the glove compartment and started walking.

  I let him go.

  Chapter 83

  Oliver

  At the end of the gravel road from the holly wall, I punched the gas pedal and left my property for the first time in thirteen years.

  Freedom.

  What a ride.

  My nervous laughter and a cautious yell reverberated inside the DeVille. I felt shaky, but I’d done it. At Reddings Beach Road, I pulled onto the shoulder and stopped to collect myself. A tap of my fingertips on the electric controls lowered the windows. I took in a deep lungful of fresh air.

  Move it. Ferry won’t wait.

  I drove on, slowed to gawk at the Steiner’s new barn, slowed again to enjoy the repaired potholes at Lisabeula Road. Trees along the road had grown or were missing. I recognized Clementine’s cottage from photographs she’d shown me.

  Wind pushed tears into my ears. The world had moved on and I’d missed it.

  That morning, I’d woken after an unprecedented twenty-two-hour snooze in the back seat o
f the DeVille, covered in Grant’s papers and journals and in possession of the full memory of my mother’s goodbye. I’d discovered the truth, and it gave me momentum.

  Traffic picked up at the north end when I reached Vashon Highway. Pay attention. I rounded a curve and checked the line of vehicles on the side of the road. Someone honked. It wasn’t Freddie in a silver car. More people honked. I wondered if they remembered Dad’s Saturday Tour DeVilles.

  At the bottom of the hill, I slipped into a parking space and turned off the DeVille, rested my forehead on the steering wheel. Ferry won’t wait. Get out.

  “You made it.” Freddie’s bright voice sailed in through the open windows.

  Windows up. Lock the doors. Move it.

  Freddie gave me an extravagant hug, then hurried me across the dock. At the silver car, he ushered me into the passenger seat, tossed the suitcase in back, and landed in the driver’s seat with a bounce.

  “That was cutting it close.” Freddie’s laugh seemed manic. “You sure know how to make an entrance. I’ll forgive you for lying about the DeVille if you tell me why you—”

  “Hand me your phone,” I said to interrupt Freddie’s ramble. “I want to follow up on a hunch.”

  He shot me a wary glance. “Um… no.” His answer came out breathy.

  “I’m not joking around.” I held out my hand. “Open the text app and hand me your phone.”

  Freddie stared at me but didn’t move.

  “We’re running out of time,” I said.

  With more force than necessary, Freddie tapped his phone to unlock it. “Just remember—you lied too,” he said when he handed it to me.

  I backed out of Freddie’s text conversation with me to check his other recent text exchanges.

  Freddie made a grab for the phone. I blocked him with my elbow.

  “So,” I said with a nod, “Hiroki looks forward to your trip to Whidbey today.” I read Hiroki’s most recent text out loud. “‘Can’t wait to suck your dick again. Hurry up and get here and ditch the boyfriend.’”