ABOUT HER

by Kimberly Adams

  I was a pro.

  “See? Easy-peasy, Lizzie.”

  Easy-peasy. She said my name like we were old friends.

  I relaxed, continuing with the other ten danishes on the sheet before me. “My mother never liked to bake, so I guess that’s why I don’t.”

  “I used to bake with my daughter all the time,” she answered.

  “How fun. Leah has always liked to be in the kitchen, but Clay has no interest. Lilly used to love it when I’d cut her sandwiches into shapes, but that was really all she cared about when it came to food.”

  I exhaled quickly, focused on the pastries.

  “Molly would have been an excellent pastry chef.”

  I could sense her tone had darkened, and I lowered mine to match. “Leah loves to bake. She makes the best cupcakes. I thought maybe she’d want to pursue baking when she got older, but she’d gotten away from it. She wanted to be a veterinarian for a long time, though I’m pretty sure all girls do at some point. She’s got her eye on a few colleges and is thinking of going into teaching, or literature. Or maybe both.” I laughed softly. “What did Molly end up doing?”

  When she didn’t respond right away, I looked at her. She stared at the floor.

  “She ended up decapitated, in the backseat of a car.”

  I dropped the bag in my hands. The mostly-full plastic balloon hit the floor with a thud, and when I bent to retrieve it, I tried desperately to gather myself.

  What in the actual fuck did she just say?

  An ice-cold breeze touched the back of my hand, and I noticed the panel on the underside of the kitchen island was slightly ajar.

  Must be loose.

  How do I respond to her?

  Jesus Christ.

  “I’m so sorry. Oh my God.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. She died in an accident,” she corrected, giving her blonde head a pat. Her long hair was drawn into a ponytail, lending her a much younger appearance.

  I still had no idea how old she was.

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  The record stopped, and Virginia hurried to the machine. In seconds, a new record played. I recognized this one. “Come Go With Me” by the Del-Vikings. One of my mother’s favorites.

  Far too upbeat for the shitshow this conversation had become.

  “We all have a past,” she answered. Her statement should have sounded cryptic, but instead she added a shrug to lessen the importance.

  We all had a past. Every one of us.

  I never iced anything so fast in my life. As soon as I finished the last danish I patted the side of my leggings. “Well, I better bring Jake some coffee. He’s a bear without coffee in the morning.”

  She answered with a sideways smile as she continued chopping bacon into bits. “You’re a good wife, Lizzie.”

  I managed a quiet thank you, nearly running for the stairs.

  THREE

  My eyes burned by the time I reached our room.

  I couldn’t stop replaying her sentence, over and over again in my head. Like a creepy horror movie carousel, with pipe organ music and spinning lights.

  She ended up headless.

  Headless.

  Something had happened to me when I had Leah. I used to be an adventurer. I thrilled at rollercoasters. I loved driving fast. I absolutely reveled in horror movies, especially the series ones with creepy slasher-men who never died and never sped up but always seemed to outrun his teenage victims.

  When I gave birth to Leah, I got scared.

  I had this tiny, defenseless thing that I cared more about than my own life. I rushed her to the emergency room for every bump and bruise, and there were many, since Leah was born with my adventurous temperament.

  I refused to leave her to go anywhere, not even with my parents. Definitely not with Cal.

  Cal could be a monster.

  The thought of my child, in a car accident, dying.

  I let the tears come. They were coming anyway, no sense in holding them back.

  “Hey, baby, what’s the matter?”

  Jake was up and fully dressed, and I nearly ran into him as I burst through the door. The hot coffee tipped a little over the edge, burning the back of my hand as I tried to steady the mug.

  “Nothing. Nothing, I just heard a sad thing. I was talking to Virginia, and she had a daughter who was killed in a car accident.”

  Jake was used to my emotional outbursts by now. I was hot tempered and quick to snap, but never held a grudge and was usually over my mood within the hour. I lit fast and burned out just as quickly.

  “That is sad.” He hugged me and paused for an appropriate amount of time. “Still no cell reception?”

  “None. And Virginia didn’t bother having a landline installed when she had the house remodeled and the old one removed.”

  “Who in the hell doesn’t have a landline in a house in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I could see how it would seem unimportant at the time, since we all depend on our cells so much now,” I defended, feeling strangely protective of this woman I knew very little about.

  Her child died. She deserves the benefit of the doubt forever.

  “Yeah, just irresponsible though. Especially if you’re running a business.”

  I nodded, handing him his coffee. “Oh, and Cal asked if you’d give his car a jump. He thinks the battery died.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m going out there anyway. Anything to get us all back on the road as soon as possible.”

  “Well, not too fast. Virginia slaved over a huge breakfast downstairs, and I don’t want to be rude and refuse it. And I made danishes.”

  “You made danishes?”

  I smirked. “Well, I made them fancy. With icing.”

  He grinned and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Okay. I’ll drink this, then head outside to figure out the vehicle situation.”

  Once we were both ready to leave the room, we stepped into the hall at the same time Cal and Lana were walking to the stairs. Lana gave me a sideways look before avoiding me altogether.

  Yes, I hate you too, glad we’re on the same page.

  “Need a jump?” Jake began conversationally, and Cal nodded.

  “Yeah, the goddamn thing won’t turn over. It’s got to be the battery.”

  I cringed at his language again.

  “I have to dig the truck out, no problem. We’ll get it taken care of,” Jake replied, always so amiable. No matter how long I ranted about Cal, Jake always listened without participating. Sometimes I wanted him to participate. He was my best friend. I craved his snarky comments about Cal, though they were few and far between.

  He was just a respectful guy, and I loved him for it.

  “There they are! Shovels are by the front door, but I have keys for the tractor, which has a plow. There’s not much gasoline left, mind you. Whatever you boys are willing to do, I’d be so grateful.”

  She gestured to a tractor out the front window, and Jake snatched the keys to the giant John Deere faster than I could look his way. “You got it. Glad to help. We appreciate all you’ve done for us.”

  Virginia was staring at Lana while she responded to Jake. “Of course. As I told Lizzie this morning, I’m glad you ended up stranded here. You made my holiday brighter.”

  I narrowed my eyes but held my smile.

  No, you never said those words.

  You talked about your headless daughter, but you never said you were glad we were stranded.

  “Jake and I live on a hobby farm. Any opportunity to drive a beast like that, he’s happy,” I joked, elbowing my husband playfully.

  “Yeah, farm boy’s got this,” Cal replied with a snicker.

  I glared at him.

  “And Lana, good morning to you. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  Miss Personality, who I not-so-fondly referred to her as behind closed doors, shrugged. Her resting bitch face... rested.

  “Sure.”
>
  I wanted to snap at her, but I held my tongue.

  Sure, thank you. Learn some fucking manners.

  The men disappeared out the front door, leaving the most awkward threesome on Earth to share breakfast together.

  Virginia started another record. “Dream Lover” by Bobby Darin. Another of my mother’s favorites.

  “How did you sleep?” Virginia asked, placing an empty plate in Lana’s hands.

  Lana shrugged, mumbling a thank-you under her breath. “Okay, I guess. This house is big. Kind of like the ones in those ghost hunter shows.”

  Virginia snorted a laugh, shaking her head. “No ghosts in this house, dear. Just memories.”

  Lana nodded, continuing to the buffet-style layout before us. She took a bagel and some cream cheese, probably the only thing Virginia hadn’t made from scratch. I could sense our host’s disappointment, so I made sure to load my plate with bacon and eggs- and a danish, of course.

  “Yes, yes, get some of everything. I love to cook, but I love seeing someone enjoy my cooking even more,” she emphasized.

  We all sat at the impressive dining room table, just beyond the kitchen. I noticed the chairs had casters on the bottoms, and rolling over the carpet felt oddly normal.

  “If I ate that much in one sitting, I’d puke,” Lana said, looking at my plate.

  I clenched my teeth together, refusing to lift my eyes from the table.

  Virginia was looking at me, I could feel it, but I still said nothing.

  “Well, you’re a tiny thing. A little throughout the day, then,” she said.

  “Hopefully Cal gets the car running and we’re on the road soon,” Lana answered.

  God, she was so fucking rude. If Jake and I were a match made in Heaven, Cal and Lana were a match made in the backseat of his car.

  “Yes, yes. Soon enough. I heard the highways are open again, but the snow just won’t stop.” Virginia gestured to her. “Cal mentioned that you have a daughter. I’ll bet she’s anxious for her mommy to get home.”

  Lana shrugged. “She’s with her dad. She’s fine.”

  I poked at my eggs with my fork. The old music poked at my patience

  The record player was strangely unnerving. The entire scenario I’d walked into was surreal enough as it was without adding some soundtrack from a misplaced decade.

  I’d managed to avoid Cal’s wife for most of the three years since we’d been apart. Even in the beginning, when I found out about their affair, I didn’t confront her.

  I wasn’t afraid. On the contrary; I was so furious, I was afraid of what I might do, and the consequences of my actions.

  I had my children to think about.

  And the children would talk. I’d learn this or that about their new stepmother. At first, they gave her the benefit of the doubt, because they were my innocent, beautiful children.

  Then, eventually, Leah saw it first.

  She’s weird, Mom. Just weird.

  The more I learned about her over the years, the more I hated her very core.

  What kind of woman was she?

  There were so many checks and balances that always ran through every fiber of my being. Morals, values, karmic awareness- whatever the term may be for a simple conscience- I had too much of it. And I was proud of my conscientious behavior after Cal left.

  I didn’t realize what my life with Cal was until he was finally gone.

  My therapist had terms for him. Narcissist. Alcoholic. Abusive.

  But she had words for me, too. Co-dependent. Traumatized.

  Cycle of abuse, roller coaster of stupid.

  Violent argument. Honeymoon phase. The slow build to the ruptured volcano that became our marriage.

  When I went down the online rabbit hole of identifying all the things he was and all the things I was, and all the things we did, our imminent ending made logical sense.

  But she made no sense. Lana made no sense.

  At first, I felt sorry for her. I could almost relate to her. Young, stupid, naïve. Soaking up his charm, dangling on his words, ruled by his emotions. Poor, poor, senseless girl.

  And she was less than me. Less in so many ways, my pride declared. Less successful. Less beautiful. Less intelligent. Less independent.

  Less wary.

  But how many times, at the very end of our marriage, had I fought Cal’s onslaught of verbal and physical attacks with my own daring words? It was when I finally clapped back at him that he lost interest in me.

  When I finally figured him out.

  And the jig was up.

  He needed someone to control. Someone less than him. Someone who had no standards, no self-worth, and no sense of right or wrong.

  Someone more like him. And the fact that she was an alcoholic meant they already shared the same hobbies and interests.

  I wondered for a moment about her baby. Her daughter. Gabrielle. Another innocent victim in her mother’s lack of.

  What kind of mother was she? How mortifying to tell my child the tale of when I wrecked another woman’s home, destroyed her family, traumatized her children, and broke her own father’s heart. The example I’d set for my own children was the only reason I’d held my head high and clung to my class after Cal left, refusing to stoop to destroying her.

  And oh, how I could have destroyed her.

  I paired my daughter, Leah, and her daughter, Gabrielle in a side-by-side, imagining their futures.

  Leah would date a man like her father. She’d recognize, through counseling and experience, that she was co-dependent like her mother, and the man that she’d inevitably choose would be a narcissist like her father. But she’d be drawn to what she grew up with and what she knew. And she would fight, because my Leah was a fighter. She’d fight through the confusion, and she’d meet another man who was kind and gentle and loving, and she’d fight again because being comfortable was even more confusing that being abused.

  The world called Leah a girl with “daddy issues.” I called her heroic, because I knew what she battled with every single day.

  But Gabrielle. A baby.

  She’d grow up with a passive stepfather, assuming her idiot mother stayed married to my ex-husband. The kind of man who complained about her to others and tolerated her in private. A man who would use her as a chess piece in countless arguments with her mother.

  The man who taught Leah never to trust a man.

  Part of me wanted to shrug my shoulders, and part of me wanted to swoop in and protect this child from what was to come. All I could do was not think about her, the baby, the leftovers in a massacre that will shape her entire future.

  Cal called me several times, mulling over the fact that Lana was pushing him to marry her. “She’s jealous that you and Jake are engaged,” he told me, right after I’d posted my clichéd, gushingly excited engagement ring photo on Facebook.

  “Um, okay,” I’d replied, immaturely satisfied.

  “She wants me to propose.”

  He waited. He wanted me to mother him. Give him advice. Tell him what to do. Support his decisions. Nurture and coddle him.

  If I could have tapped my right fingertips against my left fingertips and whispered moo-ha-ha without him hearing me, I would have.

  “Well, marry her already, Cal. You’re clearly perfect for each other.”

  Marry her so I can watch. Marry her so karma can dance around and shit on your foreheads. Marry her so I can pop some popcorn and confirm that a zebra never changes his stripes.

  “Your kids are probably missing you so much, Lizzie,” Virginia said.

  I lifted my eyes from my plate, glancing between her and Lana.

  “I miss them like crazy. I keep checking for cell reception every few minutes. I’ve never felt so far away from them.”

  Lana rolled her shoulders back, arching one eyebrow. “Gabby is very independent. She likes to be away from me sometimes. She will do great in preschool.”

  Lana knew how much school my kids had missed throughout the afte
rmath of the divorce, and I knew that was a direct shot at me.

  “Some kids are just born with a strong connection to their mothers,” I fired, too sweetly. “Not every mom feels that bond.”

  “I do,” Lana defended, glaring at me.

  She had green eyes and red hair, exactly like the main character in a series I was writing. I’d left the story untouched since the divorce. When I finally decided to pick it up again, I was going to make sure my main character visited a salon in chapter one.

  “Of course you do,” I countered, the artificial honey in my tone easy to manufacture after years of working in customer service. I turned to Virginia. “Lana quit her job as soon as she and Cal got married so she could be a stay-at-home mother for Gabby. You know, for the two weeks a month she’s not with her father.”

  My comment delivered its desired effect. Lana slammed her fork down, sliding her chair back and leaving the room without a word.

  I flushed, embarrassed I’d lost my maturity in front of our hostess.

  Virginia’s cool hand covered my own, and she patted softly.

  I lifted my eyes to hers.

  “People are only offended by the truth of their actions,” she said, with kindness.

  Kindness was something I was used to in my life. I grew up with kind parents, kind teachers, kind co-workers and kind friends.

  Cal had been the only unkind thing in my life, and he married the other unkind thing in my life.

  “I know, you’re right. Still, that wasn’t appropriate. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. Here now, let’s get you another cup of coffee,” she said, pushing her chair back before I could protest.

  While she was in the kitchen, I looked at my phone.

  Two bars.

  Frantically, I drafted a text first, a group text to all the kids and my mother and father.

  Me: We are safe, just about to get on the road. Call soon. Spotty reception. Everyone good?

  I waited an endless minute before my phone notified me of an incoming text.

  Leah: We’re good Mom! We love you!

  Mom: All good honey. Where are you? Where did you end up staying? We can’t find the bed and breakfast you told us about last night online. Is it new? Which exit did you get off?