What We Take For Truth

by Deborah Nedelman

  Her current diary was still in her backpack. She grabbed it now. Sitting on her own bed, with her back against the wall of her own cabin, she turned the section she’d been afraid to read while she sat on that dingy cot in the hostel.

  September 15, 1988

  Daddy is dead. I know it’s true, but it can’t be. I keep expecting to hear his truck pull into the driveway. I am an orphan now. Why did this happen?

  On the next page, there were several aborted starts. My daddy… Why couldn’t it be someone else’s dad? I hate the trees!!!! It’s NOT FAIR!!!!

  Grace remembered writing those thoughts. She could taste the bitterness that lived inside her then, the helpless outrage.

  Then this:

  September 20, 1988

  I had the dream again last night. That dream that Mommy came to me, she held me and let me cry and cry. She stroked my hair and told me she knew I was sad and that it was OK. It felt so real. I wonder if Daddy will come to me in my dreams.

  September 23, 1988

  I dreamed Mommy was with me again, but I wish Daddy would come. I told her to tell him to come to me. She said she couldn’t do that. She said Daddy was in a different place than she was. I got mad at her. It was such a strange dream, I could feel my fists pounding on her. I yelled “go away and let Daddy come back.” I feel bad about that now, but if I have to choose between them, I want my dad.

  Grace put the book down and hugged her knees to her chest. Even now she felt that longing to see her father again, to hear his voice the way she heard her mother’s.

  That dream had been so real. The fury she felt when her mother said she couldn’t bring her father back, the feeling of beating her fists against her mother’s arms. She remembered thinking, If I can only have one of you, I want him. But Warren had not come to her in dreams. And after that night, neither did Annie.

  Goose bumps covered Grace’s arms and she shivered. Her body shook. She slumped over onto her side and wrapped herself in her sleeping bag. She closed her eyes and tried to shut it all out.

  Chapter 16

  The frustration and the waiting created the perfect opportunity for Charlie’s fantasies to flourish.

  What might happen once Grace knew who he was, once she learned the truth about her mom? Images of screaming homicidal rage with Charlie as its target, of suicidal wrist slashing and emergency teams called in, of the whole town hunting him down like a pack of betrayed hungry wolves. As he drove up and down the mountain, as he washed his truck compulsively scrubbing away at invisible dirt, as he rolled around in his bed trying to surrender to sleep, Charlie’s brain worked through each potential disaster to its tragic end.

  Friday night the job was winding down. It had been eight days and they’d hauled over a million tons of timber out of Jake Oliver’s forest preserve, all they needed. Luck had hung around longer than they’d had a right to expect. No inspectors had sniffed them out. There had been no publicity. The last few nights they’d had to dodge lightning storms, kept their fingers crossed and watched the weather moving across the valley, but no storm had reached them. Another kind of luck.

  When the last tree was bucked and hoisted off the mountain and loaded on the bed of Charlie’s Peterbilt, the men fell into a stupor. They’d been moving like automatons, getting the job done, and now their batteries had all gone dead at the same instant. They looked up and found themselves aged. Tall and brawny men were stooped, sagging. Even the young ones carried their thick muscled arms like burdens, their heads bowed. No next job had materialized. No imaginable future. They avoided each other’s eyes; they climbed into their pickups without bidding one another good night. The doors slammed against their withered hopes.

  ***

  The next evening the men gathered at the mill for their paychecks. A thick mist had settled down over Prosperity, shrouding the waning moonlight. The crew agreed to wait to do the cleanup and bring the equipment down the next night when clearer skies were predicted.

  Pat and his father stood outside the office, mumbling names and passing out checks. When they’d turned over the last one, Pat lifted his head and spoke loudly to the retreating crowd.

  “All right now. We did it. Order’s filled. Now who’s ready to go another mile in and take some of those real monsters?”

  The shuffling stopped and a few turned to look back over their shoulders.

  “No way, man. We gotta get out of there,” someone shouted.

  “What are you thinking, son?” Burt Samson took hold of Pat’s shoulders. “We’ve pushed our luck far enough. The government means business now. We get caught taking trees on a preserve, especially trees like these old-growth, we’re going to jail.” He waved his arm to encompass the men standing before them. “These guys have families.”

  “All the more reason we have to do this. I know a guy who can help us unload that timber at top price.” Pat spoke loudly to the group. “This could be our last chance. We got the rigging up there. Anything more we cut is gravy. Who’s with me?”

  Most of the men turned back toward their trucks.

  “Damn it, Samson. That’s not what we signed up for,” shouted one.

  “Crazy fucker.” Another.

  A few stood silently and appeared to be considering Pat’s challenge.

  Burt walked over to his pickup and opened the door.

  “Let’s go home,” he said to his son. Then he turned to the crew. “Be back tomorrow night and we’ll get everything tidied up.”

  Pat stood a moment watching as the men turned to leave.

  “Sleep on it guys. Think about it.” Then he turned to his father. “You go on. I got some business.”

  Henry and Charlie stood at the back of the crowd. They saw Pat shrug off his father and stride across the yard toward town.

  Charlie looked over at Henry. “What’d I tell you? Greedy son of a bitch.”

  Henry nodded. “Or more desperate than we are.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. Henry was ready to head up north, try his luck in Canada. Charlie thought he might follow his friend, but he couldn’t leave till he found Grace. The pressure to talk to her had boiled up the last couple of days. He could think of little else. If he could lay it all out for her and witness her reaction, whatever it was—stay there and accept her rage—he would be taking a step toward washing off the filth his father had dumped on him. Then he could leave Prosperity and try to find some way to make a life that didn’t leave any openings for Nathan to sneak back in.

  As he surveyed the group leaving the yard, Charlie noticed a light on in the cabin. She must be back. Henry put a hand on his shoulder. “Check it out.” Henry tilted his head toward the cabin.

  Pat stood on the top step. The door opened and he disappeared inside.

  ***

  Grace had awakened to the sound of truck doors slamming and motors starting up. It was dark outside her window and she felt, again, the sense of unreality that had stuck with her since her conversation with Jane.

  Childhood mementos she’d pulled from the box were scattered around her bed; she sighed and began dumping them back in. The crackle of pickup tires over gravel caught her attention. She climbed down the ladder just as she heard the knock on her door.

  “Patrick.” Oh god, he’d probably known the truth all along too. She fought a desire to slam the door in his face.

  “Hey, you’re back.” He smiled at her in that shy, tender way he used to.

  “Yeah.” How long had it been since she’d stood this close to him, close enough to smell his skin under the sweet scent of fresh-cut wood? That stubborn strand of hair begged to be tucked under his cap like always, the quizzical tilt of his front tooth shaping his smile into a seduction. Grace could feel her body soften. The exhaustion of the last few days, the whirling uncertainty, the terror of standing alone and disconnected from everything she’d known—it all cascaded through her again. The armor of rage she’d brought back from the city melted and left her defenseless against the yearning of her flesh for h
is. She gripped the doorknob, afraid of falling into his arms.

  “It’s good to see you.” All she could manage.

  “Listen, I need to tell you something. Could I come in?” He sounded hopeful, but also a little sad. “I hear you’ve done some amazing stuff in there. I’d like to see it.” He was almost pleading.

  “And you believed what people said? That’s risky business in this town.” A shock of bitterness boiled up again. But Grace stepped back and let him in. “Probably best to see for yourself instead of relying on what others tell you.”

  She stood watching him take in her artwork. Grace struggled to keep herself hardened. Up until a few days ago, she would have savored this moment; now she just wanted it over with.

  This was a world where sun and shade danced together across the room, not a setting where anger and betrayal felt at home. Garlands of small electric bulbs strung between the logs shone spots of light on each of the colorful appliances. A tiny monkey peeked down from the top of the refrigerator; an orange-beaked toucan perched on the wall behind the stove. Glowing pink orchids and a green-and-orange snake wound around the ladder leading to the sleeping loft.

  Pat stood dumbfounded in the center of the cabin. He slowly turned in a circle, his head tilted back. Then he let out a huge, “Yes!” His grin practically split his face. “It’s too much, Parrot! Just wild!”

  She knew if she stood there watching his delight, listening to his praise, she would be totally lost. “What did you want to tell me?”

  He turned and his eyes sought hers. He put his hands on her shoulders.

  “OK, look, I just heard this stuff from my dad and it seemed like you ought to know. It’s pretty big. You might really want to be sitting down.”

  “What?” Mustering as much strength as she could, she stared at him fiercely. “Your dad just told you my mom is alive?” She watched his face. He knew, but she’d surprised him with this. He hadn’t known she knew. “He told you that this whole lying, stinking town has been keeping her from me all my life?” She was grateful for the rage she heard in her own voice. She could ground herself with it, push him back. “When did he really tell you this? How many years ago, Pat? You’re coming to me now because Charlie has come back, aren’t you? Because you’re afraid he’ll tell me and you don’t want to be left looking like a liar, like the rest of them.” She bunched her hands into fists and started punching him in the chest, tears running down her cheeks.

  He stood perfectly still and let her beat on him till it seemed she’d worn out some of her fury. Then he reached out and pulled her toward him. “He told me two days ago. I’ve been looking for you ever since.”

  At that, Grace dropped her arms. She leaned her head on his chest and sobbed.

  Pat wrapped his arms around her. “I couldn’t believe it when he told me. I don’t know how they could do it. He said everyone thought it was the best thing for you.”

  Grace clung to him. “Why did he tell you now? “

  “You were right about that. I didn’t know who Charlie was, I swear. I hired him because Henry vouched for him. When I told my dad we had a new truck driver, he wanted to know if he was someone we could trust. I told him the name and he got real quiet. I let it go for a couple of days, but he was acting real weird around Charlie. I pushed on him till he told me. It totally blew my mind.”

  Grace pushed herself away so she could look at his face. “Wait a minute. Why are you hiring a truck driver? Does the mill have a new contract?” Before Pat could answer she shook her head. “Never mind. That’s not important. I keep losing track. This whole thing is so crazy. What I really need is to find my mother. Do you think your dad knows where she is?”

  “Are you sure? I mean...” Pat looked confused. “Sounds to me like it was a good thing for you she left. She musta been some rotten bitch. I mean, you were only a little kid, and your mother left you. That’s fucked up.”

  Grace considered this. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. But I’ve loved her all my life. I mean, if she’s alive, I just have to...”

  Pat put his arm around her. “Maybe you need to give it some time.” He took another slow turn, surveying the whole space. “Well, one thing I can tell you for sure: you’re an artist, man. I always knew it. What’s up in the loft?”

  “Go on up.” Grace followed him up the ladder. “Watch your head.”

  ”Nice,” he said as he crawled up into Grace’s suspended bedroom. Next to her mattress was a sheepskin, its thick coffee-colored fleece still soft with lanolin. Years ago, Mrs. G had taken a trip to the other side of the mountains to visit her sister and she brought it back for Grace. Pat lay on his back on the soft fleece and watched Grace as she came up off the ladder.

  She reached for the box of diaries. “I found my diaries from when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah? Do you really want to relive all that?”

  “You’re probably right.” Grace’s head was swirling now. If her mother left her and didn’t come back, maybe she was a monster. Maybe it would be a mistake to track her down. It was so hard to imagine. As a child, Grace believed her mother was an angel looking out for her. But that was all a fantasy. Truth was she didn’t know anything about her mother. Not really.

  Thinking about Annie was exhausting and Grace longed to forget about all that for a while.

  She pushed the box aside and sat next to Pat on the fleece.

  Could she ask him what was going on at the mill? She feared where that might lead. She didn’t want to fight with him again. Holding onto all that anger was like hiking up a mountain with a ten-ton pack. She ached to put it down. Grace shoved away the questions that had been plaguing her and leaned her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her and laid her back on the fleece.

  Leaning over her he whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

  She started to tell him how she didn’t know who she could trust anymore, but he put his finger to her lips.

  “Shhhh.” He brushed the hair from the side of her face. His lips slowly traced a line down the side of her neck and she wrapped her arms around him, relishing the contact.

  Pat and Grace had first had sex in the cab of his truck when they were juniors in high school. It was awkward and fumbling and mostly embarrassing. But Pat had laid claim to Grace with his body and to Grace that felt like love: the kind of love that anchored her and reminded her where she belonged. When the shifting tide pulled hard against that anchor, the tether had stretched and thinned. Pat had turned to spite and bitterness, Grace to denial. But now, completely unmoored, Grace recognized the safe port of their mutual history and longed to return.

  She let her lips find Pat’s. She closed her eyes. Melding her body to his, breathing in his smell, tasting the cedar-salt of his skin, Grace yearned to forget everything she’d learned in the last days and return to the shelter of what she’d always believed. Pat invited her to come back home and Grace let her body decide.

  SECTION 4: LOST AND FOUND

  Chapter 17

  Pat’s arm lay across her stomach. Grace opened her eyes and took a deep breath. What had she done? She forced herself to rewind the last day and night. The urgency and the surrender; the fury, the betrayal, and the comfort of Pat’s arms around her. She looked at the clock.

  She lifted Pat’s arm to free herself. “Patrick, you need to go.” She shook him.

  “Huh?” He picked up Grace’s alarm clock from the floor by the bed. “It’s only five a.m. I don’t have to work today.” Then he rolled over and put his hand on her back. “We can spend the day right here.”

  “No. No we can’t. I have to get to the café. Lyle’s been covering for me and I need to give him a break. You need to go. Now.” She was up, grabbing her clothes, climbing down the ladder. “I’m going to take a shower and you’ll be gone when I get out,” she called to him as she walked to the bathroom.

  “What’s the big rush? You know no one is going to be there this early.”

  “You never know. We can�
�t afford to miss a single customer.” She pulled the bathroom door closed behind her.

  When she stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around her hair, he was dressed and standing by the fireplace.

  “I think I’ll have breakfast at the Hoot Owl this morning. How’s that?”

  She retreated into the bathroom and busied herself rubbing the towel over her head. He poked his head in the doorway to check out the underwater paradise she’d created around the blue toilet. The whole space was painted in multiple shades of blue and green. Bubbles rose along the edges of flowing seaweed. Tropical fish swam across the floor and walls. Grace tried to avoid his eyes as he looked at her in the mirror.

  “I don’t know how we’re stocked. I gotta make pies and stuff. On second thought, you should just stay here. I’ll call you when I have a break.”

  “Naw. I’m up now. I’ll walk you over.” He picked up his jacket from the couch.

  “No. Listen, Pat. I’m not ready for everyone seeing us together again.” She was beginning to panic. She had to get up the mountain and deal with Chelsea. If Pat found out—she just couldn’t think about that now. “This is all so...” She looked down at her hands. They had curled into fists without her realizing it. “I mean, you need to give me time.”

  “Whoa. What was that all about last night?” He put his hand under her chin and turned her face to look at him. “Am I missing something here? You sure seemed ready to get back together last night.”

  Grace twisted away from him. “Yeah. Well, now I’m not so sure. Everything is just so strange right now. Can’t we back off a little while I figure things out?”

  He started at her, his lips open, his eyes full of hurt. “OK. That’s fine. I understand.” He turned his back on her. “When you come from a family that lies to you, I guess you have trouble being straight about things,” he said as he walked to the door and put his hand on the knob. “If you ever make up your mind, think twice before calling me, Grace. I don’t need to go through this again.”