The 45th Parallel

by Lisa Girolami

  She jerked her head toward the Buick. “Yeah, bummer. I think Mack’s the only one that’ll come out here this late.”

  “Who’s Mack?”

  “One of the two mechanics we have in town.” She pointed to where they were both heading prior to the accident.

  “Does he have a tow truck?”

  The young woman closed her jacket tighter and nodded.

  Great, Val thought as disappointment joined the rest of the unpleasant feelings she’d been dealing with. This would add time to a visit she really needed to be as short as possible.

  Chapter Two

  The woman stood along the side of the road with Val until the tow truck came. Val considered sitting in the car to keep out of the rain, but the girl made no move to do the same and Val was already soaked, so they remained there, not saying much. Luckily, they waited only fifteen minutes or so, and Val supposed that was one of the few good things about a small town.

  A tall, lanky man climbed out of a tow truck that had probably assisted many Studebakers and Edsels in its youth. He was at least forty, although it was hard to tell because the sun and, more than likely, smoking or drinking hadn’t been too kind to his looks.

  Though he gave the truck door quite a push, it didn’t close all the way but just clunked against the frame and creaked its way back out a few inches.

  “Evenin’, Cindy.”

  “Hey, Mack. This here’s…” Cindy turned to Val. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Val. Montague.”

  Mack looked at her in that you’re-not-from-around-here squint. “Miss Montague’s kid?”

  “Kris Montague, yes.”

  “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mack started to hitch up Val’s car. “Cindy, I’ll take you and drop you off and then come back for your car after, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  When he was done, he motioned for Cindy and her to get in the truck. “Come on, it’s a short ride.”

  It was short but not quiet. Val assumed that every part on the truck was loose. Things clanked and squeaked and hissed with such a cadence that it sounded as if a dreadfully unrehearsed orchestra was warming up.

  They didn’t talk at all except for Mack sucking what must have been dinner from his teeth. And from what his coveralls revealed, dinner was probably ribs and mashed potatoes. She began to wonder what kind of moonshine he washed it all down with but stopped and silently scolded herself for having disparaging thoughts. She didn’t have any reason to cop an attitude. She should be grateful he’d come to help, for God sakes.

  She looked out the rain-slicked window, watching the population of little buildings and houses grow. And there it was. The Hemlock town-limit sign. The population was the same, 3,858 people, which either meant that since she left, no one had come or gone but her, or that the town just didn’t care to spend the funds to update the sign.

  She didn’t see any new houses or commercial buildings, but everything was dark along the street. She recognized the liquor store, the Bijou Theater, and the smattering of closed-for-the-season souvenir shops whose neon signs were all turned off. The tow truck slowed down, and Val looked up to see the only lit sign in town. It read simply Bob Mackinaw, Mechanic.

  Cindy had been right. Mack was probably the only person who was even moving about this late at night.

  *

  Val sat with Cindy in the front waiting room of the converted gas station. The chairs stood in a row and each one was different from the other, as if they’d been picked up at thrift stores here and there and deposited without much thought. Hers had a gold metal frame and a vinyl seat with an autumn-leaves motif. It had obviously spent its previous life in a 1960s kitchen. Cindy slouched back in a wicker lawn chair that seemed to be desperately holding on to its last bit of red, sun-worn paint. But every time Cindy adjusted her butt, a small chip or two would dislodge and fall to the floor under her.

  Mack had given them Styrofoam cups of coffee that tasted like the bottom of a muddy river, but Val was appreciative. She hoped it wouldn’t take that long to assess the damage. Fatigue had crept into her shoulders and head, and she really needed to get some sleep.

  Mack must have called in a helper because another mechanic was in the shop. He’d been waiting at the garage when they’d returned and had hopped in the tow truck as soon as Mack had backed in and unhooked Val’s car. Now he was back with Cindy’s car and they were examining the damage.

  Val listened to the sounds coming from the garage. Doors opened and closed, and the cries of metal creaking meant that Mack was probably examining their hoods.

  Cindy was on her phone playing some game with fruit being slashed into mushy pieces. She didn’t seem concerned about her car’s damage and the possible costs involved. She was young enough that it might have been her parents’ car, but she didn’t look worried about their reaction either.

  Val stood and paced the front room. A water dispenser stood in the corner, the large plastic bottle on top filled with what looked like pink lemonade. A sign taped to the big jug read For our littlest customers only.

  She checked her watch and then opened the door into the garage area. Cindy jumped out of her chair and was immediately behind her. Maybe the fruit war had only temporarily kept her concern about the car’s damage at bay.

  Mack walked around the cars writing things down on a clipboard. The other mechanic, who wasn’t as tall as Mack but very wide and muscular, shuffled around in the background.

  Mack stopped at Val’s car and reached down, under the bent hood. He put the clipboard down and retrieved a crowbar from a nearby workbench, then pried the hood open as far as he could. Peering in, he nodded and returned to the clipboard.

  He walked back to them, speaking to Cindy first. “You’ve got some front-end damage. Your car’s drivable, but you should get a new hood and grill.”

  He handed the estimate to her and looked at his clipboard again. Val followed him over to her car.

  “Your windshield’s cracked, as you can see. The deer hit the top portion of your hood and grill. The radiator needs replacing and so does the windshield.”

  “Is it drivable?”

  “No. You wouldn’t get far with that broken radiator.” He handed her the estimate.

  “I need to call my mother’s insurance agency in Portland and see what they say. How long will you need to have the car?” Either way, Val thought, she’d probably still have to rent a car.

  “I’ll have to call about the availability of a radiator. But it shouldn’t be long at all since it’s a newer model. Too late to call now. I’ll know tomorrow. I’ll need your keys.”

  She pulled the car key from the keychain and dropped it into Mack’s open hand.

  “Bobby,” Mack called out to the other mechanic. “Drive these women home, will ya?”

  *

  It was after two in the morning when Bobby turned off Coast Highway and drove the three hundred feet up her mom’s street and dropped Val off in front of the house. He didn’t wait to see her get in safely, but that was fine with her. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to go in.

  Standing next to her rolling suitcase, she paused and listened to the sound of distant waves from the ocean. She closed her eyes and felt the cool, damp sea air on her face, letting herself be carried back to her childhood. She turned her head away from the ocean, and the ever-present scent of pines greeted her like one of the few friends she had that had ever brought her tranquility. As far back as she could remember, any time of the day, she could always close her eyes and just breathe in. The evergreens would take her away to the forest and she could picture herself all alone, with no arguing, no craving to be chosen over her mother’s boyfriends, and no heartache.

  Opening her eyes, she told herself that she no longer needed to escape. She’d already accomplished that feat. She was just back temporarily to take care of things and leave.

  She searched the yard for the for-sale sign and found it in
the southern-most corner, close to the street. Nedra Tobias Real Estate, it read, Not the Only Agent in Town. Just the Best. She didn’t know Nedra other than hearing her mother mention her once or twice during their infrequent phone calls. She was a friend, part of the same church her mother attended, she thought, but wasn’t sure.

  Jingling her mother’s keychain, she took one more deep breath of pine air and walked up the three porch steps to unlock the door.

  She closed the door behind her and let go of the suitcase. The house was as neat as she remembered. To the right of the foyer was the living room, very quaint, with warm, inviting furniture. The dining room was off to the left, leading to the kitchen. In front of her, the hallway ran width-wise and led to a bathroom straight ahead and two bedrooms; her mother’s was on the left, hers had been on the right.

  Val walked into the dining room. How many meals had she eaten at this very table? How many meals had she been excused from and sent to her room?

  She walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch. She’d always appreciated her mother’s simple taste. No tchotchkes filled up every space like they had in the homes of her friends’ parents. Most things that were displayed had a meaning or a purpose. An Aleutian Eskimo had given her mother the small handwoven basket neatly centered on the coffee table, small enough to fit daintily in her palm when she was a young girl.

  Three beautifully carved wooden faces hung on the wall across from her. Each was painted in elaborate Kabuki makeup and represented the three kanji symbols that made up the word for the classical Japanese dance-drama: song, dance, and skill. Her mother had brought it home from a trip to Japan, long before Val was born, when she had spent a summer in Kyoto, the place of origin of the art form.

  On the end table, next to her mother’s reading chair, sat a miniature bronze figurine of a rabbit that had accompanied her mother home from Austria. Its Art-Deco lines had always intrigued Val, although her mother’s description of the style as Streamline Moderne had been too hard for a little girl to remember. But Art Deco reminded her of artwork on a wooden deck, much like the wooden table on which it always rested, so it was easier to remember the style that way.

  Her mother had traveled extensively before marrying Val’s father, but she had no global artifacts from her post-marriage years. Either her father had made her mother stop traveling or the arrival of Val had. Either way, it always made Val sad to think that her mother had a life before her family and a different, possibly disappointing, kind of life after.

  Val looked up toward the ceiling. The paint had very slightly yellowed, but maybe it was just the lighting. Either way, the house would soon be sold and, along with it, all the memories of her childhood. She could look at that as either good or bad, depending on what she chose to focus on.

  But she decided to quit reminiscing for the night. It was very late and she had things to do tomorrow.

  “Mom,” she said aloud, “I’m sorry about selling this place. And about your car.”

  She wheeled her suitcase into her old bedroom. The bed was made and the sheets weren’t musty, so all she had to do was brush her teeth, undress, and get some sleep.

  She reached in her pants pocket and retrieved her mother’s keychain. The brass house key was worn to a shine on the tiny jagged mountain peaks that had to have been inserted into the front door hundreds of thousands of times. The car key was with Mack, and the only other key on the ring was thin and had a longer neck. It looked like a safe-deposit-box key. She had another errand to run.

  Suddenly very tired, she placed her hands over her face. Her sigh helped alleviate absolutely none of the heaviness in her heart.

  *

  Unable to sleep, Val awoke very early. She recalled bizarre-feeling dreams whose images and themes had vanished with the amnesia of sleep, leaving her disturbed and tired. She lay awake for a long time, reviewing the tasks that lay ahead. Finally around seven, she got up and took a shower.

  Now in the kitchen, she poured coffee into a mug and looked out the window. The morning was fresh and crisp. But the Oregon coast had swept a light layer of fog across the lawn and it hovered there, as if loitering about, waiting for something or someone. The kitchen was in the corner of the house, so she could see the coastal highway. Her mother’s street ran perpendicular to the highway. Though her mom’s house was the third house in, she couldn’t quite see the water because of the buildings across the way. But it was there, less than sixty feet behind the structures. A few cars traversed back and forth on the highway, and none seemed in a hurry.

  A brand-new red Tesla slowed at the corner and came up toward the house. Val watched it park in front and wondered who it was.

  An elderly woman climbed out, adjusted her business dress, and then walked up to the for-sale sign. She regarded it momentarily and reached out to straighten it. She brushed off a few pine needles from the wooden post and, when she appeared satisfied, turned toward the walkway and approached the house. Evidently, this was Nedra Tobias.

  Val, cup in hand, was already opening the front door when the bell rang.

  “Oh,” Nedra said, obviously surprised. She was about as old as her mother but much more well dressed. Maybe that was because Nedra had a job that required it. Her mother was retired and hadn’t needed to make the extra effort. “Good morning,” Nedra said. “I see your flight got in on time. Did you have any trouble finding your way back to our gem of a little town?

  “Just some car trouble, but nothing to worry about.”

  The comment didn’t seem to register because Nedra was already saying, “Valerie Montague! My, my, have you grown! You were a beautiful young lady when you left and now look at you! Your mother in heaven is very proud of you.”

  Val slowly cocked her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember ever…”

  Nedra waved the rest of the comment away as if it were a troublesome gnat. “Your mother has shown me many pictures of you. Back when you were in high school, of course.”

  “Uh,” Val said. Her discomfort that this woman probably knew more about her mother than Val did made her uneasy. “Thank you. Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

  “No, thank you, honey. I’m off to the office. I just wanted to stop by and confirm the open house today.”

  “Ten o’clock, right?”

  “Yes, ten until two. Now I’ll be here to watch your things. We’re bonded. All the good agents are, you know. The owners don’t normally stay, you know. It makes potential buyers nervous. They like to be able to talk openly. You understand…”

  Nedra patted her on the wrist as she continued. “I’m so sorry your mother died, Valerie. Kris was a good woman. She’s been irreplaceable at church. I’ll make sure this home gets a decent owner.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Nedra, may I ask you something?”

  “Sure, dear, what is it?”

  “Do you know what happened the night my mom got sick and went to the hospital?”

  “Well, not exactly. I heard she went to the hospital, and then they called the police station when they found out she lived in Hemlock. I read about it in the local paper.”

  “The doctor at the emergency room said she must have been having trouble because she drove herself to the hospital. He said she died of sudden arrhythmic death.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. It was awful.”

  “Had you noticed that she was having any trouble breathing, or was she complaining of dizziness?” Val had researched the condition on the Internet, which explained for her that arrhythmia must have caused her mom’s heart rhythm to go out of synch and that it had either been beating too fast or too slow. Certainly cancer and diabetes had plagued her older relatives, but no one had ever had heart problems.

  “No, she didn’t say anything to me about that.”

  “Do you know if she’d been to the doctor recently?”

  “She might have, but we never talked about it.” Nedra picked a small piece of peeling paint from the doorfram
e. “I sure wish you’d move back here, Val. I could find you another place…maybe up the coast a little ways—”

  “Thank you, but no, Nedra. I’ll stay until everything’s liquidated, and then I’ll be getting back to Dallas.”

  “Is the antique business going well, dear?”

  She did know more than Val had assumed. “Yes. I travel quite a bit and I enjoy it.”

  “Must be exciting!”

  “Nedra,” Val said, “do you think it’ll take long? For the house to sell, I mean.”

  “I don’t suppose so. Kris kept this house up very nicely. And beach property is always at a premium. Plus, I know everyone in town, and I’ve sold most of the houses in Hemlock at least once.”

  Val leaned out the door, looking toward her neighbors. “It’s a small house compared to these others.”

  Again, she waved off Val’s words. “It doesn’t matter, dear. Big houses, small houses. They all sell well when you’ve practically got sand for a backyard.”

  “Okay, thank you.”

  Nedra turned to walk back to her car. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll take care of all the details.”

  Val stood at the open door a few minutes after Nedra had motored off in a car that seemed so out of the ordinary for a small, backward town.

  She thought about her mother and wondered if anything could have saved her. It all had to have happened pretty quickly, and Val felt the wretched pain of knowing she died alone.

  A bright-blue Kia rounded the corner, shaking Val from her thoughts. When it parked in front of her house, she knew this was the rental car she’d called for. They’d told her they’d deliver it and all she had to do was sign a few papers and drop the driver back off at the agency down in Newport.

  The distant cackling of a seagull sounded from the direction of the ocean. She used to chase them when she was a kid, running up and down that same beach for hours, convinced that she’d eventually catch one.

  A chapter was truly closing. She’d never had a chance to come back home and relive her childhood. And now that she was back, she didn’t seem to have enough time, or desire, to do so.