Getting Somewhere

by Beth Neff

  WHEN SARAH WAKES up this morning, it’s not so different from how it was on the street. She has to lie there for a minute and get her bearings, think what might have changed in the configuration of the world around her, what happened yesterday that she needs to be prepared for today. It’s a kind of accounting of what has gone and what remains.

  Which, of course, leads her thoughts directly to Jenna, the memory of where she is and how she got there. Sarah can hardly bear to think of Jenna in detention, tries, instead, to picture her at the river or bent in the garden or . . . just about anywhere else but there. The exercise does nothing to relieve the burden of sorrow and regret pressing on Sarah’s chest.

  At least Jenna isn’t dead. Gone is one thing, even if you never see a person again. Dead is totally another. And the guilt. Yeah, well. There’s always that.

  Sarah is just about ready to push herself up out of bed when there is a light tapping on her door. She calls, “Come in,” but the door is already open and Lauren is standing in a shaft of light from the window, her face made up as it was when she arrived here and her hair cut off at the shoulders so that just the tips are still blonde, the rest a rather mousy brown that is similar in color to Sarah’s own thin, straight locks. Sarah thinks it’s a little weird that Lauren would cut her hair to go home, dress up like she’s going to meet new people or go out on a date.

  Lauren has left her suitcases out in the hall, steps into Sarah’s room, and shuts the door, but doesn’t come any closer. “I’m not mad anymore.”

  Sarah shakes her head. So much for the niceties of conversation.

  But Lauren misunderstands the gesture. “No, really. I was mad—really, really mad—but I’m not now. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m going.”

  When Sarah doesn’t respond, Lauren stands uncomfortably for a moment and then shrugs. “Well, I guess I just wanted to say good-bye,” she says with a little laugh.

  Sarah feels kind of vulnerable or something still lying in the bed in just her T-shirt and underwear so she sits fully upright on the opposite edge so only one side of her face is toward Lauren. “Okay. Bye.”

  “Geez, now it seems like you’re mad. You’re not, are you? I mean, I think we gave it a pretty good shot, don’t you?”

  As with every time before, Sarah is dumbstruck by Lauren, can’t think of a single comeback but is mortified by the thought that Lauren can interpret her silence as agreement. She is determined to think of something to say, something that will make Lauren understand that Sarah’s not like her, doesn’t hate these people at all.

  Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s all she needs to say. “Lauren, I’m not like you.”

  Lauren actually throws her head back laughing. “Maybe not in the way you want to be but more than you think. Way more than you think.”

  Sarah shakes her head, gritting her teeth. “When are you going?” She prays to hear tires on gravel, the honking of a horn.

  “They’re releasing me to the custody of my parents at eight thirty this morning,” Lauren intones as if reading from an official document. Sarah imagines that there is just such a piece of paper somewhere, if not here than in the office of that woman, the investigator—Nancy Bobbitt.

  Home detention with intensive supervision. That’s what Ellie told them Lauren’s lawyer had convinced Lauren’s social worker to recommend to the judge. Lauren had even bragged to Sarah that she’d gotten out of electronic monitoring, wouldn’t have to wear one of those ankle bracelets at all, would instead just be reporting weekly, with her parents, to the surveillance officer and submitting an activities schedule for approval. “Think they’ll approve finger-painting and Play-Doh on my schedule?” Lauren had teased wryly. Covering their asses. That’s what Sarah thinks. Probably were afraid that Lauren would not only pursue her charges against Grace and the program but had maybe threatened the whole state welfare department as well. The only compensation Sarah can think of is that Lauren will probably find being stuck at home with her parents for the next year a pretty stiff sentence after all.

  Mostly, Sarah tells herself she doesn’t give a shit what happens to Lauren, just knows that, after an unbearable week and a half in which Lauren treated everyone else as if they were the ones who had slandered her, Lauren is finally leaving.

  “Well, have a happy life.”

  “Oh, I will. Sorry you’re stuck here though. That’s got to suck. Especially since Ellie knows all about us trying to run away.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Lauren shrugs, doesn’t answer at first. “Even if she didn’t already know, Grace will probably rat you out.”

  Sarah lets out her breath. Lauren is lying, she’s sure of it. “That would be a little difficult since Grace isn’t even here.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Sarah turns to look at Lauren, just her head, just a little bit, so she can quickly look away if Lauren is messing with her. But Lauren is looking perfectly serious, uses her eyes and head to motion toward the window. Almost against her will, Sarah gets up and crosses the floor. If she leans a little way out, presses her face against the screen, she can just make out the bumper of the little silver car parked in front of Grace’s cabin.

  “When did she get back?”

  Lauren has recovered her victorious air, shrugs. “Hell if I know. What a wuss. Waits until I’m halfway out the door before she comes creeping back.”

  “Lauren, why do you always think everything is about you? I’m sure she had no idea you were leaving today. I know for a fact that Ellie didn’t even know where she was or how to contact her.”

  Lauren waves her hand dismissively. “You know no such thing. Even if that’s what Miss Prissy told you, it’s probably not true. Now you think you can be all buddy-buddy with them, kiss everybody’s ass, because there’s no one here who’s going to call you on it. I’d like to see how long you last with no ‘chemical assistance’ at all, when your only friend, the only person who can even stand to be around you, is gone.”

  Sarah has had enough. It’s like someone has just supplied her with X-ray glasses, and she can see right through Lauren. What she is saying just isn’t true. And this isn’t friendship. Sarah may not know what friendship is but she certainly knows now what it isn’t. It isn’t this and it isn’t people using each other and calling it loyalty and it isn’t clinging to others out of fear and desperation either. Sarah actually feels herself smiling, shaking her head at Lauren just as the girl has done so many times at her.

  “Thanks, Lauren,” she says, sounding half-amused. “I really appreciate that. Um, could you go now? I need to get dressed. We’ve got a lot of work to do today.”

  Lauren is momentarily caught off guard, then shrugs again, puts her hand on the doorknob. She seems to be searching for something more to say, finally mutters, “See you,” and opens the door. Sarah says nothing, just waits for the door to close behind Lauren, then drops to the edge of the bed again. She sits until she’s sure Lauren is long gone, then slowly rises and goes to her dresser, digging out a sort of floral tank top from the bottom of her drawer that Lauren told her in their first week here made her look like a baby and that has always been her favorite, pulls it determinedly over her head.

  GRACE IS SITTING at her regular place at the breakfast table when Sarah comes in. Sarah gives her a little wave, says, “Hey,” and scoots through quickly into the kitchen, ostensibly to see if there’s anything she can do to help. Donna has made an egg casserole and is just pulling it out of the oven when Sarah appears.

  “Anything I can do?”

  Donna smiles warmly at Sarah, places the casserole on the stove top and turns to face her.

  “Like Grand Central station around here, huh?”

  Sarah frowns, not understanding the reference, and Donna looks a bit embarrassed. “Just a lot of coming and going, I mean. Lauren out, Grac
e in.”

  Sarah nods her understanding. “Ah, yes. Is Grace . . . staying?”

  Donna shrugs, glances at the door into the dining room. “Far as I know. I haven’t even talked with her. She just came in this morning, talked to Ellie for a while in her room and now, I guess she’s ready for breakfast.”

  Sarah notices that Donna isn’t doing a very good job hiding a hint of rancor, or maybe she’s not even trying to hide it. “Do you mind telling Ellie that breakfast is ready? Cassie went to get some raspberries for yogurt but she should be right back.”

  “Okay.”

  But when Sarah goes back out to the dining room, Ellie is already sitting at the table, and she hears her say to Grace, “And you think the girls aren’t traumatized by all this, that we can just go on and pretend like none of it ever happened?”

  Sarah retreats into the kitchen again just as Cassie comes through the back door. “Maybe we should eat in here.”

  Sarah and Cassie meet eyes, Cassie’s wide and anxious. Donna looks from one to the other but doesn’t say anything, just lets out a deep sigh and carries the casserole doggedly through the door into the dining room. Sarah and Cassie follow more tentatively, Sarah grabbing the yogurt bowl that Donna has left on the counter and Cassie carrying the container of raspberries she has just picked.

  A new configuration. Two girls, three women. Ellie and Grace have fallen silent. Sarah thinks to herself that this is the first time they’ve been outnumbered. The girls. A tickle has formed in her throat, and she is no longer hungry, her stomach clenched into a tight ball like a fist. She sits staring at her empty plate, wondering who will be the first to speak, what they could possibly say. She’s placing wagers in her head but she loses, betting on Ellie. It’s Grace.

  “So, have the melons started up yet? Those extra early ones we started under plastic? What were those called, like, ‘Harvest Gold’ or something?”

  No one responds.

  Grace laughs a little uncomfortably, says, “C’mon guys. I’m a little out of the loop here. Fill me in. Ellie?”

  Ellie looks up briefly from the piece of toast she is carefully buttering but doesn’t say anything.

  “I don’t think it’s going to work for you to pretend like you’ve just been on vacation,” Donna says mildly.

  “Actually, I think a vacation is a pretty good way to describe it. Do you know that I haven’t been camping on the Leelanau Peninsula since I was a little girl? A much-needed vacation, seems to me. One I think anyone could use under the circumstances.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re the only one who took one.”

  Grace carefully lays down her fork, wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Look, Donna, I don’t know what’s got you so bent out of shape, but I can’t see how you have any business questioning my actions. I had my reasons, good reasons. It wasn’t you being accused, and it wasn’t you waking up one morning and feeling like the worst part of your life was happening all over again, knowing exactly how these things go. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but I did what I needed to do. I knew I had to get away for a bit if I was going to be able to continue functioning here, offer any kind of support to anyone at all.”

  “Support? When have you ever provided support?”

  “Okay, Donna,” Ellie says quietly.

  “Okay what?” Donna sounds like an engine warming for take-off. “There is no way I’m going to sit here and act like everything is okay now, that we’re all back to normal because Grace has had her little vacation and now she’s home. Give me a break. While you were off pitching your tent on some beach somewhere, Grace, what did you think was going on here?”

  “I know exactly what was going on here,” Grace says quietly.

  “And the worst of it, in large part, because of you.”

  “Donna.”

  “No, Ellie. You won’t say it so I’m going to. There wasn’t one of us who didn’t want to take off, dump the responsibility on someone else. But none of us did that. Or only one of us besides you, a vulnerable girl who saw your example and followed it.”

  She has turned to Grace bodily, her palms flat on the table beside her plate as if they will propel her forward, enlarge her, her rage nearly lifting her from her seat.

  “She didn’t have the maturity to choose otherwise, and she sure as hell didn’t have the option of just coming back from her so-called ‘vacation.’ I don’t need you to explain to me why you left. I’m capable of understanding what you believe were ‘good reasons,’ whether I condone them or not. What I can’t understand is what you’re doing back.”

  “I live here, Donna. This is my home, the place I grew up, the farm my grandpa entrusted to me. I’m pretty sure I have the right to come back to my own farm, to continue the work my family started here—”

  “Oh for godsakes, Grace! How many times do we have to hear about what your grandpa wanted, his sacrifices, your obligations? I’d think that story would be getting old, even to you. This place is about a lot more now than you still trying to get your grandpa’s acceptance, can’t you see that?”

  “All right.” Ellie’s voice is low but firm. She glances at her own hand, which has formed a fist beside her tea cup and opens it slowly, fingers the cup’s handle but doesn’t pick it up.

  “That’s enough. I don’t think this is getting us anywhere. Maybe this discussion needs to happen in some form but not right now, and not in this way.”

  “We’re adults, Ellie. . . .”

  “I beg your pardon, Grace, but not everyone here is, as you regularly fail to notice. No question, they’re getting there faster than anyone might have hoped. We’re angry with you, Grace. We’re hurt by your actions, all of us, if I may be so bold as to speak for the group. We were forced to cover for your . . . decision. We had an agreement, a commitment, to create something meaningful, and it might have even been working, even with Lauren, could have kept working, but now. . . . we’ve lost something we cared about, Grace, and you played a part in the loss. At the very least, you could acknowledge that, stop trying to make everybody feel bad for you, maybe just say you’re fucking sorry!”

  This last comes out as a screech, and Ellie has her hands over her face. Sarah wishes now she had taken some food, not because she’s hungry, but because it would just be nice to have something to do with her hands. Or her mouth. Because she knows she’s about to speak.

  “Can I say something?”

  Ellie lowers her hands, tries to muster a smile. “Of course.”

  “I mean, you said maybe there’s a better time. I don’t want to . . .”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Well, it’s just that I think everybody is right. And everybody is wrong.”

  Sarah glances at Ellie first, then Donna, then back at her lap. She realizes that, up until this moment, it has always been Grace that she’s been afraid of—her temper, her obvious ambivalence toward the program, her high standards. But now, Grace doesn’t seem all that frightening. Maybe more pathetic, like this half-crippled dog that Sarah used to see on the street, growling whenever anybody passed but pretending to be incapable of getting up if anyone offered him food.

  No, now it’s Ellie she’s most worried about. And Donna, too. While she has needed Grace’s approval, she wants Ellie and Donna to like her, is afraid they won’t anymore if she disagrees with them. Yes, it’s true that she is angry at Grace. But that is only a small part of what she is feeling. She’s a little mad at Ellie, too, and is struggling to line up her thoughts so she can talk about them when she hears Cassie beside her, nearly whispering, “I think we are all adults.”

  Sarah realizes that’s it. She sits up a little straighter in her chair and looks directly at Ellie.

  “Cassie’s right. I mean, I don’t know the dictionary definition of an adult, whether it goes by age or something, but there’s got to be some
part about experience, too. This has all happened to us, too, me and Cassie. And we’ve been a part of this farm, too, growing stuff and learning how to take care of the plants and even making food out of them. I’m sure we’ve made a lot of mistakes but that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? It seems to me like your plan actually worked. I mean, what better way to become an adult than to have somebody try to take everything you’ve worked really hard for away from you?

  “I don’t know, I guess I just think that maybe the program, like, with a capital P being over isn’t such a bad thing. If it’s gone—like, gone in the way you thought it was supposed to be—and we’re still here, it seems like that sort of means that we don’t need it to be that way anymore. I’m not saying I want to leave here or anything or that . . . I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just wondering if maybe it doesn’t do any good to try to force us, any of us, to try to be here in the same way when it’s so obvious that everything has changed.”

  Sarah’s not sure what she’s said, but both Ellie and Donna are crying, not bawling or anything, just quiet tears running down their faces. Sarah hasn’t even looked at Grace yet this morning, not really faced her and the things she knows, the things they know together—but now she does. Grace is looking at her with an expression that Sarah is pretty sure she’s only seen on her face one other time—when she was telling them her story, looking across the fields at the barn, the place where her grandfather found her mother dead, and seeing in her memory that moment she’s carried with her ever since, when she became aware of the life—and the child—her mother was willing to sacrifice. And then Grace is nodding, and Sarah sees her hand reaching out and Sarah takes it.

  “Maybe,” Grace says, seemingly talking just to Sarah but with her eyes on Ellie, “if I’d had this when I was becoming an adult”—and she waves her arm to include the table, and everyone at it, and the whole farm—“I’d have figured that out a long time ago.”