Freefall

by Robin Brande

  When Livia came down, about an hour later, Sue unceremoniously got up from the dining table and took her third refill of coffee outside. Eliza admired her lack of pretense. She wished she had gotten up and run out with her.

  “Where is everybody?” Livia asked cheerfully. She’d showered, styled her hair, and put on a fresh layer of makeup. She wore black yoga pants and a loose white blouse open over a lacy red camisole.

  Eliza wore shorts and a T-shirt.

  “I don’t know,” she answered with a yawn. “I’ve only seen Sue.”

  “Coffee?” Livia said, spying the machine. “Mm, good.”

  Eliza felt torn: On the one hand, she wanted to go sit on the porch with Sue, if that’s where she was, and stare out at the water in silence. On the other hand, she felt some obligation to Sue—just a matter of pure, human kindness—to keep this woman away from her until Sue had rejoined the land of the living. It was a sacrifice Eliza hated to make, but she knew she had to do it.

  But she could do it on her own terms, she decided. Take a lesson from Livia’s lover, and not feel compelled to speak, just because she was spoken to.

  Livia started in right away. “So, ready to head into town? I thought we’d try that store we saw when we turned off the highway. It looks like one of those places that has everything—tools to linens. And there were all those antique shops—you said you wanted to look at antiques, right? Then maybe we can find someplace decent to have lunch, although I doubt they have anything good up here...”

  Eliza tried to tune her out as she droned on. But she’d never acquired the talent for not listening. Sometimes on trips, she and Jamey would be stuck with a guide or a fellow hiker or climber who could not...shut...up. Eliza would always be the one stuck nodding and “hmm”-ing and “oh, is that right?” while Jamey read a book or slept. He never felt that insane compulsion to be polite and attentive if he didn’t really want to. Eliza scolded him all the time for making her do all the heavy lifting in a conversation.

  “Why do you have to do it?” Jamey would ask her. “Who appointed you?”

  “But they’re talking to me,” she’d say. “What am I supposed to do, just get up and leave?”

  “Do whatever you have to. You’re not doing these people any favors by letting them think they’re interesting. People have to learn how to tell stories. If they’re boring, they need to know that.”

  Eliza would always give up. Jamey just didn’t understand. And besides, he didn’t have to listen as long as Eliza was around. People would just keep yammering at her.

  “...still think it’s worth looking for a concert or some kind of show tonight. I didn’t even see a movie theatre—did you? I don’t know what people do out here in the woods.”

  Have loud raucous sex all night.

  “I have to use the bathroom,” Eliza said.

  She escaped up the stairs. She pulled her travel kit out of her bag and headed for the bathroom. A shower sounded good. Something long and solitary and quiet.

  The door was locked.

  “Just a minute,” came Ted’s voice from inside.

  “Oh. Don’t worry—I’ll just wait in my room.”

  The door swung open. “It’s fine,” Ted said. “I’m done.” His hair was wet and he smelled like aftershave. “Good morning.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Hi.” Eliza wondered if he’d heard his brother and Livia next door. The bathroom was between their two rooms, but if Eliza could hear them from the end of the hall, surely Ted had, too.

  “So,” she said, “interesting night, huh?”

  Ted smiled. “Interesting.”

  “What are you doing today? Livia wants me to go shopping, but I think I’d rather poke out my own eyeballs.”

  “You should go,” Ted said. “You might have fun.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Eliza backed away as he brushed past her. “So...what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, I’ll figure something out,” he said. Then he headed down the stairs.

  Eliza shut herself in the bathroom. It was still steamy from Ted’s shower. The window high on the wall was open, but very little air circulated through.

  She stood under the warm water, then adjusted the faucet to make it colder. A day on the lake might be nice. Maybe she could take one of the kayaks out again, and this time paddle all the way out to that island. Bring her bathing suit and take a swim. But the key was: alone.

  Or maybe with Ted. If he suggested it.

  But definitely not shopping with Livia.

  Learn to say no. Once again, not living up to her own column. If people knew how little she practiced what she preached, they’d stop reading her and move on to someone who wasn’t such a fraud.

  But by the time she got back downstairs, ready to take a stand, the matter had already been taken care of for her.

  “We’re leaving,” David Walsh said. “Do you still want a ride?”

  18

  It was the reverse of how they’d driven up there: David and Livia in front, Eliza in the back with Bear stretched out along the seat, his head in her lap. If only there had been a divider between the seats, Eliza thought, like a limo. She could have ridden in perfect contentment with just the scenery passing by her window and the sound of a big black dog snoring on her lap.

  It seemed impossible, but Livia was even chattier on the ride home than she had been on the ride up. Luckily, most of it was marketing related—her new ideas for various campaigns for the Walsh’s stores—so Eliza really could practice what Jamey tried to teach her, tuning people out, treating their voices like white noise.

  Except every now and then, Livia would try to involve her.

  “Eliza, which would you rather see in an ad: a mother and her daughter shopping for food, a mother and her two kids—maybe a toddler and a baby—or a single woman, like you, dressed for work, maybe shopping for fresh produce?”

  Before Eliza could answer, Livia rolled on.

  “I think you’ll always bring in the single shopper,” she told David. “You’re a neighborhood store, they can get everything they want there, and maybe they’ll meet somebody in front of the seafood counter, you know how people think, it’s the same reason they pay four dollars for a cup of coffee they could make at home, because they’re not meeting Mr. or Ms. Right in their kitchen every morning—but the family dollar, that’s what we need to fight for. Because let’s face it, Walsh’s is boutique when it comes to most of your prices, and moms can get detergent a lot of places more cheaply...”

  Eliza curled forward and whispered in Bear’s ear, “I’m going to jump out of this car right now. Are you with me?”

  When they finally reached Careyville, Eliza knew she only had to hold on a few more minutes. But still, Livia continued her monologue. Eliza couldn’t remember David chiming in even once.

  When the SUV pulled up in front of Hildy’s house, Eliza unbuckled her seat belt, gave the dog a quick kiss on the head, and leapt out of the car. Livia rolled down her window to say goodbye.

  “It’s been fun. I’ll call you,” she said.

  Why? Eliza wanted to answer.

  She met David at the back of the car, where he separated Eliza’s one bag from the pile of Livia’s.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  He motioned his head toward the front of the car.

  Eliza narrowed her eyes. Was he really apologizing for his girlfriend?

  “Thank you for the ride. This weekend has been...”

  David nodded and lowered the back hatch.

  He got back into the car and pulled away. Eliza could hear Livia already talking again.

  “I’m home!” she called as she came in downstairs. Daisy barked and ran down to meet her. “Miss me?” she asked the dog.

  “Uh-oh, there’s a story there,” Hildy called from upstairs.

  “There is,” Eliza answered, “but I’m not really sure I understand it.”

  “Well
, come up here and tell it,” Hildy said. “I thought I’d have to wait at least one more day for something juicy.”

  * * *

  “You know what I think,” Hildy said when Eliza had told her everything she knew. “I think there was some hanky-panky.”

  “Of course there was hanky-panky—I already told you that. Sue and I both heard it.”

  “But you think it was Livia and David.”

  “Right,” Eliza said.

  “I think it was Livia and Teddy.”

  “No.” Eliza thought about it for a second. “No. I don’t think so. I think that would have been—” She looked into her mother-in-law’s smug, knowing face. “Do you really think so?”

  “Put it together,” Hildy said. “They’re drinking, you’ve told Teddy he isn’t getting anywhere, David doesn’t seem that interested in her—nature takes its course. You said the two of them were flirting.”

  “Maybe,” Eliza corrected. “They were both joking around with each other. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “He told her she has nice legs. She said he’d met his match.”

  “Actually, I think he said she’d met hers.”

  “Details,” Hildy said, flicking her hand. “And then while you’re in the shower this morning, the four of them have it out.”

  “What four?”

  “Suzy and her brothers and that woman.”

  “Sue wouldn’t do that.”

  “Wouldn’t she?” Hildy said. “That Suzy is a pistol when she wants to be. Maybe not as much as when I knew her, but even when she was a little girl, she could give those brothers a real talking-to.”

  “So you think she confronted Ted and Livia, right in front of David?”

  “Why not?” Hildy said. “She doesn’t owe that Livia anything. And why should she keep Teddy’s secret if it’s going to hurt Davey? She always liked Davey better—I could tell. And Suzy can get on her high horse. She’s not going to stand for one brother messing around with the other one’s girl.”

  “Huh.” Eliza propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “I have no idea if you’re right, but that is pretty juicy.”

  “And you know what else I noticed?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t seem very upset.”

  Eliza sat up straight and put her hands back in her lap. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, ‘oh.’ Want to tell me what that’s about? I thought you liked him.”

  “I guess not that much.”

  “I guess not,” Hildy said. “So that’s worth knowing.”

  It was. Eliza thought about it for a moment more, and realized it was true: She didn’t actually care. She could pretend to feel hurt or angry or betrayed, but that’s all it would be: pretend. The truth was Ted could sleep with Livia or whomever else he wanted to. It had nothing to do with Eliza—she would never be in his bed.

  “What I don’t understand,” Hildy said, “is why Davey gave that woman a ride home. Or why she left in the first place. If she’s with Teddy now, why didn’t she stay and whoop it up with him all weekend? Or why didn’t Teddy come back with her?”

  “I don’t know, Detective, you tell me.”

  “I’ll tell you why: She’s scared for her job, for one thing—that’s why she was yammering about work all the way home. She slept with her boss’s brother.”

  “They’re both her bosses,” Eliza pointed out.

  Hildy dismissed it. “Davey has the power. Everybody knows that.”

  “Then why did David give her a ride home? Why didn’t Ted?”

  “Because I think Teddy doesn’t really like her—maybe it was just some drunken fling—but then Suzy threw Livia out anyway, and Davey’s a gentleman and said he’d drive her home. Or else he’s a wimp and he doesn’t care that his brother just slept with his girlfriend.”

  “I doubt he’s a wimp,” Eliza said. “You just said he holds the power. But there is one other possibility, you know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you’re completely, a hundred percent wrong, and none of that ever happened. It was David in there with Livia, and Ted had nothing to do with it.”

  Hildy shrugged. “I like my way better. You think about it and you’ll see. Hanky-panky last night, family fireworks this morning, and you were just an innocent bystander.”

  “Unless Ted only ended up with Livia because he thinks I rejected him. In which case I’m an accessory.”

  “If that boy had any guts, he’d keep trying with you. He wouldn’t let some skinny girl with loose morals trick him into bed.”

  “I doubt that she tricked him,” Eliza said, “if that’s what happened—and didn’t we both just agree that I don’t want him to keep trying? Plus, I think the truth is Livia is a much better match for him. You should see the two of them together.”

  “Then who’s the match for you—David?”

  “No,” Eliza said, letting out a sigh. “Neither of them—no one. My match was Jamey. I couldn’t stop thinking about him yesterday. I think about him all the time.”

  “Honey—”

  “No, Hildy, it’s time to face it. Some people have just one person who was right for them in their whole lives. That person was Jamey. And it’s okay. I had eleven perfect years with him. Some people don’t even get that.”

  “Lizzy...”

  “No. It’s time we really have this discussion,” Eliza said. “Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m sneaking around every time I think of him. I don’t want to feel like I’m disappointing you just because I haven’t gotten on with my life. I have gotten on with my life—this is it.

  “It’s one where I miss your boy every day. Where I think about conversations we had, and places we went, and all the dangerous, incredible things we did together. That’s a good life for me, Hildy. If I can’t have him anymore, I want to at least feel free to think about him twenty-four hours a day if I want to. And I don’t want to lie anymore and pretend I’m not.

  “No,” Eliza said forcefully, pointing at her mother-in-law’s face. “Do not cry again—I can’t take it. It means I can’t ever be honest with you.”

  “But it’s just so sad,” Hildy answered, her voice thick. “I know Jamey wouldn’t want that for you.”

  “Then he should have been more careful,” Eliza said, fighting back her own emotions. “Because he doesn’t have a say in this anymore.”

  “So that’s it?” Hildy said. “For the rest of your life?”

  “Till death do me part.”

  “That isn’t how the vow goes.”

  “It’s how it goes with me.”

  19

  Ninety-five degrees, ninety percent humidity.

  Or was it ninety degrees, ninety-five percent humidity?

  Whichever way, Eliza thought, it was hell, and she couldn’t imagine why people lived there voluntarily.

  Every time she stepped out of the shower, she felt just as wet as when she’d been in. Hildy’s house didn’t have central air conditioning, just a unit stuck in the kitchen window, so Eliza bought them three more fans, including a small one she carried with her from room to room.

  Still, the heat was oppressive. No, not the heat, Eliza thought—Henderson routinely saw July temperatures over 110 degrees—it was the energy-sapping, soul-destroying humidity that made her want to book her return ticket now and retreat to the desert where at least it was a dry heat. People joked about that, but Eliza could feel how much it truly mattered.

  She hadn’t been able to write for days. She couldn’t think. All she could do was be moist and miserable.

  “Complaining doesn’t help,” Hildy told her. “You need to take your mind off it. Want to go to a movie? They usually keep it freezing in there.”

  “No, I have work to do,” Eliza said. She could hear how cranky she sounded. She really did need to improve her mood or Hildy was going to buy the return plane ticket for her. “I have a column due tomorrow, and I can’t think of anything to wri
te.”

  “I thought you had backups,” Hildy said.

  “I do. But I looked through them yesterday and they’re all terrible. I don’t know why I ever thought I could write.”

  “You need to take a cold shower.”

  “I need to win the lottery so I can buy this house some air conditioning.”

  “Then go buy a lottery ticket,” Hildy said.

  “Maybe I will.”

  * * *

  She awoke at four the next morning with an idea. Writing sometimes worked that way for Eliza, and she was always grateful. She’d learned to capture it right away, because if she fell asleep again, so many of the best words would be lost. So she got up, made coffee, and pounded out the column on her laptop while the words were still fresh.

  Fake it till you make it. We’ve all heard that before, right? Imagine some better version of yourself—smarter, richer, more confident, loved—and then start pretending you already are that person. Eventually, so the theory goes, you forget that you’re pretending and you actually become who you want to be.

  But there’s another kind of pretending: pretending that you aren’t who you really know you are. You’re shy. You’re angry. You don’t really like other people. You don’t really like this job. You’re bad at something you pretend you’re good at. I’ll bet if I asked you to be honest with yourself, you could make a list of at least ten of those things right now: 10 WAYS IN WHICH I AM A FRAUD.

  Here’s number one on my list: I’ve been lying to all of you. I’m not really over Jamey. I don’t write about him anymore because I think it will depress you, but he’s all I really want to talk about. And you know what’s crazy about that? I’m supposed to write a whole book about him, and I can’t seem to get past the first page. The page that starts out:

  “Jamey used to play this game at people’s birthday parties. He made everyone go around the table and say something we liked about the birthday person, and something we didn’t like—and it had to be the same thing. So, ‘I like that Allison is spontaneous, because it makes it fun to be around her. I don’t like that Allison is spontaneous, because it makes it impossible to plan things with her.’ Things like that.