by Cote Smith
“I’m fine, Dad. I’m in Lawrence.”
Lia kept looking out the window, into her old house. She wished she could remember what happened there.
“Lawrence? Lia.” Her father sighed into the phone. “Well, I could really use your help, honey. Your mother could too. Can you come back? What are you doing there?”
Lia heard a creak behind her. Mrs. Gilmore stood in the doorway, eavesdropping with a cup of tea.
“I’ve gotta go, Dad.”
“Lia.”
“I’m sorry.”
She ended the call. Mrs. Gilmore cleared her throat, and when Lia turned to her, she handed Lia the tea. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Do you need to go?”
Lia sipped the tea. It tasted different somehow, more bitter. She turned back to the window to hide her grimace.
“No,” Lia said. “It was nothing.”
* * *
She didn’t stay much longer. Mrs. Gilmore didn’t know much more about Emile, only that he left suddenly after the haircut incident. She never saw him again. After tea, she made things weird again by putting on country music, insisting that Lia check out her art studio. It got weirder when Lia saw what she had been working on—the subject of all her pieces. Brad. Her dead son. Weirder still when Lia realized the paintings and drawings weren’t of the Brad Lia knew, the Brad of the past. They were scenes from Brad’s future, the one he never got to live. Here was Brad as a college senior, smiling proudly in his cap and gown. There he was on his wedding day, exchanging vows with a faceless bride.
“I’ve only made it to his thirties,” Mrs. Gilmore said. “He still has such a long way to go.” She set the paintings down. “I could do one of you, if you’d like. Your future, free of charge.”
She had declined. Lia left Lawrence that afternoon. She did not go by her old high school to see Miss Scott, nor did she run by the Sinnards. She felt the pull of those people and places, but what would be the point? They all belonged to a previous life, one that was no more real than the one Brad lived in Mrs. Gilmore’s sad paintings. And if her dad was right, if there was something wrong with her mother, the best way to help wasn’t by dwelling in her childhood haunts or even by reversing course to Oregon. It was by finding Max, finding Emile, and putting every mystery to bed.
Her dad texted constant updates as she drove. Lia titled the texts with the cities she was near or passing through at the time.
SEDALIA, MISSOURI
Home now, got a date in court.
When are you coming home Lia?
she keeps asking
Dad
LEBANON PT. 1
Bad night last night
Had the dream again
Really thinks its real
Don’t know how to tell her
When she’s awake its worse
LEBANON PT. 2
Wakes up saying
Get out Lia now
She says she yells
but you never do
There was no Max in Missouri. The house at the address she had listed had been bulldozed months ago. No one knew why. She checked it off the list. Kept eastward. She knew where she was going. She had been making her way there all along.
MOUNTAIN GROVE TO MOUNTAIN VIEW
Why won’t you answer me?
Are you scared?
JONESBORO, ARKANSAS
It’s ok to not know what to do.
Its not ok to run away. Though I guess
you are your mothers daughter.
When problems knock
you two are never around.
MEMPHIS
Sorry
(drinking)
JACKSON
Shouldn’t have said that
(drunk)
FRANKLIN, TENNESSEE
Had the court-ordered psych eval.
They asked about her dreams but she wouldn’t talk.
Told her to tell them so they can understand.
She kept quiet stared out the window, while this asshole
decided her mind, wrote it out on paper
We’ll hear back in a week or 2.
Will you be here when we do?
Will you answer the phone
when they take her away?
SPARTA (WHITE COUNTY, TN)
The same dream, the same reply
when I wake her she blinks
the fear, the panic
Is it happening? she says
Is it happening?
Then, for a few days, the texts stopped. Lia expected to feel guilty when she didn’t hear from him, but what she found was relief, a weight off her chest, and the farther she drove the lighter she felt. It was the same way she felt the last week of high school, like everything she could remember doing in her life had led her here, to this moment, and that whatever was about to happen, she deserved.
Sparta was surrounded by rolling hills, and driving into town Lia saw signs for waterfalls and caves, creeks and rivers. But the town itself was small and flat. It reminded her of Kansas, of the towns she’d driven through without even realizing it, until she passed a sign thanking her for visiting and asking her to please come back again. She popped into a diner, keeping an eye out for the locals she’d seen on the news. The husband who thought Limetown was an elaborate magic trick, the wife who blamed the government. A tall woman eyed her suspiciously. The entire town had a thrum to it, even now, a little over a year since the Panic, a lingering sense that things were still a little bit off. It made sense, Lia supposed. Every other day people like her must show up, nosing around, asking if the rumors were true. Is it really real? Have you seen it? Do you know how to get there? Have you been? Or do you stay away out of fear?
Unlike the rest of the world, no one here could move on.
She encountered multiple eye rolls when she asked her questions. But she had come this far, scratched off a lot of Maxes on her way—all dead ends. Plus, how many other nosy outsiders had relatives who were actual citizens of Limetown?
A lot, it turned out. Lia learned she wasn’t the first relative to come searching for their lost loved one. Some came by hoping for an update, an answered prayer. But no one knew anything, or nothing more than what was reported by the Limetown Commission’s superficial summary. Lia supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Most mysteries only grow murkier with time.
After the diner closed, she walked to a bar a block over, slid in with the fake she recovered when she moved back in with her parents. It was a seedy place, low-lit and empty save a couple of blue-jeaned hulks hunched over their beers at the bar. She thought of Robyn. It would have been nice to have her here, sharing cheap drinks, making fun of the townies. As Lia hid in a booth in the back, a part of her wanted to text her, apologize. But she wasn’t sure she would have forgiven her, and she wouldn’t have blamed her.
A few patrons trickled in. She recognized one of them from the diner, the tall woman, flanked by two friends. All three were in their late twenties. Lia tried not to stare but the alternative was looking at her phone, where another message from her dad might suddenly appear. The tall woman caught her looking and eventually came over, a dark well in each hand.
“Do you have cash?” the woman asked. “I prefer cash.”
Lia sat up straight. “I didn’t order anything,” she said, and felt foolish immediately after. She still didn’t know how to talk to women in these situations. Or if this was a situation.
The woman set one of her drinks down, wiped her hand on her jeans, and extended it to Lia. “I saw you snooping around earlier, back at the Ladybird. Asking about Limetown. So if you have cash, we can get started.”
Lia relaxed, remembering why she’d come to Sparta in the first place. “Started with what.”
“You want to see it, right? You want to go inside.”
Lia nodded. She tried to act calm, to hide the excitement sparking inside her.
“So what’s stopping you?”
“I heard the road was closed to the public.”
; The woman laughed. She turned back to her friends but they had disappeared. She looked confused for a moment, then shrugged and sat down next to Lia. Lia could smell the alcohol burning off her breath.
“One hundred bucks,” the woman said.
“What?”
“I can take you. They closed a road, but they didn’t close the road they don’t know about.”
“I don’t have—”
“Fifty. Final offer.”
“Listen,” Lia said.
“Max.”
“Max?”
“Yeah. Don’t tell me your name. Safer that way.”
“Max,” Lia repeated. The name made her pause.
“Short for Maxine.” She finished one of the wells. “So are we doing this or what?”
Lia sat there for a moment. Max of Tennessee. She wasn’t the Max Lia was looking for, but maybe she was the Max she needed. She recalled the original plan. Find Max Finlayson, report back to her mother. But she felt her mind pushing it away in favor of another.
Lia snapped out of her fog. “You want to take me to Limetown.”
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.”
Max laughed. “I’m drunk now,” she said. “Thirty minutes. That’s all I need.”
“Are you sure?” Lia asked. After all this time, all this searching, she couldn’t believe it was this easy. Her mother confessed that she had come here, during one of her disappearances. But she never said she’d been inside.
“Twenty.”
Lia didn’t say anything, but in her mind she was already on the road, driving toward the answers she and her mother needed. She was walking the streets of Limetown, comparing everything she saw to her mother’s dream.
“Fine. Fifteen,” Max said. She folded her arms and put her head down on the table. “But now you’re putting us both in danger.”
* * *
It was after midnight when they stepped out of the bar. It turned out that Max needed more than thirty minutes to sober up. Also, she needed a shower. So she told Lia to meet her outside the Ladybird in a couple of hours. Lia said she could drive, but Max laughed and said no, she couldn’t. Lia was from Kansas, which was cute, but Kansas country wasn’t Tennessee country. It wasn’t flat and empty. It was hilly and overgrown. Plus, it would be good to wait until later in the night, Max explained. The darker the better.
Lia went back to her car to grab a few things. The night turned cold, so she threw on the yellow scarf. She restocked the old Polaroid camera she’d found in the attic and wished she had invested in a newer camera. Two hours later Max still hadn’t shown. Lia regretted giving her half of the fifty up front. Another hour passed and she thought she would never see Max again. But then, just after three in the morning, she appeared, staggering down the middle of the street.
“Where the hell were you?” Lia said. Her toes were nearly numb from waiting.
“Sorry, sorry. I got lost.”
“You live here.” Lia rubbed her arms for warmth.
“That’s the embarrassing part. Hey, look at you, all wrapped in yellow.” She reached out for Lia’s scarf. Lia slapped her hand away. “So are we ready? Ready, ready, for the mystery tour.”
“You’re not driving,” Lia said.
“Probably a good idea. But check this out. I wrote it all down.” She gave Lia a crumpled napkin, on which there appeared to be detailed and surprisingly legible directions. “It should only take us a couple of hours. I’ll sleep the first leg—it’s easy—wake up right as rain and help navigate the rest.”
“When did you do this?”
“Right when I sobered up. Right before I started drinking again.” Lia put the napkin in her pocket and pushed Max away from her car. “Hey,” Max said.
Lia reached in her pocket for her keys, and when she did she felt her phone buzz. It was her dad again. It would be just after one in the morning his time, and Lia wondered if he was up late again, alone.
THE LADYBIRD
Jesus Christ Lia
your mom just told me
where she thinks your going
Are you serious?
I don’t know what is going on
with you or why you won’t listen
but your wasting your time
Answer me
I told him not to go back
But he didn’t listen
No one listens
Answer me
Help your mother
Don’t be your mother
The messages stopped. Lia waited for a follow-up apology (sorry, beer), but it never came.
Max cleared her throat loudly. “Sooooo, are we going or what?”
Lia flipped her phone shut. Her father’s disapproving voice buzzed in her ear. Your wasting your time.
“Text from an ex?” Max asked.
Don’t be your mother. She could almost see his face, the way his eyebrows pinched when he was upset and disappointed. And she didn’t know what angered her more—the assumption he knew more about Limetown than she did, when he didn’t, or the accusation that she was just like her mother, which she wasn’t. She hadn’t deceived her family for years. She hadn’t disappeared on them. She didn’t want any of this. Whereas Lia’s number-two strength was empathy, she had no idea what her mother’s would be. Duplicity, maybe. After manipulation.
Lia got in the car and started the engine. Max stumbled to the passenger door and tried the handle, but Lia kept it locked.
“Hey,” Max said. “Hell-ooo?”
Lia stared ahead, not acknowledging her. Answer me. Max stepped to the driver’s window to get Lia’s attention. “What’s going on? Hey!” She slapped the hood and Lia flicked on the headlights, blinding Max with the brights. “What the hell?”
Lia put the car in drive and nudged it forward, jostling Max enough that she almost fell backward.
“Are you crazy?” Max said.
Lia rolled down the window. “Get out of my way,” she said, and gave the engine a rev to show that she was serious.
Max scowled, stepped to the curb.
“What about my money?” Lia threw the rest of the fifty out the window. “Man, what is your problem?”
No one listens.
“You’ll never find it,” Max said. “Not without someone to show you the way.”
Lia didn’t answer her. She took her foot off the break and peeled into the street, leaving Max of Tennessee in the rearview mirror.
* * *
Max was right. The first half of the drive wasn’t bad. The directions had Lia take a state highway in lieu of the interstate, and after a couple of hours (longer than she thought, but still) Lia got off the winding highway and onto a county road, the sign for which she missed multiple times—it was poorly marked. The paved county road devolved to gravel, the gravel to dirt. The dirt road ended unceremoniously in a cul-de-sac of trees. The directions told her to keep going. She got out of the car and set out into the forest. The directions explicitly stated to not use a flashlight unless you wanted to get caught, spoiling the secret path and ruining everything for everybody. A mile or so, the directions read. Straight shot. Use the moon, your phone if you must. Lia pulled out her phone. She hadn’t looked at it since she roared out of town. There was no reception, but a text from her dad, one she must’ve missed before entering this dead zone, was waiting.
THE FOREST
Forgot to mention
your mother
wont come down
from the attic. Not until
she knows your safe
She held her phone in front of her, lighting up very little. She pushed forward, and ten minutes later, like magic, the forest opened before her. After all of it, every question she’d asked, everything she’d done, here she was. Her racing heart flung itself against her ribs. The moon poked its head out from a cloud, casting blue light on a fence. You’ll arrive on the west side, the directions said. The fence runs a semicircle around the town, where it meets up with the mountain. Get in and get
out. They don’t come around like they used to, but they still come around.
The directions didn’t specify who “they” were.
Lia approached the fence. She stuck a foot in and climbed over. As soon as her feet hit the ground an alarm sounded. She should have known. It couldn’t be this easy. But the alarm stopped, then sounded again, interjecting at measured intervals. She felt for her phone. Reception had returned.
LIMETOWN, PART ONE
Fine
One last thing
When I was your age
I left him behind.
The reasons why:
It was good for him
he was better off—
none of it true. But
I convinced him
and myself.
Don’t make my mistake
Whatever happens to
your mother
you’ll always regret
if you’re not here.
Lia put her phone away. She crept out from the fence. It was a long distance between that fence and another, and in between the two, she had never felt more exposed, walking where she was easy to see if anyone was watching. Her heartbeat slowed when her hand touched the second fence’s pickets. White, what a cliché. She followed the fence around to the front of the house it guarded, and when she saw what the house was, what it really was, her heart caught in her throat. In her mother’s dream, Sylvia and her mother lived with a man in a house. But Claire did not describe the house in the dream, so Lia’s mind did what she imagined most minds did when they read a book or heard a story set in an unfamiliar place—it filled in the gaps with images from her own life. She had already done this, subconsciously, with the rest of the dream family; Sylvia was a friend she remembered from elementary school; the mother and father, that friend’s parents. And the house, the house was Lia’s childhood house, the house that stood next to the Gilmores’.
What Lia saw now, what she had to remind herself was real, didn’t make sense. The small porch, the dark window in the attic. It was her house, the house she lived in as a child.
Lia braced herself against the fence. She took a moment to let her mind accept that what she was looking at wasn’t a dream. Or, it was, and it wasn’t. There was a word for this, a term she learned in Miss Scott’s class. What was it? She could only remember parts of the definition. Something about the semblance of reality, the appearance of being real.