by John Cariani
She thought about asking the man for a ride there.
But she had imposed on him enough already.
So she started to go again. To Ma Dudley’s, she guessed. And as she left, the man said, “Goodbye, Hope.”
The woman stopped and turned to the man and said, “Goodbye.” And was about to go again, but before she did, she said, “I am so sorry to have bothered you! I really am.”
And she started to go again.
And couldn’t believe how completely not-as-planned the evening had gone. She thought that she was going to come back and find Danny. And he would take her back, and they would live happily ever after. Which may sound romantic—but it actually isn’t. It’s sentimental. Because sentimentalists think everything’s going to work out just fine. And romantics think everything is going to fall apart. Most people become romantics by the time they’re as old as the woman was. Because most things fall apart. But not much in the woman’s life had fallen apart. So the woman hadn’t yet become a romantic. She was still a sentimentalist.
And the sentimentalist felt the need to explain herself to this stranger one last time. “It’s just—I saw the sunrise this morning for the first time in a long time. And it made me realize what I’d done to him—to Danny—and I had been feeling like I didn’t have a place in the world, you know? And then I realized that I did have a place in the world, and it was with him, and—”
The woman interrupted herself, because she realized that the man had called her by her name. “Wait a minute,” she said, hurrying back to him. “You called me Hope.” She went up to the man, who looked up at her, his hands in the pockets of his red and green and yellow and white and blue and purple plaid bathrobe, and she almost demanded, “How did you know my name?”
The woman suddenly felt like she knew the small man with whom she had spent the past fifteen minutes talking. And she was frustrated that she couldn’t see him well—the porch light was illuminating him from behind, so he was still mostly in shadow. “Do I know you?” she queried.
The woman felt like the man was standing in a hole, because he was so small. She would have towered over him even if she hadn’t been wearing her high heels.
She started to initiate a slow-motion do-si-do with him. She wanted to get the man’s face in the light.
The man moved with the woman in the strange, slow do-si-do.
And when they had switched positions, and he was lit from the front, he weakly opened his arms and palms and shrugged ever so slightly to present himself to the woman.
The woman gasped and she felt like she was falling in slow motion as she recognized the man.
It was the man she had come to see.
“Danny?!?” she whispered in disbelief.
“Hello, Hope,” said Danny sheepishly.
Hope felt like everything was spinning and like she might fall over, and the only words she could find to say were, “Danny … I didn’t rec—”
“I know.”
“I didn’t rec—”
“I know.”
“I didn’t even recognize you!”
“I know.”
“You’re so…”
“I know.”
“… small.”
“Yeah. I, uh … lost a lotta hope, I guess. That’ll do a number on ya.”
And then Danny and Hope just stood there staring at each other.
And couldn’t figure out what to say.
So they said nothing.
And they tried to make sense of what was happening.
And the northern lights were hovering in the sky above.
Neither of them took notice. Because, as dazzling as they were on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen, they weren’t nearly as dazzling as Hope was to Danny or as Danny was to Hope. (Even though Hope couldn’t quite work out how such a robust young man had become so small and fragile.)
Finally, Hope managed to say, “Danny, I am so sorry I never came back—”
“Shh. It’s okay,” Danny interrupted gently.
Hope shook her head no, because she knew it wasn’t okay.
“No—it is,” reassured Danny. “’Cause you know something?”
“What?”
“You’re early.” Danny smiled.
Hope didn’t understand what Danny was saying. “What?” she asked, wincing as she did.
“You’re early. You said you’d be back with an answer to my question before the sun came up, and Jeezum Crow, the sun’s not even close to being up yet. It only went down a few hours ago.” Danny smiled bigger. And then added wryly, “Look how early you are. That’s good of you.”
Hope appreciated Danny’s kindness.
Because they both knew she wasn’t early.
She was late. So, so late.
And they stood under the vast northern night sky, overwhelmed by the reunion.
And then something troubled Hope. She wondered why Danny hadn’t told her who he was when she arrived.
In the same moment, Danny realized that he needed to apologize for withholding his identity. So he did. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything when I came out on the porch and saw you. I was just so surprised. To see you. And happy. And then, when you didn’t seem to recognize me, I guess I remembered what I had become. And I just didn’t know what to do. So I didn’t do anything. And I just … let you talk.”
“Yeah.” Hope wished she hadn’t talked so much. Or had listened more. Or something.
“So,” Danny said, smirking a little, and changing the subject. “You took a taxi all the way from Bangor?”
Hope nodded. “Yup,” she said sheepishly. And proudly.
Daniel whistled another whistle that meant, “Wow.”
And then asked, “How much did that cost ya?”
“A lot,” she replied, embarrassed.
But Danny was impressed. She must have really made something of herself. Because she could afford to take a taxi from Bangor all the way to Almost.
And then he took a deep breath and asked the question he had been waiting all those years for an answer to. “So, what’d you wanna tell me?”
“Huh? Oh—”
“You said you came here to answer a question I asked you,” he said, smiling eagerly.
“Yeah,” said Hope, smiling sheepishly.
“So … what’s the answer?” Danny felt a strange lightness fill up his insides as he asked the question. It made him feel like a dying ember inside him had become a roaring flame. And like he was about to be launched into space, like a rocket—but in slow motion.
And it made him feel like his life was about to change forever.
And Hope felt the strange lightness she had felt earlier in the day fill up her insides, too. And felt like her life was about to change forever, too. And she was about to give her answer and see what happily ever after was all about—when the seal of the weather stripping on the door popped and the door opened and the storm door opened a bit and a small round woman popped her head outside and asked, “Hon, what’s goin’ on? Who’s here?”
Hope and Danny froze.
And Danny quickly turned toward the woman who had called to him and said, “Hey, honey!”
Hope felt the strange lightness leave her body in an instant. And it was replaced by a heaviness that she feared was going to bring her to her knees. But she managed to stay upright.
The same heaviness overcame Danny and replaced the lightness he had been feeling. And he felt more earthbound than he had ever felt. He moved toward the cement steps to the porch, trying to figure out how he was going to explain the situation.
“Everything okay?” chirped the woman.
“Yeah!” said Danny a little too loudly and clearing his throat a few times and chuckling oddly.
The woman had come out onto the porch. She smiled and waved to Hope. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi!” said Hope, smiling. And not meaning it at all.
“This is, um … this is…” Daniel tried to introd
uce Hope to his wife, Suzette. But couldn’t. And instead said, “This woman … just … needs directions.”
“Oh. Is everything okay?” The woman chuckled, uncertain of what to make of the tall, slim woman in the tall shoes and the chic clothes and the coat with the fur-lined hood who was asking for directions at a little after nine o’clock at night. “It’s a bit late for directions,” she said skeptically.
“Yeah, listen, Suzette.” Danny looked at Hope for a moment. And then back to his wife. And then back to Hope. And then he said to his wife, while looking in Hope’s eyes, “I’ll be right in, hon.”
“Okay,” cheeped Suzette.
“Thank you so much for your help, sir,” Hope said to Danny, trying to make it look like she had gotten the directions she needed—and trying to cover for the emotional indiscretions that had been committed.
“Where are you headed, sweetie?” Suzette spoke to the tall, slim woman in the driveway like she was a girl, because she presumed that Hope was much younger than she was. She would have been sad to have learned that Hope was actually a few years older.
“She’s just lost her way,” said Danny, happy to speak for Hope.
“Yeah!” Hope smiled, happy to have Danny speak for her.
“Oh.” Suzette didn’t quite know what to make of the strange situation she had found herself—and her husband—and the strange woman—in. And figured she could ask Dan about it later when he joined her in bed. “All right, well, I hope you find your way! Bye-bye, now.”
“Bye-bye,” said Hope.
As Suzette started to go inside, she nagged her husband gently, “Allie said it’s your move and she’s got you in check and Emma just called and said she’s gonna be later than eleven and you need to talk to her about that, because I said no later than eleven.”
Hope felt the heaviness again when she learned that Danny had kids—who were old enough to be playing chess and staying out until eleven.
“Okay, I’ll be right in,” said Danny.
“Good luck,” Suzette said to Hope. And she may have given Hope the once-over before she went back inside.
“Thanks,” said Hope, smiling—and not meaning it.
Hope and Danny watched Suzette go back inside. And they heard the weather stripping reseal itself as she pushed the door shut. And they watched the aluminum storm door slowly swing itself shut behind her.
They stared at the door.
And then Danny turned to Hope.
And he exhaled an apologetic smile.
Hope shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Even though she felt, like crying. Because she couldn’t believe that it hadn’t even occurred to her that Danny may have moved on. And gotten married. And had kids. At least one of whom was a teenager.
And she couldn’t believe that it hadn’t occurred to her that she was the one who hadn’t moved on. Even though she thought she had. By trying to acquire and accomplish and achieve.
Danny inhaled sharply and seemed like he was about to say something.
But he didn’t say anything.
“What?” asked Hope, desperate to hear what he had to say.
“I, um…” He looked up at Hope. And then up at the sky, where the northern lights had appeared moments earlier.
“What?” Hope smiled, hoping that maybe Danny was going to say, “Let’s run away and start a life together.” And she felt that strange lightness fill up her insides again, in anticipation.
But then Danny said, “I hope you find it, Hope. Your place in this world. Or whatever it is you’re looking for.”
And the lightness inside Hope disappeared. And became heaviness and darkness.
And then Danny said, “Bye.”
And Hope said nothing as she watched the small man go up the stairs onto the porch and open the aluminum storm door and then the main wooden door and go inside.
She heard the door seal shut.
And she watched the storm door swing closed behind it.
“Goodbye, Danny,” she said to herself. And to him.
And she stared at the door for a while.
And then—twenty years too late—she answered him.
“Yes,” she called quietly.
Hope stared at the door for a while longer.
And then repeated, more quietly and more to herself, “Yes.”
And she stared at the door for a while longer.
And then the porch light went off.
And Hope grabbed the telescoping pull handle of her wheelie suitcase and started to go.
She passed the post lamp in the front yard and her movement triggered its sensor and it flickered on.
And when she got to the end of the driveway, she turned and looked at the tidy home one last time.
She pictured Danny and Allie playing chess. And she wondered if Emma would be home on time. Or after eleven. And what would happen if she was home late.
And then the post lamp in the front yard flicked off.
And then she turned to go but couldn’t see anything. Because it was so dark.
She waited for her eyes to adjust. And they did. But there was so little light.
She looked up and saw the stars.
And the Milky Way.
And couldn’t remember the last time she had seen it.
And then she started walking.
She’d go to Ma Dudley’s. And see if there was a room available.
Maybe Ma would be up. Or Sunny. And Hope could talk to them. Ma and Sunny were good to people who felt like they had no place in the world.
As she walked, she hoped that Ma and Sunny would remember her.
And wished she hadn’t worn those shoes.
10
As Ginette passed the Hardings’, she wondered why that tall, slim woman was just staring at their house.
Maybe she was a prowler, and was about to burgle the place.
And then Ginette laughed at herself.
The woman was not a burglar.
She wasn’t dressed to burgle.
And her shoes were not made for burgling.
And, if she was a burglar, she was terrible at being stealthy, because she was just standing in plain sight, illuminated by the post lamp in the front walkway, staring at the Hardings’ house.
And, anyway, what kind of burglar would have taken a taxi to where they were going to burgle?
What was she actually doing there? wondered Ginette.
And where was she from?
She looked so elegant. Like maybe she was from Montreal. Or New York City. Or Los Angeles.
Ginette wondered if she’d ever get to visit any of those exotic places. And smiled as she thought about visiting them with Pete someday.
And then remembered that she probably wouldn’t be visiting them with Pete.
Because they weren’t Ginette and Pete anymore.
She didn’t know what they were.
They had crossed a line and had become more than friends. And she wondered if they would ever be able to cross back. And be just friends again.
Would they still hang out? Or would it just be too awkward for them to be around one another?
Ginette continued on her way, wondering where she and Pete were headed.
And then wondered where she was headed—literally—at that moment, since there wasn’t much left of the Road to Nowhere.
She had no reason to go to Rhonda Rideout’s—which was the only place left to go before the wilderness.
And she didn’t want to go into the wilderness.
And she almost stopped and turned around and headed home.
But she couldn’t.
Because that strange lightness she had been feeling seemed to be compelling her to keep walking toward the woods.
So she just kept walking.
For a while.
And then she heard the yowl of a snowmobile engine in the distance—off to her left and behind her.
She turned toward the yowling sound and looked out into the potato fields that stretched from Echo Lak
e to the wilderness of northwestern Maine. And she saw a snowmobile’s headlight speeding across the wide-open fields toward the woods.
It must have been Rhonda Rideout heading home, Ginette figured.
And she watched the speeding snowmobile slow down as it approached—and then disappear into—the woods.
And as she continued on her way, the potato fields on the south side of the Road to Nowhere gave way to a forest of primarily spruce, fir, hemlock, pine, and cedar trees. And Ginette felt so small next to them.
Ginette stopped and looked up at the trees—and felt a little claustrophobic. So she crossed the road so she could walk next to the potato fields on the other side of the Road to Nowhere, which made her feel a little less claustrophobic.
And then she heard the less robust yowl of another snowmobile engine coming from the same potato field that the last one had come from. And she turned and looked across the road and into the field and, sure enough, saw the headlights of another snowmobile not quite speeding across the open field.
Ginette figured it was Dave Bonenfant. And it was. He and Rhonda had been hanging out a lot lately.
And everyone in Almost was wondering if they were together or going out or something.
* * *
It was about 8:40 when Ginette made her way past the long driveway that led to Rhonda’s cabin. This was just about the time that Dave made his way into the woods on his sled in pursuit of Rhonda, and the same time that Rhonda emerged from the woods and into her backyard. Her arrival made a series of lights on her property flick on. The lights were triggered by motion sensors, which Rhonda had recently installed so she’d be able to keep an eye on the black bears that often got a little too close for comfort when they visited her beehives in the spring, summer, and fall.
Rhonda eased her Polaris sled up onto its storage pallet next to her garage and killed the engine. And then she dismounted the machine and took off her helmet. And then she covered the snowmobile with a blue tarp and secured it with a bungee cord to protect the machine from the elements.
But soon stopped. Because she thought she heard the sound of a snowmobile approaching.
And, as the sound got louder, there was no doubt that another snowmobile was approaching.