When they arrived at their mother’s townhouse less than an hour later, they had both calmed down, though they weren’t speaking. They knocked on the door. No one answered. They stood on the cement step and waited. “That’s weird,” Joanna said. “I told her we’d be here for dinner.”
Laura’s mouth formed into an O. She slapped herself on the forehead. “You’re going to kill me,” she said.
“What?”
“I totally forgot. We’re supposed to meet her at Dad’s. Dad and Linda were having some sort of welcome-the-baby dinner for me tonight. They want us to stay with them tonight.”
“And no one bothered to tell me this? I’m the one who’s been driving you and your ‘precious cargo’ around for the last ten hours!”
“I offered to drive!” Laura reached over and grabbed the keys out of Joanna’s hand. “That’s not the point. I was supposed to tell you about the dinner—I forgot. Pregnancy brain.”
Joanna rolled her eyes. So far on this trip, Laura had invoked “pregnancy brain” to explain why she’d put salt in her tea and left her jacket in the candy bar aisle at a service station. Joanna had been nice enough to turn around so she could fetch it, even though the detour had added an extra twenty minutes to their journey.
Laura got in the driver’s seat and headed west through town toward their father’s place, which was nestled in some brown foothills with views of the mountains and some cliff-like rock formations. The sun was sinking down into the Sierras, tingeing the clouds tangerine and purple. A band of bronze along the edge of the horizon burnt brighter and brighter as the sun descended, making it difficult to see the road before them. Both sisters turned down their sun visors at the same time.
They stopped at an intersection. “I can’t see anything.” Laura hunched over the steering wheel, trying to get a better view of the street.
“Why aren’t you wearing your sunglasses?” Joanna didn’t even try keeping the irritation out of her voice.
They lurched forward. Joanna looked over to her right a second before she saw it: a pickup truck hurtling toward them. The rest of it happened in a blur. A loud crash, like an explosion. The sounds of metal crunching, tires skidding over asphalt. Cars honking. Then it was silent.
Joanna batted the airbag that had burst open on impact. Already it was deflating, withering into a sad, limp sack. The air smelled like smoke and burnt plastic. “Laura?” Joanna turned to look at her sister.
Laura unfastened her seat belt and rested her head and hands against the steering wheel. She looked like she had slumped over the deflated airbag and fallen asleep. Or died. “Laura?” Joanna lowered her voice. “Are you okay?” She saw her sister’s back rise and fall. She was breathing.
Laura turned her head to the side to look at Joanna. She coughed and fanned at the smoky air. “I’m okay. I think I’m okay. You?”
“It’s going to be all right.” She tried to make herself sound confident. Comforting. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Joanna tried to open her eyes but then shut them again to stop the room from spinning. She opened them slowly, concentrating on a figure she made out in the corner of the room.
“You’re awake,” her mother said. Joanna focused on her face, now peering over her.
It took a few minutes for her mind to make sense of it, but then she was able to sit up in the hospital waiting room and look around without toppling over. Her mouth felt dry, her words came out hoarse. “Where’s Laura?” she croaked.
Her mother poured some water from a plastic pitcher into a paper cup. “Laura’s great,” Tess said. “The baby is healthy, too. They just want to keep her here overnight to be sure.”
Still groggy, she thought back to the accident. They’d called their mom, filled out the police report. Then Tess insisted they drive over to the hospital, too, just to be sure everything was all right. The force of the airbag had torn the cuff of Joanna’s sleeve, and she was left with a large scratch on her wrist. Other than that, she was fine. Shaken up, but fine.
It took her a moment to register her mother’s words. Laura was doing well. That was good. And the baby, too? “But it’s too early for the baby!” Joanna blurted out.
“No, no. She didn’t have the baby,” her mother said in a soothing voice. “Everything is okay. You’re all okay. Can’t say the same for your car.”
“What time is it?”
Her mom consulted a large clock on a wall next to a ceiling-mounted television set. “Almost midnight.”
Joanna’s head was beginning to clear. She took in the waiting room. A huge fake potted palm in one corner. An aquarium bubbling along the wall. Tess and Joanna were the only ones there.
“I’ve got to see Laura,” Joanna said, “Can I go see her?”
“If she’s still awake.”
“Why aren’t you with her?” Joanna sniffed. She felt strange, as if she was going to burst into tears like a child.
“Dad’s with her. It’s you we were worried about.” Tess smiled and patted Joanna’s leg. “You got a bit hysterical.”
Tess walked her over to the front desk of Labor & Delivery, where she had to sign in. She wrote her name on a nametag, stuck it on her shirt. Tess already had one. She saw her father’s head through the door window and tapped on it softly. He let her in. After making a fuss over Joanna for a minute, he said he was due for a coffee break.
Laura was sitting up in the bed with a crossword puzzle out on the table next to her. She looked tired but miraculously unharmed. Her hair was even brushed smooth, as always. Joanna swallowed the lump in her throat.
“We’re okay,” Laura said to Joanna, smiling. At first Joanna thought she meant the two of them, sisters. But soon she saw Laura was patting her extended midsection: she meant her and the baby. Little wires connected Laura’s rounded abdomen to a machine that was monitoring the baby’s heartbeat with excited, jagged peaks and valleys. Laura looked over at the machine. “I have to stay here overnight, just to make sure I don’t go into labor or something.”
Joanna started crying then. “I didn’t mean it!” she blubbered. After she blurted it out, she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she didn’t mean. The quip about Laura’s “precious cargo”? The whole thing about marriage and kids and the picket fence? That Malcolm had ever been just a friend? None of the above? All of the above?
A tear trickled down Laura’s cheek. “I’m sorry for wrecking your car.”
“I shouldn’t have let you drive. Not in your condition.”
They looked at each other, and then both sisters started to laugh.
Laura wiped the tears from her eyes. Her laughter stopped, suddenly.
“What is it?” Joanna took a terrified look at the baby monitor, but it was blipping along as usual.
“Oh my God,” Laura said. “You will never guess who’s here.”
“What are you talking about?”
Laura paused dramatically, then whispered. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you first thing!”
Joanna was about to reach over and strangle her sister—pregnant or no. “What?”
“Malcolm!” Laura explained that when their mother had called Ted to tell him about the accident, he’d freaked out. He’d tried to book a flight into Reno but it was too late. Rather than wait until the next morning, he jumped in his car and started driving. He called Malcolm and made him promise to drop everything and go to Reno; he was closer, he’d get there first.
“Well,” Joanna responded after a moment, “That was nice of him to drive all the way over here to check on you.”
Laura gave Joanna a look. “I’m sure that’s not the only reason he had to hightail it over here in under three hours. Just to check on his friend’s wife? Come on.”
Joanna concentrated on her hands. They looked dry, uncared for. Her knuckles were raw and red. “So where is he?”
Laura gestured toward the door. “Around here somewhere, I’d imagine. Maybe you should find him.”
20
Joanna found Malcolm peering through the window of the nursery at a few babies, all wearing little hats and bundled up tightly like burritos. “Kind of cute, I guess,” she said.
Before speaking, she had watched him for a few moments. There he stood in the dim hallway, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. His hood was pulled up over his head, though it wasn’t cold at all in the hospital, especially not in the maternity ward. This, combined with his solemn expression, lent him the appearance of someone who didn’t belong there. If he wasn’t an excited new father or a doctor, what was he? A hooded infant enthusiast, a hospital loiterer, a baby snatcher? When he turned to her, his visitor nametag came into view. He’d printed his name in neat block letters. She smiled. So that was who he was.
He turned to her, surprised to hear her voice. When he saw her standing there beside him, every feature in his face fell, and for a moment Joanna thought her sister must have been mistaken about the reason he came—that he was simply being a good friend to Ted, checking up on his pregnant wife. Malcolm took a hand from his pocket and grazed Joanna’s cheek with his fingers. He lifted her hand and examined her torn cuff, the scrape on her wrist.
How terrible she must look—her hair a matted mess, bags under her eyes. His arms opened and she fell into them. He pressed his body into hers gently, as if she were breakable. Closing her eyes and hiding her face in his neck, she held on to him until he let go.
His voice came out sounding hoarse. “Listen, your dad said I should take you back to his place.”
“Okay,” she said.
Her dad’s house felt cold, the air still. They entered the kitchen through the garage, using the key hidden behind a fencepost outside. When she flipped on the light, the dining table came into focus. It was set for a party, with pastel pink and blue streamers strung through the chandelier. “We should put this food away,” Joanna said, picking up a platter of mini quiches, now glossy and congealed.
Malcolm took the plate from her and set it back down on the table. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
Too tired to argue, she shuffled down the hall to the room Linda had set up for her and Laura, with matching twin beds covered in scratchy store-bought quilts. Malcolm followed her and set her suitcase on the nearest bed. Then he slipped away. Her last shred of energy went into changing her clothes, brushing her teeth. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, a sharp laugh burst out of her, foam bubbled from her lips. She looked rabid, deranged. Heavy-lidded, dinged and scratched. Like an abandoned car at the side of the road, stripped of parts and left to rust. She spit into the sink, then rinsed. Her stepmother always kept piles of fluffy washcloths, folded precisely, on the étagère above the toilet. She pressed a dry washcloth to her face. It smelled comforting, like detergent and dust. After washing her face and brushing her hair, she assessed herself in the mirror again. Better.
She took the bed at the far end of the room, under the window. Her head sunk into the pillow, softer than she was used to. Malcolm appeared at the doorway a few minutes later, his body backlit by the light in the hall. “All settled in?”
She tried to turn up the corners of her mouth, though it was too dark for him to notice. “Yes,” she answered. It sounded formal.
“Good.” His silhouette hovered outside the frame of the door; then the door inched closed, slowly. He was being careful with her, she realized. No sudden movements or noises.
“Malcolm?” The light from the doorway widened, a sliver. “You’re not leaving me here, are you?” She had a sudden childish fear of staying in here by herself, in this big house, coyotes howling in the hills above.
She heard him exhale softly. “No. Sh-h. Go to sleep.” The door closed with a muted click. “Thanks,” she murmured to the sound of his footsteps down the hall. A part of her had hoped he’d feel sorry enough for her, in this tender state, to sleep next to her. But aside from the initial hug, he had kept a careful distance from her.
The next morning she woke up, unaware of how long she’d slept. Her head was pounding. There was no clock in the room. The glare of the sun didn’t help—the days blazed bright from dawn until sunset here. The twin bed on the other side of the room hadn’t been slept in—the patterned covers still smooth, pillows piled against the headboard just so. Inexplicably, her heart picked up, although it was broad daylight, and there was no need to fear being alone in an empty house.
She crept down the hall, peeking into the other bedrooms, all of which appeared undisturbed. Her sister, she knew, had spent the night in the hospital. Her father and Linda must have stayed there too, slouched in waiting room chairs.
“Dad?” her voice echoed out into the living room. The dining table had been cleared, the food and dishes put away. “Malcolm?”
At the kitchen sink, she filled a mug with water and set it in the microwave to cook. No tea kettles and teapots in this household. At least the tea would disguise the mineral taste of Reno’s water. She peered out the window at the backyard, half hoping to find everyone there, gathered out in the bright cold. The patio furniture still wore its protective covers from the snow and chill of winter.
The door into the kitchen creaked open. Joanna jumped.
“Sorry,” Malcolm said, entering the kitchen.
“Where were you? Where did you sleep?”
Malcolm ignored her questions. “Everyone is over at your mom’s place now. Ted came in early this morning—he’ll probably crash all day. Laura’s there, too. She’s fine; they let her check out this morning.”
Joanna let her head nod, taking it all in. “Wow,” she said. “Great.”
“So if you get dressed, I’ll take you over there.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll probably take off right after that, though. I’ve got to get going.”
She studied his face. He was regarding her politely, as if she were a stranger stopped on the side of the road in need of assistance and he was doing the right thing by giving her a lift across town to the nearest service station.
“Where are you going?” She hadn’t expected him to be leaving her so quickly, before they’d even had a chance to talk, to sort anything out. She couldn’t stand it; she took in a quick breath to stave off tears. If she had just a few moments with him, or a day, at least, she could fix this.
“Back to Portland.”
“Portland?” She tried to make her voice come out neutral. Maybe he meant he needed to go there to fetch his things, scoop her out and leave her empty, the way she’d been before he’d moved in. She’d have to start over again. Live in a barren house or buy furniture. Both prospects sounded equally dire.
He nodded. “I finished up that last job a few weeks ago. I don’t know—I’m probably going to start my own company. Furniture commissions, built-ins, things like that.”
“Wow.” She smiled into her teacup. She hadn’t taken a sip, but she set the mug down on the counter. “Okay, give me fifteen minutes.” Her headache had disappeared; she felt fine. Better than ever.
In the room, she threw her clothes into her suitcase without folding them. Then she plucked everything out again, furiously, realizing she needed something to wear besides pajamas. She debated whether to shower or not. Yes, she definitely should shower. She cranked the plastic dial as far as it would go. The water was too hot. Blistering. The scratch on her wrist, now bordered by a dark purple bruise, stung. She didn’t care. She liked it; she wanted to be scalded clean.
Hair still wet but brushed, cheeks flushed from the heat of the shower, she ventured down the hall, suitcase in hand. She found Malcolm outside in the driveway, rearranging the contents in the back of his car. She set her suitcase down at Malcolm’s feet. “Ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“You look better.” He frowned at her suitcase. “I think your dad and Linda wanted you to stay the night here. Especially now that Ted and Laura—”
“I don’t want to stay here,”
Joanna said. Malcolm shrugged with a suit-yourself gesture. “I’m going with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to go home. Back to Portland.”
“But you just got here. And you were in an accident—”
“I know. But I’m fine. Just a little achy is all. And I was here over Christmas. I came to keep Laura company, and now her husband is here so I’m no longer needed.”
“That’s not true.”
“Come on. Don’t make me ride back up with the two of them. I couldn’t take it.” Malcolm’s head shook slowly, back and forth. “Come on,” she said again. “Hey, it’s spring break! We don’t even have to go home right away! We could go camping!”
“Camping?”
“Yes!”
“But we don’t have any equipment. And it’s March.”
Joanna ran into the garage through the side door and banged her hand against a switch. The garage door grunted and screeched its way up, revealing stacks of cardboard boxes, outdoor furniture, tools, sporting equipment, and—yes—camping gear.
“We can borrow everything we could possibly need from my dad!” Joanna ran over to a shelf, took down two sleeping bags, tossed them into Malcolm’s car, and darted back inside. What would they need? A propane stove? A tent? Backpacks with aluminum frames? Water purifiers?
“Joanna—” Malcolm stood to the side while she filled every remaining space in his hatchback.
After a few trips into the garage and back, she ran into the kitchen for provisions, emerging with a gallon bucket of mixed nuts and two jumbo bags of dried fruit. They could live off this for a few days, she figured. “I think we’re ready.”
Broken Homes & Gardens Page 21