The River Valley Series

by Tess Thompson

  The man’s skinny legs rested in the aisle because his beach ball sized stomach couldn’t fit in the booth. Like a pregnant woman, he rested one arm on the top of his stomach and turned the pages of a newspaper as if he couldn’t hear her. He took four fries in his hand and scratched his head, leaving a layer of grease on the pink shiny scalp.

  Woozy, Lee turned to see if her order was ready. The teenager was at the drive-through window, talking into the speaker. Behind her she heard a child’s yell and looked over to see toddler twins chasing each other around and between the plastic tables. The mother, bones showing under sallow skin, with greasy limp hair and yellow in the whites of her eyes, stared at the wall. Her baby, trapped in the cheap wooden high chair, blubbered and held up his arms. “Mama, up. Mama, up.” Without looking at him, she threw fries onto the table in front of him. “Eat.”

  Across the restaurant the older woman huffed, her voice a harsh rasp. “Why some people don’t control their monsters, I’ll never know.” The mother flipped the old woman the finger.

  Lee paid for her order and left. She sat in the vehicle. Her breath fogged the windows. She thumped her head against the steering wheel several times before dialing Ellen White’s phone number from the cell phone. There was no answer, just a click from an outdated message machine with a recording of Mrs. White’s voice, sounding startled. “It’s Ellen. Leave a message at the beep.”

  “Hi Mrs. White. This is Lee. Just wanted to let you know I’d be there in about three or four hours. Uh, well, thanks. See you soon.”

  Ellen White had kept her promise to Lee all those years ago and looked after Eleanor. She checked on her every day, made meals, did her shopping, and paid her bills with money Lee sent every month. At the first of every month Mrs. White sent a note on plain white paper with an update on Eleanor’s health and a detailed account of expenses. She often included a personal note in a P.S., written in a brief, almost telegram-type style, as if the personal side of things should be kept brief. All those postscripts over the years had never failed to make Lee smile.

  Ten years ago Mrs. White had written, “P.S. Retired last month. I assume they were glad to get rid of an old bat like me but gave me a grand sendoff with cake and champagne. I’ll miss teaching Hemingway and such but glad to have more time to garden.”

  Lee, in turn, wrote brief notes in the same style included with the monthly checks. On her admittance to the MBA program at Wharton she’d said, “Off to graduate school to study business. The art world is fine if you don’t mind starvation. Hoping to add more dollars to these checks in a couple years.”

  Mrs. White wrote back to her new address in Chicago. “P.S. I’m proud of you. Don’t forget to take out those paints once in a while just so you can remember who you are. My beans are taking over the garden—will take me a month of Sundays to can all of them.”

  From Wharton Lee wrote, “Graduate in one month. I’ve met a man in the program named Dan Johnson. He’s full of fire and ambition. Not sure of the future.”

  About Dan Mrs. White wrote, “P.S. Hope this fellow deserves you. Don’t marry him unless you’re absolutely sure. It’s the most important decision you’ll ever make. I won first prize for my pie at the county fair. Stupidest contest in the world but what can I say, I’m a vain woman.”

  After her wedding Lee wrote a quick note from her new desk in Redmond, Washington, along with a check for twice the amount she had been sending. “Was married last month to Dan Johnson. Had a small wedding in between interviews at Microsoft. Writing this from my new desk in the marketing department.”

  Mrs. White sent a beautiful pine easel for a wedding present and a note, written on a card with a painting of tulips, without a P.S.

  “Congratulations. Once you get married it seems you have to share everything—the bad and the good. So here’s a little something just for you. Even if you just paint on the weekends it will feed your soul.

  “I imagine you as a grown married woman, capable, sophisticated, beautiful, and wish I could see you in person sometime. Maybe you’ll come for a visit one of these years? You could bring your young man. Of course, you could stay with me, seeing as your mother’s filled her house almost completely with junk. Be well. Be happy. Warmly, Ellen White.”

  But a year ago Mrs. White called on the telephone instead of sending news via a card. Eleanor was dead. She’d asked to be cremated. Would Lee like to come for a memorial service or to spread the ashes? Lee declined. Mrs. White said, “Don’t blame you. But I’ll keep the ashes in case you change your mind.”

  Lee had told herself there was no reason to pretend that a memorial service was something her mother would have wanted, since she hadn’t cared if Lee visited when she was alive. Not to mention, Lee thought, of her angry alcoholic disdain for most people in the small town where she lived. Anyway, Lee couldn’t face all the memories that waited there in that town, in that house, all of which she tried to pretend never happened. She hadn’t wanted to think about the girl she once was, or her complicated, excruciating relationship with her mother. Starting the month after Eleanor’s death, she sent the budgeted money to AIDS Alliance and worked late so she didn’t have to think about her mother’s cremated ashes poured into a little ceramic container.

  Lee sent Mrs. White a card thanking her for her kindness and asking if there was something she could do to repay her.

  Mrs. White sent a note back that said, “No need to thank me for the care of your mother. She was a pain in the ass, but it made me glad to think of you free and, hopefully, happy. I’ll keep an eye on the house until you can make it down here. Stay in touch. Warm regards, Ellen White.”

  Lee took a last sip of her milkshake and pulled back onto the freeway, resigned that her destination was the only option left.

  Chapter 4

  It was the middle of the morning when she turned onto the dirt road to her mother’s house. Large puddles jostled the car and splashed the windows as she drove the last corner and turned into the driveway. The white farmhouse, built in the mid-century, was perched on a slight hill, with a large front porch and two cherry trees on each side. Lee parked the car next to the house and stared out the window for a few minutes at her last possession, her inheritance from her mother. It surprised her to see the yard looked well-kept even though no one had lived there in over a year. The wild grass outside the small fenced front garden and the patchy grass inside the dilapidated fence were cut short. Against the covered front porch the cherry trees were in full bloom, their pink flowers fluttering against the chill of the early March breeze. Ellen White’s doing, she supposed.

  She took a deep breath and tried to move, but her limbs were lead. This place made her numb. She stared unseeing out the window, remembering the day she and Linus had come up with the plan that had brought her to this moment.

  The day after Dan’s funeral she found Linus on a stepstool in her kitchen, putting away wine glasses.

  He looked into her face and gave her a quick hug. “You slept.”

  “Those little pink pills are powerful.” From the window over the breakfast nook she could see snow scattered on the jutting peaks of the Olympic mountain range. She sat on the white wood bench of the nook and gazed out the window. “There’s a guy watching my window in a car across the street.”

  “I saw him too.” Linus’s face was red as he pushed his coffee cup to the middle of the table. “How could Dan do this to you?”

  She hadn’t seen before that Linus was angry. She put her hand on his arm and watched a drop of rain drip down the outside of the window.

  Linus’s hands shook on the tabletop. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’ve got to figure out how to get the money.”

  “I’ll give you everything I have in savings and stocks. It’s about 150k.”

  “I can’t take your money, plus it’s not enough to make a dent into this.” She took his hands, and they were silent for a moment. “I’m late.”

  He flinched and his nec
k flushed red. “Late, late?”

  “Yeah, that kind of late.”

  “How late?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “It’s probably just the stress. That can cause missed periods, right?”

  She put her head in her hands. “I’m sure that’s it.” It was the forgotten birth control pills the month before that worried her but she kept that to herself, afraid to even say it out loud.

  After a moment she pulled her hands from his and tapped her fingers on the surface of the table. “I have an idea of what to do, how to get the money. I did some calculations and I think if we could auction all my stuff and this condo I could come up with at least half the debt.”

  Linus raised his eyebrows, his eyes full of fear. “What about the rest?”

  “Did I ever tell you I inherited my mother’s house in Oregon?”

  He looked surprised, raising his hands in the air with a flutter. “Uh, no, I don’t think you mentioned that.”

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Like the country?”

  “Right, the country. I could fix up the house and sell it for the rest of the money.”

  “You think you could sell it for a half a million?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sure it’s a mess. My mother never threw anything away and never left the house.”

  “I saw somebody like that on Oprah. There’s a name for it, but I can’t think what it is.”

  She said without thinking, “Agoraphobic.” She went on, wringing her hands. “My grandfather built the house in the forties. It has an old-fashioned front porch on twenty acres and a river runs through the property. The land alone must be pretty valuable.”

  She put her hair behind her ears and took a big breath, reaching into her pocket and pulling out Von’s card. “I’m going to call this guy and see if I can buy some time.”

  She punched in the number and Von picked up on the second ring. “It’s Lee Johnson. I have a few questions.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I can get you half of the money in a week but I need more time for the other half.”

  “How much time?”

  “Couple of months.”

  “Listen, lady, my boss wants the money now. He’s waited long enough. Meet me on Tuesday, ten p.m. in front of your building. Bring the full amount.” He clicked off and Lee put the phone in the charger and sat back at the table, shaking and staring into space.

  “He wants all of it next Tuesday. What am I going to do?”

  Linus got up and paced in front of the refrigerator. “This house, where is it exactly?”

  “Southern Oregon. It’s a one stoplight town and my mother’s house is about ten miles out.”

  “Has anyone ever heard of this place?”

  “Not really.”

  “So, you could hide out there while you’re fixing up the house?”

  She looked at him. “How would I get there without them following me? These guys have me staked out.”

  He sat across from her at the table. “We’ve got to figure that part out.”

  She went to the sink and filled a glass with water. She felt tears start again and let them flow, hanging her head. Linus stood behind her, patting her shoulder. “This is going to be alright. We’re going to get you out of this. I’m going to call all my gay friends and have them help us organize an auction. They love this kind of thing.”

  She nodded, wiping her face and turning to look at him. “Linus?”

  “What is it?”

  “What did he look like? When you identified the body, I mean?”

  He backed up from her, putting up his hands. “No, don’t go there.”

  “I need to know how he did it.”

  “Why? It’s better not to know.”

  “I thought that, but it isn’t true. Please, tell me how he did it.”

  “I’m not talking about this.”

  She grabbed his arms and shook him. “Yes, I deserve to know. I want to know how he did it.” She shook him again and then pushed into his chest with her open palms. “Tell me how he did it.”

  “He put it in his mouth.”

  Lee dropped to the floor, hugging her knees and wailing. “Why? Why did he do this?”

  Linus was on the floor next to her and he pulled her to him. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He held her, rocking her in his lap like a child.

  * * *

  There was a thump on the window and Lee jumped, startled out of her memory. It was Ellen White, older, grayer, but the same. She wore a cotton dress with work boots and held plastic kitchen gloves between strong fingers. Lee opened the car door and slid her feet to the ground. Mrs. White grabbed her and for a moment Lee thought she might hug her, but instead she shook Lee’s hand in a brisk, firm handshake. “Good to see you. I was in the kitchen cleaning and saw you drive up.” She smelled of Palmer’s cocoa-butter lotion and cookies.

  She went on, pushing back a bit of stray gray hair from her forehead. “You can’t believe the amount of crap in that house.” Her face was etched with wrinkles, but her body was still lithe and muscular, radiating youthful energy. She squinted, looking at Lee from head to foot. “You look about the same as the day I drove you to the bus station.”

  Lee grimaced. She took Mrs. White’s hands, forcing herself to smile. “I’ve changed a little, haven’t I? I have contacts now.”

  Mrs. White looked at her again, cocking her head as if examining a rare specimen. “You’re just as pretty as a picture. I knew you would be.”

  “It’s good to see you,” said Lee, fighting back tears.

  “Sure was pleased to get your letter last week.” Mrs. White still had the long braid, gray now, and coiled on top of her head. “Was shocked as could be to hear you were coming for a visit.” She peered around Lee into the van. “You bring much?” She still had the efficient way of speaking and moving that made Lee feel like a child ready for a nap, inept and incompetent.

  “It’s in the back.” Lee opened the back of the van and grabbed the large suitcase. Mrs. White took the other, smaller bag.

  “That it? Thought you were staying for a while?”

  “Traveling light these days.” Lee gestured to the yard. “You’ve cut the grass?”

  “Sure did. Bought myself one of those rider mowers when I turned seventy.”

  Chapter 5

  They hesitated at the top of the stairs. Lee looked down the hallway at the doors of the two small bedrooms, the bathroom, and master. The house smelled of mildew, dust, and the bottom of an ashtray after the butts have been emptied. Mrs. White pointed to the doorway of the master. “Better sleep in there.”

  “You mean the shrine?”

  Mrs. White chuckled and moved down the hall to the master bedroom. “The other rooms are full of junk.” As if it was decided, Mrs. White flung open the master bedroom door. The room was empty but for a mid-century, four-poster bed, a bureau with a round mirror, and faded yellow cotton curtains. “Your mother got really bad about the stuff at the end, but she never touched this room.” Mrs. White pulled back the curtains and pushed open the windows. The outdated faded wallpaper peeled at the corners and the pine floorboards were dull and nicked. “The stench isn’t as bad in here. I’ve had the windows open the last several days.”

  The room possessed the feel of frozen time and expectancy, like its mistress and master might still return. As if she read Lee’s thoughts, Mrs. White nodded her head. “Yep, feels like the room’s waiting for something. I never understood why she didn’t move in here after your grandparents were killed. Shoot, that was the year you were born and what are you, thirty-four?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Holding on to the past never works, you know, people gotta move on. Not that I was a good example, mind you.”

  Lee wondered what she meant but was too tired to invite conversation by asking. She moved to the bureau and looked at the framed photo of her grandfather in his World War II uniform. Mrs. White dusted it with
the front of her cotton dress. “Your grandfather built this house with his bare hands. They don’t make houses like this anymore. He’d turn over in his grave if he saw how your mother let it go to pot.” She picked up the other framed picture, of Lee’s grandmother, and held it near Lee’s face. “You sure look like her. Rose was a redhead too. Both of us were redheads, y’know? We used to laugh about that. All that fiery temper in one room.” She gestured towards the bed. “There was some money hidden in the cookie jar downstairs, left over from what you used to send every month, so I got you a new mattress and sheets. Hope you don’t mind but I knew you couldn’t sleep on the old one.”

  Lee raised her eyebrows and stuttered. “Gr…Great. Thanks.”

  “I used to take two-thirds of the check you sent every month to pay her bills and buy groceries and leave the rest in the cookie jar. I plumb forgot it was in there. Eleanor got so she didn’t trust the bank and of course you know she didn’t leave the house, so that money just sat in there, except for what she used to buy the booze.”

  “Let me guess, someone, out of the kindness of their heart, delivered that to her door?”

  “The derelict who owns the Rusty Nail. Used to drop a box the first of every month. Bastard knew your checks came like clockwork.” She walked to the bed and smoothed the top of the patchwork quilt, the squares each a pattern of a geometric red flower. “Washed your grandmother’s homemade quilt and it’s good as new.”

  Lee fingered the thread along one of the squares, imagining her grandmother’s fingers pushing the needle through the fabric. “Do you know what happened to my grandparents’ clothes and stuff?”