Riversong

by Hardwick, Tess

  He grunted. “Screw Lindsey. She's been blowing me off.” He yanked at her shorts.

  She reached behind her, hoping for a rock but found instead a sharp edged piece of the broken beer bottle and slammed it hard into the back of his right thigh. He shrieked, jumping to his feet and twisting his upper body to see the wound, looking like a rabid dog chasing his tail. “You stabbed me?” He held up his fingers. There was a small amount of blood on them. “I'm bleeding. You bitch.” He lunged for her but tripped and fell onto the sand. She grabbed her glasses and bag and scrambled over the rocks, slipping in her tennis shoes and scraping her knee. She kept running until she reached the crowd.

  Lee waited the rest of the afternoon in the hot parking area for Mrs. White. Finally, shortly after three she pulled up in the yellow truck. Without getting out of the vehicle, Mrs. White leaned across the seat to the passenger side and opened the door. “Hop in,” she called out to Lee.

  Mrs. White had changed into Bermuda shorts and a t-shirt, her white legs surprisingly muscular for an old lady, Lee thought. “You're red as a lobster,” Mrs. White said. “Don't you know about suntan lotion?”

  Lee looked at her arms. They were bright pink and starting to sting. Her skin was hot to the touch. Great, she thought, a sunburn to top off what had been a horrific day. This just proved it, bad things always happened to her whether she wrote her list or not. As a matter of fact, it was the things she didn't think of that happened.

  As Mrs. White backed the truck onto the road she said, “You have any fun?”

  “Not really.”

  “A lot of drinking?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mrs. White looked at her sharply but didn't ask any other questions. Lee's eyes were heavy. She put her head against the side of the truck and fell asleep. When she woke they were pulling up to her mother's house.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, didn't mean to fall asleep.”

  But Mrs. White wasn't listening. She was looking at the house with a worried expression. “What's wrong?” Lee asked her.

  Mrs. White swore under her breath and leaped from the truck, sprinting towards the porch. Lee followed, her heart beating hard inside her chest. They entered through the front door, Lee on the older woman's heels. The screen door slammed behind them. It smelled different but she couldn't think of what. Then it came to her. Smoke.

  “Those damn cigarettes,” Mrs. White yelled, running towards the kitchen.

  The coffee table, covered with magazines and newspapers was on fire. Her mother lay on the couch, inches from the flames, not moving.

  Lee screamed. Without thinking, she ran past the fire to the couch and dragged her into the foyer. Once on the floor, Eleanor's eyes fluttered and then coughed the rattled smoker's cough, her chest rising and falling.

  “Mommy, are you alright?” Lee took her mother's hand that felt like crepe paper, sobbing.

  Without opening her eyes Eleanor murmured, her face slack, “My chest hurts.”

  Lee heard the clang of a pan and then water running from the kitchen. Mrs. White ran past them with a pan of water. Lee watched her douse the fire. It went out instantly, as if it knew there was no denying Ellen White what she wanted; the remains of its rebellion soggy charred magazines and blackened remnants of the town newspaper.

  They put Eleanor to bed and cleaned the mess left by the fire. Afterwards they sat on the steps of the front porch. “How did you know?” Lee said. “About the fire.”

  “Oh, I've got a nose can smell most anything. It's a curse most of the time. Always figured my family must've been the types smelled the Queen's dishes for poison.”

  Lee made a pattern in the dirt with her foot. “Glad we got here when we did.” She shivered.

  Mrs. White looked at her, eyes sharp. “Is it always this bad?”

  Lee shrugged, looking at the ground. “I guess.”

  “You ever tell anyone about it, like a teacher at school or anything.”

  “Nah, what could they do?”

  Mrs. White looked like she might say something but then thought better of it, examining her fingernails instead.

  “Mrs. White, I'm leaving in the morning.” And as she said it, she knew suddenly that it was true. She was finished with high school. She'd miss the graduation ceremony but who cared? She was done living in this crazy house. “College starts in late August but I'll go now, get a job for the summer. I can live in the dorms during the summer as long as I have the rent.”

  Mrs. White nodded. “You'll need some money.”

  “I've got a little saved.” Not much, she thought. Enough for a bus ticket and one month's rent. But it could get her through until she found a job.

  “I'll float you some. You can pay me back when you're a rich and famous artist.”

  She wanted to protest but knew she couldn't. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I'll take you to the bus station in the morning.”

  “The bus to Seattle leaves at 11:30.” She'd memorized the schedule years ago, planning her escape.

  “I'll be here to get you.”

  She slept fitfully that night and woke late the next morning, hot under her bed covers. The air reeked of smoke. Her sunburned skin stung. She threw back the covers, longing for the feel of water on her scorched arms and legs. She dressed in a ratty pair of shorts and t-shirt. On her way down the hall she paused in front of her mother's room, leaning for a moment on the closed door. A bird's summer song drifted in through the open hall window. Her mother snored softly inside the room. She put her hand on the doorknob to go in like she did every morning but then hesitated. The familiar sadness crept in but she forced the feelings inside, scratching her sunburned arms with her fingernails, drawing blood. The river beckoned to her, as if it called her name. She withdrew her hand from the door and walked away, down the hall and the creaky stairs, all the while hearing a call to the river, knowing that she would not look back again.

  In the yard the sky felt long and hazy, different than the day before. She knew it would be a scorcher, unusual for June. She walked the path towards the swimming hole. At the swing, she paused, holding the rough rope between her fingers, wondering what it felt like to fly over the river and then plunge into the mystery of its waters without fear or hesitation. She took the worn path to the water, slipping several times but going on anyway, determined to be brave. At the river's edge, she inched in, her overheated skin shocked at the cold. When the water reached her shoulders she moved her arms in a circular motion, pretending to swim, keeping her feet anchored to the sandy floor. Then she bent her knees, closing her eyes and submerging her head under the water. She stayed like that with her eyes scrunched closed until the coolness seeped in through her skin and reached the place inside her where hope and despair lived side by side. She imagined the pain of her childhood diminishing to flecks of ice. Her feet came off the ground and she opened her eyes. She was floating. Her hair streamed out in front of her as her t-shirt ballooned around her body like a safety device, bubbles escaping from her shorts. The gray floor of the river hosted several red crawfish and a school of minnows swam around her. Infinitesimal specks of fluorescent algae drifted through the water, illuminated by the pelting sunlight. She felt triumphant. She was refreshed, cool at last.

  Later that morning Mrs. White came in her truck, beeping her horn to let Lee know she'd arrived. Eleanor was on the porch already. Lee took her suitcase in hand, looking around the shabby house one last time. She wanted desperately to go but felt that nudge of guilt, knowing she was all her mother had in the world.

  Eleanor leaned against a porch post, smoking a cigarette, dressed in a faded blue, tattered housecoat. Mrs. White's acute eyes watched from the truck. Lee reached to hug her mother, smelling the familiar scent of vodka and cigarettes, but the suitcases made it an awkward bump of shoulders. “I'll visit soon,” said Lee, lying.

  “You'll be back soon enough. It's not as easy out there as you think. You'll see.”

  “Alri
ght, well, I love you.” The words felt strangled, unfamiliar.

  Her mother took a drag of her cigarette and swept her hand in the air as if she were ridding herself of junk. “Go on now, Ellen's waiting for you.” Lee turned and walked down the steps of the porch and into the waiting truck, raging suddenly against her mother for making what should be a victorious sweep to art school one last bitter moment in Lee's mouth.

  They drove the thirty minutes to the bus depot in silence. Lee's stomach was nervous, her mind racing. She started to cry when she saw the bus depot sign. Mrs. White handed her a tissue. Lee took it, blowing her nose angrily. Lee was relieved that Mrs. White didn't say something trite, meant to be comforting like adults sometimes did. She just parked silently and hauled the suitcase out of the back of the truck with one hand.

  Lee walked to the booth and bought a one-way ticket to Seattle. She checked her suitcase but kept her canvas bag with her wallet, a book, and sketch pad for the trip. Mrs. White handed her a paper bag that smelled of cinnamon. “I baked you a few things. It's a long ways. You best call me when you get there. Collect.”

  “Alright. You'll tell my mother?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Then they stood on the hot cement that smelled of urine and spilled oil, waiting for the sign to board. Lee sniffed and wiped her eyes with the tissue.

  After a time Mrs. White cleared her throat and without looking at Lee said, “My husband was a drunk too, mean as the day is long after a half a bottle of Jim Beam. It's a heartbreaking way to live and I'm sure if your mother could help it, she would live a different way. But that isn't your concern any longer. You've done your time. I'll look after your mother, so don't worry about her. Just go live your life.”

  “What if I don't know how?” The tears started again, in furious little streams down her cheeks.

  Mrs. White crossed her arm and pursed her lips, looking over at her with flashing eyes. “Nonsense. You'll figure it out. Don't let anyone tell you differently.”

  “It's time,” she said, nodding towards the bus. She gave Lee a slight push. Before Lee put her foot on that first step, she turned back to Mrs. White and called out, “Thank you.”

  “Go get ‘em,” she called back, smiling.

  Inside the bus it was air conditioned and smelled of stale cigarette smoke. It was nearly empty so she chose the front seat, close to the driver, for safety's sake. She looked out the window. Mrs. White was still there. Lee waved. Mrs. White waved back.

  Chapter One

  2006

  Lee shuddered under the awning of her condominium building on Seattle's Second and Blanchard, searching vainly in the dark for the man who called himself Von. It was midnight and the wind off the Puget Sound was fierce, bringing the scent of seaweed and fish along with a chill that seemed to penetrate through her clothing and into her bones so that her teeth chattered like a child at an early morning swimming lesson. Across the street was a black sedan, parked in the same spot for a week, a man watching her every move. For the fifth time in five minutes she felt the inside pocket of her mint green pea coat for the cashier's check and reassured it was there withdrew her hands into the sleeves. The rain pooled on the roof of the glass awning and dripped onto the cement in a steady mind numbing rhythm. A sudden distant shout from late night drinkers feeling a different kind of buzz made her jump.

  Then she saw a shadow across the street; a figure dragging one foot slightly behind the other in a limp. He nodded at her and walked across the street to where she waited, feeling small and more frightened than she'd ever been in her life.

  “You able to get it?” He stood in front of her, shaking the rain from his Mariner's cap, a splash landing on her face. With the palm of his hand he smoothed the few wisps of brown hair on his otherwise bare head.

  “Yes.”

  He stepped closer and she smelled rank cigarette smoke on his coat. “Good.”

  She handed him the envelope and wrapped her arms around herself to stop shaking.

  He licked his index finger and lifted the check from the envelope. His eyes darted to the amount and then to her face. His eyes glittered but his voice was low, without emotion. “This is only half.”

  Her voice wavered and cracked. “I couldn't get it all.”

  He put the check in his jacket and Lee caught sight of the shiny handle of a handgun. He put a cigarette in his mouth. “I said all of it.”

  “I sold everything we had.”

  He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, exhaling slowly. “You gotta get me that money.”

  Lee's eyes stung from the smoke that drifted around her face. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “This is to show you I'm good for it, that I don't plan to cheat you. I can get it eventually but I need some time.”

  “You're out of time.”

  “I just don't have it.” She tasted blood and realized it was from inside her own lip.

  “We'll give you another week. I'll meet you right here a week from now.”

  “What if I can't get it? What then?”

  He threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it with his heel. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  She shook her head no and put her hand to her mouth. “I want you to know, this is not who I am. I'm a respected businesswoman in this town. I'm an honest person. This was all a terrible mistake.”

  He took another cigarette from his pack and held it in the air almost as if he expected her to light it for him. “Lady, it don't matter to me what kind of person you are. I'm hired to get the money owed to my boss. Nothing more nothing less.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “A fact's a fact. You owe my boss this money and he don't care one wit if you've been deluding yourself about who you really are or who your husband was. This money you owe, that's who you are to him.”

  She chastised herself silently, telling herself to stop talking and just get out. He was correct, she had been delusional but her eyes had been recently pulled open like a person on a torture device, one sickening revelation after another. She said, “Fine, I'll see you next week.”

  “Don't stand me up, Lee Johnson. It wouldn't be pretty.”

  “I won't,” she lied. There was a woman headed towards the glass door and Lee scurried behind her into the lit lobby.

  A few moments later Lee sat on the master bedroom toilet, wearing a bra and panties around her ankles. She held a new pregnancy test in her hands. It was shaped like a pen and had two display windows. She pulled off the plastic cover and stuck it between her legs, aiming her urine stream at the spongy end of the stick like the directions said. Some of it splashed her thighs. Holding the test in one hand like a sword, she cleaned up with toilet paper. Sweat dribbled between her breasts. She waited, never taking her eyes from the test. The line in the first window turned pink. According to the package it would take at least a minute for the line in the other window to appear. If it did she was pregnant. “Please be negative,” she whispered to herself. “Please.”

  This was torture, she thought. Couldn't they make a faster test? Her eyes landed on the soaking tub, wondering bitterly if the new owners would love it as much as she had.

  She breathed in through her nose and out her mouth like in Pilates class. She counted to twenty. At twenty-one, she peered at the test. Two dark pink lines showed in the second window.

  She was pregnant. She'd known it. But here it was in pink and white. She said inside her head, “No, no, no. This can't be.” She crossed her arms over her tender breasts, fighting the urge to cry. She ordered herself to hold it together as she pulled up her panties and threw the test in her bag, on top of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then she pulled on a traditional Islamic dress and fastened a full Burka over her head. She looked in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. Maybe no one else would either.

  She went to the window and moved the drawn shade a crack to see that it was still drizzling. A layer of fog hovered just above the center of the skyscraper across from where she stoo
d. She looked to the street below. The black sedan was still there.

  She grabbed her bag and went out to the living room. Her friend Linus paced by the front door. He stopped, staring at her. “Well, it's a good disguise, I'll give it that.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “But keep your head down anyway.” His voice was grave and shaky. He plucked nervously at the purple knit scarf around his neck.

  “I know. We've been over and over the plan.”

  “What took you so long?”

  She paused, and for the first time in their fifteen year friendship she held something from him. She wouldn't tell him she was pregnant. It was too much for him to absorb, after all they'd gone through these last several weeks.

  The moment had come to say goodbye. She wanted to express her love and gratitude to him but she felt awkward, clumsy. She tried anyway, clearing her throat. “Linus, I don't say it enough, don't know if I've ever said it, but I love you.” Her voice broke. “I want you to know that, in case anything happens. Maybe if I'd said it more to Dan, he'd still be here.”

  He put up his hand to quiet her. “Please, Lee, you've got to stop punishing yourself. What he's done is not your fault.” His voice was angry now, his cheeks flushed.

  “It occurred to me this morning that when I disappear it's not only from these awful people but from you too. It didn't sink in until today. Isn't that stupid?” She started to cry.

  “I know. Me too.” He wrapped his arms around her.

  “We've spoken almost everyday for fifteen years.”

  “I know.”

  “I even called you on my honeymoon. Remember?”

  He smoothed her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. “This isn't forever. Just get your mother's house sold so you can pay off this bastard. Then I'll come pick you up. You can stay with me when you come home. Start a new life. I'll give you a job at Figs when you get back.”