“David.”
“You don’t have to forgive me. But I am sorry, Penna. I’m really sorry. I just can’t anymore. I just can’t.”
He says he loves me. He says he’ll write me. He says good-bye. He hangs up.
I set down my phone. I slip Owen’s ring off my thumb and put it on my right ring finger.
Owen’s ring is too loose to hide the tattoo.
•••
“Penna?” It’s Justine, standing in the doorway, flanked by Linda and Tom.
I stare at them, trying to remember why we’re all here. I shiver under Plum Tumble. I draw the quilt closer around my shoulders, but this doesn’t seem to help.
“David says we’re done.”
I’ve said it.
I cast off the quilt and push past my family. My family. I worked so hard to bring them together. How am I all broken apart? I run to the bathroom and hunch over the toilet, sure I’m going to be sick.
Nothing happens. Nothing but the drip of water into the sink.
I go back to my bedroom. Linda and Tom are at the window, looking down through the leaves of the honey locust tree to the place where David and I once kissed. They are talking quietly. They don’t hear me come into the room.
But Justine does. She is standing at my dresser, holding her photograph. There is the girl she used to be, the girl so close to my age, running a silver brush through her hair, looking at a boy she loved and lost.
Justine looks at me. She is really here, looking at me. She is not just a photograph. I go to her. She sets the photograph back in its place. She draws me close.
She is so frail. Her mind is changing. The way she remembers—that is changing too. But I know that when she’s able, Justine will listen to whatever I have to say about love and loss. She will listen with the same care and concern that I have felt listening to her.
Only problem, I can’t imagine I’ll ever have anything to say again.
•••
The first word I say is, “No.”
Linda has given me the night offJustine is at Red Earth too, eating one of Isaac’s daily specials. Justine wanted to spend the evening with me, but when she told me so, I said no. She asked if I wanted her company, and I said no. And when Justine, Tom, and Linda finally left, I kept right on saying no to the empty house. For a while I walked from room to room, whispering, saying, shouting no, again and again.
I sit down at my computer and write it to David: No.
He doesn’t write back. It’s unreasonable to expect him to respond. So what? That’s how I’m feeling. Unreasonable. And angry.
I turn away from my computer. I still love you. I just can’t. What kind of logic is that? What does it mean? I look down at my hands, curled like dead birds in my lap. I see my tattoo. I think, Nothing. This means nothing now. Then I see Owen’s ring, slipping away from the braid of my tattoo.
A dead man’s ring means more to me than my tattoo.
I turn back to my computer. I whip off another email to David.
How can you? This is ME. I held on for you.
I send this off too. Never mind the voice in my head. I ignore it. I turn on some music, turn it on loud.
You knew this was coming.
I turn the music louder.
Two or three songs later, I don’t hear my phone ringing. I see it flashing on my desk.
David, I think. He’s calling me back. He’s calling to apologize.
What will I say? I’ll have to figure it out as I go. Hasn’t that been what I’ve been doing this whole time he’s been away—first at OSUT, then now? Figuring it out? Winging it? There’s no map for this, what we’re doing, what I’m feeling. I’ll figure it out.
I pick up the phone.
It’s Caitlin. And Ravi. He’s there too. And Jules. They’re in Jules’s car. Jules is driving toward me.
Ravi grabs the phone from Caitlin. “Tom told Caitlin, and then he called Josh, who said he’d be glad to put in a few extra hours over the dinner shift. And Bonnie told me. Bonnie’s really worried about both you and David, Penna. And I texted Jules, though of course Caitlin already had.”
“No,” I say, because I’m in the habit.
Ravi acts like he doesn’t hear. “We’ll stay in. We’ll go out. Whatever you want to do, Penna. But we’ve decided. All of us. You’re not going to be alone tonight.”
“No. Stop. I don’t want you here. I want to be alone,” I say. “But thanks.”
After we say good-bye, I take off Owen’s ring and put it beside Justine’s photograph. If I could take off my tattoo, I’d do that too.
Twenty-Four
Of course they don’t listen to no.
They knock on the front door and fling pebbles against my bedroom window until the sound drives me right out of the house.
I find them under the honey locust tree. Looks like they found the old ladder that was in the garage when we moved here. They’ve propped it beneath my window. Caitlin is halfway up.
“Excuse me,” I say.
Ravi and Jules, who are bracing the ladder, jump at the sound of my voice. Caitlin nearly falls from the ladder. She just manages to regain her balance.
“‘O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?’” she says, her voice dripping with dramatic longing. Then she claps a hand to her mouth and looks at me, her face flushing. “Sorry!” Her apology is muffled by her hand.
“Nice one, Cait,” Ravi mutters.
I don’t wait for further apologies. I start back inside.
But Jules has me by the arm before I can take more than a few steps, and then Ravi has me by the other arm, and the next thing I know, Caitlin has zipped past us. She’s leading us up the front porch steps and through the open door.
They sit me down at my own kitchen table.
Jules makes herself at home first. She scrounges around and figures out the coffee situation. She puts on a fresh pot. The room is quiet, other than the sounds of the coffee brewing. Fine. They insisted on coming here. They can live with the quiet. Because I have nothing to say. I am empty.
Jules pours us coffee. Caitlin knows how I like mine, so she doctors it the way Linda does. Then we sit there, the four of us, and drink coffee in silence.
I glance up at the clock and see that fifteen minutes have passed.
“Please go,” I say.
And as soon as I say it, I realize how much I want them to stay. I’ve wanted them all along.
David and I were big. Are big. But the broken, beat-up, warring, loving, beautiful, truthful world is bigger than us by far.
I remember the little girl in her bandages and red dress. The way David looked at her, his gaunt face.
That’s when I finally start to cry.
They hold on.
I hold on.
After a while, I can finally hold it together.
•••
They offer to take me out to dinner—somewhere different from Red Earth. Ravi says he texted his sister, the incredible amateur chef. She is up for cooking for me tonight. Or we could get carry-out. They also suggest Total Rush. A movie. A drive out into the country. A drive into Oklahoma City.
“You could come to my house, and we could sit on the back porch,” Caitlin says.
“The mall over in Edmond is still open. We could go there. A new pair of shoes might do you some good. Been known to help me,” Jules says.
I tell them there’s only one place I want to go.
We drive to the viaduct.
I lean against David’s painting of me, big and blue. I still fit inside. This surprises me. I feel so different from that girl.
Ravi, Jules, and Caitlin lean against Jules’s car, watching me, pretending that they’re not.
Ravi doesn’t have his skateboard. I miss the sound of it, skimming so freely over the concrete, up and down the mural.
This surprises me too.
I take a deep breath. How long has it been since I breathed? Has it been since David’s last phone call?
His last phone call. I close my eyes at the thought.
But I can’t stand here forever with my eyes closed, leaning against what used to be.
I open my eyes again. “Let’s go get something to eat. Something good. Something at Red Earth,” I say.
They smile at me, the three of them, and their smiles are full of welcome.
Hey. Good. You’re still here, their smiles seem to say.
•••
A week later I’m eating lunch at the kitchen table with Justine and Linda. I’m beat. In spite of the summer heat and the lunch—soup that Justine whipped together out of a few cans and some forlorn vegetables scavenged from the back of the fridge—I can’t get warm. I can’t wake up. All I can think of is bed.
In just a minute I’ll tuck myself back under Plum Tumble. I’m going to stay there until I have to roll out again and get ready for Red Earth. I’ve been back working just one shift for five days, but I’m still wiped out from the last few weeks. I’m still grabbing naps whenever I can. Linda’s worried it’s because I’m depressed, I can tell. And maybe there’s something to that. But I’m not going to stop sleeping when I need it.
I might see a counselor, though. If Linda has her way.
“Now’s the time to get lost in your job. It’s the best way to get over someone. That’s been my experience,” Linda says, blowing on a steaming spoonful of soup. Linda must have registered Justine’s sharp glance then, because she quickly adds, “But that’s just my experience. You’ll tell us what you need, won’t you, Penelope?”
I nod. I finish my lunch. I go to my room, intent only on bed.
But for the first time in a week, I really take notice of Owen’s ring, glinting in the sun on my desk. I pick the ring up. I hook my thumb through it. Then I go back into the kitchen, where Linda and Justine are still sitting, quietly talking. They’re not nearly as herky-jerky anymore. They’re almost comfortable with each other. That’s a relief. I hold the ring out to Justine. I ask her if she would mind keeping it just a little while longer.
“Why?” she asks.
I hesitate only for a moment. “I don’t know exactly. Just a hunch you might want it.”
Which is true, as is what I don’t say: for a little while I think I need a break from the extra weight.
Justine knits her brow, even as she takes the ring and slips it onto her own thumb. “You won’t forget?”
“Never,” I say.
Then I go back to my room and write an email to David. It’s just a few lines. It’s only been a week since he broke up with me, after all. He hasn’t called or written like he said he would. But I’m not going to wait around anymore. I write:
Hold on.
I think you probably did us both a favor for now.
I’ll still be here when you get back.
And we’ll do what’s right then too.
•••
About halfway through my shift at Red Earth that night, I see Bonnie hovering by the door in the blue jukebox light. She gives me a little wave. I go deer-in-the-headlights still. I don’t know why. I trust Bonnie. I do. But if you’re someone’s mother, whose side are you inevitably on? I don’t want anyone telling me I did something wrong, this is my fault, if I’d only X or Y or Z. I don’t want to hear about David’s troubles from anyone but David. I just want to do my job.
Bonnie is standing before me now. She holds out her hand.
Not knowing what to do, I shake her hand, which feels all wrong. We should be hugging. We always hugged. Bonnie’s expression crumples as we let go of each other’s hands. She’s almost in tears.
“David told me,” she says.
I’ve always liked Bonnie. She’s always liked me. I’m not going to forget that now. I manage something like a smile, though it probably looks like a grimace.
“I’m sorry,” Bonnie says. “I don’t understand my son right now. But if there’s anything I can do…”
“Let me help get the stuff together for that place.” The words rush from me, taking me by surprise.
Bonnie looks equally surprised. “What did you say?”
I clear my throat, try again. “You’ve still got those boxes in the house for the orphanage?”
“And at the churches, library, community center.” Bonnie nods. “It’s a crazy mess.”
“Let me help,” I say. “You wanted my help before.”
Bonnie nods hard, her spiky hair stirring with the effort.
“I can get more stuff too, especially after school starts. Ravi’s already emailed the guidance counselor about it.” Possibilities flood my mind. “I’m thinking I might try to get art supplies. I could get some books on drawing and painting and send those too.”
Then Linda comes over to us and Bonnie just about goes ballistic, telling her what a great person I am. “A real angel,” she says.
When I can’t take it anymore, I slip away to the bathroom. I hide in the same stall. A few days ago I scrubbed off the grafitti of David and me in the nest. There’s some new graffiti now, the typical stuff, written by people I don’t know. Otherwise everything would be completely familiar if I had even the slightest hope that David would call.
•••
Closing time. Almost ready to go home.
“Look at this, will you?” Tom yells from the bar. He’s pointing at the television, a war story.
I don’t turn away. I make myself watch the footage: Mortar fire in a marketplace. Another IED doing its dirty work. Another jeep blown to bits somewhere. And shrouded bodies.
“‘Death blossom,’” the reporter says.
Death blossom, I think. I have to find out what that is. Death blossom.
Tom flings a damp towel at the TV. The towel hits the screen with a thwack, only briefly obliterating the image before it falls to the floor.
“Enough already,” Tom says.
“Where is it this time?” I ask.
When Tom tells me, I really listen. We stay way past closing, him talking, me trying, really trying, to understand.
Twenty-Five
The weekend before school starts, Tom drives Justine and me over to the viaduct. Justine wants to see what I painted there. She’s seen my drawings and sketches. Linda was the one who suggested I show her the mural. We were over at Tom’s, sitting on the back porch. Justine had had a few bad days, but this was a good one.
“Penna’s mural is incredible, Mom,” Linda said.
That was the first Linda ever called Justine that. We all went very quiet. Mom. The word seemed to echo in the warm air.
Now, holding Justine’s arm, guiding her around the cracks in the dry streambed to stand before the tall killdeer in their single nest and the sloppy, gorgeous paintings of David and me, big and blue, I realize what I have to do.
Justine squeezes my hand. “So there you are,” she murmurs. “There he is.” She sounds sad saying this, almost like I’ve painted Owen.
I feel sad too. But I don’t turn away. I can look at it. I can see him, me, us for what we were and are. We may not be exactly the same, but we’re still alive. We’re doing the best we can.
I turn to Justine. “Will you help me?”
For a moment she looks puzzled. But then she smiles and nods. “If I can.”
•••
“It’s even better than before,” Linda says.
Morning light strikes the viaduct mural just so, warming the feathers on the painted birds, igniting the golden swatches of the Icon Killdeer’s halo like fire. Linda and Isaac are sitting on the fender of Isaac’s pickup, drinking coffee from a thermos and waiting while Justine, with Tom’s help, and I finish up a much bigger picture of the world.
Ravi, Caitlin, and Jules finished their work on the mural a while ago. Now they’re practicing tricks on Ravi’s skateboard. Back and forth the wheels skim. The steady sound soothes me. When someone falls—and Caitlin and Jules both take their falls—I appreciate the repetitive rhythm all the more. When I get tired I’ve been able to match my brus
h strokes to it, and that’s kept me going.
Justine is tired. She wearily balances her paintbrush on the open can of gold paint that she used to add the finishing touches to her picture of Owen, a bugle raised to his lips, and to her picture of Ernest, sitting in a chair under Plum Tumble. They look young again, whole bodied and good spirited, there on the front of porch of the little gray house that we’ve all shared.
I touch Justine’s arm. “It’s good.”
Justine smiles. Leaning on Tom, she walks over to the truck. Isaac stands and steps aside, making room. Justine sits down beside Linda.
“Want some coffee?” Linda asks.
Justine nods. And there it is, flashing across her face, her surprise and joy that she is sitting here with us all on a fine late summer morning, sharing coffee.
They’re all right. All of them, sitting there, they’re all right. They’ll wait for me. As will Jules, who painted a blond guy wearing a bracelet with her name on it, who must be Zach. And Caitlin, who painted herself boarding a train bound for the bright lights and big city. (She’s still got that urge to escape this place and make it on Broadway or in LA. She and Justine have been talking.) And Ravi, who painted his father wearing a T-shirt printed with an American flag. They hang out here, waiting for me, holding on.
I look back at the mural. Late last night I made a list of what I wanted to paint this morning, almost too many images to number. A motorcycle. A dirt road. All that and more, simply done, but good enough for me.
Last thing, which is now, because, like Justine, my hand can’t hold a brush anymore, I swiftly outline David in his cape, finally a hero. I’ll fill in the colors and details gradually over the weeks to come. But for now the bold curves and angles of his form are enough for me. Here, he plucks ripe tomatoes from a hardy vine and shares them with the little girl in a red dress. Her bandages are gone. They both look healthy. Soon he’ll be coming home, and God help her, she will be going somewhere that feels like home too.
While He Was Away Page 22