“First of all, Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Gorsen, we have verified that you are the women who have been reported missing, and I think you should know that your families and the administration at the nursing home have been worried sick about you.” She turns to Rayne. “And you, Mr. Carpenter, have a less-than-stellar record and a history of rather poor judgment. I wonder if these ladies know that you have skirted around the edge of the law since you were a young teen?”
“I have no charges against me now,” Rayne says. “There’s nothing in my file that hasn’t been resolved.”
“True. Still, I think they should be aware that you are no innocent schoolboy.”
“What happens now?” Rayne asks.
“I encourage you to return these two ladies to Ottawa and the safety of their home.”
“Encourage?” Rayne says. “Are you saying they don’t have to go home?”
Sergeant Christensen sighs. “Unfortunately, it isn’t a crime to be missing. Adults can choose to leave home and cut off all contact with friends and family, and we can’t do anything about it. But I have to stress that you are taking a risk. According to the report, Mrs. Gorsen and Mrs. Clark have Alzheimer’s disease and can’t always depend on their own judgment. I can see evidence of slight confusion, but it almost seems deliberate. I’m afraid that at this time, I don’t deem them to be in danger, so I have to let you go.” She turns to us. “I would like to have your permission to contact the nursing home and tell them that you’re here and that you’re safe.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You need our permission? We get to say whether or not you tell them?”
“That’s the law. I can’t divulge anything without your permission because you’re adults. But the fact that they’ve filed a report tells me that they are very concerned. Why don’t you call them from here to tell them yourselves?”
This is news to me. I thought that if we were caught, we would have to go back. This is great! We can just carry on if we want to—but, what about Albert? I should at least talk to him. He deserves to know where I am. Then again, he hasn’t called or come looking for me, so why should I care? He’s probably found some young thing at the office or maybe one of the uniforms to take my place. I pick up my bag and start for the door. To hell with him. “You can go ahead and call if you want, but just tell them that we’re fine. Don’t tell them where we are. I know Carol. She’ll come right out here and get me, as long as it doesn’t interfere with her work schedule. Yep, she’ll come just to prove that she can. You can tell them we’re having a grand old time and that we’ll go back when we’re good and ready.”
“Audrey? Would you like to call someone?” the officer asks.
“No. I want to see the mountains and sit on a lawn chair with my bare feet in the ocean. I’ll call them later too, when Lillian does.”
Rayne grins. “See what I have to deal with? And you thought I was the difficult one.”
Shadow is glad to see us. She crawls right up on my knee and snuggles in, her weight grounding me, clearing my head.
“You must have done a good job convincing them you were sane in there,” Rayne says. “I have to admit, I was afraid I was goin’ down. But the adventure continues. Way to go!”
“Can we still call you Rayne?” I ask. “I knew a boy in school named Wayne. I never really liked him.”
“Call me Rayne. That’s my name.”
“That officer was so darned cute in that big hat,” Audrey says.
“What exactly do you mean about convincing them we’re sane?” I ask. “Do you think we’re insane?”
“No, of course not. You know what I mean.”
“I wish I’d been keeping a journal,” Audrey says. “We have so many fun things to tell everyone when we get back.”
There is a large stain on my mint-green pants. It looks like a distorted cartoon figure—big misshaped head and small body with arms and legs sprouting raggedly out, a brown splotch on my upper leg. I must have spilled tea or coffee there. Funny I haven’t noticed until now. I look more closely at the rest of the clothes I’m wearing, surprised to see a paw print on my other leg and dirt on my sleeve. “Good grief,” I say. “I’m a mess. Why didn’t someone tell me I look like a street urchin? I need to do laundry.”
No one answers. I reach for Shadow’s foot, careful not to squeeze too tightly. She licks my hand. My thoughts bounce around like the balls inside a bingo cage, randomly dropping. Where are we going in this van and will we ever arrive? The landscape is unfamiliar and unexceptional. My clothes are filthy and so are my hands. Fraise seems to be sleeping. Luckily the driver looks awake and alert. My teacher will be wondering where I am. It has been days since I attended school, and my friend Charlotte will have no one to walk home with. I’m glad Blondie came along for the ride.
I look at my feet. I love these shoes with their bright colors, the white no longer perfectly white but beautiful nonetheless. They remind me of someone but who? I dig deep. Carol. Does Carol have shoes like these?
Outside, an ocean of brilliant golden-yellow blooms stretches north across a field. It takes my breath away. “What is that?”
“Sunflowers,” the man answers.
“A field of sunflowers? People grow them like on a farm?”
“Yeah. They sell the seeds for oil and birdseed and roasted snacks.”
“Can we stop and pick one?” I ask.
He checks the rearview mirror and turns abruptly off the highway at an exit just past the field. The lane leading to the farm is only a short way down the road. The man turns in, stops near the barn, and hops out. “Wait here,” he says, and disappears into the barn. He returns with two stalks the breadth of his thumb, each supporting a mammoth sunflower, and hands them to us. “To celebrate four days on the road.” He smiles.
I reach out to take the flower. The stem has been tucked inside a brown paper bag that is crumpled up tightly around it to cushion the grip. I’m surprised to see the stem is hairy and rough. I’d not thought of it that way. I hold the stem in my lap, the bloom inches from my face. It has only an earthy scent, like the soil. I breathe it in and close my eyes. “Thank you,” I tell the man. “Thank you for stopping.”
We drive a short distance down the little road and park along the side to let the dog run.
Farther along the highway, signs point to Brandon.
“Is it time to stop?” Audrey asks. “I feel like we’ve been in this van for about a week without a break.”
“It’s almost three-thirty,” the driver says. “We could stop, or we could drive another hour or so, cross into Saskatchewan, and stay somewhere just past that border.”
“Saskatchewan already? Wow!” Audrey’s vote is cast.
“That’s fine,” I say. I speak quietly to Shadow. “My back is killing me, but another hour or two isn’t gonna make a difference, right Girl?” I still clutch the sunflower in my hand as it lies across my lap. I touch the petals, soft and layered; examine the center where the pointed tips of seeds form an intricate pattern of black, changing to dark brown nearer the rim of the circle. Things are so different when you look more closely at them.
14
I swing my arm over the back of the seat and grope around for the bananas. They’re cradled in a nook between the soft straps of a backpack.
“Anyone want a banana?” I ask, snapping off two and passing them to the front. I eat one. It’s just right—not too hard or too ripe. I peel another; notice the firm sweetness and the way it comforts as it slides down my throat.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Saskatchewan.”
“Is that where Sasquatch lives?”
“No, that’s farther west, on the coast,” Rayne says.
“It sounds like he should live in Saskatchewan, don’t you think?”
“What about
Albert?” Audrey asks. “Does Albert live in Alberta?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
A great expanse meanders on either side of the van without so much as a ripple or dip. We are a small speck. So much space is disconcerting. At home it’s crowded but I don’t mind. I share a bedroom with my sisters, and space at the table is always cramped. My brothers take up more room than they should with sharp elbows and big feet. Eleanor too, with her bursts of Italian and waving of arms.
The horizon is so far away. “Where are we going?”
“Saskatchewan,” Rayne answers.
We cross into Saskatchewan and stop for a washroom break at the visitor information center. Audrey picks up pamphlets to look at and reads them aloud as we drive until she starts to feel nauseated.
“I guess I shouldn’t read in the car,” she says.
“You’re a good reader,” I say. “I love when people read to me. It’s smooth on my head. Don’t you love it, Rayne, when people read to you?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Your mom didn’t read to you when you were little?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I bet she did. House at Pooh Corner or Treasure Island or Tom Sawyer? Those are great books.”
“Yeah. And right after she finished reading to me, we went outside and watched unicorns jump over rainbows.
It was one big hug-fest at the Carpenter house.”
“What do you mean?” Audrey asks.
“She left when I was ten.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too. I came home from school one day and she was gone. Dad was there, crying—clumsy, slobbering, pissed out of his mind. I went upstairs and sat in her room until it got dark. I could smell her—the patchouli and the cream she always put on her face after she washed. All her clothes and things were still there, so I thought she’d come back but she never did.
I puked every morning after that because I didn’t want to go to school. I was afraid she’d come home and I wouldn’t be there.”
Rayne is so sad now, and it’s my fault. “Not everyone has a mom that reads. I wish I hadn’t said that.”
“Forget it.”
“Why did she leave?” Audrey asks.
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Yes,” Audrey says. “We should talk about it. Friends should talk about these sorts of the things.”
“She’d always spent a lot of time in her room, just lying there, and she wouldn’t talk for days. What did I know? I was ten. I thought moms acted that way. I didn’t know she had a lot of stuff goin’ on in her head that she couldn’t deal with.
I realized as I got older, that she was clinically depressed. She and Dad used to fight a lot, but Dad would always give in when it got loud and dirty. I guess he was trying to protect me.”
Audrey’s gaze is fixed on Rayne’s face. We drive in silence, none of us knowing what else to say. Until now, I knew nothing about this young man. I didn’t even think of him as having a history, of being a child, even though I struggle with people who only see me only as nothing more than an old lady with dementia. It always makes me angry.
“Do you hear from her?” Audrey asks.
“Not once. Gran used to get in touch with her somehow, and that’s the only way we’d know she was still alive. I guess she was in and out of hospitals a lot.”
“That’s so sad!” Audrey says. “You poor kid. I’m going to adopt you.”
“What about your dad?” I ask.
“He tried, but we didn’t always get along. I guess we were both dealing with the fallout in our own way. He’s a good guy. He made sure I had clothes and food and everything, he just wasn’t very good at knowing when I needed more, like when I needed someone to read to me.” He glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Thank God my grandma lived just down the street. I spent a lot of time with her. She got me through it.”
Audrey’s face brightens. “That’s why you came back to help us. You said we remind you of your grandma, right?”
“Yeah, but why I came back is still up for debate. I also know what it feels like to have a mom leave and not know where she’s gone. You’re not gonna want to hear this, Lillian, but even though your kids are adults now, it’s still gotta be tough on them. For me, that’s hard to reconcile.”
“Oh, dear.” I suddenly feel wretched. Too much bad news. My stomach reels and my mouth tastes like that salty spray the dental assistant blasts on my teeth when she’s supposed to be cleaning them.
“Pull over. Pull over. I’m gonna be sick. Jeez Louise, pull over!” I scream.
Rayne slows and swerves onto the shoulder. He opens my door just in time and stands back. My stomach turns inside out.
Rayne hands me a paper towel to wipe my face and pours me a glass of water from the jug in the back. “I think we’d better stop in the next town,” he says.
We pull off the highway at the next exit. “Welcome to Moosomin, population twenty-five hundred,” he says.
There are a couple of hotels on the way into town and another just off the main street. “I think we should probably stay in one on the outskirts,” Rayne says.
“You’re afraid we’re gonna wander off.” I say.
“No, because you’re not going anywhere without telling me, right?”
“Yes,” Audrey says.
“Yes,” I say. “But I want to stay in town. It would be nice to walk to supper and feel like we’re free and not held hostile.”
“Hostage?” Rayne says. “You feel like you’re being held hostage?”
I don’t answer.
“You’re free to go if that’s how you feel. I’m only trying to help.”
Still, I don’t answer. I know Rayne is angry but so am I. Why is he trying to control us? Isn’t that what Audrey and
I were trying to escape from? “You’re our driver, not our babysitter,” I say, my face drawn in a stern frown.
Audrey looks back at me in surprise. “That’s not right. Rayne’s more than just our driver, Lillian.”
“Of course he’s more to you; he’s your boyfriend. I’m sick of both of you.”
“Okay,” Rayne says calmly. “That’s enough. Everyone needs to chill. I’ll find a motel and we’ll all rest.”
“Right,” I say. “You plan it, and we’ll just do whatever you say. Is that what you want?”
“Fine. What do you want to do?” Rayne asks as he continues to drive toward the edge of town.
“I told you I want to stay in town.”
I look at the sunflower hastily thrown to the floor when I vomited. The petals are wilted and the bloom itself is leaning to the side like a doll’s head, too heavy for the worn neck that used to support it.
We pull into a driveway to turn around and head back into town. No one says a word.
Parked in front of a motel half a block from Main Street, Rayne turns off the engine. “Do you want to go in and register? I’ll wait here.”
I’m suddenly unsure of how to do this. It all seems new and complicated. Even our names are not ours to claim now, and I can’t recall what name I’m supposed to use. I reach for Shadow and scratch her head.
“Let’s all go in,” Audrey says. “It’ll be fine.”
“Do you want to be Ethel and Lucy, my grandma and aunt again?” Rayne asks. “Lillian, what do you want to do?”
I continue to pet Shadow, refusing to look up. “I want to wait here. You two go in and I’ll stay with Shadow.”
“You sure?” Rayne asks.
I nod and avoid making eye contact.
Rayne stuffs the keys in his pocket and walks to the other side to help Audrey out. Even with his help and her cane, she struggles to walk to the door, stiff from so much time in the car, bent for
ward like she is running a race, only slow and halting. I don’t remember her looking so old.
I read and re-read the sign outside the motel. Moosomin Inn, your home away from home. Rayne’s words echo in my ears. Are my kids worrying and wondering where I am? A lump rises in my throat and I swallow hard. Tom and Carol are grown and accustomed to living their own lives. They aren’t ten. Surely I can’t be accused of abandoning them. My clenched fists loosen slightly. I read the sign again—your home away from home. It is comforting somehow, like a greeting card that tells you the thing you want to hear.
Rayne and Audrey return to the car and we park outside the room. The throbbing ache in my back sends pain stabbing down into my leg.
“Oh, my,” I groan, easing onto my feet with the help of the doorframe. Shadow bounds past me and into Rayne’s grasp.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says, snapping the leash onto
her collar.
Rayne carries our bags in and sets them on the beds. No one talks. I’ve said something wrong, something to cause this chill. I must have. Rayne turns to leave.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say.
“No problem,” Rayne says on the way out the door.
He disappears into the room next door.
I examine the hands of the clock on the wall. “Is it eight-thirty?” I ask.
Audrey looks at the digital clock on the bedside table. “Five-eighteen.”
I look back at the clock on the wall. “No, it says eight-thirty. No, nine o’clock.”
“Five-eighteen,” Audrey says again.
“Why is that extra hand on the clock? It goes around and around so fast and makes it hard to tell what time it is.”
“I know. I have trouble with that too,” Audrey says. “This kind is much clearer.” She taps the bedside clock, drawing my attention there.
“You’re right,” I say. “Five-nineteen.” I move the pack from my bed and lie flat on my back, and close my eyes.
Flee, Fly, Flown Page 14