Wanderlust

by A. R. Hadley

Their eyes met for a brief second in the rearview before the lid opened.

  "You know I twake him everywhere." Bev reached back and scratched the dog's head without taking her eyes off her reflection.

  Annie had conveniently forgotten her mother’s exaggerated baby-dog talk. Was that what Annie sounded like when she talked to Marlon?

  After stashing her red container of a suitcase in the trunk, Annie got in the car and shut the door. With eyes on the mirror, Bev gave her head a good shake, trading the tube of lipstick for a cigarette.

  "I think you look quite fine for picking your daughter up at the airport." Annie eyeballed her mother. "Are you meeting a man here?" Annie glanced around the terminal in mock disdain.

  She grabbed Annie's knee. "No. But you have." Even though Bev had slipped her sunglasses on, her eyebrows arched above the rims.

  Jesus. Why can't we just be normal for once? “Hi, how are you?” bullshit. Hugs. An "It's good to have you home, Annie." No. We’re doing this shit-shit-shit.

  "What are you talking about?" Annie fastened her seatbelt.

  After cupping the cigarette and lighting it, Beverly fidgeted with her hair one more time, tossed the lighter, and then put the car into drive. "You’re going to play innocent with me? You stopped being innocent when you stayed with that boy after he fucked another girl."

  "For God’s sake." Annie sank into the seat. Or shrank into it. A microscope couldn't have found her.

  "He played you. Is that what this man is doing, too? Playing you?"

  Like a hermit crab in its shell, Annie fit herself inside the exoskeleton, got comfy, and closed her eyes. Not now not now not now. She tried to keep from inhaling the smoke, or her mother's bullshit, but the cool Washington wind circling inside the vehicle was unable to blow away any of the stench.

  "I have to do all the talking?" Beverly gripped the wheel, eyeing her daughter without turning her head.

  Annie extended her arm outside the car, elbow on the ledge, palm up, fingers splayed, and let the breeze beat against her flesh.

  Concentrate on the wind.

  The pounding and throbbing it provides.

  It will be fine. Fine. She'll be fine. She's not drinking.

  Not yet.

  "I spoke with Maggie last night," Beverly said, then took a drag from her cigarette.

  Okay, so her mother wasn't going to stop the nocuous conversation.

  "Do I have to spell it out?" The smoke she exhaled with her sentence somehow whirled toward Annie's face. Gunning the gas, knuckles white over the wheel, she took the curves sharper. "Maggie said the man you’re fucking is old enough to be your father." A wicked satisfaction played at the corners of Bev’s lips.

  Annie jerked her face to the right and looked out the open window. She pressed her thumbs into her jeans, ready to poke holes into the fabric. Her stomach turned to washboard, the kind people used to scrub dirty clothes on.

  "I suppose those were Maggie's exact words," Annie huffed, enunciating each word — feeling pissed, livid — while giving her mother a dirty look.

  Beverly laughed. Of course. This was her kind of fun. Her specialty.

  "Why didn't you tell me about him? For God’s sake, I’m your mother."

  "This! This is why I haven't told you about him."

  "Come on. Puhleeze. You can talk to me."

  "He's not as old as Daddy anyway."

  "No, he's not, but he's still old enough to be your father." Beverly chuckled.

  "And you are in a position to give me advice about men. Really?"

  "Do you want my advice?"

  "No." Annie folded her arms across her chest and pushed her sneakers into the floor board.

  An uncomfortable silence took hold of the car for a moment. Sans Barney. The dog continued to snort and pant.

  It wouldn't last. The silence.

  Annie knew Beverly would give her unwelcome advice anyway. She always did, never knowing when enough was enough, always sarcastic and always thinking mother truly knew best.

  "You’re young in his eyes," Bev began. "A plaything." Annie balled her fists. "You must know a man like that only wants one thing from you.”

  "A man like what? What did Maggie tell you? You don't even know Cal. Maybe he’s my plaything." For God's sake. What was she saying?

  Bev peeked at her daughter and smiled an annoying grin, implying Annie's words were a big fat motherfucking fakery.

  "You're right." Beverly put her hand on Annie's leg a tad tenderly. "I don't know him, but I know you." She rattled Annie's thigh. "I know you give your heart fully in everything you do.”

  Tears escaped and ran down Annie's cheeks. She quickly wiped them away and composed herself. "Can we talk about something else? I'll tell you about him later." She dropped her head onto the seat. "Just not now. I'm exhausted." And in love.

  Annie had given her heart. Cal had her. And it. No matter where she went. Three thousand miles of not far. He was in the pit of her stomach, the claw of her throat, her temples, her cortex, her equilibrium.

  "Of course, honey." The final bit of smoke snaked from Beverly's lips as she flicked the cigarette out the window.

  Thank. Fuck.

  Annoyed her mother had tossed the filter onto the blanket of the earth but grateful for the silence, Annie shut her eyes for much of the ride. Still, the constant battering of the wind did little to block out the pain even with its exquisite pressure against her skin — the pounding and throbbing.

  Then her thoughts were back to Cal. He gave the exquisite pounding and throbbing.

  Wait … no … Cal had run out of stuff to give.

  “I’m going out back to smoke." Beverly held the dog under her arm and made her way into her home through the open kitchen, past the dining area toward the sliding glass door on the left, a pack of cigarettes poking out of the pocket of her white slacks.

  “You just finished one." Annie followed behind, stepping inside the rustic house for the first time in months, for the first time in over a year. The holidays had become a blur she’d avoided since her brother's death.

  Annie inhaled a deep breath.

  The house didn’t smell like a cigarette den. Thank God. Well, it never really did. It smelled of cedar with a hint of pug. An open bottle of red wine sat atop the island in the kitchen, and a few dirty dishes lay in the sink, mostly consisting of wine glasses and lipstick-stained coffee mugs. Not much had changed.

  “You going to start treating me like a child in my own home?" Beverly unlocked the patio door and rubbed Barney’s chin. He made a happy cry, snorting while curling his tail over his behind. "I'll smoke until my heart's content."

  "I'm sure you will," Annie said, watching as her mother began to close the slider. “I’m going to go lie down."

  “Fine. I’ll call you for dinner.”

  “Are you actually going to cook?”

  Eyes bulging, Beverly peered at Annie through the sliver of the opening, where wall met door. “I am." She pushed up her bangs with the hand that held the lit cigarette. "Don’t look so shocked, young lady.”

  As Bev turned her attention to Barney tinkling in the grass a few feet away, Annie rolled her eyes and then took her suitcase up the stairs toward her room.

  Mom had kept it the same — cozy and simple. A mid-century bed. Heavy and dark real wood furniture. An unusually long dresser. A matching nightstand.

  The room was one of two at the top of the stairs. The other was a guest bedroom. Well, not much of a guest bedroom, more of a junk room, holding everything in her mom's house that needed a home: Barney's toys, seldom-used exercise equipment, and office shit. At least none of that crap had spilled over into her bedroom. At least she kept it the same for me. Annie sighed. That was something.

  Stopping at the foot of the four-poster bed, Annie ran her hand over the quilt atop it, the one handmade by Grandma Baxter — Lily had made blankets for all the grandchildren in the family, and it was one of Annie's most prized possessions. Even so, it had been ages sinc
e she’d thought about it.

  The quilt reminded her of many things. Long ago things. Things from another century or planet. The blanket was the comfort of her grandmother, family stories she used to tell and books she’d read aloud. Grandma Lily always had time for a story — a bedtime story, an anytime story. Always time for make-believe.

  I'm a daydreamer because of her. She would probably like that.

  Annie ran her fingers over the quilt and got lost in its colors as she walked along the side of the bed, staring at the circular patterns bursting with lilac, white, and hints of mint green. Hypnotized, she watched the shapes turn in her eyes like pinwheels. A warm, familial grin creased the corners of her eyes.

  Next, she went toward the window and stared into the backyard. It was, perhaps, the best feature of her mother's home. An oasis of trees, trees as far as the eye could see, mostly tall pines, luscious and green, along with native firs scattered and abundant, some tall and pointy, others wide and fat. A couple spots of yellow and gold grabbed Annie’s eye in the vast sloping forest, popping out in the distance, hanging from the branches of the vine maples.

  Her mother had no neighbors on either side, nor in the rear, only the woods. And there was Barney suddenly below, walking amongst the chrysanthemums — a variety of pink, bright yellow, and white along the wall of the house. Wrinkly and adorable Barney, busy smelling and exploring. The silly thing, he brought another smile to Annie’s face.

  She pulled the shade down, settled into the place that was once home, fell asleep, and didn’t go downstairs again until dinner.

  The bottle of red wine Annie had spied on the kitchen island earlier was gone, empty, recycled, and another, somewhat fuller bottle now sat in the center of the table between the two women, their glasses partially filled with its essence. Water and salad and linguini also garnished the tabletop. The noodles were lathered in butter and garlic, and the lettuce in a rich, creamy Italian dressing.

  Annie's tongue was covered in a little bit of all of it, and then she washed it down with wine. Red. Several times. She needed to refill her glass, so she did. After swirling the wine around in the bowl and watching her mother, she spat out, "I want to buy a car."

  Beverly glanced at Barney, asleep in his beige bed. Annie followed her mother's gaze to the dog while waiting for a reply.

  The dog matched the pet bed and the fireplace. Beige-blah-blah-beige. He snored in the Grand Room. Her mother had named all the rooms in the log cabin. The living room was grand because Beverly called it grand, not because it was exceptionally large. But, what the hell, it was a little grand. Beams floor-to-ceiling in each corner, two skylights, two built-in bookshelves containing knickknacks, not books, pictures on the shelves, walls, and mantle, a television above the hearth, and a brown leather couch across from it. A perfect place for gazing, working, or watching TV.

  Apparently, it was a perfect place for sleeping. Barney obviously thought so, drool pooling from his lips.

  "Did you hear me?" Annie tapped her fork against the plate.

  Bev smirked. “So, you are planning on staying out here then?"

  Annie shrugged. "Maybe."

  "This is not who I raised. Maybe?"

  "No. It's not. I raised me." Annie pointed the fork at her chest. "Remember?"

  "Will you be staying in this house?” her mother said louder and with more irritation. “You’re not indecisive."

  "Fine." Annie twirled a noodle. "I am going to move, but am I going to live here … with you?" She cocked a brow. Fuck it. She wanted to make her sweat the whole thing. "That remains to be seen."

  Annie drank wine as if she was dehydrated.

  "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. That money won't last forever."

  "Don't talk to me about that money." Peter's money. It wasn't much, but Annie had refused to spend it. Not a dime. She would buy her car with it, though. She couldn't let it keep forever. She wanted to invest it or donate it or forget it. Spending what he’d left her meant parting with him. Again.

  Annie took a moment, nursing the wine, not speaking, ruminating.

  "What's wrong? You’re not going to eat now because of what I said?" Bev tried to meet her eyes, but Annie wouldn't look at her mother.

  "I ... I'm just tired." Annie tipped the glass every which way, watching red slope up the sides.

  "Bullshit." Bev chugged down all the contents of her own glass and began to fill it anew. “You’ve slept half the day."

  "Fill me too." Annie pushed her glass toward Beverly. "Did Maggie also tell you I'm in love with Cal?" Goddammit. The words had tumbled out of her lips with a choking-hissing sound.

  Beverly stretched her arm across the table, reached for her daughter, and took her hand. "Maggie didn't have to tell me. I can see it all over your face. I saw it in your eyes in the car when you spoke about him."

  What was that in her mother’s voice? An eerie calm. A sweetness?

  Annie set the wine glass down, pulled her hand away, and rubbed her eyes. "No, but Maggie did tell you, didn't she? Why did she have to go and tell you all my business, Mom?"

  "I think she assumed I knew. She's very worried about you."

  "Maggie makes it her job to worry about everyone. You know that."

  Annie wiped away a few tears and picked up her fork, ready to stab at the mixed greens. "I'm fine." Fine. Fine. Fine. "Let’s talk about something else, okay? I came out here to busy myself with work.”

  "That's right. People who are fine always cry at dinner." Bev rolled her eyes. "I thought you came out here to see me.”

  “I did, Mom. I’m sorry. I did. Both." Annie managed to eat while spinning some hair on the tip of an index finger.

  “That reminds me, I have a job for you.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “Auntie Ava wants you to take pictures of the grandkids.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry." Bev patted her chest. "You take photographs — not pictures. I forgot." Beverly rolled her bulging green eyes and tossed her bangs. “Auntie Ava wants you to take photographs. It could be fun. She wants to pay you.”

  “That’s not what I meant." Annie shrugged. "I’ve never really done that kind of photography. Not for money."

  “Then it will be good for you. Good for your portfolio. This could be something new you could do out here for work. If you stay. Are you staying?”

  Always fishing for information…

  Chewing, mouth full and face contorted, Annie began to do her own kind of fishing — with her fingers, searching for the foreign something on her palate.

  “What is it?” Bev asked.

  “These noodles. They are, like, clamped together." Annie pulled a clump out and stared at it in disbelief. “Why can’t you cook pasta?”

  “This is how I cook pasta. Have you forgotten?” Beverly laughed, years of junk crackling in her lungs.

  “Maggie taught me how to cook a little. I can teach you."

  “You're a little smart-ass," Beverly said. "Besides, I know that too." She sucked strips of linguini into her pursed lips.

  “God, Mom, is there anything Maggie didn't tell you?"

  “I can tell you I’m relieved this man of yours is a longtime friend of Maggie’s. I mean, that is something, after all. You didn’t just pick any older, random complete stranger to—”

  “I’m going to bed.” Annie pushed her half-eaten plate away and stood.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Beverly asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “No." Annie swiped the 1.5-liter bottle of cheap wine and filled her glass again — to the brim.

  “You’ve been in that damn bed since you got here.”

  “Now I’m going back. Is that okay with you?”

  “You’re not spending this entire vacation in bed." Beverly stood and grabbed her cigarettes off the counter. Barney now wriggled near her feet.

  “It’s not a vacation. I’m—”

  “You’re working. I know. Call
Ava.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh. Don’t forget your father is picking you up tomorrow.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll be outside,” Bev said, the unlit cigarette between her fingers. “Come out and sit with me and this wittle guy.”

  “You’re going to freaking poison him." Annie set her plate near the sink.

  “No, no,” Bev continued. “He just wuns around and pways. Don’t you? Oh, Annie, look at his wittle face.”

  Annie did look at his wittle face. She watched the two of them. They looked alike. Didn't that happen sometimes?

  Bev stepped out the door, the little pug shaking near her feet, her mother seemingly possessed by the anticipation of nicotine, moving on, endlessly … distracted.

  Whatever.

  Annie had her own distraction tonight.

  Cabernet. Cheap, yummy Trader Joe’s Cabernet.

  She drank a healthy dose. The tannins were good for her, right? She drowned out the dog’s snorts and the baby-dog chatter of her mother. She drowned out time, wishing she could turn it all back — the clock — wishing she could just be in Cal’s arms, resting, soothed, safe, never tired and always warm.

  The alcohol was warm.

  Mmmm.

  It made her feel warm, but it couldn’t hold her to its chest and rock her back and forth. It couldn’t really keep her safe. The bed was safe. The bed was warm. It called out to her, Annie, sleep... Sleep would take worries. Sleep would take pain. Sleep was safe.

  The safest.

  Annie grabbed at the railing, pulled herself along, and began to climb. The steps moved or shifted, or she weighed a thousand pounds or something. Or the healthy, yummy, cheap wine had hit Annie all at once.

  Steady.

  Hold the rail.

  Up, up, up.

  Don't cry. Pussy.

  Isn't alcohol supposed to make you numb?

  I want to numb.

  It's a depressant.

  She slapped a palm to her flushed cheek.

  Am I naked?

  I'm hot.

  Well, something was naked and alive, not numb, but riveting and terrifying, reminding her of everything she was trying to forget, bringing it to the surface and leaving it there to fester and pus — her mind.