Unleaving

by Melissa Ostrom

  “Your aunt”—he shook his head—“is a contentious woman. So different from your mother.” He smiled at her friends standing behind her. “Who do we have here?”

  Maggie made the introductions, then called into the house, “Mom?”

  Dad crouched to pet Caleb’s dog. “She’s not home yet, honey. It’s Monday night.”

  “Oh. I forgot.” To her friends, she explained: “Book club night at the library.” She’d have to find a chance to talk to Mom alone when she got back. And find a way to talk to Jane Cannon tomorrow. Apprehension fluttered in Maggie’s stomach. Neither discussion was going to be easy.

  “She’ll be back a little after nine. Come on in, and I’ll get us some drinks.” After delivering a parting rub to the dog’s side, Dad straightened and waved everyone into the house. “You can only stay a couple of nights?” he asked wistfully.

  “Yeah.” Maggie toed off her shoes and breathed in the familiar scent of her home, something like cookies and pine.

  Linnie wandered around the foyer, hands folded under her chin. Her gaze lingered on the family photos decorating the staircase wall.

  Caleb hung back. “If that’s okay with you, Mr. Arioli. I’ve got Fluffster here…”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Maggie said. “Dad loves dogs. We always had one when I was growing up.”

  “Remember how Sandy used to run with me in the morning? Our old golden,” he said to Caleb. “Miss that guy. I wish Min would let me get another one. She’s not on board with the idea—says dogs tie you down.”

  “That’s true enough,” Caleb said. Hands stuffed in his pockets, cheeks ruddy, he walked with Maggie and Linnie into the living room but then went to stand in a corner.

  Maggie frowned at him. He looked so uncomfortable. She hadn’t thought Caleb had it in him to be uncomfortable.

  Linnie settled on the edge of the wingback chair and grinned at Caleb.

  Maggie wandered to the stack of books on the side table and put down her cup. What author was Mom in love with now?

  “Have a seat,” her father said. As Caleb sidled along the wall toward the couch, Dad continued, “Pepsi sound good? Cider? Ginger ale? Iced tea?”

  “I could go for some cider, thanks,” Linnie said.

  “Water, please.” Caleb cleared his throat. “Just water sounds great, thank you.” The dog tried to join him on the couch, and with a squawk of alarm, Caleb pushed him back down to the floor. “Stay.”

  “Maggie?”

  She indicated her coffee cup. “I’m good.” As her dad left the room, she rolled her shoulders and neck and yawned. “I am beat.” She threw herself into the other armchair. “Can’t imagine how tired you must be, Caleb, doing all that driving. I really appreciate it.” Fluffster wandered over and snuffled her outstretched hand, and she stroked his neck.

  “Oh, no—no, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Linnie snorted. “Water. Must. Have. Water.”

  He glared at her. “I’m thirsty.”

  She smiled slyly and peeked Maggie’s way, as if to include her in on the joke.

  Maggie stared at her blankly. What?

  When her father came back with the drinks, he briefly halted just inside the living room, as if struck by a sudden thought.

  Linnie accepted her drink with a murmured thanks; Caleb, with more of a strangled sound. And when Dad situated himself at the other end of the couch, Maggie was shocked by his expression. He leaned back and, in a sidelong way, observed Caleb darkly.

  Caleb held the glass close to his red face, then abruptly took a sip of water. “Tastes good.”

  “What flavor is it?” Linnie asked.

  He gave her a dirty look.

  “So.” Dad folded his arms. “Make decent time getting here?”

  Maggie nodded slowly, bewildered by his tone. “Six and a half hours.”

  “Sounds like you were speeding.”

  “No, no, not at all,” Caleb said, patting his flushed face with the glass. The ice cubes clinked. “We didn’t hit much traffic.”

  “Hmm.” Dad narrowed his eyes.

  Maggie shook her head. What the hell? “We skipped lunch, too.”

  Her father straightened and said in a friendlier voice, “You must be starving.”

  “A little,” Maggie admitted. But with Mom gone, they’d have to cook something for themselves. Dad was useless in the kitchen.

  “I was just about to have a bowl of cereal, but we could order a pizza.”

  “Cereal’s fine,” Caleb said. “Sir.”

  Linnie snickered.

  Maggie sighed. She was too tired and stressed out to deal with these bizarre tensions. She hadn’t talked to Jane yet. And she hadn’t talked to Mom yet. Besides finally confronting Sara (which, now that she thought about it, had felt pretty cathartic), she’d done little more than knock on doors today. “Actually, I think we’ll head to town and get something.” To her friends: “Does that work for you?”

  “Definitely.” Caleb stood quickly. But when his dog rose, his obvious relief vanished. He slapped his forehead. “What about Fluffster?”

  “I’ll watch him.” Her father pulled out his wallet. “Here, sweetie.” He passed her a few bills. “Supper’s on me.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I feel bad leaving you behind. Want me to get you something?”

  “No, I’m fine. You go.” He fluttered a hand, urging them along. His frown returned when he glanced at Caleb. “Drive carefully.”

  * * *

  Sitting in the backseat of the car and muddling over Jane’s decision to leave school, Maggie distractedly directed Caleb to Dilly’s, choosing it automatically. She and her parents had eaten at Dilly’s for as long as she could remember.

  But when they got there, the parking lot was full. Caleb slowed by the front doors.

  “I’ll check on the wait time.” Linnie hopped out of the car and hurried inside. A minute later, she returned. “An hour, maybe longer. A couple’s celebrating their golden anniversary. Looks like they invited every grandma and grandpa in town.”

  Caleb shook his head. “I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” Linnie said. “What about that place we passed on the corner?”

  “At the top of the hill?” Maggie had to think for a moment before she remembered its name. “Timberline Tavern. Never been there. I think it’s just a burger-and-beer joint.”

  “Beer.” Caleb smiled. “I could go for one.”

  “Just one,” Linnie said. “Don’t want Mr. Arioli to smell booze on you.”

  “He wouldn’t mind,” Maggie said. “Dad likes a Guinness himself now and then.”

  “Oh, he’ll mind. He will mind, baby girl.” She winked.

  Maggie frowned.

  Caleb ignored Linnie. “Let’s check it out.”

  A few minutes later, they entered the bar’s dimly lit interior. While Linnie gave her name and their party’s number to the hostess, Maggie peered around curiously. The paneled walls, plank floors, and beamed ceiling made her feel as if she’d entered a lodge in the forest. But its smell was definitely that of a restaurant: charred meat and smoke.

  Caleb inhaled lustily.

  Linnie rubbed her hands together. “No free tables yet, but no line, either. Let’s wait at the bar.”

  It wasn’t until Maggie trailed them, passing the booths and tables on her left and, on her right, a handful of guys holding beers, their eyes trained on the games filling two huge television screens, that she realized her mistake.

  Her feet slowed, even as her heart began to race.

  They never should have picked this restaurant.

  16

  HEADS BEGAN TO turn. Conversations died. Ahead on the wall was a painted mural. Football players sprinted across a mountain-encircled field in the direction of the end zone. The clouds had been painted to suggest a wispy-white tiger, like a pagan god overseeing the action.

  She hadn’t entered just any bar. She’d entered one popular with the Tigers and their fans. />
  Feeling a hard stare, she glanced toward the restaurant side of the joint.

  A waitress, poised with a raised water pitcher, glared her way.

  Maggie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and caught up with Caleb and Linnie. The latter was accepting a shot of something when Maggie reached them, and Caleb was asking the bartender what he had on tap.

  At Maggie’s appearance, Caleb finished ordering and patted the stool next to him. “Have a seat. Nice place. Smells great. What can I get you?”

  A bartender slid a dark ale his way. Caleb didn’t notice the man’s scowl. He was smiling at Maggie.

  An escape route. A disguise. “Pepsi sounds good.”

  He nodded and turned to place the order, but the bartender had stomped to the other end of the curved bar. Caleb smiled apologetically. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute.” Linnie, on his opposite side, murmured something, and he glanced her way with a laugh.

  The bartender stood with his wide shoulders bunched up, facing a couple of patrons, a guy in a plaid flannel shirt and a woman wearing a baseball cap. The two of them were looking straight at Maggie.

  She lowered her gaze. Dizziness hit her—woozy fear, warm embarrassment. I have to get out of here.

  Her pulse pounding, she fought the urge to flee and concentrated on the scarred surface of the bar, shivered, and pulled her jacket more tightly across her chest.

  Caleb shared a laugh with Linnie, then leaned back as if abruptly aware that Maggie wasn’t in on the joke. His smile faded. “You don’t have a drink yet. Sorry about that.” He called to the bartender, “Excuse me?”

  The man didn’t turn, but his shoulders jerked.

  Caleb gave a shake of his head. “Excuse me? Bartender?”

  The man still didn’t turn. But he did move. Stiffly, he stepped to the side, kneed open a short gate on the opposite end of the bar, and stormed toward the kitchen entrance, saying loudly on his way out, “Cunt.”

  The music blared. Maggie, hot-faced and motionless with shock, wondered why someone had turned up the volume. Then she realized no one had. It was just that the conversations had ceased. Nothing muffled Taylor Swift gushing about a guy, handsome as hell. The people along the bar weren’t looking at Maggie anymore. They’d become very interested in their drinks.

  Caleb half-rose, his eyes wide with horrified amazement.

  Linnie slammed down her glass and strode to Maggie’s side. “Come on. If that fucker can’t give you a fucking Pepsi, he can damn well give Caleb and me our drinks on the house.” To Caleb, who’d drawn out his wallet, she ordered, “Put that away.”

  A thick-necked man near Maggie snarled, “It’s best for all of us if you take your friend and leave. Who knows what she’ll do if she doesn’t get served to her satisfaction?” He barked a laugh and swatted the person on his left.

  His companion chuckled, too. It wasn’t a convincing sound. The two men weren’t even smiling.

  Neither was Caleb. He leaned past Maggie to grab a full glass and hurled the beer in the thick-necked guy’s face.

  He jumped off his seat, sputtering.

  “You’re an asshole,” Caleb said. At the same time, a big man flew out of the kitchen.

  Linnie’s laughter was a surprised trill. “Our drinks are on the house, and now your drink is on you.” She linked Maggie’s arm with her own. “Let’s go.” She pulled on Caleb’s jacket sleeve.

  But he shook his head, visibly furious, his glare fixed on the dripping jerk.

  The heavyset man, presumably the manager, nervously smoothed the sides of his head and sidled between Caleb and the soaked man.

  Patrons watched out of the corners of their eyes. “Hotline Bling” replaced Taylor Swift. The song’s bitterness sounded off, the wrong soundtrack to accompany the manager’s squeaked apology and the sudden laughter of a group entering the restaurant.

  Maggie just wanted to leave. She turned her back on the guy who’d made the ugly joke. He disgusted her. How could he not see that she’d cried rape because six men had raped her? One of those rapists had even admitted as much. The way Matt Dawson looked during the hearing returned to her—bent over, hands on the back of his head, weeping and nodding and acknowledging the truth in a broken voice. So did the terror and the sickness she’d experienced sitting in his presence.

  She shakily reached into the pocket of her jacket for one of the twenty-dollar bills her dad had given her and set it on the bar. “Caleb.” She grazed his shoulder. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Linnie answered for him.

  Red with anger, Caleb finally spun away from the jerk, who was still standing by the bar, angrily mopping his wet hair with a sleeve.

  The manager breathed a sigh of relief and sat heavily on a stool.

  They walked single file toward the door. The people they passed looked everywhere—the plates of cooling burgers and fries, their hands, the floor—except at them. Only one person, a bespectacled, brown-haired woman around Maggie’s age, didn’t avoid eye contact. In a corner booth, she sat with her family. Her gaze was sympathetic.

  Maggie appreciated the girl’s kind expression. It gave her the courage to walk with her head up and reminded her that not the entire population of Carlton, Vermont, was horrible. For every creep who’d lashed out at Maggie with a tweet, remark, or post, there had been a decent person who’d supported her. Maggie needed to remember that.

  It was so hard to remember that.

  At the door, she had to pass the group waiting by the hostess. They had fallen silent. Maggie recognized a few players and their pals from that fateful party, their faces forever seared in her memory. Sara Wood stood with them.

  And suddenly, the puzzle pieces snapped together, and Maggie saw the big picture. Sara had defended Maggie’s attackers to the police for a reason. She’d done it to fit in with their crowd.

  Caleb swung open the door and waited for Linnie and Maggie to pass, but Maggie lagged behind, just long enough to scan Sara’s pinched face and remark, “Nice friends.”

  * * *

  They ended up back at Dilly’s.

  Some of the anniversary guests had left (“Croaked, most likely,” Linnie quipped with a weak smile) and freed up a few tables. The hostess, her sagging bun and half-untucked blouse testaments to a hectic evening, greeted Maggie with a vague, “Hey, Margaret. Didn’t see your folks at church yesterday. How are they doing?” She waited long enough to hear “Fine, thanks,” then thrust three menus at a hovering employee and ordered him to seat Maggie, Caleb, and Linnie in booth seventeen.

  A minute later, the waitress arrived. She poured water, rattled off the specials, took drink orders, and left Maggie, on one side of the booth, staring at Linnie and Caleb on the other.

  Maggie wondered if she looked like her friends did: shell-shocked.

  They sat without talking for a long moment, peering around blindly, blinking owlishly.

  Maggie’s hands were still trembling. She wrapped them around the water glass. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

  “Holy shit,” Caleb whispered. Then, louder: “Holy. Shit.”

  Linnie searched Maggie’s face. “You okay?”

  She nodded, kind of amazed that she was okay. It had been ugly.

  But it hadn’t killed her.

  * * *

  No one came out to the foyer when they returned home after dinner. Maggie figured out why in the living room. The explanation was on the couch—or, more specifically, on her parents.

  Sprawled across Mom’s and Dad’s laps, Fluffster delivered a halfhearted bark to announce Maggie and her friends, then went back to being the blissed-out recipient of generous petting.

  Mom, holding open a slim book in one hand, smiled tremulously. “Honey.”

  Maggie bent to kiss her mother’s cheek.

  She dropped her book on the side table so she could add a hug to the exchange, and she murmured in Maggie’s ear, “I’m glad you’re here. You don’t need to go back. Please stay.”

>   “I can’t,” Maggie whispered.

  Mom gave her a look. “I’ll give you a few more days there, but I want you home. I’m making the arrangements.”

  There was a frantic edge to her tone, but she seemed to catch it herself, because she quickly released Maggie. The greetings and conversation she shared with Caleb and Linnie were steady and welcoming: “It’s so nice to meet you.” “Did you make good time?” “Oh! You checked out the college?” “The campus is lovely, isn’t it?” “Dilly’s? I’m amazed you got a table. Wasn’t it packed with the Bauers’ anniversary party?”

  Even these pleasantries struck Maggie as odd. Her parents had always been protective, and they’d become only more so since last March. Under normal circumstances, her mother would have eyed Caleb with a measure of Dad’s distrust, fretted about Linnie, too (considering the things she’d learned about her when she’d stayed with Wren), stressed over the reliability of Caleb’s car, and probably worried about the entire concept of a road trip.

  Mom was preoccupied. And Maggie knew why.

  * * *

  Maggie nudged open the bedroom door. An enormous snore greeted her. Dad was alone in the room, asleep on his back, his arms sprawled wide. A snorer and a bed hog. She softly closed the door. Not the parent she needed to see.

  She made her way down the hallway. It was silent. Linnie, in the guest bedroom, must have fallen asleep, too. What about Caleb? He and his dog had settled in the basement den on the pullout couch.

  The house felt strange with its added occupants … strange in a comforting way. Pleasantly full. And somehow safer, as if Linnie and Caleb were contributing their kindness to the house, helping to insulate it from the world. Maggie thought about Timberline Tavern. That incident could have ended very differently. Dangerously.