I feel as cut off from the world, right now, as I ever have. Despite having all my freedoms. Despite having the ability to go wherever I want to go. I’ve ruined my relationship with Fey. I have no relationship with my mother. I doubt Sonja would want to talk to me. She’s only heard things from Fey’s side, and they don’t paint a pretty picture of who I’ve become.
More irony. Isn’t this—or some version of this—what I’ve always wanted? Independence. Self-sufficiency. A reliance on nobody and no one but myself?
At least, that’s what I thought I wanted. Now, I’m starting to see things differently. Independence is all good and great. But, when taken to the extreme, it becomes… despairing. Empty. With no warmth in my life from anybody other than Jeremy… and even that has disappeared after the way I disappointed him… what do I have left?
***
The plane touches down with a jerk. I open my eyes and look around.
The early rays of the sun are just starting to peek through the clouds. There’s a light frosting of snow on the ground.
We taxi towards the terminal and I deplane. The amount of snow was deceptive. It’s freezing cold out here. I rub my arms and wish for a hot coffee as I wait for the pilot to transfer my bags to the back of a waiting limousine.
But as we leave the airport, I get a sudden urge to test the limits of my freedom.
“Wait. Wait, stop.”
The driver looks back at me. “What, here?”
“Yes, here,” I snap. “Let me off.”
“Mr. Stonehart said to bring you to—”
“Yeah, well I’m telling you to stop right now. Mr. Stonehart’s not here, is he? I’m the one in charge.”
“Sure thing,” he shrugs. He pulls into an alcove of a strip mall. I open the door.
“My bags?” I demand impatiently.
The driver comes around and takes them out. I motion for him to place them by my feet. He sticks his hands into his front pockets.
“Mr. Stonehart won’t be pleased with me when he finds out,” he says.
“Let me worry about that,” I say.
“Crazy lady,” the driver mutters as he gets back into the limousine and takes off.
A few minutes later, I spot a cab cruising the lot and hail it. It stops curbside.
At least this way, Jeremy will have no way to keep track of me, I think.
I get in. The driver asks a question I have no ready answer to.
“Where to?”
I take out a slip of paper with the address of the diner jotted down on it. “Do you know that place?”
He squints at Jeremy’s small, tight handwriting. Then he nods. “Yeah, sure. Nice shop. Serves the best chili in the state. But it won’t be open now.”
“I know,” I say. “Just bring me to a hotel nearby.”
“Nearby?” he asks. “Won’t be any hotels nearby, little lady. Just pit stops and the occasional motel.”
“That’s fine,” I say. I pause, and then add, “And a car rental?”
The taxi driver grins at me as if he’s just been let in on some great secret. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure thing.”
***
I drop my bags off at a seedy motel and then return to the cab to be driven to rent a car. I get a Toyota. It feels so strange to be behind the wheel of a vehicle. Nobody had cars at Yale. On a small campus, there was no need. The only reason I got my driver’s license was because I’d saved up for driving courses during high school. My mother obviously did not have a car.
Then there was all the time spent under Jeremy’s care, secluded from the world. Having my hands on the steering wheel, feeling my foot on the gas pedal, having the car move forward at my command…all of it feels strange, surreal, but a little… empowering.
I wonder, in the back of my mind, whether Jeremy’s having me watched. He’s certainly capable of hiring the people to do it. They could be tailing me right now and I’d be none the wiser.
Of course, it doesn’t really matter. I’m not thinking about running. I’m only here to see my mother, clear my mind, and return to my position in Jeremy’s life. Hopefully without any further crazy episodes.
I pull up to the motel, park, and go to my room. This environment is certainly familiar. It’s all I’ve known growing up.
I look around the small room. There’s a futon with a pull-out bed. A tiny television sits across from it. There’s one of those stereotypical motel alarm clocks with the red light flashing the time.
It’s early morning. According to Jeremy, my mother works nights. That much is to be expected. For now, I have nothing to do but wait.
I check my phone for communications from Fey. Nothing. I sigh, and tuck it away.
Then, I lower myself on the edge of the futon, and stare at the clock.
Am I really ready to face my mother tonight? I don’t know. It’s been what, five, six years since our final blow-up? I’ve always said that she ruined things, so the onus would be on her to repair them. To extend the proverbial olive branch, so to speak.
Yet here I am, taking responsibility for her mistakes yet again. That’s why we were always incompatible. She had no sense of responsibility. I did.
And because of that, I was always the one left picking up the pieces.
Honestly, at times, it felt like I was dealing with an overgrown child rather than an adult. Only some of her behavior can be attributed to drinking, or the heartbreak over Paul. If that even contributed to things as much as I suspect. I may just be misattributing cause to the situation.
No, the majority of fault lies with her. Nobody forced her to drink. She did it herself. Nobody forced her to neglect her only daughter at some of the most pivotal moments of the young girl’s life. She did it herself.
Nobody forced her to declare that I was no longer welcome in her home, because I chose school, academics, and an actual future for myself instead of her. Her and her drinking habit.
She did it herself.
God. I grunt in frustration. I’m getting worked up about the mere prospect of seeing her. How will I react when she’s actually there, standing in front of me, in person?
I know I sound totally ungrateful. I’m not. Renee was a good mother. Until the incident in the woods, with Paul, that is. Until alcohol took control of her life.
I hope—I wish—that she’s sober now. But I know better than to expect miracles. If you keep waiting for people to change, they will keep finding ways to disappoint you.
People don’t change. Not unless something major happens in their lives. Not unless—
Wait. Holy shit. Here I am, saying that people don’t change, and yet I’m expecting that…from Stonehart?
Yes, Stonehart. Not Jeremy. That’s who I met him as. I should never forget that.
I haven’t exactly. It just got lost in the tide of all the other feelings I have revolving around him. Maybe my time away will lend some clarity to my mind.
Or maybe it doesn’t even matter at this point. Jeremy is a part of my life. He’ll continue to be a permanent fixture for the foreseeable future—and long past that.
Unless something goes wrong. Unless—and this frightens me—he reverts back to Stonehart.
Or, even worse—if I lose my mind.
The incident with Hugh still eats away at me. I can’t shake the feeling that it was real. Very, very real.
And that certainty...the impression that I should trust what I remember, and disregard what I saw transpire on-screen…is what makes me fear for my own sanity.
I stand up. The room suddenly feels too small, too cramped. I have my freedom now, don’t I? I had better take advantage of it.
I pick up my keys for the Corolla from the ashtray, grab my purse, step outside…and nearly collide with the taxi driver who brought me here.
“You!” I exclaim. “What are you doing outside my door?”
He looks at me, surprise and shock flashing on his face. And then he turns around and breaks into a run.
“Wait!” I scr
eam. I scramble to tighten my boots—they weren’t meant for running, just for keeping me warm—and take off after him.
I see him disappear behind a corner of the building, far ahead of me. I lower my head and run faster. This is me channeling the remnants of the tomboy I was growing up. When I come around the corner, the man is gone.
I stop short. He couldn’t have just disappeared. But there are so many doors lining the side of the building in front of me. Any one of them could have been his escape.
I stalk forward, determined. Could he just be a creepy cab driver, or—more likely—could he be somebody planted by Jeremy?
I wish the snow hadn’t been cleared away. That way, I could follow his tracks.
One round up and down the exterior of the building leads me nowhere. There’s no sign of the man. Besides, if he’s inside one of the rooms, it’s not like I’m going to just break down the door and get to him.
The door. Shit! I left mine open. And all my stuff is inside…
I rush back, hoping and praying I haven’t been duped—and come to the door to see my worst fears realized.
The inside of my motel room has been wiped clean. My bags, my purse, my belongings, my cellphone—all gone.
“Motherfucking dammit!” I scream. I fell for the oldest trick in the book. I should have known better. I’ve stayed in dumps like this before. But my instincts have dulled in my time at Yale and with Jeremy.
This was a two-man job. The first, the driver, saw a young girl checking into a crappy motel, alone but clearly affluent, and identified her as vulnerable. He probably even had the room set up beforehand for exactly this type of thing. Then, while he served as the distraction, his friend staked out my room for the moment I left.
And I made it all-too-easy for them.
Idiot! I scold myself. I reach into my pocket. At least I still have the car keys—
I’m distracted into looking up by the squeal of wet tires on the asphalt. And there, as if to add insult to injury, I find my red rented Corolla careening out of the parking lot, two figures clearly visible inside.
“No,” I say. “No, no, no, no…!”
My fingers wrap around the car keys. Obviously, they weren’t the only pair. That means the guy at the rental place was in on it, too. I’ve just been completely, utterly conned.
Despair wells up inside me as I watch the car shrink in the distance.
Way to go, Lilly, I think. The very first time you’re on your own, this happens.
I almost feel like breaking down on the spot.
But I don’t. I’ve faced adversity before. This is just a blip on the radar compared to what I’ve overcome with Jeremy. I’ve lost some stuff. So what? It’s not like it can’t be replaced.
The biggest fear I have—the one that is making me most uncomfortable—is what happens when Jeremy finds out? How much lower will his already-low perception of me become? He’ll think me completely incompetent.
That is the impression I have to do everything to avoid. But what can I do? Who else could I call?
The cops? Hah! Like they’ll put any real effort into a small-time robbery like this? And if I call Jeremy now, I’d be doing little better than crawling back to him on my hands and knees.
That is not something I can allow myself to do.
So, I cast one look at the empty motel room…wrap my winter coat tight around myself…and start my journey toward the only person in the world on whom I swore I would never rely on again.
***
The wind picks up as I trudge along the side of the long, empty freeway.
I huddle into my jacket and pull the hood up. The entire way, I’ve had less than a dozen cars pass me. I really am in the middle of nowhere.
Two hours ago, I stopped at a city center and asked for directions to the diner. I was told that I’d gone the wrong way, that it lay back the way I came from.
I didn’t despair. Still determined to make it on my own, I cut my losses and turned around.
The day was bright, then. Now, the sun is blocked by heavy clouds. A wind that cuts through all the layers I have on makes me feel that chill to the bone. Any minute now, I expect it to start to snow, or sleet, or hail.
Just something to cap off an already craptastic day.
It doesn’t help much that I have nothing and no one but my own thoughts for company as I make the long walk down the abandoned stretch of road. They keep circling back to everything that has gone wrong since that phone call from Fey.
I don’t blame her. Nor do I blame Robin for bringing it to her attention. However, it seems that that bit of information started an enormous avalanche of shit. Nothing has felt right since. Jeremy took care of me on the weekend. But he’d gone cold after. There was the horrible Monday at work. The unexpected day off, on Tuesday, that eventually led me here. And now? Now what? I’ve been robbed, become the victim of something I should have known enough to avoid, and my damn stubborn pride, or whatever you want to call it, prevents me from calling the one person who actually has the resources to help.
I have no doubt that, if Jeremy knew what happened to me, he’d go ballistic. Or maybe that reaction would only come after he found out the way I was dealing with it, with that stark refusal to acknowledge a need for help.
So here I am, trekking through dirty, muddy slush, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
If it hasn’t already.
I hear a car approaching. Looking back, I see headlights. I edge toward the side of the road, on the shoulder, not wanting to slip into the tangle of bushes that waits farther away, but not wanting to get hit, either. In this gloom, I’m all but invisible in my dark jacket.
I wait for the car to pass. It seems to be taking an extraordinary amount of time to get here. My breath catches. My heart starts to beat faster. I wonder: Could that be Jeremy?
That stupid hope is completely dashed as the vehicle blasts by me, showering me in a spray of dirt and snow. I think I hear laughing as it speeds away.
I curse my own stupidity. Of course it wouldn’t be Jeremy. He’s not Superman, for crying out loud. He can’t just appear across the country in the blink of an eye.
So, I keep going, cold, wet, alone and miserable, wondering just how it’s possible that I’ve sunk so low in a few short days.
***
When I enter the solitary gas station, I’ve experienced enough of the elements to want to give in and call Jeremy for help…almost.
But when the attendant informs me that the diner I’m looking for is less than half a mile away, my determination returns. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I came this far only to give up now.
I go back into the sleet. Half a mile is nothing compared to the distance I’ve already crossed. Besides, wouldn’t I have given almost anything just to be able to walk, anywhere I want, a few months ago? When I was held prisoner in the sunroom, I would never have objected to a little elemental discomfort. And now I can simply walk, anywhere I please, for as long as I want. Hell, if I turn north, I could even reach Canada, in time.
Nobody can take that away from me.
So, half a mile? Half a mile is nothing.
At least, that’s the mantra I keep repeating in my head as my wet jacket clings to my body and my fingers are so cold they feel like they’re going to fall off. I stick my hands deep into my pockets. But the heavy downpour makes water run down the length of my sleeves and pool on the inside. I shiver.
When I enter the lot of the diner, I see it’s pretty much abandoned. A lone car sits in the parking lot. It’s one of those ancient trucks that weigh probably four times more than any modern car. It would make mincemeat of anything in a crash…as long as it could be persuaded to start.
I pick up my pace, a little. As much as my frozen limbs will allow. My boots slip and slide over the mix of ice and dirt.
I reach the front doors. Take a deep breath. And step inside.
A bell rings to announce my arrival. There’s nobody behind the counter
. After a second, a hoarse, female voice calls out from the back. “I’ll be with you in a second!”
I wade up to the bar, my boots making squishing sounds over the linoleum. Anticipation builds in me like spring.
I reach the counter. A woman comes out. I push my hood back, and reveal my face.
“Hi, mom,” I say.
Chapter Twelve
The crash of glassware against the floor shatters the silence.
“Shit!” my mom curses. She drops down and begins picking up the shattered pieces. She avoids eye contact.
I wait. Then, some of my resentment bubbles up. “Well?” I demand. “Aren’t you going to greet your own daughter?”
“As far as I’m concerned,” she says under her breath, concentrating on collecting the fragmented remains, “I have no daughter.” Her eyes flash up to meet mine. “Or isn’t that what I was told, by my own child, the last time we spoke?”
She shifts her attention back down. After she’s gathered all the shards in a neat pile, she turns her back to me and goes to retrieve a broom.
I wonder, in an absent sort of way, whether Renee is even capable of compassion. Our relationship is bad, and it ended on one of the worst notes possible, but shouldn’t the simple existence of human decency be enough to compel her to at least offer me a hot drink, or maybe inquire about why I showed up here, in the middle of nowhere, in the condition I’m in?
“If you expect me to apologize,” I yell after her, “it isn’t happening!”
“Expect?” She sniffs, and begins sweeping up the bits of glass. “I don’t expect anything. Why would I expect anything? Five years since we last spoke, since I saw your face, and now you show up here, looking like that, and you want me to do what? To worry? Do you want me to ask how you are, where you’ve been, what the hell has happened to you?”
I can hear her voice begin to quiver. “It’s not happening, honey. Sorry. No way. No how. You might have learned a thing or two from me, if you were smart. Expect? Expect nothing, and you’ll never be disappointed. Expectations are a curse. They’re like the wind. Here today, gone tomorrow.”
Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) Page 65