Baggage

by S. G. Redling

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I stop just short of shaking her off. “It’s just my mind is somewhere else. And these slippers are really comfortable.” I smile and she smiles but we are wearing two different expressions.

  She rubs my arms and I can’t decide if I hate the feeling or really love it. “It’s okay to be upset, Anna. It’s okay to feel bad.” I decide to hate the gesture and to get away from it but she holds on, leaning in close. I imagine all of the students she has soothed with this voice. “I know you and Ellis were friends. You were even maybe on the verge of being something more?” She asks the question like she already knows the answer, which clearly she does not. I shake my head and she nods.

  “I know. I know. I teased you about it and I know you’re still conflicted. You’ve lost your husband and it’s hard when time moves on and—”

  “What? No.” I free myself from her but, pinned between her and the coat rack, I don’t have anywhere to go. “I wasn’t conflicted. There was nothing to be conflicted about. There was nothing going on with Ellis Trachtenberg. Wait, did you tell the cop there was?”

  “No, Anna.” She gives me room, holding up her hands. “Your name didn’t come up in the questions. Why would it? I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

  Now I feel like an ass. Now I wish I’d just gone ahead and left in the slippers. Cold feet would be preferable to this little scene I’m causing. Fortunately Meredith is no stranger to eruptions of drama and she’s gone back to her mother hen countenance. She talks over my apology as she heads back to her desk.

  “It’s been a horrible day. This is a horrible thing. Nobody knows how to behave when something like this happens. How would we?”

  Is she kidding? I could write a fucking book. Of anyone, I should know how to behave, and yet I keep screwing it up. I’m shoving my feet into my boots when Meredith jingles her keys.

  “Ride home?”

  “No, that’s okay. I like the snow.”

  “You sure? How about a grocery run?” I look up at that and she nods. “Uh-huh. You weren’t prepared for the snow, were you? You learn that lesson fast around here. Always keep a stockpile handy.” She waves to the mountain behind her. “A skill you can plainly see that I’ve mastered.”

  “Shit,” I say again, patting my pockets. “I left without my purse this morning.” From my back pocket I pull out two wadded-up twenties. That’s enough for a couple bottles, I figure, if I lower my already low standards. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “I’ll spot you,” Meredith said, shrugging into her coat and collecting her purse. Before I can argue, she’s turned off the lights and is waiting to lock the door behind me. “Trust me,” she says, “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not snowed into your apartment living on mustard packets and old tater tots.”

  Kroger is not quite the bedlam I feared it would be. Meredith warns me that I’ll be out of luck if I’m looking for bread or milk. I laugh as I leave her to wait in the car. I’m not even sure I’d know where to look for either of those anymore.

  She only had thirty dollars on her, which she insisted I take. I didn’t want to. It’s not that I feel uncomfortable borrowing cash; I have the money in my wallet at home. It will be nothing to pay her back. It’s that I know Meredith expects to see actual groceries purchased on this trip. She’s driving me here as a favor to me to be sure I’m not snowed in without food. There’s no polite way to tell her that I don’t want food, that I think I have food. Sure, it’s probably all frozen pizzas and a buffet of chips, but it’s food. What I want is wine. What I want is to wake up well on the other side of this anniversary.

  What I absolutely don’t want, however, is to trigger any sort of alarm in Meredith.

  So I get a buggy and head for the wine aisle. I’m calculating how many bottles I can carry at the bottom of those plastic grocery bags without it being obviously the largest part of the bulk. Three. I feel safe with three. Then I wander. Club Crackers sound good. Some cream cheese. Package of salami. I feel like I’m back in college, high as a kite, bouncing around a convenience store at the whim of my taste buds.

  I could live on this much food for a month. Then I see the produce section on the other side of the deli counter. Meredith will feel assured if she sees produce. A bundle of celery and a bag of clementines to fill out the top of the bags will do nicely. I check myself out so I can bag the groceries to properly camouflage the wine. I’m almost thirty years old and I’m hiding my booze.

  Back at the car, I fit the bags behind the passenger seat. Meredith acts like she’s not looking at my haul but then gives herself away. “Clementines. I love them.”

  I knew she would.

  It’s snowing again and the higher we climb toward my apartment complex, the more neglected the roads. Meredith doesn’t flinch; her heavy Subaru four-wheel drive handles the snow without a slip. At the turnoff to the parking lot on Everly Road, a snowbank lines the road where the state crews plowed. Nobody has shoveled the lot yet. A few tracks have broken the crest of the plowed snow. There’s no way to tell if they run through the actual entrance or not.

  “I’ll get out here,” I say, reaching behind me for the bags.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Before I can complain or reassure her or whatever it might take to get Meredith to let me out, she maneuvers her car along the tracks, over the snow, and rolls easily into the lot. “I’ve been driving in this stuff for forty years,” she says with a grin. “A little pile of snow like that isn’t going to stop me.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. You didn’t have to—”

  Meredith shuts off the engine. Surely she’s not planning on coming in.

  She nods, answering a question I didn’t ask. “I’m coming with you.” She holds up a hand to stop my protest. “I am coming in with you. I’m going to make sure you’re okay. I’m going to see where you live. You’re going to talk to me and I’m going to talk to you, just like two human beings who know each other. You know, like maybe we’re friends.”

  “Meredith . . . ”

  “I don’t want to hear it. You’re upset. I don’t leave my friends alone when they’re upset.”

  Well, fuck.

  I’ve got bigger problems heading my way over the next few nights so I decide not to waste any energy on this one. Meredith wants to make sure I’m okay. She’s going to want to sit down, make a little small talk, reassure herself that there’s no hangman’s noose waiting for me inside my foyer. I know how to handle this. It’s just like reassuring Jeannie.

  Speak of the devil.

  We’re at the bottom of the steps when a car door slams.

  “Anna?” Jeannie marches through the snow, bundled up like she just left a fashion show in the Swiss Alps. Furry après-ski boots cover snug wool pants; a fluffy down jacket manages to be both puffy and formfitting. Even her hat is adorable and stylish, seemingly designed to accommodate her equally fluffy ponytail. “Where have you been?”

  All the style in the world can’t hide that expression on her face. Jeannie is pissed.

  “Hi, Professor.” Meredith waves a gloved hand. She doesn’t seem to read my cousin’s mood at all. “Have any trouble getting around in the snow?”

  How can I describe the look Jeannie turns on her? If we were in high school, that would probably be called a mean-girl look. It would probably end with Meredith getting banished from the cool kids’ table in the cafeteria, resigning her to a walk of shame to the nerd corner. But this isn’t high school and, with me comprising the entirety of Jeannie’s clique, she doesn’t wield a lot of clout. Caught as I am in the web of Meredith’s concern, I think there is a real possibility I may get mother-henned to death today.

  Jeannie examines the grocery bags in my hands and notices that Meredith carries nothing but her purse. “I have some things to bring up. It’s going to take more tha
n one trip.”

  “I’ll help!” Meredith is all smiles and I wonder if she’s enjoying whatever is happening here. They trudge off to Jeannie’s car as I head up the steps, glad to get the wine unpacked without Meredith examining my alcohol-to-food ratio.

  Jeannie wasn’t kidding about having some stuff. She and Meredith return in a moment with tote bags and a suitcase and head out for another trip. I see food in some of the tote bags. Jeannie doesn’t mess around when it comes to laying out a spread and as I unpack foil-wrapped containers, I think maybe I need food more than I’m admitting. I peel back the foil of a gorgeous green salad full of orange slices and almonds that looks like it holds more nutrition than I’ve consumed in months.

  When they return with the second load, Meredith puts down two huge jugs of water. Jeannie sets a cardboard box down at the foot of the kitchen counter and holds out her hand.

  “Keys.”

  I hand them over without delay and without knowing why. Before I can ask she’s out the door again.

  Meredith starts unpacking one of the tote bags. “Boy, your cousin doesn’t mess around does she? Or travel light?”

  “She worries about me.”

  She pats my shoulder. “That seems to be going around.”

  I pry back the lid of a container and discover cinnamon rolls waiting to be baked. I could weep with joy at the smell of them. The door slams and Jeannie tosses my keys onto the counter.

  She has my mail.

  We share a look as she tosses it onto the coffee table. She knows what’s in the stack. She knows what I’ll do with most of it. Fortunately, she also senses my desire to keep all of this from Meredith. My boss doesn’t seem to notice any of this; she’s busy unpacking and commenting on all the delectables Jeannie has delivered.

  “You pulled all of this together from a hotel room?” Meredith marvels, holding up a plate of stuffed dates dusted with powdered sugar.

  Normally this sort of comment would please Jeannie, prompting her to shrug off the praise with a modest dismissal, as if everyone were capable of this level of culinary wizardry. Instead, she answers with a curt, “Yeah. People cater. You can buy food to go.”

  That’s when I know she’s really pissed.

  An old fear ignites in my gut. I’ve always been afraid of Jeannie’s anger. It brings into sharp relief the balance of power between us: I need Jeannie. She does not need me. She has a life and a family and absolutely nothing to hide from anyone. She has never turned that anger on me, not in all the years we have been close, but still the presence of her temper freezes me, nails me to the floor, and makes me want to apologize for anything, for everything.

  I turn to face her, my hands at my side, open and exposed. Part of me almost hopes this is it, this is the time she turns that wrath on me and finally delivers the death blow. Part of me is tired of waiting for it. Part of me has been expecting it most of my life.

  She steps past Meredith, who is looking for a place to put a package of yeast rolls. The kitchen hardly has room for one person; with three, we are far too close. When Meredith bumps into Jeannie and starts to ask about a gourmet salad dressing, Jeannie’s voice drops to a hiss. “Could you give us a second?”

  Meredith tries to play the jolly card, holding up the bottle of dressing. Jeannie snatches it out of her hand and slams it on the counter.

  “A second, please?”

  Jeannie sounds just like her mother. Meredith’s eyes go wide and she backs out of the kitchen but she’s faking her fear. She gives me the look kids give another kid getting sent to the principal’s office, a look that says “Ooh, you’re gonna get it now!” But again, this isn’t high school. This isn’t a principal and if I get expelled from Jeannie’s life, I have lost everything.

  Jeannie stares up at me. With no heels, she is six inches shorter than I am. The flush of anger on her face and the tightness of her expression bring out wrinkles around her eyes and mouth that I’ve never noticed before. It’s strange. I never think of Jeannie aging.

  “Are you going to tell me what is going on?” She’s whispering. I don’t know if it’s to keep Meredith from hearing or to keep herself from screaming at me. I don’t know what she wants to hear. I shake my head. “I have been calling you all day.”

  “I forgot my phone.”

  “You forgot your phone? Today?” She steps in closer, pointing a finger up at me. “You don’t forget your phone today. Not today. Not this week. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She doesn’t want to hear that. “I called your office phone. I got your voice mail three times. Three times.” Her finger is getting very close to my face. “And then, after I got all this food, I went to campus to pick you up. In this snow, I drove all over Gilead to get all of this. I drove up to campus in all this snow to get you, and do you know what I found? Do you, Anna?”

  I close my eyes.

  “I saw the police, Anna. I saw ambulances and police cars. I saw crime scene tape. All of it centered on your building. Where you work. I came looking for you and I found a crime scene. Today. Today of all days.”

  I open my eyes when I hear her voice break.

  “Do you know where my mind went? Do you know what that looked like to me, Anna?” The hand pointing at me trembles and then rubs her wet eyes. “Do you have any idea how scared I was?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She finally exhales, shaking her head, and then pulls me in for a tight hug. I keep apologizing, feeling her tremble against me. I don’t know why she always forgives me. I don’t know why she keeps putting up with my shit. I really don’t.

  Of course, she recovers first.

  “And I knew you’d have nothing to eat because, god forbid you should actually look at a weather forecast.” She steps away and starts folding an empty tote bag.

  Relief makes my voice breathy. “I got groceries.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Slim Jims and Lucky Charms. But no milk.”

  “No, I got—” I think of the salami and cream cheese. “Actually that’s pretty close.”

  She laughs an uh-huh and we move around each other, putting food away. Meredith reminds us of her presence.

  “Everything okay in there?” She’s settled on the couch, pretending to leaf through an old magazine.

  “We’re fine!” Jeannie answers for me, shooting me a “What is she doing here?” look. I shrug and try to dodge Jeannie as she heads for my cabinet. She takes the Club Crackers from my hands. “Go. Go sit down. Let me put this stuff away. I’ve got to heat up the enchiladas. Go entertain your guest.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Meredith gets up and heads our way.

  “Yeah,” Jeannie says and fires a pack of toilet paper over the bar at her. “Put this in the bathroom. Please.” Meredith fumbles the catch and the package bounces toward me. I step around the bar to scoop it up, embarrassed.

  Meredith takes the toilet paper from me with a knowing look. “I’ve got it.” She keeps her voice low. “You go talk to your cousin.”

  “I’m sorry. She’s just worried.”

  “I know. I know.” She gives me a motherly pat and heads down the hall toward my bathroom. I wait until she closes the door behind her.

  “God, Jeannie, that was kind of rude.”

  “What? She asked if she could help. Open the wine.”

  I grab one of my smuggled bottles and start digging through the clutter for the corkscrew. The toilet flushes and Meredith laughs in the hallway.

  “Not much of a housekeeper, are you, Anna?”

  I look over my shoulder, fully prepared to apologize for my bathroom, and I freeze.

  “Put those down.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Meredith says, scooping up my mother’s letters. “I’ll just get these off the floor and—” />
  “Put them down!”

  I don’t mean to scream but she’s on her knees, scooping up letters with one hand. With the other, she’s reaching for the closet door. I realize I’m holding the corkscrew like a knife.

  “Please, Meredith. Put them down.”

  Her eyes are wide, afraid. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay.” Very slowly, she puts the envelopes back on the floor and rises to her feet. Jeannie is silent behind me. There is no dignified way to redeem this situation so I don’t even try. I turn back to my wine and jab the corkscrew in deep. Jeannie goes back to covering a pan in foil, Meredith makes her way to the counter. I can’t leave things like this.

  “We’ve got this covered, Meredith. Would you like a glass of wine?” I calm down, feeling safe again with Jeannie in the kitchen. I don’t want Meredith to stick around, but she did drive me home and she did lend me money and she did express genuine concern at my well-being. It wouldn’t kill me to act like a grown up for a little while.

  “Thank you, but no. I don’t drink.” I admire her ability to say that without a trace of sanctimony. She’s bent down by the kitchen bar, looking into the box Jeannie hauled up. I see twelve bottles of wine. God bless you, Jeannie. She closes the flaps and wipes her hands on her pants. “Oh well, it looks like you’re stocked up. That should keep you for the spring thaw.”

  Jeannie laughs.

  Meredith’s hands flutter in that way she has. She looks nervous and I feel bad. I want to say something to put her at ease but I want the wine more. I’m pouring Jeannie’s glass when Meredith steps in closer to me, her voice soft.

  “I hope it’s okay, but”—her hands flutter toward the purse hanging off her shoulder—“I found your cell phone. You must have left it in the bathroom. I hope it’s okay that I picked it up. It’s just that I know you said you didn’t have it and I thought that maybe—”