Surviving Valencia (32 page)

We stopped for the night in Eau Claire. Adrian passed out in the bathroom and I took the newspaper out of my purse. It was imperative that I be at that dance. I
had
to see Valencia. She undoubtedly would be there to see her daughter on court. Adrian and I were supposed to be arriving back in Savannah on the first of December. I would just have to tell him I needed some more time. Some time to myself.

I folded the newspaper, tucked it inside a magazine, and put it back in my oversized shoulder bag. The drama of the past several hours slipped away and a feeling of hope and purpose filled me. I took some faux cucumber slices from my makeup bag and pressed them to my eyelids as I reclined on the bed. The second I did so my cell phone went off. I removed the slices and looked at the number. It was my mother.

“Hello.”

“Where
are
you?”

“Umm, on our way home. We’re kind of by Baraboo now,” I lied, putting enough distance between us that she hopefully would not ask us to return.

“I can’t believe the two of you just left us like that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said lamely.

“Our house has smoke and water damage. We need to stay with you.”

“Okay. Tonight do you mean?”

“Tonight we’re going to stay at the hotel with Aunt Louise and Uncle Dave, but first thing tomorrow we’ll be on our way to Madison. Roger, get directions from them,” she said, and then my father came on the line.

“I don’t know how to find my way around Madison, so you’re going to have to meet us at the Country Kitchen. Let’s say ten o’clock. I’ve got to take care of Patricia. Give me a call in the morning.”

“Dad?” I said, but he was gone.

Adrian had dragged himself out of the bathroom. He collapsed on the bed beside me. “What was that all about?”

“They’re coming to stay with us.”

“No way. Right now? Here, in this hotel?”

“Tomorrow morning. In Madison.”

“Is everyone alright?”

“Yes. But the house has smoke and water damage.”

“How long do they want to stay?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Call them back and find out,” he said.

“No!”

“I guess we’re going to have to get home really early now,” said Adrian.

“Oh no, Adrian!” I gasped.

“What?”

“We need to get a cat!”

“And where are we going to find one on this short notice that is diabetic?” he added.

“I’m going to sleep,” I told him. I got under the covers and stuck the cucumbers back on my eyelids, and before I knew it, morning had arrived.

When we arrived at the Country Kitchen on the east side of town, my parents were already waiting for us. They were in my mother’s big, tan Buick. It was stuffed full of clothes, pictures, whatever they had been able to grab.

They did not jump out and rush over, as I had feared they would, throwing their arms around us and sobbing. They appeared to have calmed down considerably. They walked over to the door of Country Kitchen and my father held it open for us as my mother went inside.

“Table for four,” she said, holding up four fingers and scowling.

“How are you?” I asked them.

“How do you think,” said my mother.

I decided to cut right to the chase as soon as we were seated. “You’ll only be able to stay with us for a couple of days, I’m afraid,” I glanced at Adrian, “because Alexa will be back soon and then we’ll be returning to Savannah. I hope you understand.”

My mother gave my father an “I told you so” look, but was instantly distracted by a waitress bustling past. “Miss! Hello, you!” She tapped the table with the stacks of Avon rings on her knuckles. Her other hand slapped her thigh. I closed my eyes in dismal embarrassment as she called, “Miss. Miss. Yes, you. Bring a pitcher of water to the table.”

“I hope you aren’t allergic to the kitty,” Adrian said. We had already purchased a cat to back up our story of needing to rush home to care for it.

“Ugh. I hate cats. But I will manage,” said my mother.

“So what are you going to do?” I asked my parents.

“The insurance company will handle it,” said my mother.

“And they’ll put you up in a hotel, right?” I asked.

“I suppose they’ll have to.”

“It will be okay,” said Adrian.

My parents were silent. My mother glared at my father while he looked down at the table. I thought of my tiny home on wheels that Bruce Dash was perfecting, and momentarily considered offering it to my parents. I sipped my water instead to keep my mouth from saying anything it should not say.

“What can I get for you folks?” asked the waitress.

“I will have one of those mocha cappuccino drinks if you’ve got it, two eggs, over easy, uh, white toast, easy on the butter, a couple of pancakes, make them blueberry, two strips of bacon, two sausage links, and some cheesy hash browns,” said my mother.

“Two scrambled eggs, white toast, and orange juice,” said my dad.

“Same for me,” Adrian and I said in unison.

“Oh, thanks. You’re making me feel like a pig,” said my mother.

“How long do you think it will take to get the house fixed up again?” I asked them.

“Months.
Months
,” said my mother.

“It might not be that bad,” said my dad. “The kitchen has some smoke and water damage, but the rest of the house isn’t too bad. I’ve got to say, though, it smells like smoke.”

“I am too old to go through something like this,” my mom said loudly, impassioned, like someone on stage. People at neighboring tables looked over at her.

The waitress set down the mocha before my mother. It was topped with half a can of whipped cream and plenty of sprinkles.

“Mmm, delish,” said my mom, sucking off the spoon, her mood instantly brightening. “I could get used to this!”

After a contentious Scrabble-filled night, followed by the discovery the next morning that all the bars of French-milled soap had gone missing from the bathrooms, Adrian and I drove my parents to Timber Oaks Carefree Living for Seniors and rented an apartment for them. We were able to talk the leasing agent into signing them for just a three-month lease. Adrian wrote out the check while my parents thumbed through the health club brochure. My mother quickly forgot that she was in turmoil once she saw their new home.

“Look at this Jacuzzi bathtub!” she squealed during the tour.

My father was no better. “Underground heated parking for both of us? Patricia, we gotta get back up to Hudson and bring my truck down here.”

“This refrigerator has an ice maker,” said my mother, pressing the lever and watching ice spew out onto the floor.

“Careful where you step,” the leasing agent said politely to the rest of us, as if my mother had not just caused it.

“I’ve been wondering, but forgot to ask,” said my father, turning the remote controlled fireplace off and on, “why is it that your cat is black, but everywhere you look around what’s her name’s house, there’s white hair?”

“Alexa. Her name is Alexa,” I said.

“That’s what happens to cat hair when it falls out,” said Adrian. “It turns white.”

The leasing consultant opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and smiled, wisely making the decision to stay uninvolved.

“Oh yeah, I knew that,” said my dad, nodding thoughtfully.

“Everybody knows that,” said my mother.

“Are they really gone?” asked Adrian.

“Yes,” I said. “I mean, I hope so.”

It was amazing how they had totaled Alexa’s house in just one day. We had just gotten back from returning the cat to the pet store. It had been sadder than I had anticipated and my head was throbbing from crying.

“It’s Saturday night. Do you want to go to a movie?” Adrian asked.

“Sure, we could do that. But first, I have to talk to you now that I finally have the chance.”

“What’s up?” He began rubbing my feet. I moved them out of reach.

“I was wondering if you would mind if I stayed a couple extra days here. Alone. You could have a little time in Savannah with your sister, and I could have a little time to myself. I really, really need it.”

“Sure. I’ll ask Alexa to make sure she doesn’t mind. When do you want me to move your return flight to?”

“How about Monday the third?” I asked, shocked at how easy Adrian was making it for me.

“Consider it done,” he said.

“Thank you.” I got up and gave him a hug. I looked into his eyes.

“Why do you look so sad?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Thank you for helping my parents.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” I said, touching his face, feeling sick and disloyal and ashamed of myself.

“I’m glad that we’re in a position where it’s so easy to help them. It’s just money. Anyway, the insurance company will reimburse us at some point.”

“Everything could have been a lot different for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything. Your whole life. Who knows what you would be like, or where you would have ended up.”

“What are you saying?”

“I mean,
that night,
Adrian. If that night hadn’t happened, or if you had not been with, your life would be better, too.”

“Play the hand you’re dealt,” he said with a big, mopey shrug. It was a very Sam-my-ex-boyfriend-moment. This sealed my emotions right back closed. The only worse response would have been “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” I pulled my hand away from his face.

“Did I say the wrong thing?” he asked.

“Will you be honest with me about something?” I asked.

“I’m always honest,” he said.

“Adrian!
That’s
a lie.”

“I will answer your question honestly, I swear.”

I drew in my breath. There was no correct answer. It was the Salem Witch Trials all over again. If he floated, he was guilty; if he drowned he was innocent. They wiser thing would have been to have left it alone. It would have been better for both of us. We should be going out to a movie as he had suggested, and all of this should be left alone. Forever.

If only I could.

“That night is the only reason we’re together. I mean, of course it is. Right, Adrian?”

He looked at me and his face had a strange expression I did not know. He did not answer.

“We would never have gotten together if that hadn’t happened. Right? …Say something.”

His eyes lost their emotion and became very cold. Soulless eyes I did not know or like. I wondered if he was covering his feelings, or finally revealing them to me. I sensed that he was finally going to tell me the truth.

“No. I mean, it’s
possible
, anything’s possible, but probably not.”

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that,” I said.

“Should I have lied?”

“No. I knew the truth. It’s nice to hear it from you, actually.”

“Do you think it means I don’t love you?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think that all the time.”

“I don’t know what else I can do. I am getting really tired of trying to convince you that I love you. You’re my wife, I married you, you’re having my baby.” He left it at that, with the unspoken weight of what he had done to John Spade hanging between us.

“What if Valencia hadn’t been pretty?” I said. “What if she had just been your average, boring, teenage girl? Would you have gone to these lengths to find her little sister and take care of her? What it always comes back to is that you love Valencia’s little sister, and I happen to be her. Forgive me if I wanted a love of my own, about me.”

He just looked at me. He had that glazed over look that meant he really did not understand the importance of our conversation.
I’m bored with this. Just be happy again,
said the look. If he truly wanted to be with me, he was misjudging the importance of our conversation.

“Didn’t you want a real love, too? Why are you devoting your life to taking care of me? It’s not going to deliver Valencia to you in the afterlife.”

“Play the hand you’re dealt,” he said again, and shrugged, again.

“You weren’t exactly
dealt
me. You were perfectly happy with Belinda.”

He laughed. “No I wasn’t. What can I say, I felt connected to you. That night was a life-changing event. I didn’t get over it. It gave you and me something in common, something huge. It connected us.”

“What would you do if she was still alive? Would you find her, tell her that you’re sorry, make it up to her?”

“I don’t even remember what she looked like,” he said.

“Right.”

“I don’t! That was twenty some years ago. I’ve gotten over it. You need to get over it too.”

“You
just
said you got with me because you
weren’t
over it! And now you’re telling
me
to get over it? That makes a lot of sense.”

“I wasn’t over it
then
, but I am over it now.”

“Everything you’re saying is contradicting everything else. I’m asking you a serious question. Don’t you want a life that’s real?”

“What do you mean
real
? Our life
is
real. And the accident with your sister is in the past. You and I are about to have a baby. I’ve gotten over all of that and I’m living in the
present
.
The present.
You should let it go too, and join me here.”

I nodded, as if I agreed.

“So do you want to go to a movie?” asked Adrian.

“Sure. Why not,” I said. It was at least a way to avoid talking to him any longer.

“Good,” he said, patting me on the shoulder and going off to find the car keys.

“Give me a minute,” I said, and locked myself in the bathroom under the guise of putting on makeup. I glared at myself in the mirror, painting my lips a resentful shade of crimson. I could not stop the angry pep talk going on inside my head:
Stop relying on this fake marriage, stay on track, keep focused on shedding your dirty skin and starting over.

“We’d better go now, if we’re going to do this,” Adrian said, knocking on the bathroom door.

I came out, brushing my hair, avoiding looking into his eyes.

“You look very pretty,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze.

“Stop being nice to me, please,” I whispered.

“I like being nice to you,” he said.

If psychics and private investigators had not been able to help me, perhaps a psychiatrist could, I considered. But I could never tell anyone what Adrian had done. So I was on my own. I put on my coat, ready to lose myself in two hours of someone else’s life.

“I’m thinking popcorn. If there’s time,” said Adrian, obliviously smiling, having disregarded our entire conversation.