The Long Way Home (2 page)

Jazzy hadn’t planned to go to the grief group that Tuesday evening. Hell, she didn’t even know there was such a thing. What she’d planned for was a quiet night at home alone. She’d just settled down on the couch with a can of honey roasted peanuts and a glass of wine, when a voice popped into her head.
You really need to go out tonight
. It came through real soft and low, like it was only a suggestion. Ha! As if.

Ignoring it wasn’t an option, she knew that much. When she’d heard voices like this in the past, she’d tried to ignore them, but that never worked. They didn’t let up, for the most part, and eventually she’d get an uncomfortable nagging feeling, as if she’d forgotten to do something important. And then it just got worse, and the rest of the night she would pace around the apartment suffering from a bad case of free-floating anxiety. Total madness, that way. Easier just to give in.

She called her brother, Dylan, at work to let him know she was going out and would probably need a ride home later. Where she was going, she couldn’t really say. He understood, though. This had been going on since they were little kids. Their grandmother went through the same thing—voices would come into her head like she was getting a phone call from the universe, and she’d drop everything to do whatever was needed. “They’re guiding you, Jazzy,” Grandma had said over and over again. “These voices, you get them for a reason.” She also said every person on the planet had the potential to get them, but few did. And if Jazzy did as the voices asked, wondrous things would happen. If she ignored them, she’d never know what might have happened.

What Grandma hadn’t told her, at the time, was that both of them heard dead people. That would have freaked out any ten-year-old. By the time she understood, she was used to having ghosts invade her thoughts. It was weird, but it was her very own version of weird. Everybody had something.

And now, ironically and comfortingly enough, Grandma was her most frequent spirit visitor. Just like when she was alive, her energy was pure joy and her advice was designed to make Jazzy think.

Tonight though, she had a different visitor. After Jazzy finished telling Dylan she was going out, she downed the wine and set the glass in the sink when the unfamiliar voice came back again.
You really need to go out tonight
. Talk about nagging. Hello! She’d barely had time to get out the door. Such impatience. “Maybe I
should
go out,” she said, trying out the words. She had a sudden feeling of confirmation, like,
Yes, now you’ve got it.
She could tell it was a female spirit. Young, maybe about her age—twenty-two. How sad to die before you’d really lived. But maybe she, Jazzy, could do something that would make a difference.

Jazzy filled her big bag with everything she thought she’d need, and left the apartment, locking the door behind her. Dylan had the car, so her traveling options were limited, but she wasn’t worried. It would all work out somehow.

She walked down the street, purposely pausing by the bus stop in case that was the plan, but something inside of her said to keep going. Fifteen minutes later, her neighbor Greta pulled up alongside her and called out, “Hey, Jazzy, you need a ride?” Greta lived in the apartment next to them and was, Jazzy had decided, one of the best people on the planet. A person really couldn’t
not
like her, unless they were like really evil or something. It turned out Greta was headed to the rec center to take a knitting class. Something about the words
rec center
clicked with her, or rather, clicked with the voice in her head. She told Greta that, oddly enough, she herself was headed to the rec center and would love a ride.

“Such a coincidence,” Greta said, smiling.

Jazzy climbed into the car feeling certain now she was on the right path.

“What wonderful weather we’re having,” Greta said, pulling away from the curb. “We’re finally getting that rain we need. I love the way the air feels after a good rain.”

Jazzy listened politely, looking out the window as buildings and street signs whizzed by. How lucky for her Greta had come by. Of course, she knew it wasn’t luck: it was meant to be.

If things worked out the way they usually did, Jazzy knew that once she arrived at the rec center she’d be led to the one person who needed something only she could give, and they’d connect somehow. That was always how it went; there was no point in overthinking it. For now, she was content to look out the window and listen to Greta excitedly talk about the yarn and knitting needles she’d recently bought. Alpaca wool was really soft, Greta said, and she’d bought a boatload of it because she was going to make all her Christmas gifts this year.

Jazzy had a feeling there was a new scarf in her future. The thought made her smile.

Inside the building, Greta asked if Jazzy would need a ride home. “No, I’m good, thanks,” Jazzy said, and they parted ways. She meandered through the hallways, divining for people the same way someone would dowse for water, all instinct and pull. If she’d just still her thoughts and wait, an unexplained twitch would steer her in the right direction.

She walked around some more, stopping to look at a bulletin board. The rec center had an impressive selection of classes. Cooking, crafts, yoga, writing—the list went on and on. And so cheap too. Twenty or thirty dollars for most of them. She wondered if she should sign up for one of them sometime. Cooking lessons might be fun. And useful.

At half past the hour, a classroom door opened and a surge of middle-aged women spilled out. She heard several of them gleefully call out, “Adios!” and guessed it was a remedial Spanish class. Jazzy flattened her back against the wall to get out of the way, and one of them, a grandma-type with curly white hair, smiled as she went past.

She waited a few minutes, then went over to the open door and peered in to see the Spanish teacher, a pretty young woman with dark hair, packing up to go. Upon seeing Jazzy she called out, “Hola!”

“Hola,” Jazzy said. A second earlier she’d wondered if this woman was going to be her contact, but no, this wasn’t it. Definitely not. She walked away before more Spanish would be required. At the end of the hallway, she found an elevator next to a staircase. Her radar was really kicking in now, and she followed her instincts and bounded up the stairs. When she got to the second story she headed purposefully down the hall until she came to a closed door. Through the narrow glass side panel she saw a group of women sitting on metal folding chairs and grouped in a circle. The sound of one woman’s voice hummed, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and rushed in. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “The traffic was terrible, and then I couldn’t find the room—”

Marnie adjusted her rearview mirror, but didn’t start the engine. Now that the class was over, she wasn’t in any hurry. There was nowhere to be and nothing waiting at home. One place was as good as another.

Lately she’d felt mired. Not as depressed as before, but not too motivated either. Like she was waiting for some vague, unknown thing to happen. So far, whatever it was hadn’t shown up.

The best of life was behind her now. She was thirty-five years old and it was clear she’d never be an Olympic athlete, or mountain climber, or rock star. It was too late for any of that. So many doors had closed. When she was young, there was only possibility ahead of her, but she hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Two months ago, she had a house, a family, and a career. Now all of it was gone. Or most of it anyway. The career was still somewhere in the background. She had taken a leave of absence from her teaching job when Brian died. She’d go back to work at Lincoln Elementary in September, but it seemed a small consolation.

Marnie glanced into the rearview mirror and frowned. Middle-aged frump. Shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. The same weight as she’d been in college, but she lacked the muscle tone she had then. Probably she should start exercising. Yes, she should really look into a gym membership or a yoga class or something. Maybe tomorrow.

She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel and watched the other women from the class walk to their cars. They waved to one another and called out, “See you next week!” She had thought them a likeable group, but hadn’t connected with them or their stories. Even in loss and death, her situation was unique.

The woman with the lustrous silver hair walked past, giving Marnie a clear view of her face. Only a few minutes before she’d been sobbing, but now her steps were lively, and her face, though blotchy, showed serenity. No sign of that Jazzy girl. Marnie had hoped to get another glimpse of her, but she hadn’t come out with the others.

The embrace between the two women had given her the oddest feeling. She could still picture Jazzy, her arms outstretched. And the older woman, Rita, a complete stranger, sinking into her like it was the most natural thing in the world. What should have been awkward was anything but. How could that be?

Jazzy didn’t fit in with the group. She didn’t even seem to understand what they were all about, and yet she had helped, Marnie could tell. Just her presence had livened things up. She wished the instructor, Debbie, hadn’t interrupted her at the end. Marnie would have liked to hear more. She suspected Jazzy was selling something, or else working as a life coach and seeking clients. A grief group would be the perfect place to recruit lost souls willing to shell out money for the promise of a better life. Lately she’d been seeing people with a critical eye.

The parking lot was emptying out now. The sky was gray and the wind was picking up. After a long, difficult winter, spring had been overcast and rainy, and even now, at the beginning of summer, it didn’t look much better. So typical for Wisconsin. You never got what you wanted. On hot days Marnie yearned for cool breezes; when it was cold she longed for the sun. She’d driven past her old house the day before and the garden was a muddy mess. Only a few flowers were in view, perennials that had struggled to come back, and even they’d looked beaten down. The For Sale sign was still in the front yard, now leaning a bit. She had taken a bit of perverse joy at the sight of the neglected house. It had looked better when she was in charge.

The instructor, Debbie, emerged from the building, carrying a large bag and talking on her cell phone. She didn’t look happy. Marnie had a theory about people who worked in the mental health field. Therapists, psychiatrists, analysts, psychologists—all of them were screwed up in some way. Drawn to the profession by their own mental-health shortcomings. Her college roommate, now a psychologist, had told her horrible stories of childhood abuse. The year they lived together in the dorms, she’d gone through one nightmare of a boyfriend after another. Later Marnie heard she’d been married and divorced twice. That same woman now had her own local radio talk show—giving relationship advice, ironically enough.

Marnie watched as Debbie got into her car and drove out of the lot. Now the entire class was gone. Time to go home. She pulled her seat belt across her lap and clicked it in place. When she looked up she noticed a fine mist covering her windshield. Great, more rain.

Finally, she turned the key, expecting the usual sound of the engine starting. Instead she got nothing. Nothing at all. Disbelieving, she tried again. Click. She took the key out and looked at it, then stuck it back in and tried one more time, getting the same results. Damn. It had to be the battery. She thought hard. The car was six years old. How long did batteries last? She didn’t think they’d ever replaced it. The cars were Brian’s department. She knew it was illogical to blame someone who was dead, but dammit, why hadn’t he taken care of this? Once more he’d let her down. First by dying, and then with every bad thing that had happened since.

She unzipped her purse and fumbled around for her cell. She peered into the dark recesses, but couldn’t see past the wad of receipts and jumble of cosmetics. Who could find anything in all this crap? Just as true panic set in (and she was just about to dump the contents onto the seat next to her), her fingers recognized the smooth plastic edge of the phone. With a sigh of relief she held the phone in her hand. Oh, yes. Help was just a phone call away.

But it wasn’t that easy, and a few minutes later the panicky feeling had returned. The cell phone turned out to be dead, and the car charger, which she could have sworn was in the glove compartment, was gone. Not that it would have helped, since the battery was dead, she realized as she slammed the glove box shut. To make matters worse, when she went back to the building she found it was locked, and even though there were a few cars left parked on the outer edges of the lot, pounding on the door hadn’t produced anyone. Defeated, she ran back to the dead car. And now it was raining, really raining, a true downpour. She calculated the distance home—at least five miles. And the rec center was surrounded by office complexes, none of which would be open this late in the evening. She thought she’d passed a gas station on the drive in, maybe a mile back, but she wasn’t really sure. Oh why had she let that stupid funeral director talk her into signing up for this class? Stupid class. Stupid her for listening to him. And stupid Brian for leaving her behind.

Marnie rested her forehead against the steering wheel. She would sit here forever, if that’s how long it took for the rain to stop. She would
not
get drenched in the cold rain, her hair dripping and her clothing clinging to her body. If it rained forever she would stay in the car for exactly that long, ignoring hunger, thirst, and the need for the bathroom, like any good martyr. The authorities would find her skeleton in this car and everyone would say,
You know, I’d wondered where Marnie was, but I was so busy being self-involved that I couldn’t be bothered checking in on her
.
Now I feel just terrible.
And they should feel terrible, all of them. It would serve them right.

Her pity party felt good. The steering wheel dug into her forehead, but that was a necessary part of her suffering, so she endured the discomfort.

Marnie was working her way up to a good cry, when a knock on the window startled her into sitting upright. The view through the glass was blurred by rain, but Marnie instantly recognized the girl who’d barreled late into class.

Jazzy rapped again and then called out, “Hello there?” She moved closer. “Are you okay?”

In all of her life, Marnie had never been so happy to see anyone. She opened the door an inch. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, talking through the narrow opening. She saw then that Jazzy clutched some kind of metal rod. At second glance she realized it was the shaft of a large red umbrella.

“Are you okay? I saw you slumped over like that—”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Marnie said hurriedly, “but my car battery is dead and my cell phone isn’t working and the building is locked. I was getting desperate.” Jazzy nodded kindly, and Marnie felt her despair melt away. “Can I use your phone or could you give me a ride? I can pay you for your trouble.”

“Why don’t you let me in”—Jazzy pointed to the passenger side—“and we can get this sorted out.”

Marnie nodded and closed the door. She watched as Jazzy crossed in front of the car, making a detour to gleefully kick her way through a puddle with multicolored rubber boots.

When Jazzy got into the car she set her bag and the collapsed umbrella at her feet and turned to Marnie. “Can you believe this rain? Crazy, crazy weather we’ve been having lately.”

“I like your boots,” Marnie said. “I don’t remember seeing them in class.”

“Thanks, they’re new. I had them in my bag and just put them on a few minutes ago. Funny thing, I’d just been wishing for a chance to wear them and then the clouds opened up and bam, a deluge!” Her eyes shone. “Like magic.”

“I’m so glad you came along. I was having a breakdown wondering what I was going to do.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Aren’t car problems the worst? That, and computers. I always feel so helpless when something gets screwed up.” Jazzy raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s so frustrating when you can’t fix things.”

The rain pounded against the windshield, making the outside world a blur. Now that help had arrived, Marnie felt herself relaxing into the seat. She waited a moment, hoping for an offer of a ride, but when one didn’t come, she said, “Is it okay if I use your phone? I’m sure you want to get home, and I don’t want to use up any more of your time.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. There’s no hurry.” Jazzy leaned over and reached into her bag. “You’re welcome to use my phone.” She flipped it open and handed it to Marnie.

The phone’s screen displayed the words, “I’m awesome,” surrounded by twinkling stars. The image made Marnie smile, but her smile quickly faded as she realized the phone wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t know any phone numbers. She hadn’t memorized a number in years, always relying on her list of contacts.

“It’s on,” Jazzy said, leaning over to point. “All you have to do is—”

“I know how to use it. I just can’t think of any numbers. Isn’t that crazy? I’m a complete blank.” Marnie swallowed and thought hard. She knew Brian’s number at work, for all the good that would do. She also knew her mother’s number; it had been the same since she was a girl. That was no good though. Her mother didn’t drive and would only fret. Although, on second thought, her mother could give her
other
numbers: her brother? her sister? They both lived nearly an hour away though. They’d come and get her, certainly, but she knew that they’d also be irritated by the inconvenience and she’d never hear the end of it. As the baby of the family, she’d been typecast as spoiled and helpless. Nothing could be further from the truth, but they stuck with that story, even looked for evidence to back it up, in fact. No, she didn’t want to call them. Friends? She had a few, but they were lunch friends and volunteering friends, not car-problem friends. Besides, she didn’t know their numbers. She suddenly felt more alone than she had since the funeral.

Jazzy interrupted her thoughts by patting her arm. “Don’t feel bad, I only know one or two numbers by heart myself. I think that’s pretty normal.”

“Maybe I could call a mechanic to tow the car,” Marnie said, but made no move to do it. Another number she didn’t know. She could call directory assistance, if she knew how to do that, but she didn’t. She had to be the biggest idiot in the world. The tears that filled her eyes matched the rain outside. “But at this time of night I bet it would be hard to get a tow truck to come out.”

She sighed heavily. “I hate to impose on you, but would you mind giving me a ride home? I can give you gas money for your trouble.”

“I don’t actually have a car here,” Jazzy said. “My brother is picking me up. Why don’t we just drop you off at home and you can deal with this tomorrow?”

“Are you sure? I live over on the west side, about five miles from here.”

“I’m sure.” Jazzy took the phone back. “Dylan won’t mind. I’ll call and let him know.”