Baggage Check Page 16

  “The answer is no,” Alex said behind her.

  “What?” She’d thought he might be asleep, he’d been quiet for so long.

  “You asked if I thought less of you because you don’t want kids. The answer is no.” He was still lying on his back with his eyes closed; Rebecca was unsure if he was starting a new conversation or had just remembered the question.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Everyone is different. Kids are damn hard.”

  “Yes, they are.”

  More silence. She could not figure Alex out. He seemed interested in her, and he certainly didn’t seem like the type to play games. But he was offering her nothing else; he had not made a move on her. Not that she wanted him to. Obviously.

  After several minutes more, Alex stood and stretched. He walked to where Rebecca sat and extended his hand again. “You always assume I’m just going to take your hand,” she challenged.

  “You’re right,” he said. He withdrew the hand and began walking in the other direction. “See you at the falls.”

  She gaped at him momentarily, until he ducked back into the woods on the far end of the ridge and convinced her he was not returning for her. “I have to be careful what I say to this guy,” she muttered, as she dusted herself off and set out to follow him.

  The falls were another ten-minute walk away, over easy rolling landscape in the woods atop the ridge. She caught up to him about fifty feet in, and kept pace behind him as he weaved among the trees and bounced over roots and rocks. He knew this path by heart, she saw, and even affectionately patted a large cottonwood that had fallen across the path at an angle, forcing them to duck beneath it.

  They heard the falls before they could see them—a steady rain through the pine needles. Rebecca was ashamed that the sound reminded her instantly of the white noise machine Valerie used in large city hotels, rather than some other more natural sound. I should really get out more.

  When they got to the next big clearing, Alex took a step to the side so Rebecca could see for herself. They were on the side of the mountain, with the top of the falls less than thirty feet away. The water rumbled over the top and out a little way into midair before dropping in great white sheets. There was a light spray coming off the falls that hit them when the breeze blew in their direction. From where they stood, she could not see the bottom, but she could hear the water roaring on the rocks below. It awed her that the microscopic droplets she could barely feel, and the powerful mass of water that could easily carry her away to drown, were all part of the same magnificent whole. She thought about all the times she had flown over the ocean without giving a second thought to all the water beneath her—how beautiful, life-giving, and dangerous it was all at once.

  “Wow,” she said.

  Alex did not respond, but he took her hand. She did not pull it away. They stood like that for a few minutes, hand in hand. His was rough and a little calloused, hers soft and recently manicured. I could love him, she thought suddenly. If I let myself, I could fall for him here, where it’s beautiful and he’s strong and funny and holding my hand. But then what? What happens when we come down from the mountain?

  As though sensing her apprehension, Alex gave her hand a squeeze and dropped it. He nodded back toward the path and she followed him back out of the clearing, into the trees and upward again. They scaled another little hill and emerged onto a black asphalt path that led to a bridge over the top of the falls. There were teenagers in brightly colored church group T-shirts scattering around them—some still lingering on the overlook bridge, others following the asphalt path back to a small parking lot. Rebecca could see a small white bus through the trees.

  “You’re kidding me,” she said. “There’s a road up here?”

  Alex grinned. “Well, yeah. But this way is more fun.”

  She glared at him and walked toward the bridge, where the last of the kids were being hustled away by a tired-looking chaperone in a large, floppy hat. Alex stood beside her as Rebecca leaned just slightly over the rail, watching the water cascade down toward the rocks below. “See?” he said, gesturing at a boy and a girl who were play-fighting behind the others, as the chaperone threw up her hands and walked on. “You appreciate this more than they do because you earned it.”

  “And because I’m thirty-four, not fourteen.”

  “That too, I guess.” He bumped her gently with his hip and she relented with a smile. He pointed down to the right at a patch of rocky hillside. “That’s where we were a minute ago.”

  “That is actually pretty cool,” she admitted.

  “Once in a while, Rebecca,” he said, taking her hand and leading her back to the trail, “it pays to have a little faith.”

  22

  Mountainside Wellness Institute was situated in a rural suburb of Gadsden, past four-way stops and school zones at the top of one of East Alabama’s most picturesque hills. It’s as good a place for a mental hospital as any, Rebecca thought on her first visit to check on Lorena. In terms of scenery, it was not so very different from her trip to the waterfall with Alex two days before. It had the same natural feel and sweeping views of the patchwork countryside: just more houses, fewer trees, and no waterfalls or confusing social situations.

  She checked in at the front reception area, which had more the look of a log cabin than a hospital. A black woman with long braids wearing a long black skirt and animal print blouse introduced herself as Dawn, the social worker on her mother’s case. She guided Rebecca through sunlit rooms with high ceilings and walls of windows to a deck in the back overlooking the hills.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes,” Dawn said kindly. “If you need anything, I’ll be right inside.”

  Lorena was sitting at a metal patio table in a soft pink cardigan, staring into the distance. In the sunlight, her gaunt face showed more wrinkles than Rebecca had ever noticed before. Rebecca had to clear her throat twice to get her attention.

  “Becky,” her mother said warmly, taking her hand. “Sit down.”

  “Hi, Mom,” Rebecca said tentatively. She was searching for a polite way to gauge where Lorena was today: whether she would know Rebecca as her teenage self and be looking for Cory, or if she would see reality as it was. “So you know … what’s going on?”

  Lorena sighed and held Rebecca’s gaze. “You look good, honey. Tired, but good.”

  “Mom,” Rebecca said with a slight squeak. She tried to say more, but nothing would come, so she threw her arms around Lorena instead. “Oh, Mom. Please be okay.”

  Lorena patted her back. “I’m trying, sweetheart. I really am.”

  “Do you know … what’s happening?”

  “With the house? They told me you’re cleaning it up so I can go home.”

  “Yes. I am.” Rebecca said it with more conviction than she felt. She had worked at the house for nearly all the previous day and left feeling as though she had barely scratched the surface.

  “Just listen, sweetie—don’t move too many things around. It may not look like much of a system, but I have it pretty well organized. No one else can find things there, but I can. And you’re taking care of the cats?”

  Rebecca had not even thought about the cats, and had not the first idea where they had ended up. “The cats are fine,” she said gently.

  “Watch out for Archie. He’ll claw you if you’re not careful.”

  “Okay.”

  “You won’t throw too much away without me?”

  “No.” Rebecca wished someone had prepared her for this conversation, told her what to say and do. She hated lying to her mother, but Lorena seemed so fragile. It seemed as though a strong breeze might blow her away; Rebecca could only imagine what the truth would do. She was afraid to even mention Cory.

  “How’s work?” Lorena asked amiably. “Flown anywhere interesting lately?”

  “It’s fine. I have a few days off.”

  “That’s nice,” Lorena said. She turned back to look at the hills below. Whether she was con
fused by the situation, afraid of what Rebecca might tell her if they talked any more, or simply content to be quiet, it was hard to say. This process was going to take some time.

  Rebecca stood after a moment and patted her mother’s hand. “You should eat more, Mama,” she said.

  “They don’t have chocolate doughnuts,” Lorena said.

  “I’ll bring you some.”

  “Thank you, dear. Your father and I are so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Rebecca went back inside and asked the social worker about her mother’s attending doctor, who was not due back in for rounds until later in the day. “So how do I handle the house cleaning with her?” she said. “How much should I tell her? Can I mention Cory? Does she understand?”

  “Hard to say,” Dawn said gently. “She’ll have to face reality eventually, but she needs our help giving it to her in a way that her mind can digest. Sometimes that’s just about following her lead, or your own instincts.”

  Rebecca found this less than helpful. “What if I don’t have any instincts?”

  The social worker laughed. “Then you’re in more trouble than she is. You better follow her lead.”

  As she drove back down the mountain to go back to what had once been her childhood home, Rebecca felt further from understanding than ever.

  * * *

  Saturday night, she was back in Atlanta, snug in a booth at an Irish pub with Suzanne and Marci. The dark walls were covered in flags, vintage Guinness advertisements, and soccer memorabilia in shadow boxes. The corners of their wooden table had been rounded and polished by years of use. Rebecca resisted the temptation to wipe it down with a bar napkin, and instead savored her rum and Coke while the other women sipped their drinks. After her time in Alabama, and all day today surrounded by kids and the Stillwells’ inebriated neighbors, it felt like a return to civilization.

  “When are you going back?” Suzanne said, eyeing Rebecca’s glass. “Not tonight, I hope.”

  “No, no. Tomorrow night. Maybe Monday. I have to have a couple of days off.”

  “So what exactly is going on with your mom, if you don’t mind my asking? You’ve only given us bits and pieces.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.” Part of her wanted to spill out everything that had been happening, with the house and her mom, even Alex. Part of her wanted to change the subject entirely.

  “Maybe if you tell us, we could help,” Marci said.

  Rebecca took a long swig. “Have you ever seen one of those TV shows about the hoarders?”

  Suzanne wrinkled her nose. “You mean those people with houses full of stuff?”

  “Yeah. Well, I guess my mom has had this problem for a long time, but since I’ve been away from Alabama, things have gotten much worse.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  Rebecca sighed. “Sometimes you don’t want to know, I guess.”

  “Is it awful?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, I’ve watched a few episodes of those shows and done a little research, and I think there are worse, but Mom’s place is still pretty bad.”

  Marci patted Rebecca’s arm. “How are you handling it?”

  “I’ve just started. Honestly, I think it would have been much worse if Dad hadn’t been doing damage control for years.”

  “So we’ll come help you,” Suzanne said.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I just … I don’t know. It’s embarrassing. And gross. And really hard work.”

  “Rebecca,” Suzanne said. Her voice had that stern, teacher-like quality she used when keeping wayward vendors in check for her events. “We’re your friends.”

  “I know that.”

  “So let us help you. I’d love to come see where you grew up.”

  “No,” Rebecca said, too quickly. “You wouldn’t find it interesting. And, seriously, I’m not at a point where I would even know how to tell other people to help.”

  Marci looked thoughtful. “For some reason, I always thought you were from Birmingham. Where is Oreville, exactly?”

  “It’s close to Birmingham. Well, sort of. Forty-five minutes away. I always just said Birmingham when I met people in college because it was a place everyone knew.”

  “Huh,” Marci said.

  Suzanne raised an eyebrow but said nothing else.

  “So, how is Dylan?” Rebecca asked, changing the subject. “How is married life?”

  “He’s fine. Really good, actually. He’s been asked to record this year’s NFL theme song.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s a whole little bit he gets to do with some of the players and cheerleaders. He was so excited. I think I’m going to have to let him go back on tour soon, or he’s going to go crazy.”

  “Do you think you can handle that?”

  Suzanne stirred her drink. “Maybe.”

  “Of course she can handle it,” Marci said. “She’s just worried about all those girls in the teeny-tiny shorts throwing their bras onstage at him.”

  “And showing up backstage afterward,” Suzanne added.

  “But you don’t really doubt Dylan?” Rebecca said. “He seems absolutely devoted to you.”

  “He is. I think it’s more about my general discomfort with the whole situation. I’ve never had this much to lose before, and there are literally millions of women ready and willing to take him away from me.”

  “Wow,” Rebecca said. “I guess I’d never thought of it that way.”

  “Ready and willing, maybe,” Marci said. “But not able. None of those little groupies can hold a candle to you.”

  Suzanne shrugged. Dylan was several years younger than any of them, a fact that had always been a little tough for Suzanne. They sipped in silence for a while. Rebecca took in the sounds of the pub and reflected that even the most perfect-looking relationships felt fragile to the people in them.

  “Rebecca, I really should apologize,” Marci said after a while, breaking the silence.

  “Seriously, it’s not necessary,” Rebecca said. She stirred her drink. “If I thought my husband was…” Rebecca did not want to finish that sentence, out of respect for Marci’s feelings. Was it worse to have a man like Jake in your bed and be unsure of him, or to have no man in your bed at all? She did not know. Being alone felt awful sometimes, but maybe Marci’s situation was worse.

  “Well, I implied that you were having an affair with my husband,” Marci said. “And I had no evidence for it. That’s not cool.”

  “No,” Rebecca said. “You didn’t have evidence, but you had a reason. You know how I’ve felt about him for so long, and I did try to steal him before you got married.”

  “It wasn’t stealing. They were broken up,” Suzanne said. She looked at Marci with mild defiance. She was getting a little tipsy. “You were broken up.”

  Marci rolled her eyes. “Anyway, that was a long time ago and we weren’t married then. I should have given you more credit.”

  “Honestly, Marci, I don’t know if I deserve any credit. But thanks.” She lifted her drink in Marci’s direction, and then followed nervously with, “So, do you know anything … more?”

  “Well, I found the file where he keeps his business credit card, and I started looking through at the dates when he’s supposed to be working or out of town. He’s been going to this one hotel near us, I think, even when he says he’s somewhere else.”

  “Un-fucking-believable,” Suzanne said. “I never would have thought this about Jake. It just doesn’t fit, somehow.”

  “I agree,” Rebecca said.

  “Well, I’m going to find out,” Marci said. “Next time he’s supposed to be working, I am going to follow him and we’ll see exactly who he has been seeing.”

  Rebecca and Suzanne exchanged a look.

  “Marci,” Suzanne said, steadying herself with an elbow on the table. “Do you think that’s really a good idea?”

  “No,” Marci admitted. “But what else ca
n I do? We’re going to have another baby and I can’t bring him or her into the world, I can’t pretend with Bonnie that everything is fine, not knowing if their father is screwing some slut on the side.”

  Rebecca bit her lip. Though no one would dare mention it at this moment, at one point not so very long ago, Marci herself had been the “some slut” in question, when she had had a relationship with a married man. I guess perspective is everything. The table was quiet for a moment; the three of them sat sipping their drinks and listening to the sounds of the busy pub around them. Glasses and plates clinked in the kitchen; conversations murmured steadily, punctuated by laughter. A group of soccer fans let out a cheer at a table near the bar. Then, true to pregnant lady form, Marci set down her Coke and burst into tears.

  23

  For the next few weeks, Rebecca’s days formed a predictable routine, which would have been comforting if it had not been so sad. Each morning she woke up in her father’s stark white bedroom, dressed, and picked up a small box of chocolate doughnuts on the way to see her mother. Lorena was always happy to see her, and especially the doughnuts, but she seemed to waver in her ability to anchor herself in time and space. Some days she seemed to think Cory was still alive, and others she did not mention him at all. Always, she spoke about Rebecca’s father as though they were still married, and Rebecca didn’t correct her because it was technically true. Lorena had only the foggiest notion of where she was and why, and each time this notion seemed to crystallize a bit in her awareness, Lorena became sad and—if this was possible—even more distant.

  “I think some days it’s just too much for her to process,” Dawn said one day. “Reality can be just awful, you know, and sometimes the mind just needs a break from it.”