They’d given me a small respite. My boss proved less than impressed I showed up late. Some sympathy was shown when they heard of circumstances, and yet it showed what value I had to them. None. Still a nobody.
I spent the next few days looking for a low-rent apartment when I wasn’t working. I didn’t have many requirements. Didn’t matter. It proved harder than expected to find a place I could afford in a tight economy.
By day four I was getting worried. Which was when my daughter called.
“Have you found a place?” she said before I had a chance to finish saying hello.
“No.”
“Have you looked into basement apartments or one room rentals?” she asked.
“I haven’t found any I can afford.”
“If I had the room, I’d have you come stay with me.”
Wendy had already offered—bringing me to tears. But I refused. To save money, she shared a house with two other people, which meant having me stay more than a night or two would be imposing. She’d suggested we share a new place, but without a decent job, I didn’t dare. Not to mention, what if I said yes and us living together destroyed the fragile bond forming between us?
Best I say no.
“What about the cabin?”
I blinked. “What cabin?”
“Great-grandma’s.”
That cabin. It hadn’t even occurred to me. It had been over two decades since I’d gone to see it. Twenty years. I doubted anything was left.
“Leave here and go back to Canada?” Over the border into my home country. I could technically do it. I had dual citizenship.
“Why not? I thought your lawyer said you owned the place no matter what.”
“No way is it still standing.”
“So you’d rather live in your car?” was her sarcastic retort.
I winced. I might have jokingly told her I could sleep in it until I found a place. Not such a joke as my time at the motel neared its end.
“But my job and—”
“Mom, I don’t mean to be a bitch, but you’re a cashier. They have cashier jobs in Canada. Or maybe you’ll find a better one.”
“Or it could be I won’t find one at all.”
Wendy didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
My anxiety and pessimism were getting in the way of common sense. “You’re talking about me leaving the only place I’ve known for over twenty years.”
“I didn’t realize you loved the shit hole so much.” Her sarcasm shone.
“You’re bossy.”
“I prefer to think of it as giving a damn about you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I don’t know why you do.” The guilt at the things I should have done for her made me wonder why she bothered at all.
“Because you’re my mom, and even if you’re a dumbass, I love you.”
“I love you, Winnie.” My nickname for my round-cheeked girl with the brightest smile.
“Yeah, well.” She cleared her throat. “About the cottage. It can’t hurt to go take a look. Maybe see if you can find a secondhand tent to bring with you in case the cottage is a write-off.”
A tent pitched by the lake. Maybe I could fish. This time of year, I might even find a few apples left on the tree my grandmother used to keep in the yard. If the cottage was in disrepair, I’d have to either fix it myself—and quickly before winter—or find something cheap in town. Maybe a job that I could walk to so I saved on gas.
Was I nuts?
Maybe and yet, I suddenly wanted to do this. The longing for something familiar, for the way my grandmother used to make me feel warm and protected, was suddenly all I wanted.
“Meee-ow!” Grisou flipped off the dresser and raced around the room, excited, as if he approved of this insane decision. I really was turning into a cat lady.
But I didn’t care.
After more twenty years away, I was going home.
5
Quitting my job was easy, although I worked until the last instant, trying to ensure I had as much money as possible in my account. I hoped I wouldn’t run into trouble on the way. If my car broke down, I’d have to ditch it and see if I could hop a bus. I couldn’t afford to fix even a tire at this point.
It didn’t take long to strip the motel room of my presence. I packed my car with my meager new belongings and still had room in the trunk, which was big enough for a body. A good thing Martin hadn’t come by.
If I’d worried about how Grisou would travel, I shouldn’t have. For the most part, he lay stretched in the back window, sunbathing.
As the miles between me and my old life stretched, I relaxed. The tension in my shoulders eased and the knot in my stomach unwound. I wouldn’t have to worry about running into Martin here. The distance meant I wouldn’t be tempted to drive by the ruins of the house and wonder how I’d survived. The phantom smell of smoke finally cleared my nostrils.
It chilled me to realize how close I’d come to dying. Despite how I’d felt initially—Was it two months ago now?—I wanted to live more than anything. It was terrifying being on my own, and yet I was happier than I’d been in a long time.
Could I get any more content? I was about to find out.
Despite all my anxiety, the border guards gave me no trouble. I’d expected them to pull me over and strip my car. Perhaps impound my cat. Accuse me of smuggling. Make me submit to a cavity search.
Instead, they perused my passport with a polite smile and waved me on. It seemed too easy.
The entire two-day trip went well. Though I was tempted, I didn’t dare do it in one shot, given my lack of sleep over the past few days. I spent the night parked in one of the service areas. My cash wouldn’t stretch to a motel or even a campground, so I slept in my car, doors locked, a tire iron gripped in my fist, dreaming of fireflies of all things, except they looked less like bugs and more like tiny glowing people with wings.
I blamed the gas station salad I’d picked up for dinner. I should have known something was off about it. That didn’t stop me from getting some fake scrambled eggs and desiccated bacon the next day. The mini mart required a purchase to use their bathroom. The tepid water from the rusted sink splashed my face and left it, if not clean, at least slobber free. The store sold coffee strong enough to put hair on my chest and a gag-worthy breakfast burrito, of which I ate the egg and bacon but tossed the wrap. With caffeine in my veins, and a belly no longer grumbling, I was on my way.
I still couldn’t believe I’d actually done it. Look at me, the brave adventurer. The heroines in my books never had to stop to pee every two hours, nor did they walk funny after getting out to stretch their legs. Getting old sucked.
I didn’t remember the highway or recognize the area. I only knew I was getting close by the butterflies in my stomach. What would I find? Had I come all this way for nothing?
I saw the lake first. How could I not, given Maddiogo Lake stretched more than twenty miles end to end. While long, it was narrow in a few spots. My grandma’s cottage sat at the north end inside one of the small bays, screened from the water by a line of trees, the dark green metal roof serving as camouflage. Standing in her yard next to the shore, you could see the opposite side of the lake and where the trees were cleared, spot the sparse scattering of houses.