“Why won’t my mom tell me anything about my dad?” she asked. She could tell by her grandmother’s face that Mimi understood this time was different from the other times Thea had asked.
Mimi took a breath. She seemed to be working something out in her mind. The silence lengthened. Finally, “I know it’s not fair,” Mimi began slowly, carefully. “I have always believed your mother should have told you the truth from the very beginning, but . . .” She took another breath, her eyebrows arched and filled her forehead with deep creases; she was thinking again. Thea held her breath. “She’s not ready, Thea. She’s human, too, you know, and flawed. What I will tell you is that she loves you very much. From the moment you were born, every choice she’s made has been to protect you. Even though I disagree with her about some of those choices, she’s always tried to do what’s best for you. Your grandad said to me once, ‘Anne is the strongest person I know.’ And coming from an ex-marine, that’s saying something.” Rose smoothed Thea’s hair behind her ear. “At times, though, I think your mom has mistaken strength with closing herself off from life. I’ll talk to your mom this weekend, see what I can do, but this is a conversation for the two of you.” Thea was not expecting this answer, which only opened up more questions. When would someone finally tell her the truth? Why would her mom have lied about her parents being married? None of it made any sense. She opened her mouth to get her questions out, but her grandmother cut her off before she could speak. “Thea. It’s time for bed.” It was a command. She had never heard a hard edge to her grandmother’s voice before.
“Fine.” Thea felt tears prick her eyes. She turned into her pillow to hide her face.
“I love you.” Thea felt Mimi’s warm lips press against the back of her head and then she walked out of the room.
Sitting in the restaurant booth now, a white, hot rage bubbled up inside Thea and she took a bite of hamburger to keep herself from crying.
“There you go, love,” Mimi said, clapping her hand on Thea’s back. “Good that you eat. You’re going to need energy for this afternoon. We don’t want to have to carry you on the trail,” she said with a chuckle. Mimi kept her hand on Thea’s back and made small, circular motions as she chewed and swallowed. The movement filled Thea’s face with blood again as she remembered Mr. Redmond’s hand on her back.
“Mimi, that tickles,” Thea said, shrugging away. “So, wait, what are we doing next?”
ONE HOUR
BEFORE THE CABIN
THE MAN
It was nearly one p.m. The man had waited all morning and afternoon for her to come back to the condo parking lot. Finally, he screamed into his steering wheel and decided he just wanted it to be over. At least he could be in control of how it ended. The man drove around aimlessly, looking for a good spot to do it. The gun sat next to him in the passenger seat. There weren’t many other cars on the road—just the last vacation stragglers, looking to break up the bleak winter with a ski weekend. No sign of the black SUV or the blue RAV4.
He drummed his fingers against his father’s steering wheel and looked down at the gun on the seat beside him. He slowed the car, scanning side streets, looking for a quiet spot, somewhere he might not be found for a while. The man pictured his body slumped in the front seat, peaceful for once, and smiled. He saw the street sign out of the corner of his eye and stepped on the brakes hard, turning the wheel, no time for the blinker. Julia Street. His stomach tightened into knots of longing; the feeling was almost unbearable. When he was a child, he’d thought this longing feeling must be some relation to what other people described as “love,” but when he got older, that same feeling led him to Julia. So, he reasoned, it couldn’t be like love at all. The road was dotted with small houses, close together, not ideal, but it had to be this street, he felt it in his bones. He drove to the very end of the long, windy road and then circled around slowly in the small cul-de-sac at the end of the street. The man pulled his car to the side of the street, edging up on neutral lawn, halfway between two brown houses. He peered into the house across the street. The blinds were drawn and smoke billowed from the chimney. Light filtered through the thin blinds and he could make out the outline of someone bustling around inside. He shut his eyes. Imagined the mother, chopping an onion and throwing a handful into a sizzling pan on the stove. The father reading a book in the living room, feet propped up on an ottoman. And the daughter. Her face filled his mind, bangs and pink cheeks. She lay in bed, listening to music through her headphones, writing in her journal about her crush at school. He opened his eyes and looked at the house again. It was still now; he couldn’t make out any shadows flitting across the rooms any-more. Empty. He thought he heard laughter and spun his head around, looking for the person mocking him. There was only the silent street and the dull houses. He felt for the gun near his waist, stroked the top of it. What was he waiting for? Coward, said a clear voice. “Shut up,” the man said aloud. I am calm. I feel nothing. He pulled out the gun and held it in his lap, dropped the magazine between his legs and checked—eight bullets left. He jammed the magazine back into the hollow end of the gun and brought it up quickly under his chin. He closed his eyes again. Pointer finger on the trigger. His eyes fluttered open to the sound of a high-pitched creak. The front door of the house across from him had opened halfway and a figure stood in the doorway, back to him. He put the gun down slowly, wedging it in between his legs, almost invisible. He watched as a girl slammed the heavy wooden door behind her and then pushed it all the way closed with her backside. She wore a puffy white coat and purple hat with two braided tassels trailing down past her ears. A black dog heaved down the front steps, pulling her along, its tail slapping her legs as she followed closely behind. The dog looked like his own childhood dog, a lab, old and fat.
“Excuse me.” He rolled down his window. The girl snapped her head up, startled. “I’m sorry, do you know if I’m close to 16 Julia Street?”
The girl walked slowly toward him, tugging the old lab, when she got close enough that he could reach out and touch her, he said, “I’ve just driven up and down the street and I can’t seem to find number 16.” He laughed. The girl smiled, showing big white teeth covered in braces.
“Well, my house is one thirty-two, so you want to go down almost all way to the main street for sixteen.” Her voice was high and sweet. The man kept his eyes on her eyes but in his peripheral vision saw a single strand of hair coming out of her hat and resting against the white collar of her coat. Red. The man’s hands began to tremble and he placed them against the wheel.
“Do you think you could possibly show me? It’s just that I’ve been down and back a couple of times and somehow I keep missing it.” He worked to keep his voice warm and open. This was how it was supposed to happen. One last taste before nothingness.
“Um.” The girl’s cheeks flushed. “I think if you just, if you just—” She stumbled and laughed. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m supposed to—” Her eyes fell to the dog and then her head craned around toward her house. The man could feel time pressing down, closing in. He leaned all the way toward the passenger-side door until his head was out the window, inches away from her.