Leaving Unknown (13 page)

“Books are my friends. A bookstore is kind of like a reunion for me.” His look was dubious, eyebrow cocked like a Sherlock Holmes actor. “It’s true! I had a hermit period. I dropped out of college and didn’t know what to do with myself. Books were better than people.”

“I know what you mean.” He became serious. “For me it was writing. After my dad died things were tough. Mom worried all the time. It was like she was eroding before my eyes. I was sure she’d disappear. So I took care of my kid sister, and escaped into stories about a boy who could do everything.”

“Weren’t you one?” I asked.

“What?”

“A kid. Weren’t you one too? You call your sister ‘the kid,’ like she was the only one that needed taking care of. Who took care of you?”

He considered me. “I took care of myself.” I opened my mouth, but he beat me. “So who were your best friends? Of the bound-page variety?”

I yielded. “I don’t think you can have a favorite book. Different ones suit different moods. Sometimes when I’m sad, I want to be more sad—like the catharsis of taking it to the limit will burn it up more quickly. Other sad times, I want to laugh hysterically.”

“If you were stranded on a desert island,” he persisted, “which three would you take?”

I mused. “
Pride and Prejudice
, because it’s the greatest romance ever written.
Catch–22
, because its satire gives you perspective on what’s really crazy. And
A Bear Called Paddington
, because no matter how many times I read it, it makes me laugh every time.” I grew wistful. “There’s something about children’s books that releases you back to the freedom of being a kid.”

Noah waited but I was done talking about books. Instead, I launched into one of my favorite games. “Would you rather only drink water for the rest of your life, or never see the ocean again?”

“Would you rather…” lasted us through two more beers and the drive home. I was deciding whether I wanted to only eat hamburgers for the rest of my life or live for ten fewer years when we pulled up to Ruby’s.

“Really?!” Noah demanded. “Ten fewer years?”

“Of course! I love food. Imagine never eating Rosa’s tacos again. Living forever is overrated. Why cling to life when you can’t eat or enjoy yourself?” I thought of how hard Cameron fought to live when she couldn’t do either, and got flustered.
Fortunately, Noah was getting out of the car and didn’t notice. It took me a second to realize he was walking around to open my door. Samuel did it all the time, so I don’t know why I was surprised. I slid out of the truck and looked up at him. His head blocked the porch light, giving him a halo and obscuring his features. He leaned toward me.

“Maeve.” Ruby’s voice cut the tableau. Noah stepped back and I turned, refusing to wonder what he’d intended.

“Ruby! I went to Mexico! I got you a bowl!” I babbled.

“How thoughtful. I have good news.” Her perfect posture indicated nothing out of the ordinary. I felt silly for thinking something had been. Ruby continued. “Barney has returned. Unlucky at craps it would seem, and eager for work. He will look at your car tomorrow.”

“Oh.” The news I’d been waiting for didn’t feel like I’d thought it would.

“I can see you’re pleased,” Ruby said. I squinted at her unreadable expression. “Noah, Beth was looking for you. Something about tickets to the ballet. Maeve, come along. It’s high time we discussed the Monkey Flower Festival. October is nigh upon us.”

“I’m off,” Noah said with a casual wave. “See you tomorrow, Maeve.”

“Right.” I matched him. “Hey Ruby, wait until you see my skull. Can I hang it in the common room? What’s the Monkey Flower Festival? We’re in June, right? Isn’t today still in June? I didn’t miss a month, did I?” I followed her neat steps into the house, shutting the door firmly behind me.

N
ice ass!”

If a bird could holler, that’s what Oliver did. I’d brought him along to separate him from Lulabell, but so far Project Wash Your Mouth wasn’t going well. The ass that was facing us stilled, then slowly backed up, extracting its attached person from under Elsie’s hood.

“Hi! You must be Barney. I’m Maeve.” I stuck out a hand.

He shook with a filthy paw. “Barney.” He was a bear of a man, in denim overalls with bushy red facial hair.

“
Quero otra bebida alcoólica por favor.
I’d like another alcoholic drink please,” requested a soothing female voice. If you lived in a computer-simulated home, she would greet you each day and warm your bathroom floors. Her name would be something gentle, like Sharon. A hydraulic pump sipping Kir Royale. I spotted a dusty cassette player on Elsie’s roof.

“Learnin’ Portuguese,” Barney explained.

“Bueno,” I said, disappointed. No drunken drill bits.

“
Como que posso pagar por isso?
How would you like me to pay for that?” Sharon wanted to know.

“Quite a car you got here.” Barney patted Elise. I warmed to him. He had good taste.

“
Onde fica o putalheiro?
Where is the nearest brothel?” asked Sharon’s dulcet tones.

Barney hastened to stop the tape player. I declined to ask what part of Brazil he planned to visit.

“Legs up and give me some, Toots,” Oliver chimed in.

Equally shamed, Barney and I focused on Elsie. He started speaking. It might as well have been Portuguese. I extracted the salient double whammy from his explanation.

“How much?” My inner masochist asked him to repeat the sum. I had a flashback to Darryl in Okay, Oklahoma, but this time I didn’t worry about showing my fear. I was approaching paralysis.

“If’n I get that part, be around twenty seven hundred. If’n I don’t, you’d need a whole new engine. At that price, be better to get a new car.”

“Oh shit. Carrots!” said Oliver.

“That’s a lot of carrots,” I agreed. I decided not to torture myself with minimum-wage calculations yet. “Can you get the part? And do you have a paper bag handy?” Just in case. Untreated hyperventilation can cause an exploded lung.

“There’s a bunch of things your gal needs, but your main problem is your trans won’t engage due to a broken one–two band. To fix that, you need a new band, and these two parts that go ’long with it. Miss Elsie here’s no spring chicken, so those parts aren’t just laying around like one-legged beggars.” I winced. Politically Incorrect Gas Station was right. “It’s gonna be hard to find, and it’ll cost you.”

“But you can find one?”

“If’n anyone can, it’s Carla. She’s my parts gal over at Tucson Auto. She can find cocaine in a snowstorm.” I hoped he was praising her tracking skills, not drug addiction. “Here’s the thing. If she finds one, she won’t order ’til it’s paid for. I got no credit with her on account of some bad luck with the dice, and maybe some lag time on paying for parts. It’s cash and carry. And PIGS ain’t got that kind of cash.” Along with his colorful analogies, Barney was unabashed about his vices. “I’ll do what I can here, replace the muffler, change the filters, swap out some fuses, freshen up your juices, and you can pay me when you can. But to get them main parts, you’ll need cash up front.”

“If she finds them, how much time will I have?” It was a lot of money.

“You don’t want me to guess. Way my luck’s going, I’d bet wrong.” He pulled a face.

Normally I’d commiserate, but despite the magnitude of Barney’s bad news, the prospect of more time in Unknown was not as distressing as it should have been. Still, I cursed myself for the money I’d blown on children’s books, pizza with Tuesday, and photo paper. I’d forgotten my agenda. What on earth was I doing on a committee for the town festival the same month as my marathon? I needed to get back on plan. It could take me weeks to order the part, pay Barney, and have enough to get to LA. With that thought, I hurried back to work, the sound of Sharon asking if something was legal (“
Isso é legal aqui?
”) fading into the background.

I was surprised to find Ruby at the bookstore’s café when I arrived. I’d contemplated asking Tuesday to stay while I ran to the clinic to see Samuel. He was expert at addressing my health concerns. The fluttering in my chest hadn’t subsided and I was worried it could develop into a myocardial infarction. Shock can do that.

“I sent Tuesday on her way and brought you some lunch,”
Ruby said. Bruce waved from a table set for three with chicken salad, fruit, and iced tea.

“Wow, thanks Ruby. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Life isn’t about ‘have to,’ Maeve. I suspected you might have received bad news.”

My shoulders slumped even as my heart warmed. “It’s going to be a lot of money.”

“Howdy gal!” Bruce beamed as we joined him.

“All right there, Bruce?” Oliver mimicked Lulabell. Bruce ignored him.

“I hear you’re going to chair the publicity committee for the Monkey Flower Festival.”

“Oh.” The fluttering accelerated. “I…I…” The festival was four months away. The marathon was four months away.

“Lawrence.” Ruby shot him a look. “Maeve has a lot on her plate. We don’t want to overwhelm her.” She patted my hand. “We’re grateful for whatever help you can give while you’re here. With your talents you can make some lovely posters before you go.”

I relaxed. I visualized LA in October but couldn’t conjure the sand beaches as clearly as I used to. I could see a perfect meadow shot that would work for a Monkey Flower poster. “Tell me more about the festival,” I said. Last night was the first anyone had spoken to me about participating.

“Wall, it’s ’bout the biggest thing that happens in Unknown all year. There’s a parade and booths sellin’ food and art, a stage for singin’ and performances, and fireworks at night. Folks come from all around. There’s drinkin’ and dancin’ too. Someone always ends up in the tank.” Bruce smiled across the table at his ex-wife. “You should see Miss Ruby here on the dance floor. She has the lightest step in town.”

Ruby accepted his courting as calmly as ever. “It commemorates the first bloom of a flower the Tohono O’odham and
Navajo have relied upon for many purposes. The tradition of celebrating its arrival has been continued for many years.”

“Actually, it’s not just one flower. There are hundreds of monkey flower varieties,” Noah chimed in from behind me. My pulse jumped. “Ruby, is that your famous chicken salad? Who’s sick?” Noah pinched some chicken from my plate and winked.

“There’s plenty, Noah, so pull up a chair and plate and dine like an adult. No one’s sick. I thought perhaps Maeve could use some cheering after seeing Barney this morning.”

“How did it go?” Noah pulled his chair close to mine.

I blew out my bangs. I couldn’t very well do my ostrich routine with bad news if these people kept asking me about it. “It’s going to cost a ton, and it may take ages to find the parts.”

Noah’s face lightened. “Bummer,” he said cheerfully, loading chicken salad on his plate.

“Too bad you sent that burro costume back where it came from,” Bruce lamented. “Woulda been better than Ronnie’s piñata head for the parade.”

“We do events here at the store,” Noah said. “You know, the festival would be a great time to inaugurate the Little Read Picture Book. We could hold story hour, and have April or Henrietta Mankiller tell Native stories about monkey flower legends and uses.”

“I could teach the hula!” Tuesday swooped down. “Ruby, is that your famous chicken salad? What’s the occasion?”

“Maeve’s stuck here,” Noah announced. “The car repair will take forever and cost a ton!” He made it sound like I’d won the lottery.

“Yay!” Tuesday pulled up a chair. “I always do a performance at the festival. This year the Cowbelles want me to teach them to do something as well.”

“Oh shit,” said Oliver.

“Oh Lord,” said Bruce.

“As long as they don’t dance off the stage and hurt themselves,” said Samuel. He dropped a light kiss on my mouth. “I came to feed you lunch and to hear what Barney said, but it looks like you’re having a party. Ruby, is that your chicken salad?” He tugged my nose and smiled. “You must be pretty special.”

“Scooch over, Noah,” Tuesday ordered. Noah scowled but did as he was told, and Samuel pulled a chair next to me.

“The Monkey Flower Festival is important to my people. You’ll see some amazing dancing and storytelling performances from the elders.”

“I’ll get some great pictures!” I said, then remembered I’d be in LA. I pushed the thought away. I could always come back.

“Maeve, you have to help me with the Bitty Bees float,” Tuesday said. “You saw how hopeless my paper flowers were at the recital.”

“I see I missed the invitation to the party.” If she was teasing, Beth didn’t quite pull it off. The mood at the table dimmed from rollicking pizza commercial to a sober investment-banking ad. “Tuesday, you don’t have to make paper flowers. You can buy them off the Internet.”

Tuesday looked chastened and murmured, “You’re right, I guess. It’s just not as fun.”

“Beth, would you like some chicken salad?” Ruby offered.

“Oh no. I don’t eat mayonnaise.” Beth wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Twat,” Oliver said.

For some reason I found this hysterically funny and erupted into laughter. Within seconds the entire table was roaring, whether because they found it hilarious too, or because I snorted loudly as I laughed, I’ll never know. I couldn’t remember when I’d been happier.

T
he sun slanted through the front window, highlighting the planes of Noah’s face and the bulge of his forearm muscles below rolled-up sleeves. Forearms that were crossed in anger as he glared at me.

“Maeve, the Little Read Book is not that kind of store. We are a
book
store. We sell
books
. We do
not
sell trash.”

My arms were folded too as I returned his glare.

“It’s about reading, and getting people to read more. Not whether something has a dusty leather cover.”

“My store is not dusty.” His pitch rose. “And I don’t sell this crap. My goal is not to make my customers dumber.”

“That’s
The Economist
.” I pointed at the brand-new magazine rack at the front of the store, the cause of Noah’s ire. “It makes you smarter.”

“This is
Us Weekly
.” He shook it at me. “I’m less intelligent just for holding it.”

My stance was mulish. “It’s not as if I’ve stocked
Playboy
.”

“I can’t believe you did this behind my back. I take one day off, and this is what happens. We are a
book
store, not a newsstand. We do
not
sell magazines!”

“You’ve actually been selling them like crazy.” Tuesday interrupted mildly from where she was arranging the Staff Picks.

We both stopped and looked at her.

“In one day Barney bought
Popular Mechanics
and
Sports Illustrated
, Ruby bought
Traveler
, and Bruce bought
Cooking Light
. April War Bonnet picked up copies of
Oprah, Newsweek, Glamour, Cosmo, Self, Ebony, Golf Digest, GQ, Road and Track, Men’s Health
, and
Forbes
. She requested that next week you get in
Mad
magazine and
Garden and Gun
.”

We continued to stare. She shrugged.

“I didn’t ask. In contrast, you only sold one book yesterday. Liz Goldberg bought the latest R.L. Stine,
Goosebumps
, for Tommy.”

Noah wrinkled his brow. “We don’t carry
Goosebumps
. Kids Tommy’s age should be reading R.L. Stevenson, not R.L. Stine.”

I looked away guiltily to see Samuel coming through the door, and welcomed the distraction. Noah, for some reason, looked even more peeved.

“Samuel!” I smiled and waved. He gave me a harried look as he hurried over.

“And what is this emergency that requires me to leave the clinic and run over here while actually sick patients are waiting for me?” His cross words were tempered by the fact that Samuel couldn’t be abrupt if he tried. Underneath his skeptical look was concern that something might truly be wrong.

I remembered the rash I’d discovered that morning. “Oh,
see, look.” I worriedly lifted my shirt and showed him the outbreak along my abdomen. He stared in disbelief. I started to feel a little foolish. Perhaps I had overreacted. “Um, it could be Omenn syndrome or Rickettsialpox or Malassezia furfur,” I said. “Possibly discoid lupus erthematosous. That’s indicative of a serious…” my voice trailed off. Noah and Tuesday busied themselves stacking books and pretending not to eavesdrop. I got the impression that Noah enjoyed my discomfiture.

“Maeve,” Samuel chided me. “This has got to stop.”

I felt hot and defensive. “It was worse this morning.”

“Maeve.” Samuel looked at me kindly. “You don’t have lupus. Or Omenn’s. And I doubt you’ve been bitten by mice mites.” That was how you got Ricketttsialpox.

“Well I’m not a doctor,” I snapped. “How would I know?! With my bad luck, if there was just one mite in the whole state of Arizona, it would be me that got bitten!”

“Maeve.” He looked deep into my eyes and cupped my face with his hands. “It’s not bad luck. And it’s not the leukemia. You’re in remission. You’re healthy now.”

I felt like I’d been punched. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes filled, and I couldn’t see either.

Tuesday gasped, then silence hit the room like a bomb. I stared at the blurry outline of Samuel, aghast. How could he?! He’d said the L word out loud. No one did that around me. It was forbidden.

“What the hell?” said Noah. “Maeve?”

I blinked hard. The room spun. Nothing would go into my lungs. There was no air and I was dying. I felt Noah staring, mouth hanging open, while Tuesday gnawed at her lip. I was dizzy and hot. The room was pressing in. The white coat was walking down the corridor toward me. Cameron was in a box. I was…I was…

“Maeve,” Samuel beseeched. I shook my head and backed away. He reached for me but I turned and dashed out the door, ignoring him as he called my name. I broke into a run, temporarily blinded by the sunlight. I ran as if my life depended on it, sneakers pounding the pavement. I ran unseeingly past the post office, the market and up the hill. I ran beyond the paved part of the road, stumbling on the rough dirt track. I ran and ran even after my side was stabbing with pain. Now that the word had been spoken, it permeated the air and I might breathe it in. It could catch me unless I stayed ahead of it. I kept running, until a stone caused me to roll my ankle, and took me down hard. The earth felt wonderfully solid and strong underneath me, like something that could protect you. I lay gasping, face pressed into the warm grass at the side of the road, and my gasps turned to sobs.

I’d pretended to leave it behind. It was part of college. It was part of Charlotte. It was part of the past. But it wasn’t. Leukemia was part of me and it was constantly lurking, waiting for me to let down my guard. I was bawling uncontrollably now, the grass making little cuts on my forehead, fingers digging into the soft dirt.

The first time I lost a clump of hair, it’d been a good day. The chemo had been gentle on my body that week and I felt well. Vi was taking me out for pizza to celebrate. I would only manage a fraction of a bland slice of cheese, but it would feel good to be partaking in such a normal activity—a couple of gals going out for pizza on Friday night. I only spent time with my family at that point, my one experiment of telling a friend having gone badly. Susan had withdrawn as if a touch might infect her. After a few forced calls, I’d stopped answering, and she, after time, had stopped calling. Teenagers aren’t ready for cancer.
I couldn’t visit the university where I was in school because my old dorm was off-limits. There was construction across the street and the air, infected with molds and funguses, was potentially toxic. I decided that it was better to simply fade away rather than explain. Maybe my classmates knew, and maybe they didn’t. I hadn’t really cared. The germ-fest of a college campus was out of the question, and everything connected to it seemed remote.

That day, though, I was feeling good as I brushed some color across my cheeks. Too much was garish against my wan skin, but just a shimmer improved the hollows carving deeper each week. That would change when steroids bloated my features like a sumo wrestler, but in the beginning I was modeling the Skeletor look. On the days when you felt good and had a little energy, you didn’t feel ugly. Satisfied, I surveyed my reflection as I ran a hand through my long blonde hair. A thick clump of strands came along with it, tangled among my fingers.

I stared, breathless with shock. I’d been bracing myself for the loss every time I brushed my hair, but this day I’d been distracted, guard not in place. It was a sharp kick to the gullet. A reminder that even on the days you felt good, the cancer was still winning. It was April 22. I was 18 years old.

Strong hands on my shoulders brought me back to the present. Samuel rolled me over and eased me up against his solid shoulder, brushing the tangled hair from my face.

“It’s going to be okay, Maeve.” He wiped the dirt and tears from my cheeks with a cool handkerchief. He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, then slid his arms under my knees and shoulders, carrying me to where Noah was waiting in his truck. I could only sniffle. I didn’t even care that I looked a wreck.
Now that everyone knew I was rotten on the inside, what did it matter what I looked like?

Samuel settled me onto his lap in the front seat. Noah looked concerned. He started the truck, and turned around on the dirt road, pausing once to encircle my ankle for a squeeze so brief and private I might have imagined it. Then, he put the truck into drive and took us home.