Night Road (31 page)

She wanted to tell him how much it had meant to her, his being there today. For years she’d prepared to be all alone when she got out of prison, and she saw now how painful that would have been.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly.

She nodded one last time and took the bike from him and rode away.

Soon she was smiling in spite of herself. It felt so good to be
free,
to turn when she felt like it and go where she wanted. She would never take this for granted.

She spun by the theater—saw that they’d added on to it—and the bank and the beauty salon where Aunt Eva had gotten her hair cut. There, she saw a pay phone. After a quick signal, she turned into the parking lot and called Eva, collect.

There was no answer.

Disappointed, she climbed back onto the bike and started pedaling.

The ice cream shop was still there; beside it was a new coffee shop and a computer repair place.

When she came to the high school, she slowed down. A big new gymnasium dominated the campus. It looked nothing like she remembered, except that the flagpole was still there and that was enough.

Meet me at the flagpole, by the admin building …

She pedaled harder, down the bumpy asphalt road and up Raspberry Hill. Out here, there were occasional dirt roads and the odd mailbox, but mostly it was uninhabited. Sunset was nearing, and the sky was a deep midnight color, and before she knew it she was on Night Road. She hadn’t even meant to turn here.

But here she was, at the hairpin turn. The skid marks were long gone, but the broken tree remained, its pinkish flesh almost black now. Dying.

She came to a stop and half stumbled off the bike, hearing it clatter to the pavement behind her. On either side of her, trees blocked out the sun.

The memorial to Mia was tattered now, only visible if you knew what to look for. The small white cross had been grayed by the changing seasons and stood drunkenly to the left. Here and there empty vases lay in the bushes. An old, airless balloon hung limply on a high branch.

She released her breath in a long, shaky sigh.

In prison, she’d spent years in group therapy, talking about the pain, the remorse. Her counselor had told her often that time and hard work would heal her. That she would be whole when she could forgive herself.

As if.

Even if she could forgive herself, which was inconceivable, it wouldn’t bring Mia back. That was what all those positive thinkers didn’t get: some things could never be made right. If Lexi became Mother Teresa, Mia would still be dead and it would still be Lexi’s fault. It had been six years, and still Lexi prayed to Mia every night. Every morning she woke to a split second of joy and then the pulverizing reality. It was that sense of loss that had caused her to turn to Valium for a few years, but ultimately she’d discovered that you could run from your pain, but you couldn’t hide. It was something she should have known already, a lesson she should have learned from her mother. When she realized the ugly truth—that she was becoming her mother—she quit taking the Valium. She was so clean now she hardly even took aspirin. The only real answer lay in the courage to see a thing clearly and try to do better. Be better.

She knelt there a long time, on the cold, hard roadside, knowing it was dangerous to be stopped on this curve and not caring. If anyone saw her here …

Finally, she got back on the bike and started to ride. She almost sped right past the Farraday house, but at the last minute she stopped. Even in the falling darkness, she could see how different the place looked. The garden was untended, the planter boxes were empty.

She saw the mailbox: their name was still on it.

When a pair of headlights shone at her, she jumped on the bike and rode away. From a safe distance, she watched a silver Porsche turn into the driveway behind her.

Miles.

Sighing, she rode back into town and bought dinner at a fast-food place. At Scot’s office, she locked up the bike and went inside through the back door. In the conference room, she found a red floral sofa bed with a neat pile of white sheets set on the cushion. Beside the sheets lay a manila envelope.

She picked up the envelope. Below it, stuck to the cushion, was a pink Post-it note.

Lexi—She’s in kindergarten. Morning class.

F.Y.I.

S

She opened the manila folder and found a single photograph. There, smiling up at her, was an elfin blond-haired girl in a pink blouse.

Her daughter
.

*

Man plans. God laughs
.

Lexi understood that sentence for the first time.

She had planned her release from prison down to the smallest detail. She’d talked about her plans in Group and told Tamica everything. She had intended to go to Florida and move in with Eva and Barbara and start looking for a job. She’d even dreamed of graduate school. She would make a good social worker; maybe she could help girls in trouble. It hadn’t occurred to her that once she left the razor wire behind, she would be back in a world where unexpected things happened.

Who would have thought she’d end up here, on Pine Island? The only place in the world she didn’t want to be.

She made up the sofa bed and then crawled between the softest sheets she’d ever felt. Pale light from an outside street lamp fell through the window, lighting the dark room. She closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep, but it was so quiet, and she could have sworn that the picture of Grace was breathing.

For years, she’d ruthlessly suppressed all thoughts of her daughter. She walked away when Tamica mentioned Grace and turned away when the TV screen showed images of little girls running into their mothers’ arms. She’d told herself that Grace deserved the kind of life Lexi could never offer.

But now, in the dark, with the photograph beside her, she felt that resolve weaken.

She slept fitfully, dreaming dreams that were best forgotten. Finally, at six o’clock, she threw the covers back. Padding barefooted to the bathroom, she was surprised to find a shower. She took her first private shower in years and dried off with a soft white towel.

Her reflection afterward showed a face that was pointed and thin, like a drowned rat, framed by wispy black curls. Towel drying her hair, she dressed in the courtroom clothes that were all she had and went in search of breakfast, which she found at a local diner.

Still, the photograph in her purse kept breathing. Sometimes she heard a giggle, and, irrationally, she thought it came from the bag.

After breakfast, she walked up Main Street and found a local thrift shop that was just opening for the day. She used seven dollars to buy a pair of secondhand Bermuda shorts, a blue T-shirt that had a dragonfly stenciled on the front, and an aqua cotton hoodie. She traded her black flats for a pair of flip-flops and threw the kneesocks away.

Walking out of the store, she smiled, feeling really free for the first time. She had a bus ticket to Florida in her pocket. In no time at all—just seven and a half hours—she’d be on her way out of here …

A yellow smear moved in a gust of black exhaust. A school bus. Small faces peered out from the windows.

Lexi didn’t make a conscious decision to follow the bus; rather, she just kept walking. On Turnagin Way, she angled left and walked up the hill. By the time she reached the four-way stop, there were kids all around, laughing and talking and dragging ridiculously big backpacks on the sidewalk beside them. There were mothers everywhere, too, monitoring crosswalks and conversations and movement.

A line of buses was parked in front of the elementary school. The carpool lane ran through a row of parked cars, parents dropping their kids off.

A black SUV pulled past her and stopped.

Lexi’s breath caught. From her place by the tree, she saw Jude get out of the SUV and go to the back passenger door, opening it wide.

And there, sitting in a big car seat, was a miniature version of Mia, with buoyant corn-silk blond hair and a heart-shaped face.

Lexi inched sideways for a better view, making sure she was partially hidden within the crowd of schoolchildren.

Jude helped Grace out of the car and stepped back.

Grace didn’t smile, and Jude didn’t give her a kiss, and then Grace walked away alone.

Lexi frowned. She couldn’t help remembering how it had been before, when Jude had driven Mia and Lexi to school. The kisses, the hugs, the game-show contestant waves good-bye.

Maybe Jude was having a bad day. Or Grace had just said a bad word or gotten in trouble. Or maybe Grace had asked not to be kissed in public and Jude snuggled with her before they got in the car.

Lexi hardly noticed when the SUV started to move again. By the time she reached the crosswalk, it was in the line of cars exiting the school grounds, but Lexi wasn’t looking there. All of her attention was focused on the little girl in the yellow T-shirt wearing a ridiculously big Hannah Montana backpack. Her shoulders were slumped, and she moved reluctantly toward the school, dragging her feet.

No one talked to Grace as she walked into the school.

Moments later, the bell rang, and the few remaining students ran for the school doors.

Lexi stood on the patch of grass between the bus lane and the carpool lane, staring at the now-quiet brick grade school.
She’s in kindergarten. Morning class.

She had walked alone into too many schools herself, with no one waving good-bye, no one coming to pick her up. She remembered how alone she’d felt at lunchtime.

Alone
.

That was what Lexi remembered most about her early childhood. She had always felt alone, a stranger in someone else’s family, an outsider in some new school. Even after Eva, Lexi had never quite felt
enfolded
in a family … until she’d met the Farradays. From that first day of ninth grade, when she’d met Mia and come home with her, Lexi had felt welcomed into their midst.

That was why she’d given them custody of Grace, so her daughter would know how it felt to be loved.

Lexi looked down at her watch. It was not quite nine o’clock. How long did morning kindergarten last? Two hours? Three?

The bus for Florida didn’t leave until 3:30. That gave her several hours with nothing to do.

She could ride her bike around town or get something to eat or go to the library and read. But even as she ran through the list of things she could do, she knew there was only one thing she wanted to do.

Don’t do it
.
You made your choice
.
Think of Grace
.

The arguments rifled through her thoughts, but she paid them no mind. She couldn’t, not this time. For every day of her daughter’s life, Lexi had pictured Grace happy and well adjusted. Loved and adored.
That
Grace she could make herself walk away from.

But this little girl, with her draggy feet and slumped shoulders … this little girl didn’t look happy.

“She is though,” Lexi said aloud. “Anyone can have a bad day.”

Still, she walked around the school, up past the portables, to the big playground out back. Here, confined within a chain-link fence was the elementary school play yard: basketball hoops and paved pads and grassy areas and a baseball diamond. She found a giant evergreen shadowing a patch of grass. There, she sat down and waited.

As the minutes passed, she told herself she’d misinterpreted what she’d seen, imposed her own sad school history on Grace. Her daughter was a happy girl—she had to be—the Farradays were the Bradys for a new generation. No one lived in the Brady house and felt lonely or unloved. She’d prove it to herself and then be on her way.

Around ten-thirty, a bell rang. The big double doors banged open and a herd of small kids ran out onto the playground.

Kindergarten recess. It was obvious. There were only about thirty kids, and they were so
small
. A pretty brunette woman in jeans and a red blouse supervised their play.

Lexi got to her feet, moving along the fence line.

Grace was the last one to come out of the school. She stood off to the side, alone. She seemed to be talking to herself. To the back of her hand, actually. The other kids laughed and played and ran around. Grace just stood there, talking to her watch.

Smile,
Lexi thought.
Please
.

But Grace never smiled, not once, during that ten-minute recess. None of the kids talked to her, and she didn’t join into any of the games.

No one likes her,
Lexi thought, with a stab in her chest. “Gracie,” she whispered, shaking her head.

Across the playground, Grace looked up, although she couldn’t possibly have heard her name spoken aloud. Lexi felt that look pierce her. Unable to help herself, she waved.

Grace looked behind her. Seeing no one there, she turned back to Lexi. Slowly, she smiled and waved back. Then the bell rang and she ran into the school.