Night Road (40 page)

Jude remembered it in a rush: standing by the railing with her parents, throwing fries to the gulls teeming overhead.
That’s it, punkin … kid’s got quite an arm, doesn’t she, Caro?

“He loved us both,” Jude said.

Her mother nodded. “It’s good to talk about him finally.”

And just like that, Jude knew what she had to do. Maybe she’d known for years, but just now, this instant, in the sweet glow of this new start, she was ready to try. “I can’t stay for lunch. I’m sorry. There’s something I need to do.”

“Of course,” her mother said. If she was surprised by the sudden change, she didn’t show it. She led the way to the elevator.

There, they stared at each other for a long time; in her mother’s aged porcelain face, Jude saw the long-forgotten image of another woman, one who’d loved to paint.

“I’ve missed you, Judith,” her mother said softly.

“Me, too. I’ll see you Saturday.”

Jude left the austere penthouse and returned to the underground parking structure on Virginia Street. From there, she drove out of the dark lot and into a rainy day. Driving carefully, she arrived at the Capitol Hill Community Center. There, she sat in her car for more than ninety minutes, waiting. Every moment she sat there was an act of courage; it would have been so much easier to drive away. That was what she’d done a dozen times before …

Finally, a car pulled up and parked in front of her, and then another. Within a few minutes, she could see people going in. Most of them were women, walking alone in the rain, without umbrellas.

Jude knew how dangerous and frightening this choice was, but she knew how dangerous the other choice was, too.

Love is an act of will
.

For too long she’d been afraid of it.

Her hand was shaking as she opened her car door and stepped out into the rain. She fisted her hands and walked across the street.

A woman came up beside her. She was young, with flowing black hair and brown eyes that were full of tears.

Jude fell into step with the woman, although neither one said anything.

A sign beside the open door read:
Compassionate Friends
.
2:00
P.M.
Grief support group
.

Jude paused, maybe even stumbled. Fear opened up inside her so fast and sharp she couldn’t breathe. It occurred to her to turn and run. She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t want to do this. What if they wanted her to let go of Mia?

The woman beside her touched Jude’s hand.

Jude gasped, turned. She looked at the woman with the dark hair, and now she saw more than tears. She saw understanding. Here was another woman who had empty eyes and a pinched mouth and had forgotten to color her hair. Jude knew this woman knew how it felt to be both filled with pain and achingly numb.

Is this what I look like?
Jude thought suddenly. She did what she’d never done in her life: she reached out to a stranger and held on. Together, they walked through the open doors.

*

In the end, it was exactly as it had been in the beginning. No one had a job for an ex-convict with a sociology degree and no real experience. As her prospects dwindled, so did her hope, until by late Thursday afternoon, she knew she was just going through the motions.

Now, as she sat on her driftwood log at LaRiviere Park, she understood.

She’d never had a chance, really.

Lexi closed her eyes at that.

She knew what she had to do. The hours down here had been a bandage, nothing more.

It was time. She’d put off the inevitable long enough.

She walked over to where she’d left her bike and climbed on, pedaling up the hill toward the main road. She bypassed Night Road and circled back to the Farraday house. Holding tightly to the grips, she made her bumping way down the gravel driveway and stopped at the garage. She was shaking so badly it was hard to position the bike near the side wall of the building, and finally she gave up and let the bike fall into the tall grass. She couldn’t help noticing again the runaway garden and remembering how clipped and cared for it once had been.

Ripples,
she thought. Grief had endless consequences. Pushing that thought aside, she went to the front door and knocked quickly—before she lost her nerve.

Jude opened the door. “Lexi,” she said, obviously surprised.

“I want to give you something for Grace.”

“She’s up in Zach’s old room, watching a movie.”

“Oh. I didn’t think she’d be here.”

“Would you like to see her?”

Lexi knew she should say no, but how could she? She nodded. Unable to dredge up words to accompany the gesture, she turned away from Jude and went up the stairs to Zach’s old room. At the door, she paused just long enough to draw a strengthening breath, then she knocked on the door, heard a chirpy
come in,
and opened the door.

“Hi, Mommy. What are you doing here?” Grace sat up in Zach’s bed, frowning.

Lexi actually stumbled. She tried to cover her mistake with a smile, but realized that she’d done that badly, too.

It was a lot to handle all at once—Grace’s beautiful face, her saying,
mommy
… and Zach’s room.

Everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of the boy with whom she’d fallen in love—a tangle of plastic dinosaurs, a football, a colorful collection of Disney videotapes, green-spined video games. But it was the worn copy of
Jane Eyre
sitting on the dresser that killed her. She went to it, picked it up, felt its slick, crinkled cover … saw her name, scrawled in a lost penmanship on the inside cover. He’d kept it. All these years.

“You’re not coming to take me away, are you?” Grace asked worriedly.

Lexi put the book down and turned to face her daughter. “No. May I sit next to you?”

“Okay.”

Lexi climbed into the bed (Zach’s bed, but she shouldn’t think about things that didn’t matter anymore) and scooted as close to Grace as she dared. “I scared you the other day.”

“Nothin’ scares me. I punched Jacob in the nose and he’s way bigger’n me.”

“I shouldn’t have said I wanted you to live with me. That wasn’t what I meant to say at all.”

“Oh. That. You don’t want me to live with you?”

Lexi flinched. “I don’t know much about being a mom. And I can see how much you love being with your daddy.”

Grace seemed to relax at that. “Do you know how to make cupcakes?”

“No. Why?”

“I dunno. Moms just make stuff.”

Lexi leaned back against Zach’s headboard. The bulletin board across the room, above the dresser, was still full of newspaper clippings and ribbons he’d won in high school. For what, she couldn’t even remember. “So I guess you want the kind of mom who makes cupcakes and walks you to school.”

Grace laughed and covered her mouth to stifle the sound. “I live
way
too far to walk. Samantha Green’s mom makes everyone a cape for Halloween. Do you know how to sew?”

“Nope. I pretty much blow in the good-mother category.” Lexi looked down at her daughter, feeling loss yawn inside of her.

“I wish I had a chipmunk,” Grace said. “I’d let you play with it.”

Lexi couldn’t help laughing. “That would be cool.”

“Daddy says chipmunks aren’t pets, but I think they could be,” Grace added, laughing. She immediately covered her mouth.

Lexi gently pulled Grace’s hand away from her mouth. “Don’t ever be afraid to laugh, Gracie.”

Grace looked up at Lexi through hopeful eyes.

Lexi knew she would always remember this moment, and if she were lucky, and she didn’t do anything to screw it up, maybe Grace would remember it, too.

She took the sapphire ring off her finger and offered it to Grace. “I’d like you to have this, Grace.”

“It’s a grownup ring.”

“Maybe your dad can put it on a chain so you can wear it as a necklace until it fits you.”

“It’s really pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you are, Princess.”

“That’s what my daddy calls me. Why are you giving me this? It’s not my birthday.”

Lexi swallowed hard. “I need to leave, Grace. I thought. It doesn’t matter what I thought. I was wrong to come here. I’m not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Lexi couldn’t say it out loud. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, though. That’s what I want you to remember. And I’ll write every week and call as much as I can. Okay?”

Grace’s lower lip trembled. “I was mean to you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Lexi said. “I shouldn’t have come here. I just … keep hurting the Farradays … and I … Can I have a hug?”

Grace scrambled over Lexi’s lap and gave her a huge hug.

Lexi clung to her daughter, trying to physically imprint the memory of this embrace on both of them. “I love you, Grace,” she whispered into her ear. “Don’t you forget that, okay?” She heard Grace’s little hiccup, and the sound pushed Lexi over the edge. She felt the start of tears, and this time there was no holding them back.

“Don’t cry, Mommy.”

Lexi wiped her eyes and pulled back just enough so that she was face-to-face with Grace. “Crying is a good thing sometimes. I’ve waited a long time for those tears. You can send me your school drawings, and I’ll put them on my fridge.” Lexi leaned closer and kissed her daughter’s plump little mouth. “And I’ll learn to make cupcakes.”

“Okay,” Grace said. She looked sad and confused and uncertain.

Lexi didn’t know how to mend those emotions without making promises she couldn’t keep. Some endings simply couldn’t be what you dreamed. All she could do was make memories now, say good-bye, and hope for a better future. She’d save her money as fast as she could and come back to claim a life with her daughter.

She kissed Grace one last time and uncoiled herself from her daughter; then she got off the bed and stood there, looking down.

Grace was furiously whispering at her wrist mirror and trying not to cry.

“Don’t cry, Gracie. It’ll be okay,” Lexi said, stroking her hair.

“That’s what
she
says.”

Lexi actually managed to smile at that. “You’re lucky to have such a good friend, but I’ll make you a deal: if you make friends with someone in your class,
really
make friends, I’ll send some cupcakes in September for the first-grade party.”

Grace wiped her eyes and looked up at Lexi. “How?”

“How what?”

“How do I make a friend? No one likes me.”

Lexi sat down again. “Well, you can’t keep punching boys and lying. If you want to make friends, you have to do friendly things. Who is the nicest girl in your class?”

“Samantha. But she never talks to me.”

“Okay. Tomorrow, you just go up to Samantha and say something nice to her. And you don’t cheat or lie one time. Tell her you like playing with her.”

“What if I don’t?”

“You will,” Lexi promised. “I had a best friend once, and I could tell her anything. She always made me smile. I never felt alone when she was around.”

She hugged her daughter one last time and forced herself to walk away from the bed, past the copy of
Jane Eyre,
touching it once more (it didn’t mean anything that he’d kept it; don’t think otherwise). In the hallway, she paused and looked back.

Grace sat huddled in the big bed, looking incredibly sad and small.

“I love you, Gracie.”

“Bye, Mommy.” Grace sniffled.

“Tell your daddy I said … hey.” She closed the door behind her.

She should have run from this house as fast as she could. And she would have, if she hadn’t looked down the hallway to Mia’s room. She moved toward it almost instinctively, opened the door.

The room welcomed her as it always had, drew her in. She went to the dresser, where Mia’s phone lay beside an English lit paper with an
A
written across the top. A row of plastic Breyer horses lined the windowsill. There were a dozen pictures of Mia—at play rehearsal, at dance class, sitting by the beach with Zach. There were no pictures of her and Mia in the room anymore. Once, though, they’d been everywhere.

“I haven’t let myself come in here in … a while,” Jude said behind her.

Lexi spun around, her face hot. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Jude reached down for the stuffed puppy on the nightstand, picked it up.
Daisy Doggy
. “I used to sleep in here. It worried Miles and my therapist after a while, so I closed the door. Erica cleans it, but I don’t come in.”

“I can feel her in here,” Lexi said quietly.

“Can you? You’re lucky then.”