Riversong (3 page)

In the yard the sky felt long and hazy, different than the day before. She knew it would be a scorcher, unusual for June. She walked the path towards the swimming hole. At the swing, she paused, holding the rough rope between her fingers, wondering what it felt like to fly over the river and then plunge into the mystery of its waters without fear or hesitation. She took the worn path to the water, slipping several times but going on anyway, determined to be brave. At the river's edge, she inched in, her overheated skin shocked at the cold. When the water reached her shoulders she moved her arms in a circular motion, pretending to swim, keeping her feet anchored to the sandy floor. Then she bent her knees, closing her eyes and submerging her head under the water. She stayed like that with her eyes scrunched closed until the coolness seeped in through her skin and reached the place inside her where hope and despair lived side by side. She imagined the pain of her childhood diminishing to flecks of ice. Her feet came off the ground and she opened her eyes. She was floating. Her hair streamed out in front of her as her t-shirt ballooned around her body like a safety device, bubbles escaping from her shorts. The gray floor of the river hosted several red crawfish and a school of minnows swam around her. Infinitesimal specks of fluorescent algae drifted through the water, illuminated by the pelting sunlight. She felt triumphant. She was refreshed, cool at last.

Later that morning Mrs. White came in her truck, beeping her horn to let Lee know she'd arrived. Eleanor was on the porch already. Lee took her suitcase in hand, looking around the shabby house one last time. She wanted desperately to go but felt that nudge of guilt, knowing she was all her mother had in the world.

Eleanor leaned against a porch post, smoking a cigarette, dressed in a faded blue, tattered housecoat. Mrs. White's acute eyes watched from the truck. Lee reached to hug her mother, smelling the familiar scent of vodka and cigarettes, but the suitcases made it an awkward bump of shoulders. “I'll visit soon,” said Lee, lying.

“You'll be back soon enough. It's not as easy out there as you think. You'll see.”

“Alright, well, I love you.” The words felt strangled, unfamiliar.

Her mother took a drag of her cigarette and swept her hand in the air as if she were ridding herself of junk. “Go on now, Ellen's waiting for you.” Lee turned and walked down the steps of the porch and into the waiting truck, raging suddenly against her mother for making what should be a victorious sweep to art school one last bitter moment in Lee's mouth.

They drove the thirty minutes to the bus depot in silence. Lee's stomach was nervous, her mind racing. She started to cry when she saw the bus depot sign. Mrs. White handed her a tissue. Lee took it, blowing her nose angrily. Lee was relieved that Mrs. White didn't say something trite, meant to be comforting like adults sometimes did. She just parked silently and hauled the suitcase out of the back of the truck with one hand.

Lee walked to the booth and bought a one-way ticket to Seattle. She checked her suitcase but kept her canvas bag with her wallet, a book, and sketch pad for the trip. Mrs. White handed her a paper bag that smelled of cinnamon. “I baked you a few things. It's a long ways. You best call me when you get there. Collect.”

“Alright. You'll tell my mother?”

“Sure thing.”

Then they stood on the hot cement that smelled of urine and spilled oil, waiting for the sign to board. Lee sniffed and wiped her eyes with the tissue.

After a time Mrs. White cleared her throat and without looking at Lee said, “My husband was a drunk too, mean as the day is long after a half a bottle of Jim Beam. It's a heartbreaking way to live and I'm sure if your mother could help it, she would live a different way. But that isn't your concern any longer. You've done your time. I'll look after your mother, so don't worry about her. Just go live your life.”

“What if I don't know how?” The tears started again, in furious little streams down her cheeks.

Mrs. White crossed her arm and pursed her lips, looking over at her with flashing eyes. “Nonsense. You'll figure it out. Don't let anyone tell you differently.”

“It's time,” she said, nodding towards the bus. She gave Lee a slight push. Before Lee put her foot on that first step, she turned back to Mrs. White and called out, “Thank you.”

“Go get ‘em,” she called back, smiling.

Inside the bus it was air conditioned and smelled of stale cigarette smoke. It was nearly empty so she chose the front seat, close to the driver, for safety's sake. She looked out the window. Mrs. White was still there. Lee waved. Mrs. White waved back.

L
ee shuddered under the awning of her condominium building on Seattle's Second and Blanchard, searching vainly in the dark for the man who called himself Von. It was midnight and the wind off the Puget Sound was fierce, bringing the scent of seaweed and fish along with a chill that seemed to penetrate through her clothing and into her bones so that her teeth chattered like a child at an early morning swimming lesson. Across the street was a black sedan, parked in the same spot for a week, a man watching her every move. For the fifth time in five minutes she felt the inside pocket of her mint green pea coat for the cashier's check and reassured it was there withdrew her hands into the sleeves. The rain pooled on the roof of the glass awning and dripped onto the cement in a steady mind numbing rhythm. A sudden distant shout from late night drinkers feeling a different kind of buzz made her jump.

Then she saw a shadow across the street; a figure dragging one foot slightly behind the other in a limp. He nodded at her and walked across the street to where she waited, feeling small and more frightened than she'd ever been in her life.

“You able to get it?” He stood in front of her, shaking the rain from his Mariner's cap, a splash landing on her face. With the palm of his hand he smoothed the few wisps of brown hair on his otherwise bare head.

“Yes.”

He stepped closer and she smelled rank cigarette smoke on his coat. “Good.”

She handed him the envelope and wrapped her arms around herself to stop shaking.

He licked his index finger and lifted the check from the envelope. His eyes darted to the amount and then to her face. His eyes glittered but his voice was low, without emotion. “This is only half.”

Her voice wavered and cracked. “I couldn't get it all.”

He put the check in his jacket and Lee caught sight of the shiny handle of a handgun. He put a cigarette in his mouth. “I said all of it.”

“I sold everything we had.”

He lit his cigarette and took a deep drag, exhaling slowly. “You gotta get me that money.”

Lee's eyes stung from the smoke that drifted around her face. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. “This is to show you I'm good for it, that I don't plan to cheat you. I can get it eventually but I need some time.”

“You're out of time.”

“I just don't have it.” She tasted blood and realized it was from inside her own lip.

“We'll give you another week. I'll meet you right here a week from now.”

“What if I can't get it? What then?”

He threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped it with his heel. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

She shook her head no and put her hand to her mouth. “I want you to know, this is not who I am. I'm a respected businesswoman in this town. I'm an honest person. This was all a terrible mistake.”

He took another cigarette from his pack and held it in the air almost as if he expected her to light it for him. “Lady, it don't matter to me what kind of person you are. I'm hired to get the money owed to my boss. Nothing more nothing less.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “A fact's a fact. You owe my boss this money and he don't care one wit if you've been deluding yourself about who you really are or who your husband was. This money you owe, that's who you are to him.”

She chastised herself silently, telling herself to stop talking and just get out. He was correct, she had been delusional but her eyes had been recently pulled open like a person on a torture device, one sickening revelation after another. She said, “Fine, I'll see you next week.”

“Don't stand me up, Lee Johnson. It wouldn't be pretty.”

“I won't,” she lied. There was a woman headed towards the glass door and Lee scurried behind her into the lit lobby.

A few moments later Lee sat on the master bedroom toilet, wearing a bra and panties around her ankles. She held a new pregnancy test in her hands. It was shaped like a pen and had two display windows. She pulled off the plastic cover and stuck it between her legs, aiming her urine stream at the spongy end of the stick like the directions said. Some of it splashed her thighs. Holding the test in one hand like a sword, she cleaned up with toilet paper. Sweat dribbled between her breasts. She waited, never taking her eyes from the test. The line in the first window turned pink. According to the package it would take at least a minute for the line in the other window to appear. If it did she was pregnant. “Please be negative,” she whispered to herself. “Please.”

This was torture, she thought. Couldn't they make a faster test? Her eyes landed on the soaking tub, wondering bitterly if the new owners would love it as much as she had.

She breathed in through her nose and out her mouth like in Pilates class. She counted to twenty. At twenty-one, she peered at the test. Two dark pink lines showed in the second window.

She was pregnant. She'd known it. But here it was in pink and white. She said inside her head, “No, no, no. This can't be.” She crossed her arms over her tender breasts, fighting the urge to cry. She ordered herself to hold it together as she pulled up her panties and threw the test in her bag, on top of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then she pulled on a traditional Islamic dress and fastened a full Burka over her head. She looked in the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. Maybe no one else would either.

She went to the window and moved the drawn shade a crack to see that it was still drizzling. A layer of fog hovered just above the center of the skyscraper across from where she stood. She looked to the street below. The black sedan was still there.

She grabbed her bag and went out to the living room. Her friend Linus paced by the front door. He stopped, staring at her. “Well, it's a good disguise, I'll give it that.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “But keep your head down anyway.” His voice was grave and shaky. He plucked nervously at the purple knit scarf around his neck.

“I know. We've been over and over the plan.”

“What took you so long?”

She paused, and for the first time in their fifteen year friendship she held something from him. She wouldn't tell him she was pregnant. It was too much for him to absorb, after all they'd gone through these last several weeks.

The moment had come to say goodbye. She wanted to express her love and gratitude to him but she felt awkward, clumsy. She tried anyway, clearing her throat. “Linus, I don't say it enough, don't know if I've ever said it, but I love you.” Her voice broke. “I want you to know that, in case anything happens. Maybe if I'd said it more to Dan, he'd still be here.”

He put up his hand to quiet her. “Please, Lee, you've got to stop punishing yourself. What he's done is not your fault.” His voice was angry now, his cheeks flushed.

“It occurred to me this morning that when I disappear it's not only from these awful people but from you too. It didn't sink in until today. Isn't that stupid?” She started to cry.

“I know. Me too.” He wrapped his arms around her.

“We've spoken almost everyday for fifteen years.”

“I know.”

“I even called you on my honeymoon. Remember?”

He smoothed her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. “This isn't forever. Just get your mother's house sold so you can pay off this bastard. Then I'll come pick you up. You can stay with me when you come home. Start a new life. I'll give you a job at Figs when you get back.”

She smiled, hiccupping. “I don't know anything about food.”

He chuckled. “And you don't drink. You can't work in a restaurant without drinking. It's against the restaurant code.”

She tried not to cry but tears fell from her eyes one after the other. “Don't forget about me. I don't want to come back and find you've replaced me with some other woman.”

He moved his hands to her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Unless George Clooney whisks me off to his villa in Lake Como, I'll be here.” His eyes were full of tears now too. “I've got to go before I lose it. Please be careful.” He kissed her on the cheek and left through the door he'd come and gone from so many times before.

She looked around the bare condo for the last time; at the vaulted ceilings, granite counters, marble fireplace, designer paints on the walls. Everything had been decorated just so. “We'll be so happy here”, her husband had said the night they moved in. And now he was dead. Out of habit she touched her ring finger to play with her wedding ring. But it was no longer there, sold for cash like everything else. There was nothing but the slight indentation in her skin to prove their five-year marriage ever existed.

She peered down the length of the eighth floor hallway for human shadows. There was no one, no sounds or movement. She punched the elevator button and held her breath until the doors opened and closed. All the way down she fidgeted until the elevator came to a stop. She walked into the lit lobby and out the door. The rain was coming down harder than before. A car passed but the street was mostly empty. Across the street the man still sat in the black car, reading a newspaper. He might have glanced at her but she couldn't be sure. She forced herself to walk at a casual pace, watching out of the corner of her eye, holding her breath. At the corner there was a homeless man, his bearded bleary face half hidden behind a cardboard box. She saw the man in the sedan turn the page of the newspaper, uninterested in her. He hadn't recognized her, she thought. She put her head down and walked up the hill to Fifth Avenue.