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And honestly, I am tired of being on the run. Looking for somewhere to land when the truth is, I have exactly no one. Never really have. If I just had one friend, one family member—anyone—then maybe things wouldn’t be so hard.
Before I log in to work on my ABCs, I check email. When I see a new message—something other than spam for Viagra or refinancing the house I’ll never own. It’s from Sadie.
My hands get sweaty—which, I know, super sexy.
To: [email protected]… clever, right? But I made this email account when I was eleven, okay? Guess I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder.
Remedy,
Not sure if this is your email anymore. It’s been so long. Call me if you get this. I’ve been going through some old stuff and found a box of yours that I’ve saved all this time. Hope you’re doing okay.
Love you like always, Sadie
She leaves her number after her name and I immediately write it down. What was I literally just saying I needed? A freaking lifeline.
I log off and grab my bag, the piece of paper in my hand. At the front desk, I ask the clerk, with as much sweetness as I can muster, to use the phone.
“It’s not a public phone, Remedy.”
“I know. It’s really important. I promise.”
My tone must reveal something because she pulls the landline up to the counter and tells me to dial three before I enter the number.
Pulling out the paper, I carefully enter the numbers. Truth is, Sadie is the closest thing to family I have ever had.
“Hello?” A voice I’d know anywhere comes through the line.
“Hey, it’s Rem,” I tell her, tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “I got your email.”
The line is silent and for a moment I wonder if the memories I have of Sadie and me, both ten, sharing a bed in the basement of our foster home. We pinky swore we would always look out for one another. Always.
We haven’t talked in over three years.
“Rem. Wow. Is it really you?”
“Yeah, the one and only.”
“Where are you living?” she asks. “Last I heard you were going to art school in California.”
“Yeah, that didn’t happen. Kinda floating around right now.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry college didn’t happen, Rem.” Her voice is soft—Sadie always was the tender one. The yin to my yang, or whatever.
“It’s cool,” I say, swallowing the memories of getting kicked out of art school a semester in. It’s always been me against the world.
I wonder if I’ll ever outgrow the need to fight against the things I want the most? Self-sabotage is my bread and butter.
“So, when you say floating? What do you mean?”
I look up at the clerk who is doing a terrible job of ignoring me.
“Well, I don’t have a place to live, exactly. I’m in Seattle and… yeah. I’m trying to keep my chin, up, ya know? Keep on…”
“Keepin’ on,” she finishes for me. “Hey, if you’re trying to get your life together, come up to Alaska for a few months. I’d love to see you. I’m in Ketchikan, living with my boyfriend, Ray. We have an empty couch with your name on it.”
“Alaska?” I smile. “I’m not surprised. You always wanted to travel.” My heart warms at the idea of Sadie living the life she always wanted. “I could stay with you, really?” I don’t mention that I have no ideal how the hell I would ever get up there.
“Of course. It would be so good, like old times.”
I frown, having a hard time separating the good from the bad.
Old times revolved around our bitch of a foster mom forcing Sadie to clean the house, watch her kids—every job she was too lazy to do herself. Old times revolved around me getting sick of watching my best friend get treated like yesterday’s trash.
Old times revolved around me taking matters into my own hands.
No surprise I’ve been on my own since I was twelve.
“Want my address? You can take a ferry from Bellingham. Do it, Rem. It would be amazing.”
It feels good to pretend, if even just for this phone call.
“Okay, Sadie, I’ll come.”
2
Remedy
I hang up with a smile on my face. Which is apparently shocking because the clerk, Diana, asks me who that was.
I don’t do personal, yet somehow, I find myself telling her about Sadie. About how we grew up in foster care. About her offer.
“Can I help?” Diana asks, already pulling something up on her computer.
“With what?” I give her a cynical stare. I know the price of help.
“With the fare. I could get you a ticket, Remedy.”
“Why?”
She tilts her head, gives a sad sigh as if she thinks I have no clue. Which, maybe I don’t. I don’t know much about generosity.
“Because everyone needs a little help sometimes.”
* * *
A few days later, I find myself leaning against the kitchen counter in Sadie’s one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Ketchikan. After a bus ride from Seattle to Bellingham, I boarded a ferry bound for the Southern tip of Alaska. And amazingly, two days later, here I am, watching my oldest, and only, friend mix a bottle of red sauce into a pot of spaghetti noodles.
