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I jump in Dolly and start her up. She doesn’t bang to life, but she does splutter a few times, and I don’t will her to get moving as she starts to chug down the road. I have no words, not even to encourage my dilapidated old car. I reach the junction. I should be turning left to go to James’s. To finish his office. Turn left to do it all over again.
I turn right.
After stopping at my regular florist, I go to see Mom. It’s a gray day, the clouds heavy with rain waiting to pour, the sun a dull haze a million miles away. I let myself through the rickety gate and tread my way through the long grass, weaving around the headstones to the far side by the derelict stone wall that separates the graveyard from the world. The tulips I left over a week ago look sad and droopy, so I set about changing the water and flowers, busying myself for over an hour, weeding and fiddling around Mom’s grave. I ignore the texts that come in from Lawrence and Dexter. I’ll talk with them later. Maybe. I also ignore three calls from James. He’s undoubtedly wondering where I am.
On his fourth attempt to get hold of me, I’ve finished fixing the tulips. I take a deep breath and take his call. “Where are you?” he asks, sounding a little indignant.
“I’m not coming.”
“Why?”
“Because this can’t last, James.” Not just whatever is happening between us, but the feelings he provoked in me. It’s not sustainable. That’s been proven this morning by my confrontation with Lawrence and the onslaught of shittiness that followed. It would be a wholly unhealthy cycle of relief and shame. I’d be jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. Setting myself up for a bigger fall. No. I need to call my therapist. James will have to find someone else to finish painting his office.
“And you need it to last,” he says simply, with no judgement.
“I don’t know what I need.”
“What if I do?”
“You could never even comprehend what I need, James.” I cut the call and sink to my back on the grass, chasing the clouds with my eyes, willing them into various recognizable objects. I spot a car. A dog. An enormous heart. The clouds are being kind to me today.
My cell rings again. “Stop,” I order him quietly, lifting my arm to see the screen. But it’s not James. It’s someone else—another person I’d rather not speak to. But a mindless phone call every so often keeps him at a distance. I don’t have to see him. Face him. Restrain myself from unleashing my anger on him.
I answer. “Dad.”
“My darling girl.”
My teeth grate, my smile tight. “How are you?” I ask. I only have to look in a newspaper to find that out.
“You missed my birthday.”
“I did?”
“You can make up for it. Come to dinner with us.”
Us. Him and his girlfriend. I cringe. “You know I can’t do that.”
“I’ll book the entire restaurant out. It’ll be just us three.”
You can’t knock the man for trying and usually I wouldn’t have a problem declining, whether politely or not. But today? “Can I think about it?” What the hell?
“Yes, yes, of course.”
I can’t bear the hope in his voice. The happiness. “I’ll call you.” I hang up and sigh in despair. I can’t forgive. Won’t. But surely that’s a healthier option than this madness I’m going through with James. It has to be.
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know, and that’s why I hate this life. I. Don’t. Know. I was never indecisive in the past. I was on top of life.
Was.
Was.
Was.
What am I now? Desperate? Bitter? Twisted? All of the above?
Again . . .
I. Don’t. Know.
I chase more clouds, these ones darker, and the sky finally relents, the rain falling. It comes hard and fast. I don’t run to the church for cover. Instead, I lie there, being thrashed by the angry bullets of water, letting it numb my skin.
The thunder clashing matches my loud, crowded head.
Lonely?
Always.
It’s getting dark by the time I find the will to move. There have been many days when I’ve sat with Mom for hours, but today is a record. I’m drenched through, my clothes stuck to me, my hair heavy. I trudge through the sodden graveyard and slide into Dolly, looking up into the rearview mirror and wiping under my eyes to get rid of the black smudges.
Then I drive to Walmart.
I grab a cart and start my usual route through the aisles, finally ending up at the alcohol section. I grab a bottle.
“I’m not following you, I promise.”
I glance to my left. “You sure?” I ask, as I place my wine in the cart. “Because you look as guilty as sin.”
Ollie shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pant pockets. “I didn’t think you still did this anymore.”
