Far From You (10 page)

The clock on the dashboard

said 5:07 when it was time

for another dose of heat.

I thought back

to waking up

on the couch

at five in the morning

in the matchbox house,

and what I wouldn’t give

to be back there

again.

Vic and I

exchanged some words

about how much

we did and didn’t sleep

and joked about

breakfast.

I ordered pancakes with bacon,

while she thought a

a Spanish omelet

sounded good.

Then

it was deathly quiet

in the darkness

until she said,

“Ali, I want you to know, um—

I really do love your father. A lot.”

“I know.”

“And I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.

It’s all new to me.

Like it is to you.”

She sounded

sincere.

“From what he tells me,” she went on,

“your mom was a great woman.”

She paused.

Then she said,

“She sounds like someone I would have liked.”

Ivy started to fuss,

so Vic pulled up her sweater

and put her there,

secretly hoping,

I’m sure,

that Ivy was getting

more than just comfort.

“She was awesome,” I whispered

as we listened to Ivy’s

little suckling sounds.

“You know those sketches?” I continued.

“On my bed that day?

Those were hers.

I found them, locked in her desk.”

“Really?

Why were they were locked away?”

I’d thought about that.

About what that meant,

and why she didn’t give them to me,

even if they weren’t finished.

I think it’s like my music.

“Sometimes it’s just too personal,” I told Vic.

I think she drew

those sketches at a time

when she was really hurting.

Thinking about leaving me

and wishing,

on paper,

she didn’t have to.

Kinda like

my songs.

Me writing them,

thinking about her leaving me,

and wishing,

through music,

she didn’t have to.

Except maybe

Claire was right.

Maybe I’ve been wishing

long enough.

As snow filled the air,

Blaze filled my thoughts.

With every breath,

my heart ached

to see him again,

to touch him again,

to hold him again.

What if

I never saw him again?

Did he know

how much I loved him?

Did he

really

and truly

know?

Victoria noticed

when quiet tears

trickled out.

“Ali?”

“I should have done it.”

“Done what?”

“He got us a hotel room.

On his birthday.

But I couldn’t do it.”

She put Ivy

in her car seat,

then moved over

so she sat

next to me.

“I just hope he knows

how much I love him,” I told her.

“Ali,” she said,

“you don’t do it to prove your love.

Saying no means you love yourself
and
him.

Besides, he obviously adores you.

He let you decide.

And it didn’t change anything between you.

Right?”

I nodded.

“The way you look at him?” she said,

wrapping her arm around me

and pulling me to her.

“He knows.

Believe me, he knows.”

The snow

was getting

deeper

and

deeper.

The air

was getting

colder

and

colder.

Our spirits

were getting

lower

and

l

o

w

e

r.

“I have to go for help,” Victoria said,

looking out the window

at the vast display of whiteness.

“You won’t make it.

It’s too cold.”

She looked at me.

“I have to try.

If I don’t, none of us will make it.”

I offered to go,

so it was me

making the sacrifice

instead of her.

But she shook her head.

“No. I got us into this.

I’ll get us out.”

“Victoria, you’re Ivy’s mother.

She needs you.

She needs your milk.

I
have
to go.

Don’t argue.

I’m going.”

I started to pull out clothes to wear,

when she grabbed my arm.

I had never seen her

so stern.

“Ali, I don’t have much milk left.

And besides, it doesn’t matter.

I’m the grown-up here.

I can’t send you out there.

I can’t.

It has to be me.”

I looked at her,

at Ivy,

and then

at the monster

outside.

It felt like

my insides

were being ripped

out of my chest.

“Don’t go,” I sobbed.

“Just stay here.

They’ll find us, like you said.

They will.

We have to stay together.”

She shook her head again.

“If they haven’t found us by now,

it means we’re hard to find.

I’m going.

And you will stay and take care of Ivy.

You can do it.”

Good thing

Confident

was her middle name,

because it certainly

wasn’t

mine.

We put layer

upon layer

of clothes

on her,

along with my

boots.

I hoped

those boots

would be as good to her

as they had been

to me.

She had brought her heavy coat,

which we were thankful for.

I searched the car

to see if there was anything

else she could take

to help her

on her journey.

Wishful thinking.

Why didn’t Dad

put a roadside

emergency kit

in the car?

How could we travel

all that way

and not have one?

I kept searching,

and when my hand

touched something

hard and cold,

underneath the backseat,

I pulled it out.

A flashlight.

It wasn’t a lot.

But it was something.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Vic asked me.

“You might be scared by yourself.”

I shook my head

and placed it in her hand,

mine wrapping around hers

for just a second.

I made her eat

the rest of the chips

before she left,

and she drank lots of water

plus a little brandy.

We talked about Ivy

and keeping her fed

and warm

and all the other things

a baby needs.

When she looked at me,

her tongue curled up,

I saw fear

in her eyes.

But I saw

determination there

too.

And when she looked at her baby daughter,

I didn’t see a tongue-curling chameleon anymore.

I saw

one thing

and one thing

only.

A kind,

loving

mother.

I thought of my mom

and how hard she fought

with love

in her heart

for us.

Maybe it’s not about

determination

or love

or how hard

you can fight.

Maybe it’s just about

fate

and what is meant

to be.

And so,

when I really

didn’t know what to say,

I told her,

“Good luck,”

as she hugged me good-bye.

Because

that was probably what

she needed most

in that moment.

“If I don’t make it—”

“Don’t talk like that,” I told her.

“You’ll find help and you’ll get us out of here.”

Then it occurred to me

she probably needed

something else

in that moment.

“Dad would be proud of you, Vic.

He loves you. He really does.”

She nodded.

“Come back to us,” I said.

I really,

really

meant it.

I watched her walk

until her silhouette

was swallowed up

by the forest

and there was

once again

nothing to see

but white.

Words and a melody

popped into my brain—

a song

asking to be

written.

I grabbed my guitar

and sang it out loud to Ivy,

who watched and listened,

like she totally loved it.

“Walking away with love in your heart,

hoping the coldness won’t keep us apart.

“Playing the memories like songs in my head.

Things we’ve shared and words we’ve said.

“Don’t drift away.

I want you to stay.

Don’t drift away.

You really should stay.

Don’t drift away.

Please…

come back to stay.”

The formula,

the water,

and the food

weren’t the only things

we’d been stingy with.

We’d been treating the diapers

like a precious commodity,

making Ivy wear them

as long as possible.

When we went to our

make-believe

outhouse in the snow,

we took the used diapers

with us.

Ivy drifted off to sleep,

so I used the opportunity

to bundle up

and head to our

special tree,

diaper in hand.

The clouds above

had cleared slightly

and the snow

had stopped falling

for the moment.

I took just a second

to appreciate

the pure beauty

around me.

I felt sad

that I couldn’t

enjoy it

by building a snowman

or making snow angels.

And then I thought,

Why can’t I?

I flopped down on the ground

into the fresh powder,

my arms and legs

gliding back and forth.

When I stood up,

I looked down at the angel,

white and delicate,

like lace.

A guardian angel

for us.

In the afternoon,

when Ivy started fussing

and I’d fed her

some formula

and there was nothing else

I could do,

I pulled out the antique book

and started reading.

My voice

or the story

or something

calmed her,

and so we settled in.

I read about Alice

d

r

o

p

p

i

n

g

down the rabbit hole

and growing small

and growing big

and growing small again.

Alice was

by herself

down that hole.

She wanted

to follow

the rabbit

so bad,

but she wasn’t able to.

I’m pretty sure

I knew

exactly

how she felt.

So thirsty,

I drank

the last few drops

of remaining water.

My hand

became a shovel

as I scooped snow

into one of Ivy’s

bottles.

It seemed somewhat

ironic that what could kill us

would now keep us

alive.

Except,

I quickly discovered,

there would be no heat

if the car

wouldn’t start.

And without heat,

there would be

no water.

Every hour

it got colder.

I felt it

when I went out

to the bathroom.

I tried

on and off

into the evening

to start the car.

Even though

it still had

some gas,

it just wouldn’t

start.

Too

freaking

cold.

Ivy

fell into

a deep sleep.

I put her

in the sleeping bag

and thought of her

as a caterpillar,

snuggled up

in her cocoon.

I watched her,

then closed my eyes

and saw

a little girl,

her brown hair

flapping in the wind,

the yellow sun

kissing her face

as she ran around

in our yard.

Sleep,

little one,

sleep.

Grow strong,

and grow wings.

The world

is waiting for you.