Random (Going the Distance) (8 page)

Chapter SEVEN

T
yler drops me off at my car. We don’t kiss again, but he grabs my hand on the way out. “I’ll call you.”

I nod. It’s still raining off and on, and I duck my head against the wet and dive into my car, which seems extra rickety after riding in his. I turn on the engine to get the car warm, and take a second to check my voice messages and texts. There are five texts and two voice mails, and all of them are from Rick.

As usual, he’s full of apologies and sorrow. A pinch hurts my heart, but I’m not going to get back with him this time. It’s been two years of drama. Two years. I’m not going to even call him back, because he’ll just argue and cajole and try to convince me how much he loves me.

Which, weirdly, is true. He’s in love with me, way more than I am with him. Even with all those girls trying to flirt with him and take him home whenever the band plays, he’s been solidly in love with me since that first night at the party. It makes me feel bad in a way, and I take the time to laboriously text him. It takes a while on my old-school phone, and this is when I wish I had something newer, because I want to take some care with it.

Rick, I will always care about you, but I can’t do this anymore. This is the 5th time we’ve broken up and I’m tired. Take care, but don’t call me anymore.

For a second I hesitate, the phone in my hand. Is it cold to do this by text? Maybe, but otherwise he will just argue and argue and argue. I hit send and flip the phone closed.

It’s only as I’m pulling out into traffic that I realize I left my library books in Tyler’s back seat. “Dang it!” I slam my hand on the steering wheel. There goes my plan for the evening.

The phone starts buzzing within a minute, but I ignore it. I really, really need to check on Virginia. When the nurse asks me if I’m family, I say in a choked voice, “She’s my sister.”

She gives me a sad look that makes my stomach ache. “Come with me. You can only stay ten minutes.”

“Is it bad?”

The nurse is chubby, wearing plain aqua scrubs. She puts an arm around my shoulders. “Her injuries were extensive. We had to remove the arm.”

“What?”

She squeezes my shoulder. “The real problem is a brain injury. We had to induce a coma to give the brain a chance to heal. But you go ahead and talk to her. We believe she might be able to hear you, and she hasn’t had many visitors.”

My eyes are suddenly filled with tears and I blink hard as I enter the room. She’s alone, with beeping, whooshing machines. For a second I wonder why I’m doing this. We’re only friends at work, after all, because she’s older and has kids. We don’t talk on the phone or go to each other’s houses or anything.

But until the car smashed into the restaurant and took it all away, I didn’t realize how much time we spent talking. Hours, every day, about boyfriends and families and work and books, because she likes to read, too. I miss her already.

I step up and take her hand. Her only hand. “Hey, Virginia,” I say, and my voice is wavery. That’s probably not what she wants to hear, locked in her coma.

It’s up to me to be cheerful, but first I have to be sad. Her face is bruised and swollen, and her lips looked cracked and dry. “Can I put some chapstick on her mouth?” I ask the nurse.

“Sure. Put some lotion on her hand and feet, too.” She pats my back. “Remember, ten minutes, honey. I’ll leave you alone.”

I nod, tears still spilling down my face even as I pull the Carmex out of my bag and put it on Virginia’s poor, flaking mouth. “That helps, I bet. I know how much you hate having dry lips.”

There’s lotion on the table, and I pump some into my palms to warm it up, then rub it into her lifeless arm, her hand. A big bandage covers her shoulder where the other arm would be, and it breaks my heart to think of her not being able to hold her babies with that arm anymore. Maybe she’ll get a good prosthetic, though. You see Iraq vets with them all the time—arms, legs, feet. That’s probably what people will think happened to her, too. It cheers me a little bit, that she won’t be completely alone with this strange thing.

I move to her feet, pushing back the sheet. They’re swollen, too, and dry. Her toenail polish is red and chipped. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her feet before, and hesitate. Would she mind me doing this? Would I mind if it was me?

Pouring more lotion into my hands, I decide to talk to her like we’re at work, putting away coffee cups hot from the dishwasher, or carrying cinnamon rolls out from the back. “I broke up with Rick, you’ll be glad to hear. He was a total jerk to me last night, and I ended up walking home from the bar.” The lotion makes her feet look more alive, and I add a second coat. “Of course, he’s calling me today, trying to make up, but I texted him that I don’t want to talk anymore. Do you think that’s cold?”

For another few minutes I go on like that, telling her about Tyler, about the mess at the restaurant, my job search. The nurse shows up again, signaling me that my time is up. I take Virginia’s hand, even though it feels kind of weird. “I know you’re really hurting, Virginia, but you have to get better for your babies, okay? They need you. Nobody else can be you.” I squeeze, very gently. “I’ll be back soon.”

* * *

There’s a dead weight of sadness in my belly as I head home, and on impulse I stop at the greenhouse complex near my place. A brick building holds a florist shop, but I never go there. Instead, I go into the greenhouse, which is my favorite place in the universe. Just inside I pause to take a breath of the soft green air, letting it ease away the sadness of my visit to Virginia and about ten thousand more messages from Rick on my phone, none of which I listen to.

Up front, in the area that opens onto the florist’s shop, is a display of fancy pots of house plants, the kind you’d put in an office or give your assistant for a birthday—mother-in-law tongue and kalanchoes. I go the opposite way, wandering through the plain wooden tables filled with black plastic pots and trays of seedlings. I fill myself up with the arty shape of Rex begonia leaves and coleus and a table full of ordinary impatiens, red and white and pink, some leaves green, some dark red. Near the back are the work tables—a bin of fresh soil and rows of empty pots turned upside down, and spades and forks and gloves and aprons. It’s the most peaceful looking thing in the world.

I wish this was my job.

Just beyond the potting area are the greenhouses for carnations and roses. These aren’t public, but a couple of times employees have let me go through them, just to see. Today I only peer through the doors of the carnation house, admiring the rows of tall pink and white flowers and the soft light falling on the ruffled petals. The air seeping through the door smells like peppermint.

I wander back to the front, inhaling the hearty smell of earth and the breath of plants, which exhale the oxygen humans and animals need to breathe, and take in the carbon dioxide that we exhale. I’m sure it’s all the extra oxygen in the air that makes me so happy when I come here.

Back at the front, I pause, looking over my shoulder. A woman in jeans, a pink -t-shirt and a dirt-dusted apron comes out of the rose house and into the work area. She pulls on some gloves and digs into the dirt. What if this was what I did all day? Again that puff of longing moves through me. I’ve applied before, but the money isn’t enough for me to live on. Would it be worth working two jobs just so I could spend my time here?

“Hi. Are you looking for something in particular?” the woman asks, coming up the aisle.

“No, thanks. I’m just looking today.”

“How’s that Rex begonia doing?”

I’m surprised that she remembers me, though as often as I wander through here, I shouldn’t be. I had a really good day in tips a couple of months ago and came in to splurge on the crazy-beautiful Rex. It has giant, patterned leaves with big swirls of purple and black, and I’d been eyeing it for months before I bought it. “It’s great! I think it might even be getting ready to bloom.”

“Good to hear.” She uses a hose to water some of the seedlings. “Have you planted a vegetable garden?”

“I live in a tiny place. There’s not really any yard. My neighbor has one, though, and she lets me help.”

She jerks her thumb toward the back. “If you want, there are some tomato plants that need some loving care. You can take them.”

“Really?”

She smiles. “Really. They’re on that last table.”

“Thank you!” I half-skip to the plants, which are too big for their pots. I don’t see any signs of bugs, but of course I won’t put them in Electra’s garden. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Just didn’t get enough attention—they were stuck in a corner.”

“Cool.” I gather up my prizes and lift my chin as I head out, imagining where I’ll plant them.”

It makes me feel better. But the roller coaster day isn’t finished with me yet.

Chapter EIGHT

I
n the cool, cloudy evening, I’m making peanut butter cracker sandwiches and listening to the radio when I hear a motorcycle outside. It’s Rick, of course, and for a long minute I wonder if I can just pretend I’m not here. I shut off the radio and sit down in the kitchen with my crackers. He can’t see me here—the window is too high.

“Jess!” he calls, banging on the screen door hard enough that I’m worried he might break it. It’s just an old wooden door, and I’ve had to reattach the screen in a couple of places already.

Still, I really don’t want to talk to him.

I eat another cracker. He bangs on the door, yells my name again. “Come on, babe! I just want to talk to you. What kind of person breaks up in a text?”

We broke up last night
, I think, but he’s not going to go away. With a sigh, I pick up another peanut butter cracker sandwich and open the door.

“What?” I stand in the doorway to block him from coming in.

“Babe!” He looks so happy and so sad at the same time that it makes me feel terrible. His eyes are shining, almost like he’s been crying. “Let me come in and let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk, Rick. I’m tired of this drama all the time. I’m tired of breaking up and getting back together.” I take a breath. “I’m tired of the bars, and spending all of our time with the band and drinking and partying. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

He lunges forward to grab my hand. “That’s fine, babe. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll quit the band if you want.”

“Stop calling me babe!” I snap.

“Jess, then. Come on.”

“Don’t be crazy, Rick. You love the band and everything that goes along with it. You should find somebody else who loves it, too.”

“I don’t want anybody else!” His dark eyes are pleading, and I notice there are circles underneath them. There are whiskers showing on his chin, like he hasn’t shaved. “You’re the only one I want.” His fingers tighten. “I’m really sorry about last night!”

“It’s too late.” I extract my hand. “Go home, Rick.”

He leaps on the step and grabs me. “No! I love you.” He knocks me off balance, and I stumble off the step, twisting my ankle. I have to grab him to keep from falling on my face, and it makes me mad, but before I can get free, he’s kissing my face, my neck, tangling his hands in my hair.

“Stop it!” I break free, pushing him away. “Leave me alone!” I wipe his spit off my face, pull strands of hair away from where they stick to my neck. “It’s over.”

“Babe! Come on! You can’t be serious!”

“Go.” I back up, reaching for the screen door.

A car is rolling down the alley, and we both look over as it stops by my driveway. “Everything ok?”

I’m shocked and thrilled and worried to see that it’s Tyler in his sleek black car. I glance at Rick. Give Tyler a shaky nod. “It’s fine.”

“I brought your library books back.” He looks at me, then at Rick, who has a nasty expression on his face. “You left them in my car.”

Oh, this is not good.

“Are you fuckin’ my girl, man?” Rick flies toward the car, yanking at the door handle, and before I can tell what’s really happening, Tyler is out and Rick is pummeling him like a crazy man. I fly over, grabbing at the back of Rick’s shirt.

“Rick, stop it. He just gave me a ride.”

But Tyler has already swung a punch of his own, and it’s no rich boy swing—there’s power behind it. When fist connects with jaw, there’s a hollow rattle, and Rick goes flying sideways into a reddish puddle.

In seconds he’s on his feet again, his body a bullet headed right for Tyler, who simply grabs him around the neck and flings him away.

“All right now!” Electra yells, like a drill sergeant. “Both of y’all get on your way or I’m gonna call the cops.”

Rick halts. He can’t afford to be arrested again for fighting. Tyler holds up his hands. “Can I give her the books I brought?”

Electra gives a slow nod. “You,” she says to Rick, “get. You heard her say she’s done, so I don’t want to see you around here no more. You hear me?”

He wipes muck off his face with the back of a muddy arm. He glowers, looking mean, but just gives me a hard glance and climbs on his bike. Deliberately, he roars through the mud puddle, sending red-stained water over all of us. It splatters my good shirt and my decent jeans, and for a minute I just stare down at them. “Shit.”

“We’ll get it out, honey,” Electra says.

Tyler hands me the stack of library books. “Sorry for the trouble,” he says, and I just nod.

He gets back in his car. He’s staring straight ahead as he eases down the bumpy gravel alley. I watch until his tail lights signal a right turn, and then he’s gone.

“Come on, honey,” Electra says. “Drop off your books and change into something else, then let’s see about those stains.”

I change into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, and carry my filthy clothes over to Electra’s house. The back door is open, and her kitchen light is on. The stereo is playing something low and mournful, probably jazz, which I don’t love. It always makes me feel like life is the loneliest thing in the world.

But Electra loves it, so I’ve never told her this.

She sees me standing at the screen door and waves me in. The kitchen smells like meat and onions, and despite the fact that I had a good lunch, my stomach growls.