Soaring (16 page)

Neither replied.

Chapter Seven

Picking up the Pieces

The next evening, I sat in my car and stared at the cineplex.

I did this concentrating.

And what I was concentrating on was not on the disastrous visit I’d had with my children that weekend.

No, I was concentrating on the fact that the auction furniture I bought would be delivered the next day and thus I could turn my mind to creating a tranquil, beachy, fanciful room that would delight the dearth of guests I would probably not be having.

I was also concentrating on my triumph that day at Dove House when I did not freak way the heck out during mealtime when Mrs. McMurphy clamped my wrist in her clawed hand, yanked me to her and looked at me with clear, light blue eyes, hissing, “I know you’re a spy.” Then she’d let me go only to drag a finger across her neck threateningly and declare, “I’m telling General Patton.”

Further, I was concentrating on the fact that right then, instead of going out and buying a teal Thunderbird with white upholstery and driving it to the nearest cliff where I would then drive right off it—considering I’d made such a mess of my own life, that was the only option open to me—I was going to a movie.

By myself.

I’d never done anything by myself, except shopping. I’d not gone to a meal by myself. I’d never even gone to a spa for a facial by myself.

When I lost Conrad and all my other friends, Robin had come with me.

On this thought, my phone rang.

I shouldn’t have pulled it out of my purse. I knew who was calling.

Though, it could be Josie and Alyssa. It seemed they actually liked me and they definitely liked decorating.

But when I looked at the display, I saw I was right.

It said “Dad.”

I stared at it for a long time. Long enough for it to quit ringing. Long enough for it to bing in order to tell me I had a missed call.

Then, to my surprise, it binged again to tell me I had a voicemail.

New.

He hadn’t yet left a voicemail.

Shit.

That was when I did something else I shouldn’t do.

I activated my phone, went to voicemail and listened to it.

“Amelia,
call me
,” Dad bit out icily.

“Shit,” I whispered, dropping the phone but moving my finger over the screen, going to my text messages.

Not that I was going to text my father. I knew he was already losing his mind, frosting over, hatching plans to eviscerate me. He did not
text
. If I tried to text, he’d likely pay millions of dollars to some scientific genius to build snow bombs, have them directed at my house and bury me under an avalanche of chill.

No, I went to Robin’s text string and opened it.

I’d texted her last and I’d done it two weeks ago.

But my text reply had been two days after she’d sent hers.

She was giving up on me.

I told myself this was what I wanted. I needed relationships that were healthy. If nothing else, my recent visit with my kids told me I could not veer from that path.

But I missed my friend.

I rested my hand with the phone against my thigh and dropped my forehead to the steering wheel.

Josie and Alyssa were sweet. Josie and Alyssa both made it clear they liked me. Josie and Alyssa also had made it clear that they were there to listen should I need to share.

But I couldn’t share, not that, not the ugliness that I’d perpetrated against my family. I wanted them to keep liking me, not think I was the whackjob my son called me.

No, right then I needed someone who
knew
me. Who
got
me. Who understood where I’d been and where I was going.

Robin understood the first part.

The last, I wasn’t sure she had that in her.

But right then, I was no longer sure I shouldn’t give her the chance to try.

And right then what I was worried about was that the longer I didn’t offer her that opportunity, the less likelihood I’d learn she had it in her to give it to me.

More, I had it in me to give what I could back.

“One day at a time,” I whispered to the steering wheel. “One challenge at a time. One thing at a time. Keep moving, Amy.”

I blinked at the steering wheel and abruptly sat straight.

I’d never called myself Amy because no one had ever called me Amy.

Until now.

“Oh God, now I’m torturing myself with absurdities,” I snapped at the windshield.

What lay beyond came into focus and I remembered I was challenging myself to go see a movie. To keep building a life. To learn to be comfortable with me.

Sitting in my car, doubting myself while talking to myself meant I was failing.

Resolutely, I turned the ringer off on my phone, threw it into my purse, grabbed my bag and got out of my car.

I was in my seat in the theater when I realized none of that was hard.

In fact, it was not only easy, it was
great
.

Sure, asking for one ticket was a little tough.

But then I got to buy whatever concessions I wanted, knowing I didn’t have to share. So I got myself a vat of popcorn, a box of Milk Duds and a Diet Coke so big it could quench the thirst of an army.

And when I hit the theater, I found that I didn’t have to take anyone’s preferences but my own into account when selecting a seat.

I didn’t have to sit in the middle of the row in the middle of the theater because Auden liked close but Olympia liked far. I also didn’t have to sit way at the back, where Robin demanded we sit because she enjoyed people watching more than movie watching.

I got to sit where
I
wanted to sit, behind the handicapped railings, knowing no one would sit in front of me and I could rest my feet on the railing without bothering anyone.

Okay, so it was off to the side.

But it was awesome.

I sipped. I munched. I bested nearly all the trivia that flashed on the screen and freely judged (mentally) the ridiculous ads, enjoying myself immensely, looking forward to losing myself in a movie, finding something I actually liked to do spending time with just me.

Then it happened.

The lights were already lowered, the trailers coming on, and I saw movement at the opposite entrance to where I was sitting.

I glanced that way, expecting only to glance, but I didn’t just glance.

This was because the latecomers were a couple.

And one half of that couple was Mickey.

My stomach got tight, my muscles contracted, and I stared as he walked in, his arm flung around the shoulders of a very tall, very buxom,
very
pretty redhead who looked not one thing like me.

The lights were dim, I couldn’t study her to get a lock on her age, but many things were clear.

She was way taller than me.

She had way better hair than me.

She was way better dressed than I’d ever be.

She was way,
way
prettier than me.

And, smiling up at a smiling-at-her Mickey, the biggest hit of all…

She was out on a date with Mickey.

I jerked my eyes to the screen, feeling like throwing up and hoping, hoping,
hoping
that he would not see me all alone at a cinema to watch a movie.

Not long after, the theater went dark and I waited. I actually counted the seconds.

When I figured the time was right, I carefully, quietly set my snacks on the floor (even though the sound system could drown out an exploding bomb). I grabbed my purse then bent double (even though the theater wasn’t close to full and I wasn’t obstructing anyone’s view, I still made myself as miniscule as I could) and I dashed to the stairs and around, running down the side hall and out of the theater.

I forced myself to slow to a walk, a swift one, one that took me through the lobby, out of the cineplex and directly to my car as quickly as I could get there.

I got in.

I dumped my purse in the passenger seat.

I started up.

And I got the fuck out of there.

I drove home and I shouldn’t have. I should have breathed deep. I should have gathered my thoughts. I should have calmed myself.

I didn’t.

But by some miracle, I made it home safely.

And when I got home, I didn’t want to. I’d been avoiding it. The last thing I wanted to do considering the fragility that was me was
that
.

But as had become their wont, my feet decided for me.

So I found myself in my bathroom, flipping on the lights and positioning myself in front of my mirror.

I looked at myself. I had to. I couldn’t avoid it.

But I did it being absolutely certain I didn’t actually
see
me.

Right then, my eyes refused not to take me in.

And it was worse than I expected it to be.

Not worse than it could be. My mother had drilled a regime into me since my fourteenth birthday, when I was allowed to wear light makeup.

So I cleansed. I moisturized (daily and nightly). I exfoliated, and twice a week did this deeply prior to slapping on a facial.

But other than that…I didn’t look after me.

My shining, brunette hair had strands of gray. Silvery-gray that may, when it took over, be stunning.

Right then, it made me look like I didn’t care.

I had lines at my forehead, but not many.

But my skin was sallow. My cheeks were sunken. My eyes looked huge and not in a good way. My makeup was there, but it was uninspired, doing absolutely nothing for me.

And I already knew my clothes were conservative, high-quality and older than my years. I wasn’t a spry twenty-something and they were
still
older than my years.

I looked past it.

I looked like I gave not…one…
shit
.

Because I didn’t.

I had not gone for a proper facial since moving to Magdalene. I had not had a manicure or a pedicure. I had not had my hair cut even before I’d moved to Magdalene. And I’d never dyed it, the gray started coming in when Conrad left me (and, incidentally, I blamed each strand on him regardless of the fact that, at my age, it was time) and I’d left it at that.

Robin had said things, cautiously, sensitively. Mother had said them too, not cautiously or sensitively.

I’d acted like they didn’t even speak.

I’d let myself go.

Mickey clearly had different tastes, taller, possibly younger, trendily dressed, beautiful red hair (though his woman had big bosoms and I did too but that was the only thing we shared).

But staring at the disaster that was me, it was no wonder Jake Spear didn’t even allow his eyes to wander to my hair. And it was no wonder that boxer in his gym paid no mind to me.

I was no longer young.

“But I’m not dead yet,” I whispered to my reflection.

On that, I shrugged my purse off my shoulder so it fell to the counter. I dug my phone out. And I made the call I needed to make.

“Hello, Amelia, how’s your evening?” Josie answered.

“I need lunch.”

There was a heavy pause before, “Sorry?”

“You. Me. Alyssa. Lunch tomorrow. Emergency,” was all I could force out, my eyes still glued to the mirror.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern heavy in her tone.

“No. No, I am
far
from okay,” I told her.

“Do you need me to come over now?” she went on.

“Lunch,” it came out as a squeak. I was losing it. I could feel it happening. “Tomorrow. Can you call Alyssa?” I closed my eyes tight, fighting my thoughts telling me I was being dramatic, selfish, thoughtless, demanding,
weak
. Telling myself these were good women, they’d get it. If I let them, they’d get
me
. I opened my eyes, whispering, “Please, Josie.”

“Anything, Amelia. Anything you need,” Josie whispered back. Yes, a good woman. “I’ll call Alyssa. Are you going to be okay until then?”

“Yes.” It came out hoarse. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” she said as if she didn’t believe me. “I’ll text you with where and when.”

“Okay, Josie,” I replied.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?”

No.

But I was sure I had to keep trying.

At least for a little while.

“Yes, I will be and Josie…?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” I said softly.

“As I said, anytime, Amelia. Anything.”

Yes, I so very much liked her.

I just hoped she would keep liking me.

“See you at lunch tomorrow,” she continued.

“See you at lunch, Josie.”

We said our good-byes and rang off.

Then I went directly to the garage and got some boxes, went to the kitchen and got the packing tape and went back to my bathroom.

Unless they were absolutely necessary to remain clothed for the next two days, I boxed up everything.

Everything
.

Clothes. Shoes. Belts. Handbags.

I also tossed in all my makeup.

I dragged it all to the garage, took a shower, got into the only nightgown I’d left for me and got into bed.

It was early.

It took forever to fall asleep.

But I finally did it and wished I didn’t.

Because when I did, I dreamed of watching Mickey marry a tall, beautiful redhead who was not me.

* * * * *

Rushing out the door before the furniture truck even pulled away after they made their deliveries the next morning, I drove hell on wheels into Magdalene.

I parked on Cross Street.

I hoofed it to Weatherby’s Diner.

I immediately spied Josie and Alyssa sitting in a booth, ready for me. I knew this because they were seated on the same side and three glasses of ice water were in front of them.

And I ignored their looks of shock when they saw me walk in, makeup-less, hair pulled back in a ponytail and I knew looking pale and frantic.

I slid in across from them as Alyssa breathed, “Oh my God, honey, you look like—”

“I need a makeover,” I announced.

Alyssa clamped her mouth shut.