Лиза Макманн - Gone

Cabel doesn’t turn around. “You’re quiet,” he says. “Wasn’t sure how long you were going to stand there.”

She bites her lip.

Shoves her hands in her pockets.

He turns. Has paint on his cheek. Eyes soft and crinkly. “What’s up? You okay?”

Janie stands there.

Tries to stop the quivering.

He sees it. Sets down his brush.

Goes to her. “Oh, baby,” he says. Pulls her close. Holds. “What is it?”

Strokes her hair while she sobs in his shirt.

2:15 p.m.

In the grass, under the shade tree in the backyard. They talk.

About his nightmares

And her future

For a very, very long time.

4:29 p.m.

It’s all so complicated.

It always is, with Janie.

It’s impossible for Janie to know what will happen, no matter how hard she tries to figure it out.

No matter how much Cabe convinces Janie that he had no idea he was having such disturbing dreams, and admits that maybe he is scared. But also that he really is dealing with things—he really is.

No matter how much they both promise to keep talking when shit like this comes up. Because it always will.

There’s just no happily ever after in Janie’s book.

But they both know there is something. Something good between them.

There is respect.

And there is depth.

Unselfishness.

An understanding between them that surpasses a hell of a lot else.

And there’s that love thing.

So they decide. They decide to decide each day what things will come.

No commitments. No big plans. Just life, each day.

Making progress. Cutting the pressure.

There’s enough damn pressure everywhere else.

And if it works, it works.

She knows one thing, deep down.

Knows it hard. And good.

He’s the only guy she’ll ever tell.

IT IS WHAT IT IS

5:25 p.m. Still the last day.

“Hey, can you drive me somewhere tonight?” Her cheeks are flushed. And she has a goddamned hickey. You do the math.

“Sure. Where?”

“Place out on North Maple.”

Cabel tilts his head curiously but doesn’t ask.

Knows she won’t tell him anyway.

Smiles to himself and shakes his head a little as he goes to the stove to make dinner. “God, I freaking love you,” he mutters.

6:56 p.m.

Cabel pulls up to the building. Janie peers out the window and then checks the orange paper.

“Yep, this is it.” She’s nervous. Not sure about this. “Can you just hang out here for about five minutes in case, you know, this isn’t cool?”

“Sure, sweets. If I’m gone when you come out, just text me. I’ll come right back.” He gives Janie a reassuring squeeze on her thigh and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll probably just head down to one of the bookstores around here. Maybe drive through campus and take a walk around.”

“Okay.” Janie takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. “See you.” She walks, determined, to the door. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t see Cabel pick up the orange paper from the seat where she left it. He reads it. Smiles.

7:01 p.m.

A dozen people mill around the room, getting coffee and chatting. Mostly adults, but a couple of people who look to be about Janie’s age. Janie steps into the room, feeling awkward, not sure where to stand. Slowly she backs up to a wall and just looks around, a fake smile on her face, trying not to make eye contact.

“Welcome,” says a stocky, middle-aged man as he walks up to Janie. “My name is Luciano.” He holds out his hand.

Janie takes it. Shakes it. “Hi,” she says.

“Glad you came. Have you been to Al-Anon before?”

“No—this is my first time.”

“Don’t worry. We all have something in common. Let me get this thing started.” Luciano turns to the room and calls out for everyone to grab a seat at the table. Janie makes her way, and a young man offers Janie some coffee. Janie smiles gratefully and accepts, adding her traditional three creams, three sugars.

The small group quiets down and Luciano speaks. “Welcome to Al-Anon. For those who are new here, this is a support group for people who are dealing with the effects of an alcoholic on your life.” He looks at the young man across the table. “Carl, would you like to lead today’s meeting?”

Janie listens intently to the introduction and testimonial from a woman at the table who talks about her alcoholic, abusive father. After that, Carl leads a discussion about one of the twelve steps.

It feels good to know she’s not alone.

And that Dorothea’s drinking isn’t Janie’s fault.

When it is over, Janie takes some literature from the racks. She slips out of the room, texting

Cabe that she’s ready, and she goes outside into the cool evening. Thinking. Realizing a ton of stuff about her mother. And feeling, for the first time, that part of the stress of her life, part of the responsibility, has been taken away. It feels fabulous, actually.

Wonders why she never thought about doing this before.

8:31 p.m.

They tool around the U of M campus, first by car, then on foot, wandering through the parks and around the various buildings, Cabel pointing out what he knows about where things are and how to get there. It feels weird, and fun, and daunting, like a strange adventure, wandering the campus of such a huge school. Soon, they’ll be a part of it all.

They stop for ice cream at Stucchi’s and laugh for what feels like the first time in a long time.

When Cabel drops Janie off, she kisses him sweetly, holds him close. “I’m really happy about our agreement,” she says.

“Me too.” Cabe says. “So . . . tomorrow . . .” He sounds reluctant.

“Yes?”

“I need some junk for school. I suppose, against my better judgment, we should go shopping.”

Janie grins. “Sweet,” she says. “I’ll bring a fork in case it all gets to be too much for you and you need to stab your eyeballs out.”

He laughs. “It would be ironic if I went blind before you did, wouldn’t it?”

They share a wry smile. A lingering, soulful kiss.

11:05 p.m.

When Cabe pulls out of the driveway, Janie walks slowly to the house and sits down on the step.

Just thinks about things, and things, and things.

Like the time Cabel brought her to this step on his skateboard.

And she thinks about Miss Stubin, and how she never actually had a chance to say good-bye.

She’s glad for the note on the chair.

She thinks about Captain, and her eyes get misty. Family, she’d said.

It’s good to have family like that.

Janie turns Henry’s ring so it catches the glow from the streetlamp. The ruby sparkles. She makes a fist. Presses the ring to her lips. Holds it there. Then lifts it up to the sky. Says, “Hey, Henry . . .” and stops, because her throat hurts too much to go on.

Janie listens to the crickets and tree frogs—or wires—buzzing in their last days of summer, before the sounds of crunchy leaves take over once again.

She thinks about her mother in a different way. A new way, tonight. Plans on going back to another Al-Anon meeting. Might even share her own story sometime. If she feels like it. Or not.

No rash decisions. No big commitments. Each day as it comes.

Janie takes a deep breath and feels the briskness of the night filling her lungs. She sits a moment more on the step, and then eases to her feet and peers into the house through the kitchen window, pushing her face against the dusty old screen, wrapping her hands around her glasses to shield against the glare from the streetlights. Streams of soft light from the window cut diagonally across the kitchen.

The box of memories is gone.

So is the cake.

Janie laughs quietly, but inside, she aches a little. For a moment, she left all this trouble behind.