A Little Ray of Sunshine (6 page)

“Yay!” Jess hopped up on her toes and turned to me and snatched a bag off the tray, her eyes alight. “Watch! This is so much fun!”

I peered around the back of the building. Dumpsters. Of course, it had to be Dumpsters. The bottom half of the world’s skinniest man poked out of one, and Jess ducked with agility as a crumpled beer can whizzed past her head and straight onto a pile of recyclables forming about two feet away.

“Good morning!” she called out.

The man hopped up out of the dumpster, landing on his feet. He looked warily from Jess to me, then back again.

“What do you want with me?” he growled.

“Nothing. Sorry. Our mistake,” I said, taking a step back.

Jess moved toward him, holding out the bag. “We thought you might be hungry.”

“I don’t need no handouts,” he said, nodding toward the worn-out bicycle resting behind the dumpster. Behind it was a very sad-looking wagon fashioned from warped plywood and chicken wire which held clear plastic bags full of recyclables. “I make my own way.”

“Of course you do.” I shifted the tray on to one arm, stepped forward and snatched a handful of Jess’s denim jacket in my hand. “He makes his own way. Let’s go.”

Jess eyed me until I released her, then stepped closer. “It’s not for you. It’s for us. My friend and I have been having a bad couple of days, and we really need to do something kind for someone. We’ve been all over this town, and there’s just no one who needs us, and the sandwiches are getting cold. It would really help if you’d take one.”

He watched us for a long moment, the eyes in his haggard face narrowing to slits. I was pretty sure he was going to pull out a knife and fillet us both, and I was going to die unmourned behind a VFW somewhere between Kansas City and the fifth ring of hell. When he reached into his pocket, I squealed and jumped back.

He stared at me, hand still in his pocket. “What’s wrong with your friend?”

“Bad couple of days,” Jess said. He watched me with suspicious eyes as he pulled a dirty quarter out of his pocket and handed it to Jess.

“I pay my way,” he said.

Jess smiled, took it gratefully and handed him the bag. “Thank you so much. We really appreciate it.”

“Yes, thanks so much.” I grabbed her elbow and pulled her around with me until we were safe in the sunlight on the dirty shoulder of the road. “So, where does the natural high come from? Is it like a bungee-jumping thing, you work off the adrenalin your body produces when you narrowly escape getting strangled to death with chicken wire?”

She laughed. “He wasn’t going to hurt us. Most of the truly dangerous people in the world have jobs.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I was too focused on the fact that we had five bags left, and not another homeless person in sight. I glanced across the street at Harried Mom Park.

“Lots of hungry moms. We can unload the rest of these and get on the road. Let’s go.”

I stopped when I felt Jess’s hand on my arm. “But they’re not... I mean, they’ve probably already had breakfast.”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “Moms never have time to eat. This will be a huge act of kindness. Plus, we wandered for a half-hour and only found one homeless guy. I don’t think this is a homeless-guy kind of place. Let’s just unload these and—”

“No,” Jess said, her voice quiet but determined. “I’m not going over there.”

“Okay,” I said, a little startled by her vehemence, but unwilling to give up that easily. “That’s fine. You can wait here. I’m unloading these things.”

I dashed across the street to the park before she could say any more. When I arrived at the picnic bench, a frail, redheaded harried mother shouted, “Hannah! Don’t put that in your mouth!” then turned to look at me.

“Hello.” She sounded even warier than the Dumpster guy.

“Look, see that girl across the street?” I turned and waved at Jess, who gave a small wave back. “It’s a really long story, but she’s making me give away McGriddles and I was just hoping you guys could act like you’re hungry. Or... something.”

Red sniffed and turned up her nose. “Do you know how much saturated fat is in one of those things?”

“I’m not saying you have to actually eat them,” I said through clenched but smiling teeth. “I’m just asking you, as a favor to me, as a random act of kindness on your part, to pretend that you’re hungry and grateful.”

Another harried mother, who seemed blissfully unaware of the spit up on her collar, said, “Who are you again?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. There were times in life when a girl had to do what a girl had to do, dignity be damned. I opened my eyes again and smiled. “Have you ever seen
Baby of the Family
?”

The redhead looked confused. I didn’t blame her. “What, that sitcom from the sixties?”

“Yep.” I cleared my throat. “You know Twinkie?”

Spit-up’s eyebrows knit. “Was that the dog?”

“No,” I said. “The daughter. The adorable little blonde girl who did this—” I did the beatific shrug—”all the time?”

Another mom, a pudgy woman with hair in long Laura Ingalls braids, approached and glanced at the McGriddles. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m her daughter,” I said.

“Whose daughter?” Braids asked.

Red shaded her eyes with one hand and squinted up at me, then smiled. “Oh, wow. You do look a bit like her.”

“Thanks,” I said, trying to bear the comparison as a compliment. “But back to that woman who’s forcing me to hand out food to strangers—”

“Twinkie’s daughter!” Spit-up mom clapped her hands. “Oh, my God. What are you doing all the way out here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now if you could please, just—”

“Wait!” Spit up reached into her purse and pulled out a pen, then continued riffling through her bag. “Does anyone have any paper? I want an autograph.”

I had to raise an eyebrow at this. People rarely wanted Mom’s autograph unless she was at an opening for a mall or something. These west-edge-of-the-fifth-ring-of-hell people must be truly desperate for celebrity. Lucky for them, I was desperate, too. I reached into a McGriddle bag, pulled out a sandwich, unwrapped it, and set it in front of Spit-up. Then I pulled out a napkin and took her pen.

“Make it out to Sandra,” she said, giggling.

“Who are you?” Braids asked, then turned to Red. “Who is she?”

“She’s Lana Lorraine’s daughter,” Red said. “You know. Twinkie, from
Baby of the Family
. Can you believe it? All the way out here!”

I didn’t bother to tell her the name was Lilly, not Lana. I didn’t care. I was already knee-deep in the muck of my mother’s faded celebrity; I wasn’t going any deeper by pretending I had pride. I scribbled my name on the napkin and handed it to Spit-up. “Okay, so, McGriddles for everyone, then?”

“Wow,” Braids said, reaching to shake my hand. “Lana Lorraine’s daughter.”

“‘Sandra, all the best, Emmy James,’” Spit-up read, then glanced up at me. “Who’s Emmy James?”

I forced my smile. “I am. But you can call me EJ. I go by EJ.”

Red looked up. “So, your last name isn’t Lorraine?”

“No,” I said. “My father was a director. His name was Simon James. He left when I was two. And even if I didn’t take my father’s name, my name still wouldn’t be Lorraine, since my mother’s real name is Wilhelmina Gwartney.”

Dead silence as three sets of mommy eyes stared me down, blinking in disbelief or surprise or just sheer exhaustion from being mommies. I was stuck. There was no getting out of this without significant sharing.

So, I shared.

“Since my father moved to Spain to get away from her, my mother has remarried six times. Six times. Now you tell me, what kind of woman needs to get married seven times before she realizes she’s not good at it? I mean, shouldn’t the first three or four times be a solid clue? I only had to kill one hamster before I realized that rodents were not my thing.”

Braids and Red exchanged a glance, then looked back at me and made awkward noises of reassurance.

“Anyway,” I went on, “she’s about to snare number eight in Oregon. I’m not going to the wedding, because I don’t speak to my mother, because she kind of ruined my life. I live by myself in an Airstream trailer, and at the moment, my closest friend is a woman who thinks she’s an angel, and who is forcing me to ply you with the deadliest food known to man. Now, I’d really appreciate it if you all would smile and wave at me as I leave as though we’ve had some kind of pleasant interaction here. Can you do that for me?” I clasped my hands in front of my heart in a gesture of total supplication. “
Please
?”

Spit-up was the first to smile. “Sure. You bet.”

She reached in the bag and handed a McGriddle to Braids, who stared at it dubiously, then smiled at me.

“My mother was a piece of work, too.” She opened up a McGriddle and took a bite, then said, loudly, “Thanks so much!”

I smiled, mouthed “Thank you,” and turned to walk back to Jess, the cheers of the Harried Moms ushering me on my way.

***

Dedication:

To all my fans, who have been so faithful and loving to me, giving me strength when I felt weak, and making me laugh when I needed cheering. You all have meant so much to me through the years; you have kept me going.

And to Emmy.

—from Twinkie and Me: The Real Life Confessions of Lilly Lorraine

Five

“EJ?”

I opened my eyes. In the dim shaft of rest area light that came through the curtains, I could see only the faintest detail of the Airstream’s ceiling. “What?”

The twin bunk squeaked as Jess shifted in her bed. “You should read the letter.”

I closed my eyes. “What letter?”

“The letter Digs gave me. The one I gave you at the diner.”

“I told you,” I said. “I read it. It was just a joke. Good night.”

“If it was important enough for Digs to bring all the way from Oregon, then it’s important enough for you to read.”

How did she always know when I was lying? That was getting really annoying. I sighed and pushed myself up on my elbows. “It’s the middle of the night, Jess. I’ll read it in the morning, okay?”

More noise, and then Jess stepped into the dim shaft of light coming through the curtains and sat at the dinette table. “We’re less than fifty miles from Colorado Springs. Tomorrow, you’re going to be rushing to get me on a plane. Now’s your last chance. You have to read it now.”

“I don’t want to read it now.”

“You have to. I’m thinking about it so much I can’t sleep, which means the Universe thinks it’s important. You have to read it now.”

I sighed and sat up in bed. “We need to discuss your deluded relationship with the Universe.”

“Do you really want to point fingers about delusions?” she asked.

I glanced up at her. She stood with her arms crossed over her stomach looking fairly threatening, the pink camisole and blue capri sweatpants notwithstanding.

“You know, for an angel, you can be kind of mean sometimes.”

“I’m just trying to communicate with you in a way you’ll appreciate. Now get off your ass and read the damn letter.”

“Wow.” I sat up, stretched to the far edge of the bed where I’d thrown my jeans, and whipped the letter out of the back pocket. “You’re a mean angel.”

Jess flicked on the lamp by the dinette table and sat down. I unfolded the letter in my hands and stared at it.

It’s just a joke,
I thought.
Just read the damn joke and get some sleep.

Still, my fingers wouldn’t move. A joke from Luke was never just a joke. Once I opened it, I knew I’d spend the entire night tossing and turning, looking for the hidden meaning. Shaggy dogs meant he was angry, and elephants were forgiveness and “two men walk into a bar” meant we needed to talk and... hell. I’d forgotten what the priest and rabbi ones meant.

“Do you want me to read it for you?”

I glanced up to see Jess looking down at me, kindness in her eyes. I handed her the letter and rested my head in my hands, listening as she tore the envelope open and unfolded the paper inside.

“Dear Eejie,” she read. “Enclosed please find a check for two hundred and thirty-three dollars and eighty-two cents, which is your pro-rated rent refund for that last month. I wanted to be sure you got it just in case you decide not to come to the wedding. Best, Luke.”

I raised my head to find Jess turning a check over in her hands. She looked mortified, but it was mortification on my behalf, which made it a thousand times worse. Her face cleared as she looked up and realized I was watching her, and she smiled as she tucked the check back into the envelope.

“Well,” she said. “That was very thoughtful of him.”

I stood up and took the envelope from her, pulling out the check and the letter.

“‘Best’?” I said. “What the hell does ‘best’ mean?”

Jess smiled. “It means he sends you his best regards. It’s affectionate... kind of. And it’s better than being all angry and bitter, right?”

“‘Best’ isn’t affectionate. ‘Best’ is what you write when you don’t care enough to say ‘drop dead.’ ‘Best’ is”—I swallowed—”ambivalent.”

Jess clasped her hands together. “You know what? Why don’t I make us some tea? We can sit and talk.”

I stuffed the check and the letter into the envelope. “‘Best.’ He can bite my ass for his ‘best.’ Thinks I need his stupid two hundred and thirty-three dollars after six years? And pro-rated, no less. Jesus. I’m surprised he didn’t calculate interest. What kind of guy, after six years, sends a pro-rated rent refund check?”

Not Luke,
I thought
. Luke would never, ever...

Except he did.

“So...” Jess said, motioning vaguely toward the stove. “Tea?”

“No,” I said. “Thank you. We’ve got a long day tomorrow. I’m gonna—” I interrupted myself with a forced yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Okay.” There was a long moment of awkward silence, and then Jess shut off the lamp by the dinette and scurried back to her bunk. I clutched the envelope in my fist, crawled back into bed, and stared at the ceiling of the Airstream until the sun rose.

***

“This looks like a nice place,” Jess said as I hopped back into the cab of the truck, which was parked in the lot of an RV park off Route 24, just outside of Colorado Springs. “Do you think you’ll be here long?”

I held up the receipt in my hand. “Just paid for a month in advance.”

She paused. “Is that a long time for you?”

I sighed, staring at the hanging wooden sign by the road that read
Golden Acres Campground
, the letters carved out in that faux-burned-in style that many RV parks out west were fond of.

“It’s nice here,” she said in sunny tones. “I think you’ll like it here. It has a nice country atmosphere. Do you know where you’ll be working?”

“I keep reading ‘Golden Arches,’” I said, pointing to RV park sign.

She leaned forward to look at it. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Doesn’t help that the letters are painted yellow.”

She sat back. “It looks like a pretty place, though. I like the log cabin lodge thing they’ve got going on with the rec center—”

I twiddled my fingers on the steering wheel for a few seconds, then twisted in my seat to face her. “So, you fix people, right? I mean, that’s what you do?”

“Well, not really.” She cocked her head to the side. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“I just want to know what you do. I mean, when we met you said you help people, right? You fix them. That’s part of the whole angel thing, isn’t it?”

“No.” Jess cleared her throat. “I don’t really fix people. It’s not like a surgery. I just do what the Universe tells me. I help the way I’m guided to help. I don’t—”

“But if you went there,” I said, frustrated, “and someone was obviously broken, then that could be the reason why you went. Like, to fix him.”

“I’m not sure you’re hearing me. I don’t fix people. I can’t change who they are, or interfere with their free will. It doesn’t work that way. I just...” Jess watched me in silence for a while, then shook her head. “What are we talking about?”

“When we met, you said everything happens for a reason, right? You met me, and that’s why you’re going to Fletcher now.” I leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling of my truck cab. For someone who tagged herself as insightful, Jess was being particularly obtuse at the moment. “I mean, maybe you’re meant to help someone there. Someone who writes weird letters and sends them with his brother. Someone like that.”

She shrugged. “I know you’re bothered by that, but it was just a rent refund. It was thoughtful of him to remember after all these years.”

“Thoughtful, sure. But not funny. Not warm. I know I haven’t exactly earned funny and warm, but if Luke were stuck in a waiting room with Hitler, he couldn’t not be funny and warm. It’s just who he is.” I sighed. “Or who he was. Trust me, the Luke I know is not the same guy who wrote that letter.”

Jess nibbled one edge of her lip. “Has it occurred to you that maybe it’s not my destiny to help Luke?”

I huffed and threw my hands up in frustration.

“Well if it’s not yours, then who—?” I broke off, and she raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head. “No. Trust me. I’m not a fixer. I—” I sighed, my mind pushing against the memory of stupid things my mother has said to me. “I’m a breaker.”

There was a long moment of silence. “You really believe that?”

I shrugged. I had believed it enough, once, to make the biggest mistake of my life, so... “Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you think you broke Luke?”

A sharp pain shot through my ribs at her words, and I realized I’d hit my limit on this conversation.

“You know what?” I said, reaching for the gear shift. “Let me get this thing parked and set up, and we’ll get you to the airport.”

“He’s not broken,” she said, her voice soft.

I sat back, leaving the car in park, as the core of my being roiled with emotion I struggled to keep below the surface. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s important for you to know that Luke isn’t broken.”

“How would you know? You’ve never even met him.”

Jess stared straight ahead at the lodge, but I could tell by the misty look in her eyes that her head was somewhere else. “If he was really broken, he wouldn’t have been able to send you any letter at all.” Her voice was strange and distant, and her eyes blinked slowly as though she could hardly bear to look at whatever pictures her mind was putting in front of her. Then, she blinked hard, and turned her focus to me. “Whatever it is, it’s reparable. It’s not too late. He can be who he was again, and he probably will be, if it’s his natural inclination. But he’s not lost.”

For the first moment since I’d met Jess, the thick fog of my self-absorption lifted, and I could see that she wasn’t talking about me, or Luke. Not entirely, anyway. I was suddenly overtaken with curiosity about her past, but I didn’t ask any questions, mostly because she hadn’t asked me any, and she seemed like a “do unto others” kind of girl.

I cleared my throat. “I’m just gonna get the Airstream set up in my lot, and then we can get you to the airport.”

She flashed a smile. “Sounds great.”

I put the truck in gear and started down the path to my section of the park. “Or, you know, I
could
drive you to Denver. It’s only another seventy miles, and it’s a bigger airport up there. You can get a direct flight to Portland and it’ll be cheaper.”

“Well, sure,” she said. “That’d be nice. Thank you.”

We drove in silence for a short while.

“
Or
,” I said, “I could just drive you all the way to Fletcher.”

I kept my eyes on the dirt path ahead of us, but even not looking at her, I could hear the smile in her voice.

“That you could.”

“I mean, I’ve paid for the full month. I could just park the damn trailer here and get over myself and go to my stupid mother’s stupid wedding. I mean, I owe Danny that much, right? The few good qualities I have are because of him. I can just think of it as Danny’s wedding, and put up with her for his sake.”

“That’s an interesting perspective.”

“Okay. So we’ll just park this thing and pack up and be on our way.”

A wooden sign nailed to a tree marked my lot and I pulled easily into it. I shut the engine off and turned to face her. She glanced at me, not working too hard to hide her victorious grin.

“Stop smiling,” I said, reaching for my door handle. “Nobody likes a cocky angel.”

***