Deliver Her: A Novel (27 page)

“Hey, Alden,” he started.

Meg squeezed his arm. “Not now, Jacob. We really need to go.”

“I
know
, Meg.” He put out his hand to the transporter. “Just . . . thanks. Thank you for bringing her back to us.” The two men shook hands, then the couple moved along to the Baileys.

“We’re so sorry to have disrupted your business,” Meg said to Iris.

“It’s nothing. Our kids are everything, aren’t they?” Iris looked over at Mia, who was hugging Alex good-bye. “We’re close by, if Alex needs anything.”

“I appreciate that.” Meg swallowed the lump in her throat.

Behind her, Jacob now had an arm around Alex, her duffel slung over his shoulder, as he herded them both toward Swiftriver’s door.

Alex turned. “Mom, you coming?”

“One sec, honey.” Meg waited until the two were outside. “Carl, I owe you an explanation. And an apology.”

“Not necessary. Save it for your family.”

“I’ll take care of that, I promise. But there’s one other thing.”

“If it’s about the money, you’ll get my entire fee back.”

“We can talk about that later,” Meg said. She pulled out her phone. “I have another question for you.”

ALEX

It’s done,
Alex thought, closing her eyes in the backseat. The cloud of confidence buoying her back at Swiftriver was melting into a puddle of panic. She wondered if her mother had brought more medication; she might need it at her new school. Or sooner. Evan bragged he’d gotten good and shit-faced the night before his parents dragged him off to Maine that summer. He was actually proud of the fact he couldn’t remember a single detail.

This
voyage, however, would be burned in her brain, Alex decided.

She glanced out the window. Maybe it wasn’t too late. They could still go home. It didn’t help matters that they’d soon pass the spot where Camo Man’s car had skidded off the road. She looked away.

Stop. You’re doing the right thing.
She’d all but made up her mind last night after talking to Mia; Shana’s spilling her guts had only sealed the deal. What if she hadn’t called Shana today, Alex wondered angrily, nibbling a cuticle. How long would her so-called friend have kept her in the dark? It
was
time for Alex to move on—to clear out everything that didn’t serve her, as Aunt Melissa liked to say. While Shana’s confession certainly didn’t erase all of Alex’s guilt, it at least lightened the sadness on her heart to learn that she wasn’t directly responsible for the accident.

Because Shana was.

Shana, who by avoiding Alex’s questions and glossing over the night’s details for the past nine months, had inflicted deep, unrelenting pain. And had made their friendship a total sham.

All of Shana’s behaviors made sense now: the overnight Amphibian passion, the willingness to drive Alex anywhere, anytime; her oversolicitous texts. All along, Alex had the uneasy feeling Shana was trying to make up for something. Now she knew what it was.

The depth of her friend’s deception had been too massive to process; Alex couldn’t even recall ending their conversation outside Swiftriver. She’d stared at Mia’s phone a few seconds, then remembered her mom’s letter, balancing on the log to read it. By the time she got to “the choice is yours” part, she was certain what she had to do.

Rereading the letter now in the car, Alex twirled her braid.
Precious cargo—
a phrase her mother used practically since birth: clicking Alex into her car seat, reminding her from the front seat to buckle up, yelling it from the front door whenever she got in a friend’s car.
So
embarrassing.

Mom Haircut had been precious cargo. So had Cass. Both had sat beside her on the days of the accidents for the same reason: to protect her.

She’d had no control over what happened to Officer Murphy, or even to Cass. Today, she could begin to hate herself less for losing the most precious cargo of all, her best friend—even without the healing hands of Happy Corner.

“Sorry, Cass,” Alex whispered, shoving the letter back in her bag, alongside the crumpled Swiftriver food check with Mia’s scrawled cell phone number—a lifeline to get her through the next few months. Suddenly she remembered her own cell, stuffed in Mom Haircut’s pocketbook. It might take some time to reunite with it. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be off the grid for a little while. She’d managed OK for the last twenty-four hours, hadn’t she?

“What sounds good, Al?” Her mom beamed her Nurse Meg face at Alex in the rearview mirror. She was driving to give her dad a break, she had said when she hopped in the driver’s seat back at Swiftriver. Right now her mother oozed with goodwill, scanning radio stations and stopping at each for Alex’s opinion.

“I don’t care. You pick.” Alex was perfectly content to chill.

“Interstate’s coming up, Meg,” her dad said, straightening up. “If you don’t get over now, you won’t make the exit.”

Her mother made no move to change lanes. “We’re already a day late. The school can wait a few more hours. Right, Alex?” Her mother beamed again in the mirror, sailing right by the exit.

“What?”
Alex sat up and stared out the window as the exit receded. She didn’t know where the school was, but now that she’d made her mind up to go, she’d just as soon get there. She mimed a smile; maybe there was another nearby spot from her childhood her mother wanted to show her.

“If you’re thinking about stopping for food, Iris gave us enough to feed an army.” Her father held up the care package Mia’s mom pressed upon them when they left Swiftriver.

“I was thinking more like, food for the
soul
.”

“If this is another crazy scheme,” her dad began.

“Trust me. It’s not crazy.”

“Just tell us, Meg,” her dad said. “I’m kind of over surprises at this point.”

“Stop
raining
on my parade. I promise. It’ll be worth the wait.”

ALEX

Happy Corner, New Hampshire

Staring up at Rainmaker’s magnificence, Alex had no words. Nothing—not Camo Man’s souvenir tree frog, not her bedroom poster, not even the videos playing on the Phibs’ giant concert screen—had done it justice. Camo Man was right: You had to see Rainmaker in person. It was the only way to truly appreciate the immense brass frog with glittering garnet eyes the size of bowling balls bulging over rounded cheeks, its webbed feet clinging to a cement base the size of a small car.

The statue was so massive, its brassiness so blinding, that its disciples had to circle it a few times in order to absorb the monument’s full impact and receive the supersize amphibian’s rumored luck and blessings.

Even after she and her dad completed their circuit, Alex struggled to speak. “I . . . I can’t believe we’re here.”

“Me, neither. I’m so happy to be here with you. We can thank your mother for that.” Behind them, her mom hadn’t stopped smiling since she ended the guessing game, waving her phone with the directions she’d gotten from Carl.

Her mom stepped up to the statue now and rubbed Rainmaker’s flank. “So this is what I’ve been missing all these years.” Around them, other Phibs disciples hovered, drinking in the powers associated with the golden tree frog: fertility, wealth and most of all, tons of rain—the part Camo Man had droned on about at lunch. But today, without Cass beside her, there was only one Rainmaker blessing that mattered to Alex: the idol’s promise of a happy afterlife, an ancient belief about golden tree frogs held by some Indian tribe. Cass had shared it with her.

That was Alex’s prayer today for her friend—peace and contentment for infinity. Gazing past Rainmaker’s golden reflection at the blue expanse beyond, Alex felt in her bones that her intention had been heard. “We made it, Cass,” she mouthed.

She was ready to move forward.

Feeling happier than she had in months, Alex called to her parents, eager to explore the rest of Happy Corner in the hour limit they’d set for the visit. The three strode across the square to the edge of a massive field that stretched out as far as she could see. Squinting, Alex made out dozens of white tents pitched around a red barn—the barn that housed the school, she realized giddily, recalling pictures Cass had unearthed. From this angle, set against the cloudless sky, Happy Corner resembled a magical kingdom.

“Faster, guys,” she urged.

“Relax, Al. This place isn’t going anywhere,” her mom said.

But I am.
She skipped ahead, pausing at the first row of tents, where all the flaps were closed. Alex hesitated, unsure how to summon the Happy Corner residents. Should she knock, yell, ring a bell, maybe? Up close, the tents were stained and dirty; the one in front of her had holes in it the size of her fist. She stuck a hand through one. The flap lifted suddenly and a little boy sprinted by her, wearing nothing but a diaper.

“Sage, get back in here,” a female voice called from within. “Sahara, go get your brother, will you?” A girl about twelve, also barefoot, long hair flying, dashed after the toddler, tackling the boy and bringing him back, both of them slipping into the tent. Inside, Alex heard the mother berate her son.

A second later, the flap lifted again and a woman stepped out. “Can I help you?”

Alex stepped back at her unfriendly tone. Her hair was long like her daughter’s, but greasy and streaked with gray. Grass stains smudged her long, shapeless dress; the toes peeking out beneath it were caked with mud.

“We’re just visiting,” Alex said. “I’ve always wanted to come here. It’s, like, a legend.” By now, her parents had caught up.

“Legend, huh? They with you?”

When Alex nodded, the woman grudgingly said they could have a look around, as long as they didn’t touch anything. “You wouldn’t believe what those groupies think they’re entitled to,” she said.

Alex glanced back at Rainmaker. The tree frog looked much smaller from this perspective. “What time are you guys going to dance?”

The woman frowned. “Dance?”

“You know. The ceremonial dances around Rainmaker?”

She laughed. “We haven’t done that in years. You’re welcome to dance yourself, if you want. There’s always some tourists who do.”

“That’s OK. I’ll pass. Would it be cool if we peeked at the school?”

“Go ahead, but there’s not much happening on a Saturday. Most of the bigger kids take a bus to the town school now anyway.”

“But what about the homeschooling? The one-room schoolhouse where everyone learns together?” Alex asked.

“State shut us down. The kids weren’t doing too well on the standardized tests.”

Behind Alex, her mom cleared her throat. “What
is
open, then? We came all this way.”

“What about the gardens? Or the fields? Could we sample some of Happy Corner’s homemade products?” Alex asked.

“Outsourced. Too much feuding over profits. Anyway, there wasn’t much to sell this year. Our crops caught some kind of bug last season. We’re giving the fields a rest.”

Alex twirled her braid. “So if there’s no dancing and no school and no garden,” she said slowly, “then what exactly do people do at Happy Corner?”

The woman scratched her head. “Frankly, honey, I wait for the mail, and my check—try to figure out a way to get by with my kids.”

Alex felt her dad’s hand on her shoulder. She gazed down the row of tents. “What about all the others?” she asked.

“Empty. Summer people, mostly. We rent them out. College kids, city hipsters coming up to camp. It’s cheaper than a hotel,” she said with a shrug. “We added Wi-Fi in the barn. They wouldn’t come otherwise.”

“But the concerts. They must come for the music.”

Again, the woman’s face went blank as stone.

“The band. Amphibian,” Alex prompted. “I saw them playing here in a video.”

“They played once, back in the day.” She crossed her arms and stared out into the field. “They always say they’ll come back, but the town wasn’t too happy the last time. Said they ruined the roads and the septic.” The little boy came out again, wrapping himself around his mother’s leg. “Anyway, the band doesn’t bother with this little place. They like the bigger venues now. Big festivals. Stagecoach or something?”

“Coachella,” Alex corrected.

“Whatever. Although they let us sell CDs. I’ve got some inside. You want to see?” She held open the tent flap, and Alex peered inside. Sleeping bags were spread on bare ground; the young girl lay on one of them. Seeing Alex, she sat up and hugged her knees. Alex stepped back outside, feeling like an intruder.

“You know, I’m good—iTunes, you know?”

“Fine.” The tent flap dropped as quickly as it had opened, leaving Alex and her parents alone in the field.

Alex’s mom squeezed her shoulder.

“I think we can go now,” Alex whispered.

She was silent on the walk back, kicking a stone across the field. Happy Corner was nothing like they had envisioned. In fact, if you didn’t count Rainmaker, Happy Corner was downright miserable. How could she and Cass ever have imagined a life here?

Her dad caught up to her. “This place must have really been something in its day.”

“It’s not fair, Dad. I was so sure I’d fit right in. That it would be perfect.”

Her mother turned to look back at the tent colony. “Is anything ever really perfect, Al? Anyway, Sahara? Sage? If you wanted to stay here, you’d have to do something about your name.”

Alex twirled her braid again. “I did kind of pick one out.”

She had to give her parents props. Neither cracked a smile when she told them.

They were almost back to the statue. It was time to say good-bye to Rainmaker. Alex reached up and slowly unwound Cass’s scarf, grateful once again it had found its way back to her after the storm. She felt as though the sleet and ice of that journey washed away all its bad karma, just as the rain melted the hardened nests of golden tree frogs.

See, Camo Man. I
was
listening.

Walking around to the bronze plaque under Rainmaker’s four-toed feet, Alex dropped Cass’s scarf onto the communal pile of flowers, candles and other offerings. “Be happy, my friend,” she whispered.

Placing her hand on the statue, Alex willed its warmth and energy to soak through her skin so she could begin to embrace the universe’s faith in her own potential.

Cass would want that.

“Hey, Indigo Wren, how about a picture?” her mom called from the other side of Rainmaker.

“Let’s get someone to take the three of us,” said her dad.

“It’s called a selfie, Jacob.” Her mom maneuvered her phone to position them both in the picture. “OK, got it. Come here, Alex. There’s room for you now.”

She watched her parents touch heads and smile, so unlike their last family photo. She wanted to remember them just the way they were at that moment.

“You guys go ahead,” she called. “I’m good.”

She really
was
good, she realized, better than she’d been in ages. Her fingers curled around Camo Man’s frog—all the Rainmaker she would need from this point forward.