Huntress (4 page)

“I find that hard to believe,” she said mostly under her breath.

“Hey, cut me some slack here. You have to forgive me for not immediately jumping into accepting that I’m some sort of mythical super-being when I have a difficult time making sure I eat lunch and that the mortgage is paid on time.”

Shaking my head, I smiled ruefully. “And now, after all of this time, I’m supposed to accept at face value that this is all real?  I want to believe you. God! I do.” I nearly choked on the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. “God knows that I could use a miracle in my life to make things suck less, but I write fiction. I don’t live it. I think it’s time for me to go,” I finished quietly.

“Grace, didn’t you hear anything I’ve just said?”

“Yeah sure,” I answered. “You’re Diana. You don’t have babies often. You’re my Mom and you need me to be some kind of hero. Blah blah – protection and abandoned me to shitty parents.” I nodded as I ticked off the points in my head. “Yep that sounds about right.” Standing too quickly, I nearly fell back down. Whatever she’d done to knock me out was making me a little woozy. She held out her hand and I took it to steady myself.

“Diana, I have a little boy who expects me to pick him up in the morning from his bestest pal’s house so that we can make an I-Hop run for blueberry pancakes. I have an agent who is harassing me about getting my edits in so my publisher can sell my latest book which should keep me afloat long enough to get the next book written. That is my life. This -” I waved my hand around, “this is fantasy.”

“What can I do to prove to you that this is real?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It sounds like the plot out of one of the sci-fi novels that I read. Part of me is really considering checking myself into Cedar Springs for a mental eval. The part that soaks up that kind of thing really does want to believe you, but Diana...Mom... whatever you are, I have responsibilities and a life to rebuild. This is just too much.”

I strode purposefully toward the door, thinking that I was making a clean escape when I heard her mutter behind me.

“I should have known you’d be a stubborn jackass about this.”

“I heard that!” I called over my shoulder, as my fingers wrapped around the handle.

A sharp edge on the knob caught the fleshy part of my palm, drawing blood. I gasped, swore and brought my hand up to my mouth sucking on the cut. It was just my bloody luck, quite literally, these days.

Daylight burned my retinas and I blinked a few times in surprise.  My legs crossed the threshold into the clearing where my Rogue was parked.  Finally, a break!

I pulled the keys out of my hoodie pocket and folded myself into the driver's seat, locking the door behind me as if it would keep me safe from whatever
that
had been.  I took a shaky breath as the silence closed in around me.

It's funny how trying to make sense of illogical events just makes them murkier.  The details of that room were already starting to fade from my memory.  The harder I tried to recall the color of the couch, the harder it became.

I suppose it would have been easy for me to just accept everything Diana had said as the truth, but that's not me.  Skepticism is my bread and butter.  Things that seem too good to be true generally are.  I may write Happily-Ever-Afters for a living, but actually believing in them was an entirely different matter.

I hadn't lied to her.  Lord knows I would have given almost anything to belong to something greater than myself.  When Dylan was born, it had given me a purpose I hadn't realized existed.  The focus on raising him became the most important thing in my life.  Before he came along, I'd only had my writing.  Book sales didn't make me rich, but I lived comfortably.  Now those two things were all I really had in this world.  Upsetting the balance was a scary consideration that I wanted
nothing
to do with.

The choice between continuing to the cabin and heading back home seemed pretty easy now.  As I turned back to the Springs, it seemed like the best idea I'd had all day.  I decided that what I
really
needed were three things:  Peppermint Mocha, a hot bath and a nap in my own bed.

I drove in silence for a few minutes before checking to see if I had cell signal.  One bar.  Hmmm, maybe I could catch Rose at a port?  I pushed the Bluetooth button on the steering column and said "Call Rose."

It rang several times before the voicemail picked up and Rose's familiar voice filled my ears.

“You’ve reached Rose’s phone! I’m currently touring the Mediterranean Ocean with the love of my life so I can’t get to the phone right now. If this is Grace, you only have four days left. Take a deep breath, get over yourself and I’ll call you when I get home.”

I smiled ruefully. She must have updated her voicemail message in the last day. For the first three days of her fourteen day cruise, I’d called her twice a day begging her to come home.  Yes, there were days when I was
that
insecure.  Of course, it hadn’t helped anything that I’d received the final divorce papers three hours after her flight had left.

I had one option left.  When things got really bad, and I mean
really bad
, there was always my Lucy.  You know...the "deposit five cents for advice" type?

Fred and I had met a few years ago at a meet-and-greet for Sci-Fi nerds (like me) and we'd hit it off.  What had developed since then was a masochistic - on my part, or maybe his...considering my level of neurotic - friendship where I called when I was lost.  He would then patiently tell me to pull my shit together.

“Call Lucy,” I commanded my phone.

He picked up on the second ring. “Deposit five cents for advice, please.”

“Cha-Ching!” I replied.

“I wondered how long it would take you to call. How long has Rose been gone? Twelve days?” he asked.

“Ten,” I replied.

“So you must be pretty desperate at this point. I should start charging more.”

I chuckled. Just his voice helped sometimes. “I signed the papers today.”

“Are you out celebrating your freedom from the selfish fuck?” he asked.

“Mmm, not so much. I uh... I’ve had a couple of surprising revelations today and I just need... Crap, Fred. I don’t know what I need. I’m driving out of the mountains right now so if I drop, I’ll try calling back.”

He made the appropriate noises and then demanded that I continue.

“So I think that I met my Mom just now. My real mom, not the fake one and as I said, I signed the papers today,” I paused and took a deep breath. “I think that I’m just at my wit’s end.”

“Well you know, this was the--.”

“Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it. I know he wasn’t good for me, but you get an idea in your head that you are supposed to be with someone for the rest of your life and it kind of sticks right? I don’t have balls of steel. I’m a marshmallow Fred. I’m a damned marshmallow and I hurt. And this mom thing—.”

“Wait, what is this mom thing? I thought you had a mom. One of those 10 o’clock news, just murdered all of the competing cheerleaders moms. What happened to her?”

“Well, you know she’s not my real mom.”

“Right.”

Don't get me wrong, I love Fred and I've trusted him with the deepest parts of me, but I didn't think this was the time to lay this kind of "Hey, my mom's a mythical goddess" crazy on him.  "I happened upon the real mom who's a little - well, she's a little off, I guess.  Maybe the crazy is genetic."  I took another deep breath to stave off the impending panic attack.

“You know, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think that you brought this kind of crazy on yourself Gracie.”

“I know right?” Here I was thinking that he had no idea but I guess he really did. “I just,” I paused. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted from him or anybody for that matter. “I guess I just needed to hear a friendly voice. Give me a song.” I demanded.

“Hmm, let me think.  Found real mom on the day that you finalize your divorce. Yeah I don’t know if I have anything specific to that. How about we go with
Ready to Start
by Arcade Fire?”

This I could do. This was familiar territory. I had a crappy day, week, life and Fred would recommend a great song to help me breathe through it. “That’s absolutely perfect. Thanks.” I smiled through the anxiety. “Tell Marni I said hi.”

“You bet! Remember, you’re awesome.”

I was not going to cry. “Thanks,” I squeaked out before hanging up.

Okay, so I was crying.  The absolute brutal truth is that emotions and I just didn't exist on a compatible level.  You learn how to deal with things while you're young, and my youth had taught me that Suppress is Best.  Normally, I'd have tried to be stoic, and then let myself tear up a bit in the shower where it's impossible to distinguish tears from shower mist.

This had completely unhinged me.  Jokingly, I'd usually tell my friends that I could deal with two out of three things going to crap in my life and still have time to make an excellent soufflé out of the shit falling around me.  Guess I needed to purchase some real estate on the River of Denial.

I queued up the song on my iPod and hit play.  The music washed over me.  By the time the chorus rolled around I was singing along at the top of my lungs. “If I was scared, I would. And if I was bored, I would. And if I was yours, but I’m not.” 

Jesus, at the rate the tears were falling, I was going to cause a 50-car pileup on the highway.  Pulling over before another wave of emotions hit me seemed to be the best bet.  Sobs shook my body as I put the SUV in Park.  I wasn't this weak!  Why did everything feel so - so hard right now?!  Physical pain lanced through my stomach, doubling me over and the tears streamed faster down my face.  Oh.  My.  God.  I was turning Emo.  I'd probably cried more in the last two weeks than I had in my entire life.  My fists pounded the steering wheel a few times before I let my head rest against the hard leather of my seat.

That’s when the hiccups started. You know you’re doomed when crying gives you the hiccups. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, scrubbing at my eyes and dislodging a contact in the process. Christ, I was never going to get home if I couldn’t see the road.

Closing one eye so I could find the other contact without severe vertigo, I remembered that Rose had jokingly shoved an old pair of glasses into my glove box about a month ago.  "Since you're an old lady now, you should keep all of your handicap accessories close at hand," she'd said with a wink.  I wiped at my nose and reached over to grab them.

Getting contacts out of teary eyes should be easy, right?  Yeah.  Not so much.  I nearly stabbed my eyeball out with a ragged nail and the cut on my palm was starting to sting from the salt of my tears. Finally both of them were out and I flung the remaining bit of plastic out of the window - hoping as an afterthought that it was biodegradable.  Dylan was always nagging me about going ‘green.’ I guess it was starting to stick.

Shoving my glasses up my nose, I turned back to the glove box and reached for the pack of cigarettes, only to find a pack of peppermint gum and some carrot sticks in sandwich bag tied to a short note. It read –

Those things are going to kill you. Chew gum instead. Oh and the carrots are for the diet you need to put yourself on. We need to get you ready for this and you’re not going to prepare yourself by eating chocolate fudge chunk cookies and smoking a pack a day.

I bristled with anger and crumpled up the note. Who the hell was she to tell me…? I crammed a carrot stick into my mouth and bit down with a satisfying crunch.  I guess it could have been worse - she could have stuck broccoli or green beans in there. 

The drive back to town seemed to be shorter than the drive out to the middle of nowhere and I was relieved when I pulled into my driveway.
 
Glad to finally be home in my comfort zone.

I’ve had friends try to schedule interventions to get me out of the house. Listen, I’m not a shut in. Oh sure, I work from home and don’t have much of a social life, but really I’m just a (recently) fairly depressed, (long time) shy in new social situations woman. So what if my lady parts were on the verge of re-virginization? My life didn’t leave a lot of room for extra-curricular activities and being safe and comfortable is good in my world.

I stepped through the front door, dropping my keys and phone on the table in the entryway while I kicked off my shoes.  I made my way to the couch and sank down into the overstuffed cushions.

My breathing became even as my fingertips glided over the corded ridges of the couch cushions. Back and forth they smoothed across the velvety texture.

It nearly put me into a meditative state. Sensory comfort is hard-coded into our make-up. We latch on to certain textures when we’re babies and they give us comfort and help relax the tension we rack up as adults. My friend Rebecca still has scraps of her baby blanket that she rubs between her fingers when she’s stressed out.  Who was I to judge?

I like to imagine that it would have been feasible to completely de-stress by rubbing the corded ridges of that couch cushion. I may have then had some wine and a long bubble bath to celebrate the afterglow of being Zen. But you know - there are some days when you just can’t catch a break.