Leaving Unknown (20 page)

A
fter my morning run, I hurried into the Little Read Book, anxious to be there before Noah. I wanted to see his face when he came in. He’d flown to New York for a meeting with his publisher, and Tuesday, Bruce, and I had worked around the clock to finish the children’s nook in his absence. The bookshelves were painted bright primary colors to match the new
area carpet, there were kid-sized chairs and tables I’d been hiding in the stockroom, and the café now offered juice boxes. I’d stayed until 2
A.M.
to hang shadowbox frames displaying our collection of classic children’s books. It was perfect.

By the time he walked in at 12:47, I was vibrating with impatience. The sight of him sent a jolt through my system. I was going to have to ask Samuel for a sedative later.

“Oh, are you back already?” The most erect posture of my life belied my casual tone. Noah gave me an amused look.

“My flight was delayed.” He smiled. “Careful, or I’m going to think you missed me.”

“Cha. Name one person in the history of time who misses the boss when he’s away.”

“Monica Lewinsky. You’re wearing your favorite rainbow socks.” He had me there. I was wearing my most happy socks.

I was about to retort when he said, “I missed you.” And there I was, mouth hanging open like a fish. He laughed, eyes holding mine for ten eternal seconds.

“I…” I started.

“Did I miss it? Am I late? Rats!” Tuesday’s bracelets jangled more than the doorbell as she bounded in. “Poppy Tarquin completely forgot to pick up Bloom after dance lessons so I was stuck at the studio until she remembered she had a child. I swear, what am I, a free babysitter? And now I’m late to meet the Cowbelles. Well?” She turned a shining face toward Noah.

“What?” He looked confused.

“Oh goody! I’m not too late!” Tuesday clapped. “Well, for
this
anyway.”

“Close your eyes.” I smiled. He did. I led him to face the corner nook. “Okay, open.”

He did. I waited. He didn’t say anything. For a long, long time. I felt an anxious wiggle. Did he hate it? Was it too unserious? Noah was very serious about books.

He looked at me, tone controlled. “You did this?”

Oh God. He was upset. He hated it. I hesitated. Should I give Tuesday and Bruce credit for their hard work, or take all the blame? I blinked so he couldn’t see I was fighting not to cry. I battled an urge to run, feet twitchy. How had I gotten it wrong? I managed a nod, looking down.

“This is…by far…the most…” I peeked up and noticed he was blinking too. Kind of like me. And his eyebrow wasn’t drawn down like it did when he was upset. He was staring at the mural on the far wall. “Is that…?”

“Tuesday did it.” I relaxed. He was looking at a large painted image of a girl with long braids and a boy wearing kneesocks sitting in a treetop. Tuesday had rendered an excellent copy. “There’s even a shelf for your toys.” I pointed. “
If
you feel like sharing.”

“They are not toys,” came his lofty refrain. “They are visualization facilitators. Grown men do not play with toys.” He looked at me. He ventured further in. “It’s amazing. Everything is so little.”

“Everything is cuter in miniature,” I said.

“And the undersea corner?”

“I figured it’d be hard to have kids fly or walk through walls, but maybe they could breathe underwater. There’s a treetops corner too.”

His smile was huge. He tugged a braid. “You’re right. I like being one of the kids. I could get used to you being around.”

I took an involuntary step backward. Part of me wanted to take care of Noah so badly I dreamed of snatching him under my arm and running far away to shove him in a warm nest and feed him soup. But with my luck, I’d trip and drop him into poison ivy, where’d he’d break an arm. I was still too unsure of myself. Noah had had enough bad luck himself.

“Hey man, don’t cry or anything. It’s just a shop.” I looked
around for Tuesday but she’d vanished. It was a trick she perfected when Noah and I bickered.

He caught my shoulder and turned me back. “It’s not just a shop. It’s perfect. Thank you, Maeve.” He hugged me tight. I stiffened, then sagged like a sad sack, absorbing his support. I didn’t want him to let go. Then I got anxious. This was exactly the problem. I was trying to be a new girl. One who could take care of herself. Certainly not one who over-hugged another girl’s boyfriend.

I pulled back.

“It’s amazing how well we fit,” he said.

“What?” I said, startled.

“Your little bookstore in mine,” he mused. Suddenly I felt the weight of a thousand books and magazines. Was I responsible for the store? For the first time, I was relieved to see Beth walk in.

She was beaming. “Hello!” she sang. “Welcome back!” She flung her arms around Noah, and I became considerably less happy about her arrival.

The smile he returned seemed forced.

“Have you got anything to say to me?” Her tone was coy.

His “of course” was clipped, so I was surprised when he followed it with “Happy anniversary.”

“You didn’t forget!” She kissed him on the mouth. Air left my lungs.

“I did not,” he said. “We’re going to Bella Mia in Nogales. And I have a spa gift certificate for you.”

My blood pressure shot like mercury in a thermometer, spiking so fast I feared a plasma geyser might burst through the top of my head. I realized I was staring, and bolted for the café. What was the matter with me? I’d seen them kiss before. Samuel and I kissed in the store all the time. Or we had, I corrected. I shook my head to clear it. I hadn’t had so many
emotions in succession since I was fifteen and gotten my first kiss from Jack Jost, only to find him kissing my friend Alison ten minutes later. Never mind that a spinning bottle was involved.

My instinct was to call my sister but I resisted. I couldn’t forever dial her up to get my head straight. Besides, there was nowhere private and whispering furiously behind a cupped hand in the stockroom was ludicrous. What could she tell me that I didn’t know? I was overreacting.

I shoved napkins into the dispenser in irritation. As if I’d conjured him, Noah appeared. I registered Beth dancing out of the store. Noah sat at a café table and gestured to the chair opposite.

“So, tell me what happened while I was gone.” His smile was genuine.

“Not much.” I shrugged, remaining behind the counter. I didn’t mention my breakup. It struck me how pathetic it might look, if he mistook my motive in fixing up the store. “We had a good week in the café.”

“The store stayed open then?” he teased. “You didn’t float off to take pictures of air motes or something?”

My blood pressure pounded again. How could he take a frosted tart like Beth seriously and treat me like a piece of fluff? Watching them together made me want to hurl. I tossed my rag down and flung an arm toward the nook. “How much time do you think I took off, Noah?” I demanded. “You were only gone for three days. You think that Little Read Picture Book sign, the murals and the shelves all painted themselves?”

He looked startled. “Maeve, I…”

“And considering you forgot to pay me before you left, technically, I’ve been working for free, so if I wanted to take off and photograph naked baby bottoms I’d be perfectly entitled!”

His face was stricken. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you right now. I
didn’t mean…getting ready to leave…I was distracted…I just…”

“Forget it,” I snapped. “Include it in next week’s check. But try not to forget that most people don’t have their jobs for kicks. And for the record, taking care of you is a lot more work than you think.” I turned my back, hating myself but unable to stop my mouth. I sensed rather than saw him disappear into the office. I was relieved when he didn’t come right back. After a while I felt safe enough to sit on the floor of the café and rest my forehead against the cool refrigerator door.

It was when I was in remission and eased back into school that I started running in earnest. I felt most in control of the wayward vehicle when I was running. In class, I floated around the edges. Former classmates, seniors now, would squint with vague recognition but quickly lose interest as I didn’t respond and recollection failed to come. I was the oldest in my classes. I made good grades. I didn’t date.

Ten days before Christmas I stopped by the Gerberator’s office a week after my regular blood tests to pick up some antibiotics. The flu had been going around, and I didn’t want to take any chances. I was impatient in the waiting room. Vi and I were going Christmas shopping, and I couldn’t wait. I’d detested shopping before I got sick, but after it was like a balm. I loved the cool, controlled climate of the mall, appreciated the cash-for-object exchange, bound myself to things. Sales transactions were discreet and tidy. You knew the outcome in advance.

It didn’t register when the nurse led me to the Gerberator’s office instead of handing me a prescription. When he started talking, I frowned. I needed to decide whether to get my mother new clogs or gardening tools for Christmas.

“You mean I have the flu?” I asked stupidly.

“Your white blood cell count is thirty-eight thousand.” He waited.

My needle went off the record. “No,” was all I said. “No.”

“I’m sorry, Maeve. We need to begin treatment right away. I’d like to admit you.”

I stood. I sat. I stood again. “May I have the flu shot?” I didn’t want to get the flu.

He shook his head sadly. “You know you can’t. We’ll run some tests and determine a course of treatment.” It was the first Christmas I’d had to spend in the hospital.

Twenty minutes past closing time, I hadn’t moved to lock the doors. The store was empty. I sat on a sofa watching the light change. Part of me hoped Noah wouldn’t come out, while part of me desperately wished he would. It seemed to be how I felt about everything lately. Slapping outstretched hands. When Noah did approach, his step was tentative.

“Maeve?” Hesitant.

I turned my head. He held out a check.

“My New York trip went really well. So, that’s a little more. I mean, it’s a raise. I’m giving you a raise. You deserve it.” He looked away. “I know I’m a little difficult.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Is everything okay?” He sat down next to me.

“It will be.” I said the truth. “I think it just takes time. Sometimes I feel like I’m learning how to be friends with adults, because I’m not sure I am one myself.” I picked at a button on the sofa cushion, then forced myself to look at him.

“You’re an adult.” His eyes jumped guiltily away from my boobs. If I’d been less miserable, I’d have laughed.

“In years maybe. Anyway, it wasn’t you.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat.
“What
was
it, Maeve? Why did we fight today? Did I do something wrong?” His earnest face made me want to cry.

I almost got sick as I recalled the Gerberator saying, “People with posttraumatic stress disorder may act like they are under threat, becoming suddenly irritable or explosive even when not provoked.”

“No,” I said. “You didn’t. You’re a good man, Noah. And an excellent friend. I’m grateful you put up with me. I can be a moody, bossy creature!” I forced a laugh.

His relief was evident. “I’m glad. I really value our friendship.” He looked at his watch. “Are you okay to close up? I have to get Beth. You know women and these anniversary things.”

I laughed. “Go. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Is Samuel picking you up?”

“Not today.”

He unfolded his tall body. He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s nice to be home.” The word sprung a fence between us—one of us was home and one of us was not. “And I love the nook. Every time I turn around things get better here because of you.”

I watched him walk out, reflecting that it was unfair a man’s legs could look that long and sexy in jeans, and knowing two things. I was in love with Noah Case, and I had to get the hell out of town because of it. It would kill me to moon over him from a distance, and I never, ever wanted to make him look that vulnerable again.

C
lapp Cement.”

“May I please speak with Clem Clapp?” It felt like asking for a venereal disease.

“You got him.” The voice was brusque. I hoped I hadn’t guessed wrong. I looked at the website. No, this was my guy. I was sure of it.

“Is this
the
Clem Clapp, editor and CEO of the
Plymouth Road
Runner: The (Good) Times
?” I poured all the admiration I could into my question.

His voice warmed. “That’d be me. Who am I speaking to?”

“Sir, it is an honor. You are speaking to Maeve Connelly, 1970 Plymouth Road Runner N96 Air Grabber coupe, 727 auto transmission, yellow black stripes.”

“That’s a rare beauty, that one. I have one of those myself: Moulin Rouge, no wheel covers.” Satisfaction radiated from his voice.

“Three eighty-three CID rated at 335 bhp and 425 torque?” I carefully read Barney’s notes.

“Four twenty-six CID hemi rated at 425 bhp—that’s 317 kW—and 490 torque. Can run the quarter mile in thirteen point four seconds at a hundred and five mph.” Perfect. It was engine compatible.

I whistled. “Beep beep.” I mimicked the car horn’s signature Road Runner beep.

“Beep, beep,” he responded, with the reverence of a secret handshake.

“Is it true, Mr. Clapp, that you have
six
Plymouth Road Runners, sir?” Awe.

“Call me Clem. There’s no better vehicle than the Road Runner. It’s a personal privilege to ensure these American icons never become extinct. What would the road be without them?” Bingo.

“Six cars.” I whistled. “How do you ever decide which one to drive? It’s a shame you can’t drive them all at once.”

“That’s the God’s honest truth. I don’t have a system, just go with my gut. The roof leaks on Angie so I don’t drive her in the rain, and Vicki doesn’t like the cold none too much. Sylvie has extra tinting, so she’s great for summer days. The seats clean easiest on Becky, so she’s best for driving the offspring to
school. Dorothy—that’s Dottie—gets the best gas mileage, and Tootsie, well, she was my first. I have a soft spot for Tootsie. You get to know your girls, and you know which one’s raring to be driven any given day.”

I assumed by
girls
he was referring to his cars, all lovingly mentioned by name, whereas his progeny were anonymously lumped together as “offspring.” “How
is
the weather in Boise?” I worked on camaraderie.

“Just the ticket for fishin’, drivin’, and sellin’ cement.” He chuckled. “And how can I help you, Miss Connelly?”

“Call me Maeve. Clem, I couldn’t help but be impressed at the
Plymouth Road Runner: The (Good) Times
. That’s quite a publication for a man as busy as yourself.” I had the latest issue up on the internet. It looked like a third-grade newsletter. You could almost smell the Elmer’s glue.

“It’s a labor of love.”

“I loved your piece on the Duster with adjustable spoilers. I never knew that about side-to-side yaw.” I owed April for that one.

“Well, thank you kindly.” He sounded chuffed. Time to go for the kill.

“I noticed you don’t publish on a regular schedule. I found myself so eager for more after reading the last issue that I wanted to find out when the next edition will be available.”

“That’s a good question. My wife doesn’t quite share my passion so I’m on my own for the newsletter. There are quite a few members of
Plymouth Road Runner: An American Fan Club
—of which I’m founder and president—but I do most of the work myself. With running a company, my time is limited. There’s only so much one man can do.”

“Too bad there aren’t any photos. I’d love to see your girls.”

“I’m not the most computer-minded guy on the planet. My
talents run to bills of sale. But I’ll learn. I plan to turn this baby into a first-class publication.”

“Clem, I might be able to help you out.” I started to talk. He became excited.

“Maeve, your dedication to the
Road Runner
does you credit. I like the way you think. But that’s a lot of work you’re proposing to take on. Now tell me, if you do this for me, what can I do for you? Need cement?”

I couldn’t hold back my smile. “Actually…” I laid out my proposal.

“So he went for it?” Vi asked.

“Uh-huh.” I crunched a celery stick.

“And what exactly do you have to do?”

“When I told him how Elsie and I got to Unknown, he was laughing so hard I was afraid he’d have a heart attack. I promised to help him modernize the newsletter and to write a regular column called
Road Runner: A Tough Love Story
. He has a thing for colons. It’ll be about my various road trips, and feature pictures of Elsie in all the small towns I’ve visited, the car troubles we’ve had, and how we fixed it. Car enthusiast stuff.”

“That sounds like a pretty sweet deal.”

“Not exactly.” Clem hadn’t been a total mark. “I also have to help him with his company newsletter,
Cement Times: Solid Facts
.” I was racking my brains for photo ops for that one. “My first piece is going to be
Step on a Crack, Break Your Mother’s Back: Does It Give Cement a Bad Name?”

“In return you get the part.”

“Yep. Vicki will be Elsie’s organ donor while both Clem and I keep looking for replacements. If Barney finds one first, I send Clem back his parts. If Clem finds one first, I help him out with his various newsletters until I’ve worked off my debt.”

“But his car won’t work in the meantime.”

“He can still polish it. And, he has five others. Clem believes the more Road Runners out there, the better for the emotional psyche of our nation. He’d rather me get Elsie back on the road, even if it means taking Vicki out of circulation. It helps that he’s a nice person who genuinely wants to help.”

“You found the perfect donor.”

“I couldn’t wait around for Barney anymore. There weren’t any available parts. So, I started thinking of alternatives—if there weren’t available parts, I’d try unavailable parts. I narrowed it down to unavailable parts that could be made available. Someone with more than one car. Someone who’d care about fixing another person’s vintage car. Someone who might want something I had to offer. From there, it was easy.”

“Ingenious. Given how clever you’ve become, wouldn’t it be easier to buy the part off Clem, and avoid the newsletter business?”

I cleared my throat, with slight shame. “I don’t think I could afford it.”

“But you’ve been working for ages! And selling your pictures!”

“Yeah, well, there were things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Oh, I put some money into projects for the store. And it was Ruby’s birthday. Then there was the DVD player for the house, some hula skirts for Tuesday, a yoga mat for Samuel, some rabbit ears for my in-room TV, new running shoes. You know,
things
.”

Vi was quiet. “Maeve, has it ever occurred to you that maybe you don’t want to leave Unknown? It took you less than two weeks to get the money to leave Charlotte, and five days to get a new set of tires in Oklahoma. Maybe there’s a reason you’re not saving more efficiently. I know how determined you are when you set your mind to something.”

“I’m determined,” I said firmly. Whether she was right was irrelevant. I had to go.

“Why so suddenly unwavering?”

I opened my mouth. I closed it. I tried. “Have you ever stayed up all night picturing someone who wasn’t there?”

She sighed. “Noah?” Somehow she knew I was nodding over the phone. “Are you sure it’s hopeless?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure its hopeless because he has a girlfriend, or because you don’t think you’re good enough?”

Her words were a shock. At my silence she went on. “I don’t know if I’ll say this just right, because it was awful when you were sick, but in some ways your cancer was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I learned to appreciate the day. Because you got a second chance, I can tell you that you’ve only brought me good things.”

“That guy dumped you because you didn’t go to his sister’s wedding. Because you were with me.” My throat hurt saying it.

“Lucky break I got out early, I say. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t always easy. But at the end, we all won. The thing about second chances, though, is that they aren’t worth beans if you don’t do anything about them.”

“But…”

“Get out of your own way, Maeve.”

After we hung up, I had an impulse to run. My feet twitched to sprint through fields. I ignored them. Instead, I stood, and went to the kitchen to meet Bruce and Ruby for a cup of tea and see how her play was coming.