The You I Never Knew (27 page)

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Authors: Susan Wiggs

Tags: #Contemporary

BOOK: The You I Never Knew
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He scowled into the darkened display window of the Northern Lights Feed Store. He had asked to be excused after dinner, and for the past fifteen minutes had been wandering down Main Street, which was basically the only street in town. At one end lay city hall and the library, which appeared to be the only place other than Trudy’s that stayed open after dark. At the other end was an old movie house with an abandoned shop adjacent to it, the glossy windows practically begging for someone to throw a rock through them.
His mom said Gavin owned the Lynwood and might do something with it one of these days, but for now it was as empty as a Sunday afternoon. A few kids came and went from the library, and the sight of them—guys pushing and jostling each other, girls with schoolbooks hugged to their chests—only lowered Cody’s mood. Day after tomorrow he would be starting school, which added insult to injury.
Hunching his shoulders up, he moved along, passing the shop where Tammi Lee Gilmer worked. His mom and Sam were probably wondering where he’d gone. He pictured them sitting across the table from each other at the restaurant, maybe holding hands and looking worried. Hell, let them worry. He had promised to stick around, said he just wanted to get out for some air. Fat chance—the Greyhound bus was idling across the street, puffing diesel fumes into the night. The lighted header over the bus bore enticing destinations:
MISSOULA
-
SPOKANE
-
SEATTLE
.
Man, what he wouldn’t give to hop on that sucker right now. Digging in his pocket, he found a flattened pack of Camels. Two left. When those were gone, he didn’t know what he’d do. How did kids get their smokes in a town where everyone knew everyone else? He lit up, letting the match burn for a minute while reading the matchbook cover: “Alone? Scared? Broke? Dial 1-800-RUNAWAY…”
“I should be so lucky,” he muttered under his breath, then took a deep drag of the cigarette. Around the first of the school year, he had taken up smoking in order to hang out with Claudia, and it had worked. She’d noticed him, bummed a cigarette, and within a few weeks they were going out. He wondered what she was up to now. They’d only been apart for a week, but he was already worried she wouldn’t wait around for him. The thought pissed him off so much that he nearly plowed down a couple of kids coming out of the library. He said a brusque, “Excuse me” and propped his hip on a cold steel bike rack in front of the building. There were only a couple of bikes chained to the rack. Must be hard to ride on these pitted, icy streets. Why did people live in Montana anyway? he wondered, blowing out a stream of smoke.
“Hey, Cody,” said a familiar voice.
He looked up to see Molly Lightning, her arms laden with books. He held his pose at the bike rack. “Hey.”
Her gaze fell to the orange-tipped cigarette in his hand, and he felt stupid all of a sudden. Stupid and self-conscious, the way he had when he’d first learned to smoke. Trying to act nonchalant, he dug for the nearly empty pack. “You want a smoke?”
“No.”
He’d known without asking that she didn’t smoke. Ah, well. At least she wasn’t going to be all sanctimonious about it.
She seemed ill at ease as she glanced up and down the street.
“You waiting for someone?” he asked, trying to be discreet as he dropped the cigarette and ground it out in the damp snow. Good move, he thought peevishly. Half of a perfectly good smoke, and now it was gone.
“My mom’s supposed to pick me up at eight.” She gazed at him with unmistakable interest. She might have a crush on him, he thought, and the idea pleased him.
At the other end of the block, three guys in baggy pants and big parkas made a racket, laughing and shoving each other. One of them picked up a rock or a chunk of ice and hurled it at the marquee over the awning of the Lynwood, punching the air in victory at the sound of shattering lightbulbs.
“Jerks,” Molly said softly.
Cody felt a little better to hear her echo his own thoughts. “Who are they?”
“Guys from school. Billy Ho, Ethan Lindvig, Jason Kittredge.” The threesome crammed themselves into the cab of an old El Camino and roared off into the dark. “Everyone thinks Billy is so cool, but I think he’s a jerk. He was on juvey probation last year for stealing, but that only made kids think he’s even more cool. He didn’t even get kicked off the football team.” She fell silent, looking worried, as if she had said too much. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Um, can I take those books from you?” Cody asked, hoping he didn’t sound too dorky.
She smiled the way she had the first day they’d met. Sort of shy, but also a little bit sexy. “Thanks,” she said, transferring the stack of library books to him. “I didn’t want to put them down in the snow.” She smelled really good, like soap and fresh air. Cody hoped the cigarette smell didn’t cling in his jacket. “So what are you doing out here?” she asked.
He nodded toward Trudy’s in the middle of the block. “My mom and… Sam McPhee took me to dinner. I just wanted to walk around a little.” She didn’t say anything, but listened with an expectant quality. “My mom’s going into the hospital to donate a kidney to my grandfather,” he blurted out.
He braced himself for her shock and disgust, but she surprised him. She simply smiled again, and said, “Cool.”
“I guess.” For the first time, Cody started to think maybe it
was
kind of cool. “But,” he added, his rush of candor continuing, “while they’re in the hospital next week, they want me to stay at Sam’s. They sort of left the decision up to me.”
“So what are your choices?” she asked.
He liked it that she seemed genuinely interested. He had planned to call Claudia tonight and get her take on all this, but she didn’t know the people involved. It was easier standing around talking to Molly, face-to-face. “I can stay at Blue Rock with Jake and Tadao—they work for Gavin.” He rested his chin on the top book. “Or I can go to Lonepine.”
She grinned and put her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding? Like there’s a decision to be made? Sam’s your dad, and he’s got a horse farm. It’s a no-brainer.”
T
ammi Lee Gilmer didn’t usually get Saturdays off work, but she had arranged to be off in order to pick up her car at McEvoy’s Garage. Setting a freshly lit cigarette on the cluttered bathroom counter, she took a round brush and teased some loft into her hair. No one teased their hair anymore; she knew that. Hell, no one smoked anymore. But that sure didn’t stop her.
She knew Sam didn’t like her smoking, but he never said a word. He had stood by her, helping her break so many other habits that the cigarettes probably seemed minor in comparison. She picked up the cigarette and took a drag, scowling at the amber burn mark it had made on the edge of the faux marble countertop. It was disgusting, really. She should quit.
Tomorrow.
Today, she wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. This was something it had taken her years of AA to learn. She had to forgive herself, to avoid sinking into regrets about the past. It was an everyday battle for her.
She did her makeup and put on a pair of jeans and a loose sweatshirt. She still fit into her size-eight Wranglers, and she was proud of that. Yet deep inside her dwelt a strange longing that seized her at the oddest of times. It was a longing to be soft and doughy, maybe like LaNelle Jacobs, who owned the quilt shop. She secretly dreamed of being like LaNelle: plump and bespectacled, with forearms that jiggled and a double chin, wearing a housedress and a bib apron and sensible shoes. Smelling of talcum powder and Jergens lotion and freshly baked bread.
Tammi Lee walked outside, lifting her face to an overcast sky and feeling the tingle of the nineteen-degree temperature on her face. Yeah, it was insane, but she wanted to be one of those plus-size blue-haired women. Because when you looked like that, it told folks you knew your place in the world. It meant you’d raised a family, making pancakes for them on the weekends and reading bedtime stories to the kids. It meant you’d made a house into a home, putting up curtains and picking out the right color for the walls and buying flats of petunias for the garden every spring. It meant you had grandkids who came running up the walk to the front door because they couldn’t wait to see you. It meant you had a husband who had several annoying habits, but you loved him anyway because he was your whole world.
God, what she wouldn’t give to fit into a life like that, instead of into her size-eight Wranglers.
She felt a familiar buzzing heat inside her and started walking down the street toward the center of town. The buzz was a warning; it was the craving, the dark desire that had consumed her for so many years. One drink, that was all it would take. One drink, and the buzzing would quiet and she’d feel normal again.
She quickened her pace, clenching her hands into fists inside her jacket pockets. Maybe she’d better give her sponsor a call. This was a weak moment; it had come out of nowhere. They always did.
Yet as she walked, the cold had a calming effect on her, and the sick, thirsty moment passed. She had the life she had. God knew it was more than she deserved. By the time she got to the garage, the craving had settled to a dull roar. “Hey, Tom,” she said, stepping into the overheated, grease-scented office. “Am I all set?”
“New water pump did the trick,” he said.
She paid him in cash. She used cash for almost everything these days, because writing checks had never brought her anything but trouble. Sam had given her a debit card drawing on his own account, but she avoided using that. Giving her her life back was enough; she didn’t want to take more from him than she already had.
A block from the garage, she pulled into Ray’s Quik Chek to get a cup of coffee and the latest
Enquirer,
hot off the press. Sam gave her grief about all the gossip rags and movie magazines she bought, but she loved them.
The new
Enquirer
s were still wrapped in plastic binding. As she poured herself a cup of coffee, Ray opened them up and sold her one, along with
People
and her own reserved copy of
Country Billboard
. She went to her car and sat there sipping the coffee, waiting for the blower to heat up and paging through the magazines.
A giant picture of a 108-year-old
Titanic
survivor occupied the front page of the
Enquirer,
but a small inset at the top caught her eye.
“Ho-ly shit,” she muttered, nearly dropping her coffee. Her hand shook as she set the cup in a holder and opened the paper to page two. A file photo of Gavin Slade and Michelle, looking as golden and fit as Peter and Bridget Fonda, caught her eye. Next to that was a blurry shot of someone on a stretcher being wheeled into County Hospital. On the same page, a grainy black-and-white picture showed Michelle Turner and Sam, caught in an embrace in the middle of a snowy street. The headline read:
Daughter of Dying Movie Idol Seeks Solace with Lonesome Cowboy.
The Chevy fishtailed out of the parking lot. One of the few good things about her rambling lifestyle was that she had probably driven more miles than a long-distance trucker, and she was good at it. Negotiating the icy patches on the highway, she raced home and picked up the phone.
Sam was on duty today, but his service took the message. “No emergency,” Tammi Lee said, “but it’s important.”
Next, she tried Blue Rock Ranch. The guy who answered the phone said Mr. Slade was “unavailable.” Tammi Lee had no choice but to try the hospital. Maybe the
Enquirer
was right about something for a change.
She reached the hospital in five minutes, and the first thing she saw was Cody Turner sitting hunched on a concrete bench outside the attached professional building where Sam’s office was. He wore a knitted black cap and little wiry headphones. His foot jiggled in time to the music only he could hear.
My grandson. That’s my goddamned grandson,
she thought wonderingly.
He looked cold, sitting there, restless and sulky. And a bit like Sam.
She got out, boots crunching on the sand-and-salt surface of the parking lot. “Hey, Cody. Remember me? Tammi Lee Gilmer.”
He took off the headphones. “Hi.”
“So what’s up?” She kept her voice casual.
“My grandfather drove me over to get my stitches out. And he had some kind of checkup.”
“So how’s the cut?”
He took off his black knit cap. “Okay, I guess.”
She studied the curved wound. “Some week, huh?” she said. “All this hospital stuff.”
“Yeah, it sucks.”
She indicated his Discman. “What kind of music do you like?”
“Alternative, some heavy metal. And some older stuff,” he said vaguely.
“Ever heard of rockabilly?”
“Sure.” He put his hat back on.
“I know something about rockabilly. Used to sing in a band.”
“Nuh-uh,” he said, regarding her with dubious interest.
“I did. A group called Road Rage. Had a big hit single called ‘Dearly Departed.’ ” She hummed the melody line.
His eyes grew wide. “No way. I’ve heard that song.”
“A lot of folks have. It was on a Dodge truck commercial.” She steadied herself. “Listen, maybe you could come over for a while today.”
He was quiet, scuffing his toe against a lump of ice on the sidewalk.
“If you get bored, you can go right home, promise.”
He looked her straight in the eye, and she realized he had a great face, a beautiful face, the face of a boy who was turning downright handsome. But in addition to handsomeness, Tammi Lee could see insolence, difficulty. Michelle Turner must be having quite a time, raising this kid.
“I saw that thing in the paper,” he said.
She forced herself not to drop her gaze. “I was hoping you hadn’t.”
“Sam saw it, too. All the nurses were waiting to show it to him when he got to work this morning.”
“The paper’s a rag. They print lies and innuendo.” She took a deep breath, wishing for a cigarette. “That picture doesn’t mean a thing. Your mom probably slipped on the ice and Sam grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall.”
“Maybe,” he said. “I hate those damned tabloids.”
“Me, too,” she lied.
“When I was little, my mom was always worried they’d come after us because of Gavin.”
“And did they?”
“No, but she’d always say, ‘Look at Lisa Marie Presley. You want to end up like that?’ ” His mouth hinted at a grin.
“So what do you say? Want to come see where your old grandma lives?”
He hesitated. “I guess.”
“Wait here, then. I need to make sure it’s okay.”
He replaced the headphones and Tammi Lee went to the clinic entrance of the brick building. She usually got a big kick out of seeing Sam in his long white coat, but today she was worried. “Got a minute, Sam?” she asked him quietly.
He held open the door to the staff lounge. It was empty, a clutter of coffee mugs and well-thumbed medical manuals and clipboards on the table.
“So how much truth was there in that tabloid story?” she asked. No point in beating around the bush. “Are you taking up with a girl you went nuts over seventeen years ago?”
It was hard to read her son’s mood. He had always been a stoic. In one of her many recovery sessions, she had admitted to taking shameless advantage of his calmness, his willingness to forgive her, no matter what. When she’d said so to his face, he had given her a sweet-sad smile and said, “You are who you are, Mama. You don’t forgive the clouds for raining.”
The memory touched her, and she took Sam’s hand. “So is this just a fling,” she asked, “or—”
“It’s not a fling,” he said.
She wished she could be the kind of mother you saw on TV, the one who could pat his arm, say a few wise words, and make everything work out fine before the next commercial. “Well, I’m no expert, but you’d better be sure you know what you want out of this. Because there are three of you involved, and one’s just a kid.”
“I realize that. Cody’s going to stay with me while Michelle and Gavin go in for surgery.”
“Yeah?” She rinsed a coffee mug at the sink and poured herself a cup, trying to picture her son being someone’s father. “So are you excited?”
“Sure. Nervous, too. He’s got to start school on Monday. I never heard of a sixteen-year-old starting mid-year in a new place and actually liking it.”
She sipped the slightly stale coffee. “Builds character.” She set down the mug and glanced at the door, making sure they were alone. “What are you going to do about the tabloid story?”
“Ignore it.”
“Is Michelle ignoring it?”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk.” His face looked taut with frustration. “She and Gavin just left for Missoula to prep for the surgery.”
“Maybe you’d better get on down to Missoula and talk things over with her.” Something—fate, destiny, pure chance—had brought Sam and Michelle together again. Lord knew, they’d never had much of a chance as kids. “Don’t second-guess her, Sam. You know, this morning I was having regrets, wishing I’d done things differently, made better choices. I don’t want you to do that. I don’t ever want you to have regrets.”
“I can’t get away until tomorrow morning.”
“Then go tomorrow morning,” she said. “I swear, for a doctor, you’re pretty dense sometimes.”
He sent her a fleeting grin. “Okay. I’ll offer to drive Cody down in the morning.”
* * *
Cody was quiet on the way to her house. As she let him in the front door, she wished she had put out some potpourri. The house smelled of stale cigarette smoke and yesterday’s coffee. She wouldn’t blame the kid if he turned and walked out.
He stepped inside hesitantly, looking around.
Tammi Lee couldn’t stand it anymore. She grabbed a cigarette from a pack on the counter and lit up. Belatedly she asked, “You don’t smoke, do you?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“Well, I’m not offering you one. Your dad would kill me. How about a Coke?” She went to the fridge. “I understand Monday is the big day. For the transplant.”
He popped open the can. “Yep.” He drank his Coke while a long, awkward silence spun out. Tammi Lee finished her cigarette and lit another one. Cody’s gaze wandered around the room like that of a trapped animal looking for escape. And suddenly his expression changed from wary to wondering.
“Wow,” he said under his breath. “Is that a Stratocaster?”
“Yeah. Just like Dick Dale used to play.” She took the vintage electric guitar from its stand in the corner. The old instrument was a classic. She’d pawned and rescued the thing countless times, and in the end she still had it. She rarely played these days, but she knew she’d kept it for a reason.
As she looked at Cody’s face, she finally figured out what that reason was.
“Do you play?”
“A little,” he said. “Do you?”
She took the guitar, adjusted the tuning, strummed a few riffs, her fingers surprisingly nimble. Glancing at Cody, she laughed at his expression. “What, you didn’t believe me?” She stuck a cassette tape into the console. “This is a demo tape called ‘Hand-Me-Down Dreams.’ ”

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