Monsoon Season (23 page)

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. The trees, the air. The smell of pine needles.’

‘I love it up here.’ Donna stirred sugar into her coffee. ‘I ran into Ben at Safeway the other day.’

‘And?’

‘He looked awful. I might have felt bad for him if I didn’t hate his guts.’

‘What do you mean, “awful”?’

She chewed her lip. ‘I don’t know. Just kind of like he’d been sleeping in his clothes or something.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘No. We pretended not to see each other.’

I nodded.

‘He doesn’t deserve you feeling sorry for him.’

I shrugged. ‘I wish I could say I didn’t care any more. It’s just hard to let go of the good memories. Maybe I don’t want to.’

‘I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘It’s okay.’ I could read the worry in her face.

‘Just please stay away from him, Riley.’

‘I will, I will.’ I sighed. ‘Are you ready for the wedding?’

‘I am. I don’t feel nervous at all. Dave seems a bit on edge, though. It’s funny. He’s usually so calm.’

‘You’ve traded roles.’

‘Yeah. He’s worrying about the details and I’m focusing on the big picture.’

‘So what are your big-picture thoughts?’

‘I just imagine the day and how it will feel, and how I’ll be able to look back on it and remember it. I’m excited.’

‘Look,’ I said, pointing to the edge of the patio where the ground was scorched black.

‘Wow. Looks like it was pretty close.’ Slightly beyond the patio, there was a tree stump that looked like it had been covered with black tar. At the base of it grew a handful of tiny blue flowers.

Life goes on.

‘My brother just got engaged,’ I said.

‘Really? Do you know the girl?’

‘Yeah. She’s great. They’ve been dating for a couple of years. Seems like everyone is getting married or having babies, these days. I feel like I’m the only one left who doesn’t have their life figured out.’

‘You’re hardly the only one. Besides, it’s better when we take turns. If we all went through rough spots at the same time, we wouldn’t have the energy to take care of each other.’

‘I guess.’

‘Don’t worry. You’re not supposed to have things figured out all the time.’

‘No?’

Donna shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s possible. The rough spots make you grow.’

I groaned. Donna just smiled.

‘Should we get going before it starts to rain?’ I asked.

Donna tipped her head at me. ‘Rain? It hasn’t been raining for a couple of weeks now.’

‘Oh.’ I nodded my understanding. Monsoon season was over.

During the floods of monsoon season, Tucson’s roads are transformed. Every dip in the pavement is a potential river. It’s hard to know how deep the water goes. Every time it rains, people overestimate the power of their SUVs and end up needing emergency trucks to get them out.

The city got tired of paying to save these poor idiots. So there’s this thing called the Stupid Motorist Law. That is actually what they call it. If you drive into one of these dips in the road, and your car gets washed away, the city bills you for the cost of the rescue.

What if I don’t want a rescue? Would they still charge me? Can’t get blood from a stone. I sit in the car, listening to the engine run, looking from the ‘Do Not Enter When Flooded’ sign to the black water. I wonder if it’s deep enough to pull my car under or if it’s just enough to get me stuck there, water seeping in through the door. What if I die before they rescue me? Would they send the bill to my mother? This may be the only thought that makes me throw the car into reverse, turn around and leave the possibility to another day.

I went to Massachusetts with so much optimism, but somehow, against all odds, I had succeeded in making things worse. Riley had looked so good in her jean cut-offs and tennis shoes. The tan marks on her shoulders suggested an array of tank tops with different necklines. Her thighs were brown. I ached to press my fingers into them.

Instead I saw myself screaming at her as she walked away from me. It was like an out-of-body experience. When her father pushed me over, I was startled as much by his presence as I was by finding myself sitting on my ass in the middle of the driveway. Things had gone way off track.

I had crossed the line by involving her father. If there had ever been any chance she could have forgiven me, it was gone now. I’d known that as I looked up at her. I held onto her waist, the only time I was able to touch her, and she looked down at me with an expression I had never seen before. It was more than anger. She was embarrassed by me.

I imagined that was the way I’d remember her, the last time I’d ever see her. So I was surprised when, two weeks later, I heard her voice on my machine.

Beep.
‘Hi . . . It’s Riley . . . I’m in town visiting Donna and I thought maybe we could meet for coffee.’

She left a phone number and no further explanation. I listened to the message five times and then I sat down and watched the blinking red light.

Riley got the flu the first weekend we lived together. I brought her chicken noodle soup in a mug and tiptoed into the bedroom. Moments before, she had kicked off the blankets and her pyjama bottoms. She looked sexy with a temperature of 102, sleeping in a tank top and cotton underwear. She lay in the middle of the bed, her arms and legs flailed out, making the shape of a star. Now, the blankets were pulled up under her chin. She opened her eyes when I came into the room.

‘No one has ever made me soup before,’ she said, yawning.

I laughed. ‘Really?’

‘Well, my mom. My mom’s made me soup.’ Her speech was full of cold medicine.

I set the mug on the nightstand.

‘No one else has taken care of me like this,’ she continued. ‘I don’t let them.’

I sat on the end of the bed carefully, unsure of where her feet were. She disappeared beneath the checkerboard of the bedspread.

‘How’re you feeling?’ I asked.

She groaned and tried to sit up. I helped her rearrange the pillows.

‘Better maybe.’ She picked up the mug and held it to her lips, blowing. ‘Am I due for medicine?’

‘No, honey. I gave it to you an hour ago.’

‘Oh.’ She slurped a few spoonfuls of broth and put the mug back. She closed her eyes again.

‘You want to sleep?’

‘I’m just resting my eyes,’ she said. Her voice was soft. The words came slowly.

‘You want me to stay with you?’

She reached blindly for my hand. ‘Yes. Stay with me. Please.’

I climbed into the bed next to her and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Always.’

I tried to get there first, showed up a half-hour early, but there she was. She was sitting at a table for two, on the sidewalk. She had her hair pulled into a ponytail and sat with her legs crossed, reading a book. She looked up at me as I cast a shadow over her, closed her book and slid it into a bag at her feet.

‘Hi,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘You’re early.’

The metal chair scraped against the pavement as I pulled it out and sat down. ‘Maybe I’m over-eager.’

‘How have you been?’

‘Okay, I guess. I’ve missed you.’

She nodded slightly, breathed. She wasn’t quite looking at me.

‘Have you missed me?’ I asked.

‘Not like you mean,’ she said flatly.

‘Then why are we here?’

‘I’m in Tucson for Donna’s wedding. She and Dave got married yesterday.’

‘Oh. Good for them,’ I said, and it came out more biting than I’d meant it to.

‘I wasn’t happy with the way we left things,’ she said.

‘Oh, so this is for
closure
?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’

‘Well, God forbid you feel unhappy about something.’

‘You want me to be unhappy?’

‘I’m unhappy.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘You say that like you have nothing to do with it.’

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. ‘I don’t want you to be unhappy. But it isn’t my job to fix it.’

‘You could give me another chance.’

‘I can’t. It wasn’t good before. For either of us.’

‘It was good for me,’ I said.

‘Do you like who you are when you’re with me?’ she asked.

I thought of her looking up at me from the carpet after I’d slapped her. Looking down at me in the driveway. ‘Sometimes.’

‘And others?’

‘I made mistakes. So did you. Haven’t I been punished enough?’

‘Punished?’

‘Yeah. What about our baby?’

‘Don’t talk to me about our baby. We never had a baby. You aren’t going to make me feel guilty.’

I was starting to wish I hadn’t come. She wasn’t my Riley. It seemed she was another person altogether.

‘I took care of myself and I’m not sorry,’ she continued, stirring her iced tea with a straw. ‘I’m not looking for your approval. I don’t owe you an apology. I don’t owe you anything.’

‘Fine.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to fight with you.’

‘Fine,’ I said again, leaning back and crossing my arms.

She was looking at her hands. ‘I just want you to be okay. I want you to take care of yourself and be happy.’

I nodded. This was goodbye.

I watched her walk away. She had parked close, the table on the sidewalk perfect for a quick getaway.

Isabel was standing by the window, gripping the sill. Jack was crouched beside her, one hand on her back, the other pointing at something outside. Laura was sitting on the couch, leaning forward to watch them, clearly unable to concentrate on the conversation for her nervousness.

‘Jack, Laura thinks you’re going to let Isabel fall out of the window,’ I told him.

He looked up, eyes wide.

Laura scowled at me. ‘I do not,’ she said, unconvincingly.

‘I have her,’ Jack assured us. ‘I’m responsible.’

Laura sighed. ‘You just hear so many stories about them pushing through the screen.’

‘I’ve got her!’ Jack was adamant. ‘We’re watching a street performer. You grown-ups are
booooring
.’

Laura leaned back and Kyle slid his arm around her shoulders. She was wearing a maternity dress that created the illusion she had a tummy.

‘So, you were saying? About the new job?’

I sipped my wine. ‘It’s going well. It’s just temporary. Something to pay the bills until I figure out my next move. But I’m happy there. Everyone is really nice.’

‘She’s been so surprised about that,’ Jack chimed in, talking over his shoulder.

‘Well, this is New York City.’ I shrugged.

‘So what are you thinking your next move will be?’ Laura asked.

Jack scooped Isabel up and walked back over to sit with us. ‘I want to hear this.’

‘Well, I’m thinking about going back to school. In the spring.’

‘Really?’ Jack said, stretching out the word and smiling.

‘Yeah. We’ll see. I’m still in the thinking-about-it stage.’

Isabel yawned and reached for her mother.

‘That’s exciting.’ Laura leaned forward and took her from Jack. Isabel snuggled against her body, sucking her thumb.

‘Remember, the possibilities are limitless,’ Jack told me.

‘You sound like a fortune cookie,’ I said.

‘Well, he’s right,’ Laura said. ‘Take your time.’

‘How does Isabel feel about becoming a big sister?’ I asked.

‘Oh, watch this,’ Kyle said. ‘Hey, Is, what do you think about the new baby?’

Isabel stuck out her tongue. Jack almost fell out of his chair laughing.

‘It’s not funny,’ Laura said, swatting Kyle’s arm.

Kyle stifled his laughter. Laura shook her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward in spite of herself.

‘More wine, anyone?’ I offered.

Jack held out his glass and I poured. Isabel’s eyelids were getting heavy; they closed slowly, then flashed open. She was fighting it. Laura hummed into her ear and, slowly, she wilted against her shoulder.

Kyle lifted his daughter into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. Jack, Laura and I exchanged solemn looks and didn’t speak until the door clicked.

‘I like him,’ I said, in a whisper.

‘Who? Kyle?’ Laura asked. I nodded.

She laughed. ‘Took you long enough. Sheesh.’

‘Sheesh,’ I said back to her, just because I liked the sound of it.

‘I think you’ve had enough wine.’ Jack snickered.

Kyle came out of the bedroom and we all burst into laughter.

Most mornings I got up early, dressed in black pants and a black T-shirt and headed over to the café around the corner. The door would chime as I stepped in. Behind the counter, I’d find an apron, wrap the string around my hips and back again, tying it in the front.

Somehow I didn’t mind getting up early these days. The city was too loud for sleeping in. It made you feel like you were missing the fun. The café was comfortable and stylish. It was always full of people smoking and chattering on velvet couches in slightly varying shades of burgundy.

Customers were always asking me out. A scruffy college student wrote me a poem on a napkin. A short-haired woman with a long nose asked if I was free later. A greying man in a navy blue suit grabbed my wrist and said, ‘Give me your number.’