The Life You've Imagined (34 page)

“Yes,” I say, consulting my paper-bag notes.

My heart only beats faster as the car slows down. My anger at my father has for now eclipsed the betrayal of my mother, who promised—promised!—she wouldn’t write, but then not only wrote, she made plans to meet, and hid all of this from me.

But then, she once promised he’d be coming home, back when I had pigtails and still believed what grown-ups told me.

“Who’s that?” Cami asks, slowing the car down on the shoulder of a narrow two-lane road slicing through woods.

Ahead of us is a bright yellow Hummer, backing out of a driveway. A green reflective address sign at the edge of the driveway matches the address we have for the rendezvous.

In the passenger window, I see a vague male silhouette.

No evidence of my mother or the car she borrowed from Veronica.

“Follow it,” I tell Cami. “But hang back.”

She nods and lets the Hummer get ahead of us for several yards before she pulls gradually back to the road. I turn in my seat to peer through the pine trees at the land, trying to catch a glimpse of my mother’s car. All I see is a rusted trailer.

W
e’re parked outside a bar on the main road of Cadillac’s downtown. I have my hand on the door to open it, when Cami puts her hand on my shoulder. “Wait. Maybe I should go in alone first.”

“Why?”

“We can see who’s in there, what he’s up to. Who he’s with.”

I nod, numb. I wish my mother had a cell phone. Her absence alarms me. I’d had visions of charging in to find them clinched together and then demanding to know what the hell they were doing. But now that I’m here, and she’s nowhere to be seen, I’m not sure what I want.

“Be back soon. Sit tight.”

Cami lopes into the bar slowly like she does reconnaissance every day.

I wonder why my parents chose to meet in Cadillac. We tried camping around here, I know, but there was no significance to that address that I can remember.

Our couple of camping trips were dismal failures, largely due to my dad’s lack of preparation. He’d forget something important like pillows, so we’d end up sleeping on rolled up towels.

The stars were magic, though, I remember that much. Haven is no metropolis, but the light from the streetlamps and the businesses is enough to ruin the night sky, at least in town, where buildings also help break up the view. The stars were nice out on the beach, but I never had that much time to admire them between working at the store, band practice, and homework.

Out camping, up north, I could stare up through the dark trees until my neck ached, my eyes so wide that I’d forget to blink until they itched with dryness.

One of those neck-aching nights I heard my parents fighting in the tent.

Supposedly they were just going in there to look for something, but soon their murmurs turned into normal talking, like they’d forgotten those thin nylon walls weren’t real and I could hear every word.

My dad was saying, “With just a little investment it could pay for itself in a few years or so . . .”

And Mom interrupted: “
Could
pay, a few years
or so
. . . When will you learn to listen to yourself? You can’t keep gambling with our future like this. The store was supposed to be temporary.”

“It is, it is, babe . . . but . . .”

I tried to tune my ears into the singing of the nighttime frogs out on Goose Lake, the way you can focus your eyes on something far instead of something near, but it didn’t work. I heard it clear as a bell when my mother said, “I should have listened to my mother years ago.”

“You mean . . . you should have left me?”

I couldn’t take it anymore and cried out in fear of an imaginary animal, and they came rushing out of the tent. My dad took a big stick and charged into the dark outside the circle of firelight, chasing away the big bad monsters.

In the flickering light, my mother’s jaw was set and her face looked grim. But in the cool morning, as we sipped our hot chocolate warmed by the camp stove, my parents were jovial and relaxed again.

At the time I was relieved. As an adult, I don’t understand why she didn’t follow her gut.

Cami startles me by hopping into the driver’s seat, leaving the door open with her foot still on the pavement.

“Okay, this is the deal. They’ve got a card game going at this address.” She shoves a bar napkin at me. “I think your dad and this guy, his name is Charley, are running a card sharp scam and I got myself invited.”

“What? Why?”

“We won’t know for sure it’s a scam until I sit in.”

“What difference does it make?”

“Listen, your dad is a charmer, yeah? Isn’t that what you said? You need to know what he’s up to so you can tell your mom exactly what’s going on.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I just said I’d come out here and get my money, then I’m going to ride over to the house. In an hour I’ll excuse myself and we’ll know exactly what’s going on.”

I grab her arm and square myself to her in the seat. “Cami! You are not getting in this strange man’s car, especially if he’s up to something illegal and you want to bust him. I think we’ve seen enough. I want to get home and find my mother.”

She yanks her arm back. “And I’m pissed on your behalf and I want to know what’s going on. Come get me in an hour.”

She pulls away from me and disappears inside the bar.

I can’t believe she’s so reckless. Maybe that’s what happens to a person who lives with someone who might beat the crap out of her at any given moment. Maybe she feels strange without a sense of danger.

The door opens and a husky guy with a shaved, stubbly head and goatee walks out first, and I dive down as if I’m picking something up off the floor of the car. After a few moments I sit up slowly, taking a peek and watching the trio walk down the block toward the yellow Hummer a few spaces down. Cami is in the middle and bringing up the rear . . . That can only be my father, wearing a huge sweater and limping, his hair gray like a stormy summer sky.

They drive off, and when they’re out of view, I look down at the scribbled address and reach for my phone to look up the directions. For good or ill, Cami has gone with them and I need to stick close by.

I’ll admit to curiosity myself, now that I’ve caught a glimpse. And for all I know, my mother is waiting at this house. She wouldn’t approve of an illegal card game, but who knows what lies he’s telling?

First, I type a message to Amy.

Amy, I’m sorry but I can’t make the rehearsal dinner. It’s a long story, but a family emergency has come up. I’ll be there tomorrow and do my best to follow along.

Anna

Next, a note for Beck.

Beck, I can’t come to the rehearsal dinner after all, but I’ll still be there tomorrow. I’m sorry it’s awkward for you, but I’ll be glad to see you, even so.

Something’s going on and I don’t have time to explain. I really miss you, especially now.

I pause for a moment. I want him here, to squeeze my hand and look at me with those sea-glass eyes until my breathing slows down and I feel okay again.

So I add:

Xoxo

Anna

I’m halfway to this mysterious card game house when my phone bleeps. I pull over on a side street to check the message.

Anna,

Can’t talk right now, at home with Sam and Maddie.

Will

Of course he’d be home the day before the wedding. They’ll go together after all, since Maddie is the flower girl. But . . . since when is he “Will”?

I shake my head and pull back out onto the road. I don’t have time to think of it now.

T
he house is on Lake Cadillac, a huge brick ranch with a hooked driveway that curves down toward what must be a walkout basement. It took fifteen minutes to drive, counting the phone distraction, and I’ve now been sitting here playing mindless games on my phone for an hour. She’s overdue and I can’t stand it anymore.

I leave the car on the street and walk slowly up the drive, taking care not to smack my shoes too hard on the pavement. As I approach, I can hear noise coming from downstairs; someone must have left a door open.

I come up on a patio slider from the side. There’s only a screen door closed. I can hear sounds of a baseball game on television, shuffling cards, deep male voices. I can’t hear Cami.

I yank the slider open and look past the stunned faces of the men for a sign of Cami or my mother and think,
What has she done? I should have stopped her.
I turn back to the men at the card table. The large bald man is half standing, his hand moving toward the waistband of his pants, but someone’s hand is on his arm, halting him.

And that man is my father.

“What the fuck is this?” demands the bald man, but no one answers him.

My dad’s mouth is open slightly, and his lips are moving soundlessly, like he’s trying to talk underwater. His hair is thick as ever, despite being gray. His face is more furrowed than I remember, but he’s still got that stubble he always had by this time of day, his eyes still that deep shade of coffee brown.

Cami exits from a door to my right, drying her hands on a towel.

“Oh, hi,” she says. “Sorry for the delay. The boys here were anxious for a chance to win some of their money back, so they convinced me to stay.”

Despite her casual tone, she fixes me with a hard, significant look, and darts her eyes over toward the big man, who must be Charley.

My father turns toward Cami, understanding dawning on him. “You! You’re together? What are you, cops or something?”

“No,” I say quickly, for fear of alarming Charley, who seems fidgety and hasn’t moved his hand away from what is probably a gun in his pants. “We were simply . . . curious.”

Charley begins again, reddening: “What. The Fuck. Is going
on
?”

My dad stands up and walks over to me, taking my elbow. “I’ll deal with this.” I let him lead me to a side room, some kind of study. Cami follows me, and I’m grateful for the back-up; also, I don’t like the idea of leaving her out there with those men.

He closes the door and flips on a radio to mask our conversation, I suppose.

“It’s really you,” he says, peering at me through narrowed eyes.

“Yes.”

“You look so much like your mother.”

“Where is my mother?”

“She left. She’s a little upset with me.”

I laugh, but the sound, even to my own ears, comes out harsh and sickly, like a tune in a minor key.

“Gee, she’s really upset?” I ask him. “Now why on earth would she be upset with you?”

“No call to get snippy, young lady.”

I draw myself up straight, noticing up close that I’m taller than he is. “Don’t you ‘young lady’ me. I don’t know what you were thinking trying to win her back after abandoning her for twenty years in that shithole store. Did you think that gorgeous trailer would do the trick?”

“It’s just temporary; that’s a beautiful piece of land.”

I should feel triumphant now, having been proven right. But there’s no joy; in fact, I now realize part of me, somehow, had been pulling for him since I got that call.

Cami clears her throat. “We should probably go, yeah?” She jerks her head toward the door.

Oh, right. The armed man.

“Wait,” my dad says, reaching out to grab my hand. His touch startles me, not having felt it in twenty years. A hard stone settles in my throat and I suck in a breath, blinking rapidly. “Let me make my case. Look, I’m earning money now. That’s why I wrote your mother; I’m finally getting ahead a little, working with Charley here. I really am gonna buy that land and make her proud of me, and make you proud of me, too . . .”

“So proud you snuck around with Mom but didn’t dare acknowledge my existence.”

“Your mom said you’d be upset, so I wanted to do it right, you know, gradually and all.”

“Do
what
right, exactly?” Cami interjects. “Card scams? What do you do when your rich sap out there finds out you’re cheating?” She pulls a card from her pocket, shows it to us, and then flicks a barely perceptible notch with her fingernail.

“Hey, now,” he addresses himself to Cami, still grasping my hand, and I look down at it, noticing how much older he looks based on his hand alone. “Where do you get off—”

I say, “What’s your wife’s name?”

“What?”

He turns back to me and then looks down at his hand himself and winces.

He’s wearing a wedding band. It’s yellow gold. My mom’s ring is white gold.

“I said, what’s your wife’s name?” I yank my hand away and fold my arms.