The Long and Faraway Gone (29 page)

 

T
he next evening, before work, Julianna returned to the Double R Ranch. The hard-­looking redhead was nowhere to be found. Julianna went table to table, booth to booth, searching the faces, just to make sure. She checked the ladies' room.

Julianna asked one of the bartenders if he knew the woman. The bartender listened to Julianna's description of her and laughed.

“You're talking about just about every redhead ever came in here,” he said.

“Do you know a customer named Carla May?”

The bartender was annoyed now. The place was packed.

“You want a drink or not?” he said.

Julianna walked back to her car. In her purse she had the five hundred dollars in cash she planned to give the redhead. She couldn't guess how much the gun Crowley had thrown in the lake was worth, and she hadn't bothered trying to find out the price online. Five hundred dollars was all she had, so five hundred dollars was all she could give. That and the turquoise leather holster that matched the redhead's purse. Julianna suspected that if she was never able to locate the redhead again, the woman would regret the loss of the holster, hand-­tooled with rose blossoms, more than she would the gun.

A pickup truck behind Julianna honked, the driver wanting to know if she planned to surrender her parking space or not. Two bikers turned in to the lot, the sound of their motorcycles trailing behind them, a sound like the pavement was being jackhammered up. Julianna waved at the driver of the pickup to go on. A second later she realized he was already gone.

Julianna sat in her car. All day she'd felt that way—­a beat behind the music, slightly stupefied. It was like being stoned, but with none of the pleasure. She'd slept seven or eight hours, so that wasn't the problem.

What
was
the problem? The problem was, Julianna had started with nothing and now she had even less. She'd given Crowley twenty thousand dollars and received in exchange no answers, only questions. Only more questions.

Why would Genevieve abandon her little sister on the curb outside the rodeo arena? Why would she journey to the midway and through the midway and all the long way to Crowley's trailer, dodging Lacey and leaping hydraulic cables, navigating the scary carny camp, only to leave again almost immediately?

Why?

Where was she headed when she told Crowley, “First things first”? Not back to Julianna. Crowley said Genevieve walked off a different way than the way she'd come.

Last night at the lake, Julianna had believed that Crowley was telling her the truth. Now, with distance and perspective, in the light of day and all that, she still believed him. He might lie like he breathed, but those lies served his own interest. Profit, pleasure, self-­preservation. The tale he'd told Julianna about the last time he saw Genevieve—­she didn't think Crowley had anything to gain from it.

Then
why
did Genevieve leave Crowley's trailer so soon? Where did she go? Who did she find there?

Another car honked at Julianna. She backed out and drove to the hospital. She was early for once, ten minutes, but both Ben and the supervising nurse were already waiting for her outside the on-­call room, where Julianna planned to change into her scrubs.

“Can we have a word, Julianna?” the supervising nurse said. She wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a bar.”

“Do I?”

“Have you been in a bar?”

“I have,” Julianna said. Mystery solved. “I need to change, please.”

“You've been drinking?” Ben said.

“No.”

“You don't need to change,” the supervising nurse said. “Martina agreed to come in and cover your shift tonight.”

“But I'm here. I'm early.”

“Ben and I wanted to tell you in person. We've scheduled a meeting for tomorrow morning at nine, with HR. I hope the time is convenient for you.”

She was frowning. Ben was trying not to smile, his lips pressed together.

“Am I being fired?” Julianna said.

I wish it were that easy,
the supervising nurse's eyes seemed to say.

“We're starting a process,” she said instead, carefully. “It's our hope, Ben's and mine, that we can find a satisfactory way to address issues that, I think for all of us, need to be satisfactorily addressed.”

“Or else,” Julianna said. “Right?”

A doctor passed them, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor. Julianna truly despised that sound.

“So we'll all meet at nine tomorrow,” the supervising nurse said.

“I know what!” Julianna said, as if she'd just been struck by the best idea ever.

They looked at her.

“What?” Ben said.

Julianna turned and walked away. “Let's not and say we did.”

“Julianna!” Ben called after her.

S
HE SLEPT TI
LL
ten and might have slept even later. But the doorbell rang. It kept ringing. Julianna pulled on a pair of sweatpants. Friendly Chris­tians often roamed her neighborhood, going door-­to-­door with pamphlets and invitations to pancake breakfasts. They had special powers and could sense when you were home and just hiding. So did the unshaven guys who wanted fifteen bucks to spray-­paint your house number on the curb. Five dollars extra for the red and white of the Oklahoma Sooners, the orange and black of the OSU Cowboys.

Julianna wondered how much longer she would have a house. No job, no more emergency cash. Her interest in the matter was surprisingly mild. Maybe she could get a job spray-­painting house numbers on curbs. Or holding a sign on the corner of May and Hefner.

By the time she reached the door, the bell had finally stopped ringing. She opened the door anyway.

A very thin woman in a tailored wool pea coat stood on the porch. She was using the surface of a porch column to write a note. When she heard the door open, she turned.

Genevieve's friend Lacey.
Lacey.
Ringing Julianna's doorbell. Julianna wondered for an instant if she was still asleep, still in bed and having a dream. A bad one.

Lacey saw the surprise in her face and smiled. That curl to her lip, such disdain, so familiar. Julianna braced herself.
Never piss off Lacey,
Genevieve had told her once. That was the first rule of being friends with Lacey.

Julianna had taken half a step backward, without even realizing it. Lacey smiled again.

“What do you think I'm going to do?” she said.

“I don't know.”

“Do you think I'm going to attack you or something?”

“Why are you here?”

Lacey inspected the collar of her pea coat and found the one fleck of pine bark that had settled there. She flicked it off.

“To tell you I'm sorry,” she said with her usual annoyed impatience. “That's why I'm here.”

And then, before Julianna could absorb the full impact of that first surprise, Lacey threw her arms around Julianna and hugged her, tightly.

“I miss her so much,” Lacey whispered. “Oh, my fucking God, Juli. I miss her so much.”

Julianna knew now that this was a dream. It had to be. Lacey's cheek was wet against hers. Julianna stood with her arms at her sides. She lifted a hand and placed it on Lacey's back and pressed lightly. Lacey was made of featherweight balsa wood and rubber bands, like the toy airplanes Julianna and Genevieve had played with when they were little.

Lacey released Julianna and stepped away. She unsnapped her purse and removed a tissue. She dabbed the corner of one eye.

“You can see your nips, you know,” she said.

Julianna looked down. She was wearing the sheer cotton undershirt she'd slept in, no bra. She looked back up at Lacey.

“Well, I was hoping you were one of those Chris­tians that go door-­to-­door,” Julianna said.

Lacey laughed, the wicked cackle that Julianna knew so well from her childhood, and then she started crying again. Julianna felt the tears rolling down her own cheeks now, too. Lacey plucked another tissue from her purse, handed it to Julianna.

“That's so Genni,” Lacey said. “Oh, my God.”

“Do you want to come inside?”

Lacey shook her head. “I'm sorry I didn't tell the police about the sweater. I didn't even think about it.”

“I didn't either.”

“I'm sorry I don't remember more. I was flying that night, Juli, I'm not lying. I don't even know how I got home. When I saw Genni on the midway, I should have followed her. I was so chapped at her, that she blew me off. She'd been blowing me off for weeks. I should at least have chased her and asked where she was going.”

“She probably would have lied to you,” Julianna said. If Genevieve didn't want you to know something, you didn't know it.

“She was the best liar,” Lacey agreed. She blew her nose. “Do you remember her diary?”

Julianna did. When Genevieve was a sophomore in high school, she'd started keeping a “secret” diary that she hid in places where she knew their snooping mother would be sure to snoop. In the dresser drawer behind her panties, in the closet at the bottom of a shoe box filled with old birthday cards. The diary had a little lock, cheap copper starting to turn green, that you could pop open with your a fingernail.

“ ‘Dear Diary,' ” Julianna said, “ ‘I find it very rewarding to volunteer at the old folks' home. I feel like the elderly have so much to teach us about life.' ”

Lacey cackled. “ ‘Brad in my algebra class is very handsome and such a gentleman,' ” she said. “ ‘Dear Diary, do you think he will ask me to the winter dance?' ”

Their mother had not been fooled. She knew Genevieve too well. But eventually she gave up the snooping, which had probably been Genevieve's plan all along.

Genevieve continued to make regular entries in the diary, just as a goof. Sometimes she'd read the latest entry aloud to Julianna, or to Julianna and Lacey, cracking them up.

“Do you think it was my fault?” Lacey said. “Whatever happened to Genni?”

“I don't know,” Julianna said.

“I know you miss her more than me, but I miss her, too, Juli. It almost killed me.”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“I don't.” Lacey remembered the piece of paper in her hand. “I was writing you a note. I didn't get very far. Just your name.”

“I'm sorry, too, Lacey.”

“Don't worry,” Lacey said. “I won't hug you again.”

“Good.”

Lacey turned and walked to the car parked in the driveway. She didn't look back.

Julianna shut the front door. Her cell phone, in the bedroom, was ringing. When she reached the phone, she saw that the call, according to the ID, was coming from
YOUR NEW BFF.
Julianna was baffled. The redhead from the bar? But how had the woman found her number?

“Hello?” she said.

“I stopped by to see you this morning at the hospital, and you weren't there!” a girl's cheerful voice said. “I'm very disappointed in you, madam.”

It took Julianna a second. And then she pictured an old canvas-­winged biplane doing barrel rolls in the sky. Aerial.
Ariel.
Julianna remembered now, in the parking lot of the hospital—­the blond girl taking her phone from her, punching keys.

“I wasn't there,” Julianna said. “I'm not working today.”

“Neither am I. What do you want to do? I'm so bored, Julianna. How about the zoo?”

“The zoo? No. I don't think so.”

“When's the last time you've been to the zoo?”

“I have to go, Ariel,” Julianna said.

“I'll bet you a kabillion dollars you've never been to the zoo on a weekday. When it's kind of chilly out and not crowded at all?”

Julianna could hear something ragged along the edges of the girl's voice. If Ariel had stopped by to see her earlier, at the hospital, that meant she'd had another round of chemo. Had she gone through it alone again?

“Ariel,” she said, “do you have family here?”

“Here? Where? The Nordstrom Rack by Penn Square, where I am currently located? No, I do not have family at the Nordstrom Rack by Penn Square.”

“In Oklahoma City.”

“No. And this is starting to be a boring conversation, Julianna. I'm sorry, but it's true.”

“Do you have family anywhere? Parents?”

“Not for—­ How do you say it? For all intents and purposes, no.”

Julianna wondered about that for a moment, how a relationship could be so broken that not even a daughter's cancer couldn't mend it.

“Now, pay attention, okay?” Ariel said. “Eyes on the prize. The zoo on a weekday when it's chilly and empty is
awesome.
It's like your own private zoo, Julianna. The giraffes will come to the fence and lean over and try to bite your hair. It will take your frown and turn that fucker upside down!”

Julianna almost smiled, despite herself. “I have to go now, Ariel,” she said.

“Okay. Call me, then. Call me later.”

“Good-­bye.”

“I mean it.”

“Good-­bye, Ariel.”

Julianna ended the call. She sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes, then went out to the garage. A rope dangled from the trapdoor in the ceiling. The previous owner of the house had used a piece of string to attach a tennis ball to the rope. The string had been carefully measured: the tennis ball hung four feet off the floor, at the height of a car windshield. When the previous owner pulled in to the garage, the tennis ball told him or her exactly where to stop the car.

Told
her
where to stop. Julianna guessed that a wife had mentioned, one night at dinner, how tight the fit in the garage was. The husband had come up with the tennis-­ball solution.

Julianna couldn't grasp a life like that—­­people who actually spent time thinking about those kinds of things, then actually spent time doing them. She envied those ­people, she supposed.