Far From You (8 page)

Thursday night

Victoria let me

borrow her cell phone

so I could call Blaze,

since I hadn’t yet

replaced my old one.

He told me

how much he missed me

and that he’d just been working,

except not on Thanksgiving

since the store was closed

for the holiday.

He told me

how he slept until noon,

woke up,

watched football all afternoon,

then ate dinner

with his family.

Sounded

perfect

to me.

I asked him

about Claire,

and he said

they talked

and he’d tell me

more when I got home.

“Tell me now. Please?”

“Oh, Al, I don’t know.

She’s being weird.

I told her to stop it.

We kind of got in a fight, to be honest.”

I felt my stomach

tighten at those words.

“When you get back, you’ll work it out,” he said.

“Tell me again how much you miss me,” I said softly,

wanting that to carry me until I got back home.

He said,

“Like a tree misses its leaves

as it stands bare and naked

in the dead of winter.”

Big. Sigh.

“We need to write a song together,” I told him.

“You’re so good with words.”

“You’re on,” he said.

“But only if we make it hot and sexy.”

I laughed.

“You’re so persistent.”

“One of my best qualities,” he said.

“Then go use it on Claire.

And tell her to be my friend again.”

It was decided

Friday night

over turkey sandwiches

and turkey noodle soup

we’d be heading home

Saturday morning.

Although not quite winter yet,

the forecasters were saying

Mother Nature

was planning

a spectacular preview.

So Victoria wanted to leave

before it hit.

Of course

there was no argument

from me.

When I woke up at 5 a.m.

for the fifth day in a row,

I was so tired,

all the coffee

in the world

couldn’t help me.

I rummaged through

the medicine cabinet

while the water

in the shower heated up.

Tylenol PM

jumped out at me,

and I decided

it was my

perfect solution

for a peaceful

ride home.

I took two,

then let the water

in the shower

wash over me

as I thought

of Blaze

and Cobain

and Claire,

and how Dorothy was so right.

There’s no place like home.

Once settled in the car

and on the road,

Ivy fell fast asleep,

perhaps aware

of how badly

we both wanted her

to do just that.

And I

was right

behind her,

ready to dream

of being safe

in Blaze’s arms

once

again.

The first thing

I noticed

before I opened my eyes

was that my bladder

felt like it was going

to burst.

The second thing

I noticed

before I opened my eyes

was Victoria

cussing as she revved

the engine.

The third thing

I noticed

before I opened my eyes

was that we weren’t

moving.

My eyes

flew

OPEN.

Out the window

it looked so strange,

I blinked,

and blinked again.

It didn’t look

real.

Like at home

when I turn out the light

in my room

and all I see

is blackness.

It was snow,

falling so hard,

all I could see

was whiteness.

Whiteout.

As if sensing

the sheer panic

I was feeling,

Ivy started crying.

Without thinking,

I stuck my pinky

in her mouth.

“Victoria, please tell me I’m dreaming.”

And then

Victoria started crying.

It didn’t go on long

before I yelled,

“Stop it!

God, you’re not helping.”

She turned around,

bit her lip,

sniffled, and nodded.

Then she reached back

and unlatched Ivy

from her car seat,

pulling her close,

like a little girl

looking to her doll

for comfort.

Victoria started talking

faster than

my heart was beating.

Something about

a bad wreck on the freeway

near the Oregon border,

so she turned off

to take the back roads

that she drove with Dad last summer.

She babbled on

about the snow

coming harder and harder,

stopping to feed Ivy,

then continuing on,

going down winding back roads for miles,

trying to find her way.

“And now,” she said, finally slowing her words down,

“we seem to be—”

“Stuck,” I said, since she hesitated to say the word.

“So call someone.”

She pointed her pink phone at me.

“It’s dead.

You used it last night, and I forgot my charger.”

I shook my head,

trying to get this new piece

of information

to sink in,

but I had to pee so bad,

I couldn’t even think.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Three.”

Damn.

Guess I was tired.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked her.

“Like you could have helped,” she said,

in a tone that totally irritated me.

I grabbed my coat

from the back

and put it on.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the bathroom,” I mumbled.

When I jumped out of the car,

the cold slapped my face

as the snow

devoured my boot-covered feet,

and it was as if

I’d come face to face

with a

freaking

frosted

monster.

A monster,

I hoped,

who would get tired of us

and would very quickly

let us

go.

I tried to push the car out

with Victoria at the wheel.

No luck.

She tried to push the car out

with me at the wheel.

No luck.

Again

and again

we tried.

No luck.

No luck.

No luck.

Dad always said

people in Seattle

who had fancy SUVs

with four-wheel drive

were paranoid,

since it only snows,

like, once a year there.

Well, I wished he had been

a bit more paranoid

about us going on a

million-mile road trip

with a baby.

Without four-wheel drive,

getting out

seemed

impossible.

Ivy wailed,

her cries

a reflection

of what we

were feeling.

We collapsed

in the car,

trying to melt

the icicles on our hands

that used to be fingers.

It wasn’t until

warm tears

stung my frozen face

that I realized

Ivy wasn’t the only one

crying.

Sadness

quickly became

red,

hot

anger,

despite

the bitter cold

around us.

I tried to hold it in,

but it was like trying to

keep a lit firecracker

inside a cardboard box.

“How the hell did this happen?” I yelled.

“I don’t get it!

One minute,

we’re driving down

the damn freeway.

And the next,

we’re in the middle of nowhere,

stuck in a blizzard?

Are you really that freaking stupid?”

Sizzling.

Scorching.

Hot.

“Okay, stop it!” she screamed.

“The storm came out of nowhere.

And all the roads started to look the same.

It’s not my fault, Alice.

It’s not!”

“What the—

Then who the hell’s fault is it?

Mine?

Is it my freaking fault?”

Silence.

I laughed.

“You’re going to blame this on me, aren’t you?

I bet you’re plotting right now

what you’re going to say to Dad

to turn him against me even more.

Well, how about this?

Why don’t you

just throw me

out there to freeze to death?

Then you could have

your nice little family

without me.

Or I know,

I’ll make it easy for you!

I’ll just go.”

Burning.

Boiling.

Hot.

I started to reach back

for my guitar,

because where I go, it goes,

but Victoria grabbed my arm

and pulled me back to my seat.

Hard.

“You listen to me, Ali,” she hissed.

“I’m not plotting anything.

And you’re not going anywhere.

You’re staying here,

and we’re going to figure this out.

Together.

And I want you to know something.

Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I hate you.

I’ve tried my best—”

“What?

Your best?

Come on, you haven’t tried your best

to do anything.

Most of the time, you ignore me.

How is that trying?”

Searing.

Steaming.

Hot.

“I don’t ignore you!

I leave you alone

because you make it clear that’s what you want.

You miss your mom.

I get that.

But don’t make me out to be some terrible person.

Because I’m not.”

She took a deep breath,

her eyes closing as her

tongue curled up

like I’d seen it do so many times before.

She blinked, and blinked again.

But it didn’t help.

The tears started to come.

“Of course it’s my fault

we’re in this Goddamn mess,” she cried.

“Is that what you need to hear?

You want to hear how bad I feel,

knowing I’ve done this to you?

To Ivy?

To all of us?”

She wiped her face

with the back of her hand,

then pointed at me.

“Right now, it’s you and me.

We have to work together,

whether you like it or not.

And regardless of how you feel about me,

I’ll do everything I can to get you home.”

Through the whole

heated exchange,

Ivy had stayed glued

to her chest,

clutched hard,

like a pillow

after a terrible

nightmare.

When it got quiet,

I watched

as Victoria

gently

and lovingly

loosened her grip,

raised the baby up,

and tenderly kissed

her teeny-tiny

face.

I leaned over,

closed my eyes,

and put my warm cheek

against

the glass.

Freezing.

Frosty.

Cold.

Black

replaced

white.

Silence

replaced

shouting.

Fear

replaced

anger.

We kept the car on

for a while,

then turned it off

to save the gas we had

so we could get out

when we were able.

Victoria and I

took turns

holding Ivy,

making quiet

exchanges,

the tension

in the car

thicker

than the snowdrifts

outside.

She spoke first,

in barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Alice.

We’ll be okay.

I promise you.

We will.”

I started to argue,

but before I did,

I thought of Claire

and how an apology

from one of us

would have kept the crack

from turning into a

canyon.

It wasn’t the time

to grow further apart.

I pulled out

a bag of chips

and tore it open.

“Dinner?” I asked.