The Long Way Home Page 2

  She walked around some more, stopping to look at a bulletin board. The rec center had an impressive selection of classes. Cooking, crafts, yoga, writing—the list went on and on. And so cheap too. Twenty or thirty dollars for most of them. She wondered if she should sign up for one of them sometime. Cooking lessons might be fun. And useful.

  At half past the hour, a classroom door opened and a surge of middle-aged women spilled out. She heard several of them gleefully call out, “Adios!” and guessed it was a remedial Spanish class. Jazzy flattened her back against the wall to get out of the way, and one of them, a grandma-type with curly white hair, smiled as she went past.

  She waited a few minutes, then went over to the open door and peered in to see the Spanish teacher, a pretty young woman with dark hair, packing up to go. Upon seeing Jazzy she called out, “Hola!”

  “Hola,” Jazzy said. A second earlier she’d wondered if this woman was going to be her contact, but no, this wasn’t it. Definitely not. She walked away before more Spanish would be required. At the end of the hallway, she found an elevator next to a staircase. Her radar was really kicking in now, and she followed her instincts and bounded up the stairs. When she got to the second story she headed purposefully down the hall until she came to a closed door. Through the narrow glass side panel she saw a group of women sitting on metal folding chairs and grouped in a circle. The sound of one woman’s voice hummed, but she couldn’t make out the words.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and rushed in. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “The traffic was terrible, and then I couldn’t find the room—”

  Chapter Three

  Marnie adjusted her rearview mirror, but didn’t start the engine. Now that the class was over, she wasn’t in any hurry. There was nowhere to be and nothing waiting at home. One place was as good as another.

  Lately she’d felt mired. Not as depressed as before, but not too motivated either. Like she was waiting for some vague, unknown thing to happen. So far, whatever it was hadn’t shown up.

  The best of life was behind her now. She was thirty-five years old and it was clear she’d never be an Olympic athlete, or mountain climber, or rock star. It was too late for any of that. So many doors had closed. When she was young, there was only possibility ahead of her, but she hadn’t felt that way in a long time. Two months ago, she had a house, a family, and a career. Now all of it was gone. Or most of it anyway. The career was still somewhere in the background. She had taken a leave of absence from her teaching job when Brian died. She’d go back to work at Lincoln Elementary in September, but it seemed a small consolation.

  Marnie glanced into the rearview mirror and frowned. Middle-aged frump. Shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. The same weight as she’d been in college, but she lacked the muscle tone she had then. Probably she should start exercising. Yes, she should really look into a gym membership or a yoga class or something. Maybe tomorrow.

  She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel and watched the other women from the class walk to their cars. They waved to one another and called out, “See you next week!” She had thought them a likeable group, but hadn’t connected with them or their stories. Even in loss and death, her situation was unique.

  The woman with the lustrous silver hair walked past, giving Marnie a clear view of her face. Only a few minutes before she’d been sobbing, but now her steps were lively, and her face, though blotchy, showed serenity. No sign of that Jazzy girl. Marnie had hoped to get another glimpse of her, but she hadn’t come out with the others.

  The embrace between the two women had given her the oddest feeling. She could still picture Jazzy, her arms outstretched. And the older woman, Rita, a complete stranger, sinking into her like it was the most natural thing in the world. What should have been awkward was anything but. How could that be?

  Jazzy didn’t fit in with the group. She didn’t even seem to understand what they were all about, and yet she had helped, Marnie could tell. Just her presence had livened things up. She wished the instructor, Debbie, hadn’t interrupted her at the end. Marnie would have liked to hear more. She suspected Jazzy was selling something, or else working as a life coach and seeking clients. A grief group would be the perfect place to recruit lost souls willing to shell out money for the promise of a better life. Lately she’d been seeing people with a critical eye.

  The parking lot was emptying out now. The sky was gray and the wind was picking up. After a long, difficult winter, spring had been overcast and rainy, and even now, at the beginning of summer, it didn’t look much better. So typical for Wisconsin. You never got what you wanted. On hot days Marnie yearned for cool breezes; when it was cold she longed for the sun. She’d driven past her old house the day before and the garden was a muddy mess. Only a few flowers were in view, perennials that had struggled to come back, and even they’d looked beaten down. The For Sale sign was still in the front yard, now leaning a bit. She had taken a bit of perverse joy at the sight of the neglected house. It had looked better when she was in charge.

  The instructor, Debbie, emerged from the building, carrying a large bag and talking on her cell phone. She didn’t look happy. Marnie had a theory about people who worked in the mental health field. Therapists, psychiatrists, analysts, psychologists—all of them were screwed up in some way. Drawn to the profession by their own mental-health shortcomings. Her college roommate, now a psychologist, had told her horrible stories of childhood abuse. The year they lived together in the dorms, she’d gone through one nightmare of a boyfriend after another. Later Marnie heard she’d been married and divorced twice. That same woman now had her own local radio talk show—giving relationship advice, ironically enough.

  Marnie watched as Debbie got into her car and drove out of the lot. Now the entire class was gone. Time to go home. She pulled her seat belt across her lap and clicked it in place. When she looked up she noticed a fine mist covering her windshield. Great, more rain.

  Finally, she turned the key, expecting the usual sound of the engine starting. Instead she got nothing. Nothing at all. Disbelieving, she tried again. Click. She took the key out and looked at it, then stuck it back in and tried one more time, getting the same results. Damn. It had to be the battery. She thought hard. The car was six years old. How long did batteries last? She didn’t think they’d ever replaced it. The cars were Brian’s department. She knew it was illogical to blame someone who was dead, but dammit, why hadn’t he taken care of this? Once more he’d let her down. First by dying, and then with every bad thing that had happened since.

  She unzipped her purse and fumbled around for her cell. She peered into the dark recesses, but couldn’t see past the wad of receipts and jumble of cosmetics. Who could find anything in all this crap? Just as true panic set in (and she was just about to dump the contents onto the seat next to her), her fingers recognized the smooth plastic edge of the phone. With a sigh of relief she held the phone in her hand. Oh, yes. Help was just a phone call away.

  But it wasn’t that easy, and a few minutes later the panicky feeling had returned. The cell phone turned out to be dead, and the car charger, which she could have sworn was in the glove compartment, was gone. Not that it would have helped, since the battery was dead, she realized as she slammed the glove box shut. To make matters worse, when she went back to the building she found it was locked, and even though there were a few cars left parked on the outer edges of the lot, pounding on the door hadn’t produced anyone. Defeated, she ran back to the dead car. And now it was raining, really raining, a true downpour. She calculated the distance home—at least five miles. And the rec center was surrounded by office complexes, none of which would be open this late in the evening. She thought she’d passed a gas station on the drive in, maybe a mile back, but she wasn’t really sure. Oh why had she let that stupid funeral director talk her into signing up for this class? Stupid class. Stupid her for listening to him. And stupid Brian for leaving her behind.

  Marnie rested her forehead
against the steering wheel. She would sit here forever, if that’s how long it took for the rain to stop. She would not get drenched in the cold rain, her hair dripping and her clothing clinging to her body. If it rained forever she would stay in the car for exactly that long, ignoring hunger, thirst, and the need for the bathroom, like any good martyr. The authorities would find her skeleton in this car and everyone would say, You know, I’d wondered where Marnie was, but I was so busy being self-involved that I couldn’t be bothered checking in on her. Now I feel just terrible. And they should feel terrible, all of them. It would serve them right.

  Her pity party felt good. The steering wheel dug into her forehead, but that was a necessary part of her suffering, so she endured the discomfort.

  Marnie was working her way up to a good cry, when a knock on the window startled her into sitting upright. The view through the glass was blurred by rain, but Marnie instantly recognized the girl who’d barreled late into class.

  Jazzy rapped again and then called out, “Hello there?” She moved closer. “Are you okay?”

  In all of her life, Marnie had never been so happy to see anyone. She opened the door an inch. “Thank God you’re here,” she said, talking through the narrow opening. She saw then that Jazzy clutched some kind of metal rod. At second glance she realized it was the shaft of a large red umbrella.

  “Are you okay? I saw you slumped over like that—”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” Marnie said hurriedly, “but my car battery is dead and my cell phone isn’t working and the building is locked. I was getting desperate.” Jazzy nodded kindly, and Marnie felt her despair melt away. “Can I use your phone or could you give me a ride? I can pay you for your trouble.”

  “Why don’t you let me in”—Jazzy pointed to the passenger side—“and we can get this sorted out.”

  Marnie nodded and closed the door. She watched as Jazzy crossed in front of the car, making a detour to gleefully kick her way through a puddle with multicolored rubber boots.

  When Jazzy got into the car she set her bag and the collapsed umbrella at her feet and turned to Marnie. “Can you believe this rain? Crazy, crazy weather we’ve been having lately.”

  “I like your boots,” Marnie said. “I don’t remember seeing them in class.”

  “Thanks, they’re new. I had them in my bag and just put them on a few minutes ago. Funny thing, I’d just been wishing for a chance to wear them and then the clouds opened up and bam, a deluge!” Her eyes shone. “Like magic.”

  “I’m so glad you came along. I was having a breakdown wondering what I was going to do.”

  “Oh, you poor thing. Aren’t car problems the worst? That, and computers. I always feel so helpless when something gets screwed up.” Jazzy raked her fingers through her hair. “It’s so frustrating when you can’t fix things.”

  The rain pounded against the windshield, making the outside world a blur. Now that help had arrived, Marnie felt herself relaxing into the seat. She waited a moment, hoping for an offer of a ride, but when one didn’t come, she said, “Is it okay if I use your phone? I’m sure you want to get home, and I don’t want to use up any more of your time.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. There’s no hurry.” Jazzy leaned over and reached into her bag. “You’re welcome to use my phone.” She flipped it open and handed it to Marnie.

  The phone’s screen displayed the words, “I’m awesome,” surrounded by twinkling stars. The image made Marnie smile, but her smile quickly faded as she realized the phone wouldn’t do her any good. She didn’t know any phone numbers. She hadn’t memorized a number in years, always relying on her list of contacts.

  “It’s on,” Jazzy said, leaning over to point. “All you have to do is—”

  “I know how to use it. I just can’t think of any numbers. Isn’t that crazy? I’m a complete blank.” Marnie swallowed and thought hard. She knew Brian’s number at work, for all the good that would do. She also knew her mother’s number; it had been the same since she was a girl. That was no good though. Her mother didn’t drive and would only fret. Although, on second thought, her mother could give her other numbers: her brother? her sister? They both lived nearly an hour away though. They’d come and get her, certainly, but she knew that they’d also be irritated by the inconvenience and she’d never hear the end of it. As the baby of the family, she’d been typecast as spoiled and helpless. Nothing could be further from the truth, but they stuck with that story, even looked for evidence to back it up, in fact. No, she didn’t want to call them. Friends? She had a few, but they were lunch friends and volunteering friends, not car-problem friends. Besides, she didn’t know their numbers. She suddenly felt more alone than she had since the funeral.

  Jazzy interrupted her thoughts by patting her arm. “Don’t feel bad, I only know one or two numbers by heart myself. I think that’s pretty normal.”

  “Maybe I could call a mechanic to tow the car,” Marnie said, but made no move to do it. Another number she didn’t know. She could call directory assistance, if she knew how to do that, but she didn’t. She had to be the biggest idiot in the world. The tears that filled her eyes matched the rain outside. “But at this time of night I bet it would be hard to get a tow truck to come out.”

  She sighed heavily. “I hate to impose on you, but would you mind giving me a ride home? I can give you gas money for your trouble.”

  “I don’t actually have a car here,” Jazzy said. “My brother is picking me up. Why don’t we just drop you off at home and you can deal with this tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure? I live over on the west side, about five miles from here.”

  “I’m sure.” Jazzy took the phone back. “Dylan won’t mind. I’ll call and let him know.”

  Chapter Four

  Dylan was more put out about it than Jazzy let on. Marnie could hear his side of the conversation perfectly, and he sounded exasperated. Still, when they were done speaking, Jazzy snapped the phone shut, turned to Marnie, and said, “It’s no problem at all. He said he’d be glad to give you a ride home.”

  When he arrived, fifteen minutes later, it was in a black Toyota Camry. The two women made a mad dash from Marnie’s car but still got drenched. Dylan opened the door from inside, and Jazzy motioned for Marnie to sit up front, while she got in the back. The windshield wipers whipped back and forth furiously, and the car smelled like pine air freshener. Jazzy leaned forward and made the introductions. “Marnie, this is my big brother, Dylan, the hero of the hour. Well, actually, the hero of my life.”

  “Glad to meet you, Marnie,” he said, offering his hand. His tone was friendly. If he’d been annoyed before, he’d gotten past it. “Did you want me to try jump-starting your battery?”

  She looked at the rain pelting the car and shook her head. “Thanks, but not in this weather. Besides, the battery is six years old. I think it needs replacing.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, sounding relieved.

  Marnie directed Dylan down the highway and then through side streets until they reached her duplex. It was an old building, red brick with white shutters, with colonial-style pillars flanking the front stoop. The pillars distinguished it from the other houses on the street, most of which were plain brick boxes. Marnie lived in the upper half and had use of the basement where she had her own washer and dryer. Tonight her half of the house was dark, but the lower, where her landlady, Mrs. Benner, lived, was lit up. Marnie made a mental note to keep a light on in the evenings when she was gone. This living alone took some getting used to.

  “This is your house?” Jazzy said. “It’s really nice.”

  “I just moved here and I’m renting,” Marnie said. “I’m not sure how long I’ll stay. I’ve been looking at condos.” The last part wasn’t technically true. Actually she’d been thinking about looking at condos, but then again she’d been thinking about a lot of things. Doing things was another matter altogether. The car came to a stop, and Marnie dug in her purse until she found a pen and paper. “I
want to give you my number,” she said, jotting it down and handing it over to Jazzy. “I’m so grateful for your help, and I’d love to repay you somehow. Maybe I could have you over for dinner some Sunday? I love to cook and don’t get much chance lately.”

  “That would be nice,” Jazzy said. “Sure. Thanks.”

  After saying good-bye, Marnie dashed to the protection of the overhang, where she discovered Mrs. Benner had already locked the front door for the night. Getting her keys straightened out took a moment, and she was glad when she finally found the right one and heard the click of the lock’s release.

  Although Mrs. Benner lived right below her, Marnie had never met the woman and wasn’t likely to. She’d worked out the rental agreement with Dave Benner, who cautioned her against bothering his mother. “My mother likes to keep to herself. Please respect her privacy,” he said, after showing her how the thermostat worked and explaining how to use the intercom that linked the front porch to her unit. “I can tell you now you probably won’t see her at all. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t try to contact her in any way. Don’t knock on her door. Don’t call. If you have any problems, you need to talk to me.” He’d made it plain that Marnie’s cooperation in this matter would make or break the rental agreement. Because she didn’t have a lease, he could give her notice at any time, and the thought of moving again didn’t sit well with her.

  After their conversation, Marnie reflected on what he’d said. She wondered what Mrs. Benner’s problem was but hadn’t asked. That would have been rude. Don’t try to contact her, was what he’d said. What an odd way to put it. Marnie wasn’t planning on socializing with Mrs. Benner anyway, so it was a nonissue. She liked her privacy as well, so having a recluse live below suited her. The lower level was always quiet. Once in a while, she got a whiff of food cooking or heard the faint sounds of a cat meowing, but for the most part, it was like having the house to herself.