“Rex?”
“My brother.”
Ammalie stood there, feeling awkward. Headachy. Miserable. “Thanks, though. Nice place you have here.”
She turned to go and saw Lulu and Dan approaching. Dan waved her over. “We already grilled you a veggie burger, so you can’t say no,” he yelled. “Come on over. Rita, I can grill you up one too!”
Rita lifted her bag of laundry, as if to say I’ve got things to do, and chuckled and whispered, “Watch out for him, he’s a flirt. Known him for decades, he’s a friend of my brother’s, and his flirtatiousness has only gotten worse with age. But his heart is gold.”
Ammalie smiled ruefully. Ah, so it had not been her in particular he found attractive. But that was fine—she didn’t feel good enough to do anything except survive. Which involved eating. She followed Dan and Lulu over to their cabin and glory glory, the smell of a cooking burger. Better than a flirty moment, better than sex, better than an orgasm, and almost better than a gentle and unexpected kiss. She was so hungry. Not only for a hot meal, but for something she did not cook, some offering as an act of companionship or humanity. She nearly cried over the need for it. She slid into the picnic table and closed her eyes and turned her face toward the sunlight, blue sky, bird chatter.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
“Thank you to the sun that grew grass and the cook and the person who built this picnic table and the person who made ketchup and the person who grew tomatoes and the tomato plant itself,” Lulu chimed in, and when it became clear she wasn’t going to stop with her gratitudes—which were endearing—Ammalie smiled and turned her eyes to Dan.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I’ll have to eat fast, but only because I don’t want to leave my dog in the car for long. But I am so, so hungry, and this smells so, so good. Thank you.” Then she nodded at Lulu and said, “Lulu, that was a good list. Thank you for reminding me to be grateful. A lot goes into everything, doesn’t it?”
As they ate, Dan cast occasional worried glances her way, and did not wink, and Lulu chatted happily as they rotated the condiments around. Somehow ketchup and mustard and pickles and lettuce had never, not once in her life, seemed so amazing. Dan kept opening his mouth as if to say something, and then finally said, “You know, let me grill you up another burger for the road…You look…pale.”
She shook her head no. “Thank you, but I need to go. I’m so grateful. You can’t believe how grateful.” She caught his blue eyes so he could see she meant it. “But I do sincerely need to go.” She was sliding out of her seat when Rita approached.
“So, you say the dog is not yours?” Rita stood above them, hands in her coral jacket, and then reached out and ate a pickle slice. “So, like, you do not have a forever relationship with that dog?”
“Well. I mean…” Ammalie felt a flush in her cheeks. “I love Lady, if that’s what you mean. Who wouldn’t? I’m not returning her to whoever did that…I kind of stole her…but also I guess I don’t feel like burdening a humane society either. Although…I don’t know…I just, I just…”
Rita flashed a smile. “Oh, without a doubt, I’d steal a dog from someone who was abusing her. Breaking the law for the right reason is something I can get behind. Laws are more like guidelines. I’m just saying, I went and looked at her, hope you don’t mind,” Rita said. “You’re right. About the burns.” She glanced over at Lulu, as if to encourage silence—no one wanted to be talking about an abused dog with a child around. “What do you think about her staying at me and Rex’s place?” Rita nodded her head north. “We live over there on a bordering property. The old family ranch. Rex could use the company, frankly—he’s a little sad these days. And the dog could run free. And you could stay here, as we discussed, working for a free bed.”
Ammalie blinked. Teared. Blinked again.
Rita waited for a response, but since she didn’t get one, she continued. “So, okay, here’s the deal. Things are slow in the hostel room because it’s winter—so those beds aren’t being used. Trade you a bunk bed there. You’d likely have the place to yourself the whole time, but you might need to share. Let’s do one week and see how it goes. You can visit your dog anytime. And, of course, when you leave, the dog goes with you.”
“Oh, yay!” Lulu squealed a noise of delight.
“I didn’t know people did hostels,” Dan said.
Rita bobbed her head. “Rex and I consider it our gift to humanity. Everyone needs a cheap room. We used them ourselves in Europe and New Zealand and Australia, when we were young, traveling together; seemed like a good idea. Needs to be more of ’em in this country. Everything has become available only to the wealthy—including recreation.” She ate another pickle. “Just to get clear, my expectation for a free room would be about three or four hours a day. Be at the desk in the morning for a few hours—I like my mornings to myself; guests will be checking out, so all you have to do is take their key and wish them well. They’re all paid up, generally. Then spend an hour or two in the afternoon cleaning. Serious cleaning. It’s hard work. Takes muscle. For that, you get a free room, no paperwork, no pay. Hours are flexible if you need a day off or something, as long as you make up the time.”
“I can help!” Lulu chimed in. “Can I? Can I please?”
Ammalie blinked again. Her headache was pressing down, but her heart was lifting. “Deal. Can I come over tonight?”
“I don’t see why not. But I’m on my way out. I lock up the office in the midday, so I’ll have to explain things to you later. Took down your plate, just in case you’re a criminal.” But she winked, and the smile on her face was warm. “If it’s okay with you, let’s go put your dog—what explorer was she named after?”
“Lady Shackleton. Lady for short—”
“Excellent! Remind people that there was a woman behind the man! Lady and the Tramp too, though I guess that makes you the tramp!” Rita laughed a burbly cascade of notes. Not only were her jacket and lipstick coral, her whole self seemed coral-bright. “Well, let’s put Lady in my truck. You okay with that? You can visit her daily. See how she’s doing. We’ll see what Rex thinks. But certainly, it will be fine for a week. This is just a test run.”
“Oh good! We can tease the birders together!” Lulu was clapping her hands. “Rita and I do it all the time. She’s really funny. Did you know that wild turkeys contain more ancient DNA than any other creature? Did you know that TVs, which are turkey vultures, can smell carrion from a mile away? Did you know that every single feather of a yellow warbler has yellow on it?”
“I did not.” Ammalie’s head hurt so much, but she could also feel the sparkling light of amusement and relief. “And learning from you is way more interesting than reading a birding book. I mean that.” She handed Lulu a yellow bracelet she’d made at the Colorado cabin, which was still in a tangle with others in her jacket pocket. “See you in a while, crocodile.”
She thanked everyone, departed with Rita, leashed and walked Lady to Rita’s truck, along with the food and bed and toys, and hugged her around the neck. “I’ll check on you soon, okay?” she whispered into Lady’s neck while hugging her wiggling body. “I need something easier, for just a bit. This might be a good solution for both of us.”
—
The guilt seeped into her body, pinging around with the physical pain. Guilt for not calling her people, who deserved some attention, after all—even if she felt strangely reluctant. Agatha Christie took eleven days of mysterious absence, after all! And what about all those male explorers, leaving behind families and obligations for years? Was she not allowed a few weeks to herself? But still: It didn’t seem right. She stopped at a hill on the way out where Rita said there was cell reception and indeed, she could see bars on her phone.
To her relief, there was a text from Powell. Thanks for nice message, Mom. I actually think you are remembering wrong. We did plenty of adventures. Remember how you forced me to go camping in the backyard? But no worries, I will explore and have oomph! Speaking of: I met someone! Dad’s Bday next week. Miss him, it’s weird he’s just GONE, you know? That’s so stupid. It’s just so stupid that I don’t even know what to say about it. Thanks for giving me some space, I just needed it.
Yes, death was stupid. Yes, it was ironic he had demanded space, and it had hurt her, but now she seemed to be the one increasingly in need of it herself. Suddenly space seemed reasonable. And a girlfriend—good! She’d been convinced Powell could benefit from a partner; most humans were happier in a relationship, with someone to witness and share the day, and she suspected that he in particular needed someone intimate. To figure out how to really talk, communicate, be in relationship with—which was, of course, something she needed to do as well. She hoped he had tons of sex in his life, premarital—and in fact, they had a running joke that perhaps he’d never get married, and then none of it would be premarital at all! Their joking came in response to her own strict upbringing, which had tried, unsuccessfully, to make her feel guilty about unmarried sex. Her own young life had been filled with so many religious rules. She could have used more experimentation, openness, heartbreak…because maybe then she’d have been more focused and involved with the marriage, or in marrying the right guy.
She texted back, I know, I’ll call on his birthday. Good for you. Be kind to your lovers’ hearts and to your heart. I never had many rules, but remember the three I did have: 1) No drunk driving. 2) No serious drugs. 3) Be kind with hearts, and safe with sex, and no unplanned children. Three of the most no-duh rules to live by—but DO live by them—because the consequences are enormous. I love you so much—adventure on! She noted with a fond snort that he hadn’t asked about her trip at all. Ah, the teenage brain. Although she hadn’t been much better; she’d been totally in her Ammalie bubble.
There were several texts from Mari that had come in during the last few days—Mari was a true friend, and Ammalie hadn’t been very reciprocal of late. The last one caught her eye: Nothing new with me and Maximo. Holding pattern. Levi called me, he seemed sad and concerned. I did not give out your number but I said I’d pass on the message. I think he assumed you were friends, and he feels a bit slighted. Friends don’t just run off now, do they? Haha, jk. Where ARE you?
Her heart felt like it was schoolgirl-skipping down the street. What if? What if he’d assumed they were real friends all this time? And why did she have trouble believing that? Because, well, it was part of the restaurant culture. People cared for each other, sure, but it was only within the context of the restaurant, not outside it. And what if there was more—although, was that weird? And why was she overcomplicating it with her yearning daydreams? Was she at fault for ruining a good friendship by turning it into something romantic in her mind? In the course of humanity, how many friendships had been stamped out because of the wish for more?
She texted back some basics to Mari, knowing that neither text nor emoji was the way to communicate anything real, but at least Mari would know she was alive. She added a final text: More Real Stuff to come, trust me. Stay tuned. I love you.
She texted Apricot a How ya doing? and stared at the phone, wondering if she should say more, but decided against it. She only had so much energy, after all. Instead, she sent a photo of her pretending to hug a cactus. Surprisingly, Apricot texted back an immediate Where the hell are you again? She simply responded On an adventure and turned off her phone. Part of “Be Interesting” was not feeling obligated to fill people in on the details.
Her voicemail was bleh: one from her eye doctor, one from a dentist, one from her doctor’s office—it was time to schedule her annual exams, Pap, mammogram, blood work, blah, blah; the business of living seemed endless; staying out of feral-dom seemed endless. The other was from the Chaffee County Sheriff—hadn’t she worked that out already? She deleted them all. She needed the world to leave her alone, she needed time, she needed to heal.
—
She’d leave Dart perfect. She cleaned and swept and straightened the sheet, pausing for a moment to remember Kit’s kiss. She left some cash in an envelope with a K, GOOD LUCK scrawled on it, just in case he returned. Money always helped—and if he didn’t find it, someone in need would; no one who stayed in Dart had many resources. Right before her departure, she wrote thank you for this unoffered-but-much-appreciated gift, from a mysterious visitor who needed you in the guest book, right after Vincent’s writing, so that their handwriting could be together. As she went to close the book, she realized there was one entry after the blank page—the page had been skipped—and the writing was in soft pencil, so soft she hadn’t seen it. “Lovely. Fine weather. Cheery place to talk about things past and future, the remoteness clarifies the brain. Cheers, Apolena.” She was startled by the name—it had been Vincent’s grandmother’s name, and she’d always loved it. Had she had a daughter, that was to be her name. It was also the name of an older librarian back in Chicago, and Vincent and she had talked about it, how it seemed to be a Czech and Slovak name, some version of Apollo.
Her head was thrumming now, but there was satisfaction that Dart was well tended to. She stepped backward out of the camper, locked it up, kept the key on her key ring, and drove away.
Though she craved a shower and to get settled, she spent an hour driving back toward the nearest town for gas and groceries—it was truly annoying how much humans needed calories and fossil fuels. Energy, energy, energy. The store was tiny and the choices were limited, and she put all the remaining vegetable-based canned soups in her cart. Chunks of meat in soup should be added to the list of Great Offenders, right up there with Frances McDormand, she thought, and indeed, perhaps she’d stop eating meat anyway. At the last minute, she added iodine tablets and colored pencils because they were near the door. As she checked out, she asked the cashier to mail a few postcards she’d written a few days ago.
She pulled into the cluster of cabins right at dusk. The office was closed but Rita had left a note with a key pinned to the stick board. Let yourself into office, go to door in the back, make self at home, see you at nine to show you the works. You’ll have to jiggle the key, but don’t worry, it works.
—
She held the key in her palm and considered it. This one had been gifted. Offered openly. It brought a flush of tears. She turned the key, heard the click, and let herself into a room behind the office that had three sets of bunk beds and a bathroom with a well-appointed and spacious shower.
My god. It was heaven. It was a home.
She unpacked and found a plastic bag and tied it around her head. She was exhausted but she wanted to be clean, and oh, the glory of a hot shower. She lifted the bag on one side to wash one half of her head, since it had now been a long time since she’d washed her hair and her scalp seemed to ache with the need for it. She felt a sting as water trickled into her wound, and she wished she knew what she should do, wash or not wash the area, but decided it was safest to let it be for another day or two.
In Chicago, she had gone to the hairdresser every six weeks for a cut and a dye, nothing fancy but just an attempt to get to the walnut color she used to be and was not ready to let go of. She went for occasional pedicures and facials. Once every few years, she splurged on a spa getaway that included laser treatments for her face and saunas and massages. She had once been a woman who showered daily and pampered herself in a humble way; now she was a woman who simply craved soap on her head—even half her head would do!—and was delighted by the fact of warm running water.
She took a bottom bunk and nearly cried with the delight of the space. She put out her yoga mat and stretched. She checked her head, which was now just humming rather than thrumming with pain. She charged her phone, filled her water bottles, and heated soup. Then slept deeply because she was meant to be here. No one could approach her and accuse her of anything. This bunk was publicly hers, and it was delicious.
CHAPTER 12
She masturbated first thing upon waking. It had been a long, long time, but it happened without thought, her body more in charge than her brain, which was still fuzzy from deep sleep. She vaguely imagined a mixture of Kit and Dan and the feel of hips near her hips, a chest above her chest, the movement of muscle and tendon of bone he scissored into her, thrusting, good, the rising power of desire. The pulsing relief—glory, glory, how long had all that been stored up—and sparks swept up her spine and across her belly.
