Flee, Fly, Flown Page 5

  Rayne checks the rearview mirror. “You okay?”

  “Yes. I’m very tired.”

  “Why don’t you sleep? I know my way around. As long as we keep heading northwest, we’re going in the right direction, and Audrey will wake you if we need you.” He sounds sympathetic.

  “No, I’d rather not,” I say, struggling to stay focused. The face in the mirror and the kinder voice are Tom’s. I relax and watch him. He’s always kind, yet always a mystery to me. That first time he disappeared, he must have been twelve. He’d run away before but only to the next-door neighbor’s or his best friend’s house, and he’d always come back the same day. This time, no one knew where he was. I called everyone, even the police. They said they’d let the officers on the streets know, but it was too early to file a report—what’s that called? What’s that report when a child’s missing and all the authorities are informed? Anyway, I must have called the police every name in the book when they said that. I took Carol and we walked up and down every street for blocks around, calling Tom’s name and asking people if they’d seen him. Albert went looking for him in the car. After dark, I took Carol home and stayed up by the phone. No one called except Albert. He stayed out all night and kept stopping to check in with me. It was awful. Twelve years old. I couldn’t imagine where he would be. The next day, the police finally came by the house after I called them again and yelled at them for not doing anything about my missing son. We were sitting at the table, looking through photographs to find a recent one, and in walked Tom, calm as you please. He’d spent the night in a fort that he’d built out of twigs or whatever, in a ravine a few blocks away because he was afraid he’d get scolded for some trouble he’d gotten into the day before at school. Unbelievable! We had no idea then that it would be a habit of his—refusing to take responsibility for his actions, running away. I still feel ill when I think of that day. I thought I was such a huge failure as a mom.

  And now, here he is, taking us somewhere. Audrey seems to feel comfortable with him. She pulls a map from the glove compartment and unfolds it. It takes her a long time to find the spot but eventually her finger rests on the name, Ottawa, and a big smile crosses her face. “Here we are,” she says.

  Tom nods. He asks her quietly, probably thinking I can’t hear, “Your friend…is she okay?”

  “Mm-hmm, she’s fine.”

  Leaving the city behind, we merge onto the main highway going west. Traffic is heavy and fast. I’m dizzy watching the cars and trucks whiz by.

  “Am I ever glad you’re driving and not Lillian,” Audrey says.

  “Me too. That’d be disastrous,” Tom says. He glances in the mirror and then tempers his comment a bit. “At least from what I saw with the parking situation.”

  “Oh, no. You’re right,” Audrey says. “Driving is more challenging at our age, no doubt about it, especially if you’re out of practice.”

  “So, Lillian hasn’t driven for a while?” Tom asks, obviously fishing for the story.

  “No, we’ve been—Oh, look at that.” She stops mid-sentence and points at a road sign showing restaurants and bathrooms ahead. “I could use a washroom break and a bite to eat. How about you?”

  “Sure, I’ll pull in.”

  The seatbelt gives me hard time and then the door handle. Everything is so complicated. Audrey and I meet in front of the car. Tom hangs back and follows behind. I slow and wait for him, so anxious to re-connect. I reach out to link arms with him and he freezes and gives me a strange look. Who is this? I snap my arm back and step ahead to catch up with Audrey.

  “Who is that man?” I whisper.

  “Rayne. That’s Rayne. He’s driving us out west.”

  “Do we know him?” I ask.

  Audrey nods her head and pushes open the restroom door.

  The fellow saunters toward the men’s room, keys dangling from his hand.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “I need you to leave the car keys with me.”

  He hands them over without hesitation.

  “Thank you.”

  I pull Audrey aside in the washroom and try to explain. “We need to be cautious. He makes me nervous, discombobulated.”

  “I trust him,” Audrey answers. She ducks into a cubicle and shuts the door.

  As I wash up, I’m surprised by the person I see in the mirror—so saggy and wrinkled, so pale.

  “I feel peckish,” Audrey says as we leave the washroom. “Can we sit down and have a sandwich and coffee?”

  “Can we get you something, Rayne?” Audrey asks, as he joins us at the lunch counter.

  The chairs are uncomfortable, all plastic and steel, but a welcome change from the heaviness of the ones at Tranquil Meadows. Who was it that always used to tell me ‘a change is as good as a rest’? The newness of the situation will just take some getting used to.

  I hand Rayne the keys as we walk back to the car.

  “We’re low on gas,” he says. “We should fill up before we leave here.”

  When he finishes at the pump, he pops his head into the car, “Sixty-four dollars. We were almost on empty.”

  He takes the bills I offer and disappears inside.

  We drive forever. Along the road, Audrey makes a game of reading the signs out loud, “Arnprior, Burnstown, Renfrew.” She points at a sign for Algonquin Park.

  “Lillian, did you ever go hiking there when you were a kid?”

  “When my dad was alive, he used to take us hiking there, all seven of us. I loved it. After he died, and my mom married that dim-witted Stuart, we didn’t go anywhere. Mom and Stuart seemed to get out often enough, but not the rest of us. We had to stay home and look after one another. You remember that, don’t you Fraise?”

  I look up and see Audrey. “I mean Audrey, sorry. I was thinking about my aunt, Fraise. I miss her so much.

  “Later,” I add, “when we were married, Albert and I used to take the kids camping and canoeing in Algonquin. He loved the wilderness. Maybe when we get back from our trip, I’ll ask Albert if he wants to go camping there again.”

  Audrey’s head has dropped back onto the headrest and she’s purring. Rayne has stuffed white plugs in his ears with cords attached, like the ones I’ve seen the kids wearing as they walk past The Home on their way to and from school. I take up the work of reading the road signs so I’ll know where we are.

  At almost five o’clock, Highway 17 leads us into the small town of Mattawa. Rayne pulls into the parking lot of The Riverside Motel, an aging building on the outskirts of town.

  “How does this look?” he asks.

  “Looks like home,” I say, “at least for tonight.”

  “I’ll wait in the car,” Rayne says as Audrey and I get out. I stand beside Rayne’s window, anxious about leaving him there with the keys, but hesitant to ask for them again. I don’t want to get into a contest at this point.

  He opens the window and hands me the keys.

  “Listen,” he says. “I haven’t really committed to this whole thing just yet. I’ll let you know for sure in the morning.

  I won’t need a room here. I’ll look after myself.”

  “You don’t want a room?” I ask. “I didn’t know you were undecided. When did you decide that you were undecided?” My legs are wobbly and I’m suddenly a child afraid that her parents are leaving and not coming back. “Where will you go?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Can I just use the bathroom in your room to clean up?”

  I nod, but this isn’t making sense. “Why don’t you stay? We’ll pay for your room if that’s what you’re worried about. That’s part of the deal.”

  “No,” he says. “We don’t exactly have a deal. We’re working on a trial basis right now.”

  “Okay. Okay, you can use our bathroom. Maybe you can leave your things in our room too, fo
r safekeeping. Then tomorrow night you’ll probably change your mind and have a room of your own.” I don’t want to think about what he’s going to do tonight or why he’s saying these things.

  A rustic wooden sign with Office burned into it hangs over the entrance. The screen door squeaks and then slams hard behind us. The smell of fried fish wafts from a back room and we can hear the clinking of silverware on a plate.

  A rather large man lumbers out to greet us.

  “Hello, ladies. What can I do for you?”

  “Do you have any available rooms for tonight?” I ask.

  “You just need the one?”

  “Yes, thank you. And just for tonight—we’re only a passing fancy.”

  He gives me an odd look. “Number six is empty. It has two double beds.”

  “Perfect. How much do you charge?”

  The man glances out the window toward the car. “Just the two of you?” he asks, raising his bushy eyebrows high on his forehead.

  “Just two,” Audrey blurts out too abruptly.

  “Hmmm. Sixty dollars. Checkout by eleven.”

  I pull the bills from my wallet and lay them on the counter.

  The man, almost wedged between the counter and back wall, twists slowly and chooses a key from a nail on the pegboard behind him. He hands it to me and winks. “You have a g-o-o-d night now,” he says, drawing out the words in a slimy drawl.

  I slip the key ring over my finger. “Is there a restaurant you might recommend in town?”

  “The diner on the main street, Mabel’s, serves good home-cooked meals. That’s where most o’ the locals eat,” he says.

  We leave the office, and I hand the car keys through the window to Rayne. I walk to room six. Rayne moves the car closer to the room under the watchful eye of the man in the office, then carries our luggage in for us.

  Audrey sinks into an armchair in the corner. “That man was a bit forward, winking at you like that, wasn’t he?”

  “I think he saw Rayne in the car and thought…well, you know,” I say.

  Rayne’s face turns a bright shade of pink. “That’s sick!”

  “Don’t worry, I told him you were my husband,” I say.

  Rayne shakes his head. “Oh, God! I’m starting to regret this already.” He turns to leave. “You two are more like my grandmother than I first thought.”

  Audrey taps the chair beside her. “Sit down and tell us about her.”

  “Not right now,” he says. “Maybe I will take you up on your suggestion to leave my guitar in your room though, and some of my other stuff.”

  From the window, I watch him open the trunk and set the guitar case gently on the ground.

  “This is good,” I say to Audrey. “At least if his guitar is here, we know he won’t disappear. He’ll have to come back to get that.”

  Audrey rubs her leg, the other hand fingers her cane. “He’s a free spirit, eh? I wish I were young again.”

  “Really? I don’t know if I’d want to do it all again. It’s too exhausting.”

  “Oh, come on, that doesn’t sound like you,” Audrey says. “You’re always the one with the plans and ideas.”

  “What would you do differently,” I ask, “if you could start over?”

  “Well, if I were young now, I’d have a lot more choices. Girls today can do anything, don’t you think? Even become mothers when they can’t have children naturally. I watched a TV show on that. They make babies in a test tube and put them in the woman’s womb. If we’d been able to do that, Terry and I could have had lots of children. That was always a big thing for us. He blamed me.”

  “Having kids isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” I say. “They just end up putting you in a home and spending all your money.”

  “Maybe so, but we really wanted to be parents. I’m glad, in a way, that we weren’t. He changed. I wouldn’t want our children to see the way he yelled at me and called me names—whore and trollop—when all I did was stop on the way home to pick up groceries or things.”

  “Oh, Audrey. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You’ve never mentioned that before.”

  “I don’t like to dwell on it. He’s gone now and I’m here. Actually, if I were young again, I might just choose a different husband. That would solve more than one problem, wouldn’t it? I might have thought more about what I wanted to do with my life, too. I might have been a queen or a race car driver or opened a restaurant, except I don’t really like to cook.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Worked in a clothing store. Sold clothes and did alterations. I always thought I’d go out on my own as a seamstress, make wedding and bridesmaid’s dresses and prom gowns, but it never happened.”

  Rayne returns to the room. “What’s up?”

  “Just talking about being young again,” Audrey says.

  “It’s a main topic of discussion when you’re eighty years old…or ninety-eight. I think I’m ninety-eight.”

  “You’re not ninety-eight. The thing is, we need to get away. Every bloody day is the same. We need an adventure,” I say.

  “Nothin’ wrong with that,” Rayne agrees.

  Audrey leans forward and tries to heave herself up from the deep armchair. She falls back and tries again. Rayne offers his hand and pulls smoothly until she is standing.

  She steadies herself. “Anyone else hungry? Let’s go to Margaret’s.”

  “Mabel’s,” I say. “It’s Mabel’s.”

  We drive the short distance to the restaurant. It is easy enough to find—lots of cars and a big front window framed by lace curtains and a neon sign in the center. As we enter, a dozen pairs of eyes look up. A young waitress comes from the back and waves to us and flashes a big smile like we’re old friends.

  She introduces herself to Audrey and me. Rachel. She’s polite and friendly, especially to Rayne, touching his shoulder and laughing easily when he speaks. Her focus never leaves his face. When Rayne jokes with her, he has a charming smile, nice teeth and his curly, copper-colored hair gives him a young Spencer Tracy look, even if he does need a haircut and a few good restful nights of sleep.

  The meal is delicious, especially the homemade Boston cream pie. I pay the bill and Audrey and I leave.

  “I’ll be right there,” Rayne says.

  Eventually he opens the car door and slides behind the wheel. There’s a jauntiness to the way he holds his head.

  “She’s pretty,” Audrey says.

  “Yeah, she’s okay.”

  Just past eight o’clock, the motel owner is behind the office window inspecting the parking lot. He watches us pull up out front and walk to the door of room six. Satisfied that it isn’t a new customer, he pulls the curtain across and turns out the office light.

  Audrey yawns. “I’m tired.”

  “Me too.”

  We both look at Rayne.

  “If I could just wash up, I won’t bother you again,” he says. A few minutes later he emerges from the bathroom, clean-shaven and dressed in a fresh shirt. “G’night. I’ll see you in the morning.” He tosses the keys on the table.

  I draw the curtains and drop down on the bed without even changing into my nightgown. My back is angry. Legs and arms melt into the mattress like butter. Audrey’s breathing rumbles from the bed next to mine.

  “Are you asleep?” I ask through the darkness.

  No answer.

  My body is heavy with exhaustion, but my mind buzzes with thoughts. I reach for my purse and pull out the pad and pen and scribble some words.

  so quiet. Mabel’s. darkness. Audrey. Tom?

  Is Tom with us? I can’t be sure. I rest on the pillow and try to silence the humming in my brain, but it won’t be still. The good memories from the day are washed aside by new thoughts. Have the nurses noticed we’re
gone from Tranquil Meadows? Have they phoned Carol? Has the boy noticed his car is missing? Why can’t I get to sleep?

  “Oh, good Lord…our medication! We totally forgot about all our pills,” I say. My arms won’t cooperate when I try to push myself up, they just buckle beneath me.

  “Audrey…Audrey!” I shout.

  Audrey rouses to semi-consciousness. “What is it?”

  “We forgot. We need our pills every day. What happens if we don’t take them?”

  “We’ll be okay. We don’t need them,” Audrey mumbles.

  “Yes we do. Why didn’t we think of that?”

  The pills are a big deal. Uniforms always ask if we took our pills: “Did you swallow your pills, Lillian?” “Here are your pills.” “Where are your pills? Take this little one first.

  It helps with the forgetting.” “Take these and these.”

  Audrey is snoring again. The night stretches on and on. Traffic noise outside slows, and the sounds of televisions and running water from adjoining rooms become hushed. Finally, I sleep.

  6

  Silence. And the smell. Or lack of it. I have no idea where I am. Pale light filters into the room. There is someone in the bed beside mine.

  She looks a bit like my sister, but I think it’s Audrey. Maybe Audrey is my sister.

  I open the curtains and peek outside. The fading moon is still visible; the sky’s only beginning to brighten. It feels wrong to see the street from this level, though I can’t place exactly why. Everything is so close and immediate, as it should be, and yet it seems odd this morning.

  Cars are parked in a row along the front of the building.

  A voice startles me.

  “Lillian?” Audrey struggles to sit up.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  “Is it morning?” She swings her legs over the side of the bed. “Where are we?”

  There are things scattered around this room: a backpack, an overstuffed shopping bag, a strangely shaped case with a handle and another huge pack beside the door. What on earth is this case? I touch it. Sometimes that helps—holding things in my hand offers better clues than just looking. Nothing.