Running Against Traffic Page 10

  The solitude and the stark and wild quiet of the woods in early winter made her as breathless as the exercise. She ran on a path that was beaten soft and silenced her footfalls, as if she wasn’t really touching the ground, except for an occasional patch of dried leaves that crunched beneath her sneakers. As she ran she looked up through the branches of hundreds of tall, bare trees, their gray limbs interlacing against the bluest sky she had ever seen. The river gushed past the trails, pushing through the woods and providing the only sound. Paige was small, and alone, and awed by the nature around her, and how insignificant her life was in this vast world.

  She pushed herself to run harder, faster, her muscles and lungs laboring, sweat itching her forehead beneath her hat, peace slowly enveloping her soul. She sailed along, feeling brave again, pumping her arms and listening to the air, every fiber in her body in sync with the nature around her.

  When she returned to the edge of the woods where she had started, she slowed to a walk and emerged into the bright sunshine of the open park and stretched her arms up to the sky. A shy realization crept over her, that she did not want to be alone on this Thanksgiving. And she wasn’t faking anything. She wasn’t afraid to feel and admit that she didn’t want to be alone.

  Paige biked home on aching legs, wondering gleefully how far she had actually run, as it was surely her longest and her best. Her body was quickly cooling to a chill, and she darted inside and headed upstairs to take a scalding shower. She kicked off her running shoes into her room and stepped across the hall to put her ear to Bryce’s closed door. She heard nothing, and reached to open the door quietly, but withdrew her hand.

  The hot shower was heavenly, steaming her body and easing her sore muscles. She dressed in a scoop necked black sweater and jeans, and carefully dried her hair and brushed it until it shone, pinning her grown out bangs to the side before applying eyeliner, mascara and tinted lip gloss. “Looking good, lady,” she said to herself in the mirror. "But you could use a hair cut."

  Downstairs again, Paige stacked wood in the stove and set it ablaze, before settling down on the couch with her cell phone and a glass of wine. Infused with endorphins and renewed spirit, she dialed David’s number to tell him to have a lousy Thanksgiving and to choke on a turkey bone. His voicemail picked up, and her lips parted but her gaze tripped on the stairs, and she found herself wondering if Bryce might need some juice because he would likely wake up thirsty, and she should probably refill the pitcher of water on his night stand, also. She closed her mouth and ended the call, then stood to move toward the stairs.

  Not my mother. She could hear his voice. Not my mother.

  Paige stood still. No, she was not his mother. She was no one’s mother. She was no one’s daughter, even. But, she was someone’s friend, she could say that with hopeful, wobbly certainty. She was certain, at the very least, that she was very hopeful of this.

  She was hopeful.

  Paige quickly pulled on her coat and hat and headed to the door, pausing at the small mirror hanging above the bench just inside. She held up a warning finger. “Make it right,” she told her reflection.

  The tables at Darnell’s were crowded with lively patrons who chose to feast on Deirdre’s Thanksgiving platters rather than stay home and attempt their own. There were a handful of people scattered along the bar, drinking thankfully. The deep jazzy crooning of Louis Armstrong rumbled in the background, and Al was behind the bar with his brother, filling ice bins.

  Paige slid onto a barstool and Al turned around to look at her. He stopped still. “I thought you weren’t coming.” It wasn’t a dismissal, at least. His eyes were questioning.

  Darnell shot him a dark look, and lumbered over to Paige. “What can I get you?”

  “I hear Deirdre makes a mean turkey platter? And a chardonnay, please.”

  Darnell nodded. “Al, I’ll order you one as well. You can help us clean up later but go on and eat, now."

  Al stood with his arms folded for a moment longer, until Darnell barked at him to go sit down. He walked around to Paige's side of the bar and slid into the seat next to her.

  “Darnell, I’ll take a Jamison’s. Paige,” he said, “we cool? You know I love you, right? We're just not that way.”

  Paige nodded. Darnell set down their drinks, shaking his head, and retreated to the kitchen.

  “Can I ask you something?” Paige said.

  “Oh boy. Hang on,” Al said. He took a large sip of his drink. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Paige drew a deep breath. “Why do you think you shouldn't be with me? Honestly? I mean, other than that fact that I’m a basket case. And still married."

  “Paige, some questions just don’t have answers.” He looked forward, maybe at the television screen behind the bar. Paige studied his profile, her eyes following his smooth cheek to the contour of his jaw, his dimple appearing and disappearing hypnotically as he sipped and swallowed. His eyelids were slightly lowered, as if he was deep in thought. About what, she wondered, hungrily. Us? Is he thinking about what's been happening between us?

  “Know what,” Al said, turning back toward her. “I think Darnell should rethink those big smock-like shirts he always wears. They just make him look fatter.”

  Deep thoughts, Paige thought. A giggle gurgled up in her throat. She set her wine down as another followed. Her mind was still popping from her long winter run, and she looked at Al blinking at her and laughter shook her entire body. She was cracked ceramic bubbling over with warmth and hiccups. When she finally calmed down, Al was still watching her, his lips twitching into a small smile. She suppressed the urge to kiss the smile away, and heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction that was entirely unfamiliar. She couldn’t remember laughing, really laughing, from the belly, bringing tears to her eyes and a catharsis to her soul. Her memory only contained appropriately timed chuckles of feigned appreciation of someone’s lame joke. It was almost the same as learning to run, it didn’t feel natural, flexing muscles that had long been dormant.

  Al shook his head, now smiling fully, and amiably put his arm around her and squeezed her to him. “Happy Thanksgiving, Paige Scott,” he said, releasing her.

  Paige smiled back at him for a moment, faltering for the simplest words. “Happy Thanksgiving, Al Martin.”

  Darnell set two steaming platters in front of them, heaped with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, and cranberry sauce. Paige realized she was hungrier than she had ever been. They raised their glasses to Darnell and dug in.

  Chapter 14

  Winter barged into Wells Lake like the Abominable Snowman, suddenly dumping two feet of snow on the town as the temperature dropped from quite nippy to damn frigid. A sheet of ice coating the sidewalks beneath the snow held its ground, making running impossible.

  Al told Paige cheerfully that nothing would really melt until late March. Then he went to shovel the roof to keep it from collapsing.

  Paige bundled herself up every morning and trudged through the snow to work, through the gray mornings, under the gray sky, hanging over the town like a veil. Mornings when the atmosphere wasn’t coldly colorless the sunlight stabbed savagely bright, reflecting off the snow, making it difficult to see at all. At work, Paige would talk to Drunk Mindy every day before Mindy’s morning siesta. At home on the weekends, she huddled by the wood stove with her journal, having nothing of substance to write in it, and no goals coming to mind. She could feel herself sinking back into her hole, which, since she had left it once, had become madness, no longer the asylum.

  Home improvement projects had ceased for the season, so Al was spending more and more time at Darnell’s, which was busy, as there was nowhere else for people to go during these winter months. The options were to hibernate, or go to the bar.

  Paige didn’t want to go to the bar. She didn’t want to be around people. When the boys were home, they all ate cheap stews and bread and watched television. A dull malaise settled in.

  Al found Paige sitting wrapped in a blanket and staring at
the fire, her journal sliding off of her lap.

  He picked it up and cleared his throat. “’December 17th six months Wells Lake cold.’ Okay. Someone needs a boost.”

  “Should we go sledding?” Paige asked, not moving her gaze. The flames blurred together into a single burning ball.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of having a party,” Al said, cheerfully.

  Paige lifted her head from the couch cushion and craned her neck to look around the room. The walls were still not painted, and the kitchen was still vile. The couches would have to be covered. “Wait,” she said, leaning back into the couch cushions. “We don’t have the money.”

  Al smiled. “The word of the day is ‘potluck’.”

  Bryce walked through the front door, coated in a thin layer of snow. He pulled off his snow dusted hat and shook out his hair. “Potluck?” He asked, brushing off his coat before tossing it onto the armchair and moving to stand by the fire.

  “We’re having a holiday party,” Al explained.

  Paige began to feel a smidgen better. “Are we going to get a Christmas tree?” Christmas at her Aunt and Uncle’s had been a festive flurry of holiday parties – at other people’s homes, to which Paige was invited at first, but after she declined a few times they stopped asking, just like Thanksgivings. Her guardians would hire someone to sparsely decorate their house, placing electric candles in each window and hanging dark, heavy wreathes on every door. Paige enjoyed smoking a little pot with Chloe, and the girls would lie around their attic room working their way through the boxes of chocolates that were delivered to the house. When she and David were first married and living in Fairmount in a cramped, three-bedroom row home, they would meet friends for holiday dinners at the fanciest restaurants they could afford on David’s salary. Later still, there was the annual cold and dull holiday crawl from condo to condo on Rittenhouse Square, and seemingly endless holiday benefits, office parties, and galas that made Paige wish she never had to see another canapé again, or sip another glass of champagne while pretending to be listening to what’s-her-name. She grew to loath sheer stockings and salon visits and trying to appear interested in anything.

  Paige turned back to the fire. “I don’t think a party is a good idea,” she said. She felt a touch of heartburn, though she hadn’t eaten anything for hours.

  “Why not?” Al asked. Bryce had gone off to the kitchen and was rattling around with the tea kettle. Al sat beside Paige on the couch. “Paige,” he said, “Christmas can be fun, if you’re with the right people.”

  Paige exhaled heavily. She was feeling a sense of obligation that was unfamiliar to her. She felt as if a force was maneuvering her like a puppeteer. Okay, Al, if this is what you want, I will do it because…”Fine, okay,” she said. “I’m not helping you plan it, though.” Bryce returned with a cup of tea and placed it in her hands.

  “Great, that’s the Christmas spirit,” Al said, sarcastically. Then he perked up. “I’ll be the decorating committee. You won’t recognize the place!” His back was to Bryce, who was chopping the air sideways with his hand and shaking his head, mouthing no fucking way.

  “Who should we invite?” Paige asked. Al shrugged. They both looked at Bryce.

  “Do I have to do everything around here?” Bryce whined. He heaved a gusty sigh. “Okay, I’ll handle it.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped a speed dial. “Deirdre, hi, it’s Starfire. I’m fine, sweetie. How are you? Fabulous. Listen, we’re having a holiday party. Yeah, Al’s doing the decorating and everything. Please come fix it.” Al frowned and Bryce turned his back to him. “Anyway, darling, we were hoping you could handle inviting people. Yes, but just call the people we can stand. It’s sort of going to be an open house, but not that open. We don’t want the crazies.”

  “This is going to be a small party,” Paige remarked.

  “Guess you’re not coming,” Al said.

  “Yes, yes,” Bryce continued. “And tell them they have to bring food or something for the bar. Preferably both. This is not a charity event, freeloaders can stay home.”

  “Looks like you and Bryce aren’t coming either,” Paige said.

  “Yes, darling,” Bryce continued, pacing the room and waving at them to pipe down. “Bring over spaghetti and some of your famous meatballs tonight and we’ll plan. In fact, I’m just going to call you the Planning Committee.”

  Paige couldn’t help smirking, or elbowing Al. The corners of Al’s lips turned down and he jammed his hands in his pockets and put his feet up on the coffee table.

  “I don’t know, darling, just pick a date and let us know,” Bryce said. “Okay, Christmas Eve. When’s that? Next week? Okay, honey. See you tonight.” He hung up the phone. “Done,” he said, inspecting his fingernails, which he had painted glossy black.

  “Paige, is that you?” Mindy’s small voice piped through the phone.

  Paige clicked out of the computer program she had been working in and reached for her coffee mug. “Mindy, who else is here?”

  She giggled. “You’re so funny.”

  “Mindy, would you like to speak to your husband?”

  “No…” Ice clinked against glass. “I jus’ wanted to tell you we’re coming to your party.”

  Paige sat upright in her chair. “Really? How did you…I mean, that’s great but I doubt you would have any fun.”

  “I have fun everywhere.”

  “I’ll bet you do.”

  “Anyway…See ya Saturday. Love you.” Her voice drifted off, sadly.

  “Love you too, Mindy.” Paige hung up the phone as Mindy forgot she had said goodbye and began to chatter again, the ennui come and gone.

  Paige threw open the front door of the house and was nearly pushed over by the prickly, snow-covered top of a pine tree nosing its way inside. The sky was dark outside, and Al and Bryce were both attached to the tree, fumbling and shoving, appearing to be part of it as they were all covered in snow, pine needles, and unwieldy branches.

  “Move it!” They boys gave the tree a final shove and it ploughed into the living room. They climbed inside after it, shedding their coats.

  Paige looked at the tree. “What’s this? Did you steal it?”

  Al looked around and pointed to a spot near the fire. “Starfire, get the tree stand ready over there. Paige, grab a towel to mop up the snow.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Paige said. And she truly didn’t. “We have a Christmas tree?”

  Al looked at Paige with pitying eyes. “We can decorate it after the branches drop some.”

  “Branches drop some?” Paige echoed, still transfixed by the downed tree.

  Al shook his head. “You’ll see. It’s for the holiday party. It’s gonna look great.”

  Paige wrapped herself in three blankets that night but couldn’t seem to get warm.

  Two nights later, when the tree was dry and the branches had dropped, Bryce dropped a box of Christmas tree decorations inside the front door. “I have a date,” he yelled.

  “Dude, we’re right here,” Al said, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Where’d you get those?”

  Paige got up from the table and moved behind Al to peer over his shoulder.

  Bryce gave the box a kick and sent it sliding across the floor to Al’s feet. “Just call me Santa Claus,” he said, fluffing his hair until it stood on end, before jamming his wool hat back down over his head.

  “We’ll just call you Deirdre’s little elf,” Al said. “Get outa here, you’re gonna be late.”

  He turned to Paige as the door clicked shut. “It’s after five, right?”

  She nodded. He was standing so close to her she had to tip her head back to look up at him.

  “And Bryce is out for the night,” he said, his voice lowering.

  “Safe assumption,” Paige croaked, her voice suddenly leaving her.

  “So, let’s open a bottle of wine! Go unlock the cabinet, we have decorating to do!” He grinned and turned to pick up the box before s
triding away from her toward the tree.

  Paige lay back on the couch with her wine, watching Al attempt to untangle the strings of lights and drape them over the tree branches. After she had broken several delicate colored balls, Al had asked her stop helping. He plugged one strand into another, and reached for his wine glass. “What’s going on, Paige?”

  “Nothing, just thinking.”

  He sipped and tipped his head to one side with a cajoling smile. “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “They’re not worth that much,” Paige said. “But, I was wondering about where you and Bryce grew up. Before you moved to Deirdre’s.”

  “Pleasantville? You’re right, that thought is not worth much.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It’s shit. It’s small-town ghetto. Nothing you would know anything about.”

  Paige nodded and set her wine glass down. “True, I don’t know much about these small towns.”

  Al raised his eyebrows and paused in his detangling. “Paige, you don’t know anything about ghetto.”

  Paige sat up straighter, shoving a pillow behind her back. “I’m from Philly. That’s a very large city, remember?”

  Al snorted. “And I’ll bet you know all about the bad parts.”

  “Sure, I know about them,” Paige said, feeling her face warming.

  “Oh yeah,” Al muttered. “You know.”

  “You’re very judgmental,” she snapped. She already felt removed from the rest of the world. She didn’t need this. She was no longer what David and she had been. He had been more in the world than she had, content at times – though, no more – to sit with her on her pile of rubble where she was his queen, before hopping off to enjoy his life without her. And now Paige had climbed down, and was looking around her, and couldn’t make heads or tails of where she was but she couldn’t climb back up.

  “So, how about Bryce’s mom?” Al asked, his back to her, unaware of her state of irritation. He fussed with a few ornaments and then gave up and turned around.