Last Known Address

CHAPTER SIX C.C.

C.C. closed the door, her head inclined toward it still, after it shut. She couldn’t stop smiling. She turned finally, expecting Meg and Shelly to be right there, grinning, or even laughing at her, in a teasing sort of way. Spying, at least. But they were both at the far end of the room, at the bathroom sink area. Meg was fixing her hair, Shelly putting on some lipstick.

Or they were pretending to. C.C. could see both women’s reflections in the wide mirror, and Shelly’s big grin was making lipstick application nearly impossible. Meg, however, had a great poker face, and was innocently smoothing her short hair behind one ear.

But it was Meg who finally turned and said, ‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’ said C.C., setting M.J. on the floor in front of the TV. The little dog immediately began a sniffing inventory of the orange shag carpeting.

Shelly was warily eyeing the dog. ‘She wouldn’t pee and poop again, right?’ C.C. caught Shelly catching herself, the furtive glance toward the window. C.C. turned, looked at the window, saw the curtain pulled to the side, and realized they had been watching her. Like little weasels they had obviously scurried to the mirror together so as not to get caught in the act.

‘Well, actually, she didn’t do either outside.’ Two can play at this game, thought C.C., adopting an expression of pure innocence. Shelly eyed her.

‘Did you have a nice walk?’ Meg asked.

‘Yes. Thank you.’ C.C. busied herself putting a sweater and her nightgown into her suitcase, open on the bed.

‘Well?’ said Shelly.

‘Well, what?’ C.C. said, not even looking up, enjoying the moment. She tucked the sweater in, using her fingers to get it just right. Then she lifted the suitcase top over, brought it edge to edge, slowly zippered it shut.

‘Oh, come on, Ceece!’ whined Shelly. ‘We want details! We saw him walking with you. What’d he say?’

She faced the two of them, her fingertips on her chest. ‘What? You two were spying on me? I’m shocked!’ She held in a giddy laugh.

‘Well…yes?’ said Meg, looking genuinely sheepish.

‘Hell, yeah!’ said Shelly, proudly.

C.C. couldn’t keep up her act, nor could she deny the smile that had been a force unto itself since she’d come back in the room. She’d have been surprised, and maybe even hurt, if they hadn’t spied on her. She stepped toward them exuberantly. ‘Well, y’all remember when we were talking last week, how we all felt like teenagers, going on this big adventure, so much unknown in our lives?’ They nodded, Meg pulling C.C. by the hand to the near bed. They all three tumbled onto the unmade bed, arranging themselves in the standard, juicy-details triangle born of long friendship.

‘Well, it’s like Aunt Georgie told me after the car accident. “Hon,” she said, “your teenage years are pretty much a puzzle to begin with, and you maybe have some of the edges put together, a few pieces in the middle. Then, a tragedy like this happens and it’s like a big wind blowing ’em all to Kingdom Come. And when all those pieces drift back down, it takes a while to find them. Then another while to put ’em back together again. And sometimes the picture’s a little different. Parts that you were sure were sky, suddenly seem to be ocean. But no matter what, it’s your puzzle. Your picture.”’

C.C. smiled, remembering how often Aunt Georgie would talk in metaphors of painting or art. But she saw Shelly looking impatient. C.C. knew she had a tendency to go on a mite long with her stories, especially about her southern past, so she tried to speed it up. ‘Well, she was really right about that, let me tell you. And I never really imagined my life being blown up a second time. But of course, it was. A bunch more times! There was Billy.’ Oh, she could go on about that! But she gulped a breath and went on. ‘Then having Kathryn so young, and alone and all…’ Shelly was circling her finger through the air, hurrying her along, which irritated C.C., but she pressed on. ‘Anyway, then when I met and married Lenny, and he took Kathryn on like his own flesh-and-blood daughter, and he was so good…’ C.C. stopped, looked at them both. ‘You know what I used to call him? Lenny?’

They nodded, said in unison, ‘Yes, your Steady Eddy.’

C.C. smiled. ‘Yeah. I mean, to another woman he might have seemed pretty boring. But to me, he was just pure golden goodness.’ She laughed. ‘Well, most of the time. We had our little spats.’

M.J. pawed gently at her leg, whining.

‘For God’s sakes, woman!’ Shelly yelled. ‘Even the dog wants you to get to the point! Your walk? This morning?’

C.C. laughed, bent and picked M.J. up, settled her on her lap, stroking her palm over the dog’s bony back. She remembered her point. ‘Well, I guess it’s that I feel like a teenager again, in more ways than just going on this trip. This thing with Purdy, I didn’t believe it at first, just plum didn’t believe it. But I can tell you it’s…fun.’ She whispered the last word. ‘It makes me feel, I don’t know, I guess, alive in a whole new way.’ She laughed. ‘Or whole old way! But I assure you, girls, this is just harmless, a passing fancy. As in, just passing through.’ She ran her hand in front of her, then off toward the horizon.

‘Did you kiss him?’ asked Shelly.

‘Of course not! We only just met!’ C.C. said, indignant. But then she smiled, pleased that Shelly thought it could have happened. ‘Purdy is a complete gentleman. And a little shy, I think. Besides, you saw pretty much everything, did you not?’ She gestured toward the window. Shelly winked, nodded. But Meg’s cheeks pinked, and she stood, began making the bed.

‘Meg!’ said Shelly. ‘What are you doing?’

Meg stopped, the sheet still clutched in both hands.

‘They have maids for that,’ said Shelly. C.C. wondered if that was true. She bet Purdy did it himself. ‘Besides,’ continued Shelly, ‘they’ll just strip the sheets off, y’know.’ She pulled her toiletries bag from her suitcase and walked to the sink area and began to gather the unused soap and small bottles of shampoo and lotion, tucking them into her bag.

Meg stared blankly at the headboard, still holding the sheet.

C.C. put M.J. on the floor, stepped next to Meg and put her arm around her thin, hunched shoulders. Poor Meg. She seemed so lost without her routines, her structured life. Her structured home. Her structured classroom. Her structured marriage. And there wasn’t one little bitty wisp of her old life left. Except for them.

Meg slowly pulled the sheet back, stripping the bed. C.C. watched as she made a neat pile of the linens on the mattress. She folded both the blanket and bedspread into equal-sized squares, placed them on the chair. She then headed to the second bed.

C.C. dragged her suitcase off, getting out of her way. As Meg pulled the pillows out of their cases, and Shelly tucked her bulging toiletries bag into her suitcase, C.C. wondered how the mood had changed so suddenly. Something about mentioning being a teenager, she thought. She decided a few more details from her walk were in order.

‘So, anyway, Purdy is…nice,’ continued C.C., ‘and, well…’ She put her hands on her large hips, cocked her head to one side, contemplating that which was Purdy: ‘Well, I think he’s just shy. And his wife died, very recently. Of a heart attack.’ She looked knowingly at the other two. ‘He seems very sweet…’ She picked up her jacket from the chair and laid it neatly over her suitcase on the floor. ‘He’s older than me.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘He kept putting his hands in his pockets, then taking them out again and the pockets kept flopping out.’ She felt herself go briefly to a dreamy, distant place, then she abruptly brought herself back. ‘But, I mean, really. I’m not at all interested. What’s the point? Mick should have the car ready in a matter of minutes now. And then,’ she snapped her fingers and flung her arm outward, a more dramatic version of the gesture she’d done before. ‘We’re off! Gone! Byebye, apple pie! Besides, he’s not my type. He’s very different from Lenny. Umm, physically. And in what he does for a living. He’s not my type.’

Shelly, looking incredulous, said loudly, ‘What the hell does that mean? It’s not like there’s only one type of guy for you. For crying out loud! Do you like just one…outfit?’ C.C. grinned as Shelly stared at her, in her velour pantsuit. ‘Or…or one flavor of ice cream?’

Meg laughed lightly, shaking her head at Shelly. C.C. was delighted by Meg’s smile, on two counts: lately, any smile from Meg was to be celebrated; and, it demonstrated yet again that Meg and C.C. were the kind of friends who committed each other’s loyal preferences to memory. Shelly didn’t commit her own preferences to memory. She said her tastes changed with her hormone fluctuations so sometimes she liked pumpkin ice cream best. Other times mocha cappuccino with fudge chunks. Still others, she was a sucker for rainbow sherbet. Meg and C.C. knew this about her.

Meg looked at Shelly. ‘Yes. She does only like one flavor. She always, always orders pralines and cream. Don’t you know that by now?’

Shelly looked stunned. She glanced between the two. ‘So, what if they don’t have pralines and cream?’

‘Then she orders–’ Meg looked at C.C.–‘butter pecan’, they said in unison. C.C., her unrestrained southern accent in full swing again, added, ‘And then, mah deah, if they don’t have butt-ah-pee-can, ah ordah vanilla, with caramel sauce and a heapin’ dose a—’

A knock at the door interrupted her. C.C. jumped, her heart pounding. M.J. gave a short bark and ran to the door, ears up, tail high, her body vibrating. C.C. looked at the others. They each smiled reassuringly, Shelly making a ‘go on’ flick with her hand. C.C. scooped M.J. up, held her close. She wondered if the little dog could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She kissed the top of M.J.’s head, took a deep breath. She put her hand on the doorknob, suddenly feeling as if breathing was something she had to think about in order to do. She thought to check her hair, but the only mirror was behind her, and Meg and Shelly would give her no end of grief. Slowly, she opened the door. Outside, Mick stood, hat off, held against his chest again. C.C. felt her shoulders cave just a little, but she couldn’t help but think: this boy was raised right.

‘Ma’am.’ He nodded in greeting, repeating ma’am and nodding again as Meg joined C.C. at the door. ‘You’re all set to go, ladies. Just come on over when you’re ready, and we’ll get you right out on the road again.’

‘Thank you, Mick,’ said Meg. After another ‘ma’am’ and nod to each of them, Mick pulled his cap on, then turned and ambled back toward his shop.

‘Finally!’ said Shelly. She started singing ‘On the Road Again’, loudly and off-key. M.J., still in C.C.’s arms, raised her little snout in the air and started barking.

‘Stop! Stop!’ said C.C., laughing, gently holding M.J.’s snout, then letting go and admonishing both the dog and Shelly: ‘Saints preserve! You two make some choir.’ M.J. licked furiously at C.C.’s neck, making C.C. shriek with laughter. Suddenly she stopped laughing. Feeling panicked, she thrust M.J. into Meg’s arms. ‘Here, hold her, please. I gotta pee!’ She ran to the bathroom, lunged inside, slamming the door, barely making it in time.

Sitting in the small, dark room, she shook her head. She probably needed to see a doctor about this. She’d been putting it off for months. It was bad enough going for her ‘annual indignity’, as she referred to her yearly gynecological exam. She was holding out to do it all at once, and she always scheduled her annual appointment for just after her birthday, in September. Come to think of it, had she had a check-up last year? Or the year before?

There was a gentle knock on the door. ‘You okay in there?’ Meg words were somewhat muffled by the thick door.

‘Yeah! Just the usual problem,’ she shouted back. ‘That’s what comes from having a big baby. And middle age. No going back from either!’

A few minutes later C.C. emerged, washed her hands at the sink. Over the running water she could hear the TV, the SavR King jingle pulsing through the room. C.C. put her hand on the counter, steadying herself, thinking of Kathryn. She felt near tears again. The sounds of a newscast saved her.

‘C.C.!’ yelled Shelly. ‘C’mere! Hurry! We’re going to be on the news! Mick phoned while you were peeing, said to turn on channel five.’

They were sitting on the ends of the stripped beds, watching, M.J. in Meg’s lap. C.C. sat next to her and M.J. immediately crawled into her lap. C.C. and Meg exchanged quick smiles, an unspoken acknowledgement that M.J. was hook, line and sinker in love with C.C. They turned their attention back to the TV.

A blonde anchorwoman, looking like News Barbie, in a bright, lime-green suit with a large, even brighter and limier rosette on the lapel was speaking. C.C. surmised that it was the local news from Chicago, which she thought was probably as local as Tupper got. Suddenly the newscaster’s words grabbed her full attention. ‘…little dog who escaped from her kennel from Quad City Airport and has been on the lam—’ Here she turned to her co-anchor, a nicely coiffed man who, C.C. thought, happened to look vaguely like a Ken doll. ‘Can a dog be on the lamb?’ Barbie asked Ken. They each gave a hahaha canned laugh. ‘But now, happy day! This is no April Fool joke: we’re thrilled to report to all you dog lovers who have been calling in, that little…’ She started to smile, then giggle. ‘Okay. I’m not even going to try that registered name. Anyway, the dog, M.J. they call her, has finally been found, and will soon be on her way home to Kentucky. And she won’t have to fly, thanks to several good Samaritans. Right after this broadcast, I’ll be going out myself, to the small town of Tupper, to interview the senior citizens who are on a road trip south, and who have agreed to take the dog back to her home.’

Shelly squawked loudly as she stood, arms akimbo. ‘Who is that bitch calling senior fucking citizens?’ Meg and C.C. both shushed her, but Shelly continued to mutter, just barely under her breath, as the newswoman continued.

‘I’ll bring you that story today, at News At Noon with Marcia and Ralph. I know our viewers will want to tune in for that! This has been quite the story we’ve been following with this little doggie, hasn’t it, Ralph?’

‘You bet, Marcia! The whole country has been worrying about this little dog.’

Marcia looked into the camera, a big smile directed to her viewers. ‘If you’ve just tuned in, our breaking story this morning is that little M.J., the missing Italian Greyhound, has been found, safe and sound, and is going home to–’ she glanced down at her papers–‘her owner, Candy Suddle of Lexington, Kentucky.’ She turned again toward Ralph. ‘We just love happy endings around here, don’t we, Ralph?’

‘Yes, indeedy!’ said Ralph, looking like he couldn’t wait for the happy ending to this newscast.

Ralph moved on to other local news and Shelly clicked off the TV with the remote. ‘Shit. I don’t want to be interviewed! TV adds ten pounds! Besides, I don’t want to give that little green witch the satisfaction of getting the story. Senior citizens, my ass!’ She stepped to the window, peeking nervously, keeping herself hidden behind the curtain. ‘Let’s get the hell outta here!’ she said as if she’d seen gunfighters gathering out front.

‘Well, I’m sure the senior citizen thing was just a miscommunication,’ Meg said. ‘Maybe that Kirby guy said it. Regardless, I’m all for getting out of here. I sure don’t want to be on TV. C.C.?’

C.C. couldn’t respond, couldn’t move. Tears were suddenly rolling down her cheeks. Just when she’d thought she’d gotten past unexpected crying jags, just when she’d thought she’d closed the door yet again on the deep well of grief in her life, here it was again. But these tears weren’t for Lenny. Or even Kathryn or Lucy.

‘Hey! Hey, there,’ said Shelly, striding back toward where the other two still sat on the end of the bed. Meg put her arm around C.C. Shelly squatted in front of her, her hand on C.C.’s knee.

‘Ceece?’ said Meg. A small whimpering cry slipped out of C.C; she placed her wet cheek on M.J.’s neck, wetting her fur with tears.

‘Is this about her calling us senior citizens?’ asked Shelly, the anger rising in her voice again.

C.C. laughed, then sniffed. ‘No. I don’t care about that. I just, well–I realized that we’re going to have to…give MJ. back’ She shook her head miserably. ‘I already love this little dog so much.’ She rubbed her wet cheek against the top of M.J.’s head. ‘It’s like I had a little Italian Greyhound-size hole in my life, and I didn’t even know it, but she just jumped in and filled it.’ C.C. wiped her sleeve across her eyes. ‘Like a puzzle piece,’ she said, her voice breaking. She took the tissue Meg handed her, wiped her eyes, dabbed at her nose, and looked up at her friends. ‘You know?’

Both women nodded. ‘Dogs are sneaky, that way,’ said Shelly. ‘You give them an inch of your love, they’ll take a mile.’ She rubbed a finger behind M.J.’s ear.

‘I hate to rush you when you’re feeling low, honey,’ said Meg, ‘but speaking of miles, I’d like to put as many as possible between us and that TV crew. You okay to get in the car?’

C.C. nodded. ‘But I don’t want to see Purdy! I’m all–puffy! And I’d start crying again and he’d get the wrong idea, and, oh! Why is life so complicated?’

Meg stood. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll give him your goodbyes, and settle up the bills.’ She grabbed her purse off the desk as she strode across the room, then disappeared out the door.

Shelly gently lifted C.C. by the elbow. ‘C’mon, Puffy. We’ll take our things out and load up.’ C.C. stood, and Shelly grinned at her, rubbing her palms together. ‘Come on. Isn’t this a little fun? It’s like a James Bond movie or something. We gotta make a quick getaway before Prissy Galore arrives, a.k.a. Miss Malevolent Marcia.’ She cackled. C.C. shook her head, but smiled. Shelly punched her lightly in the arm. ‘Ready, Agent Puffy, and her trusty sidekick, M.J.?’

C.C. inhaled deeply, boosted M.J. up in her arms, squared her shoulders, and said, ‘Ready.’

Shelly had insisted on loading all the luggage while C.C. sat in the car with the dog. ‘You keep M.J. safe and sound in there, and that way you’ll also avoid any goodbye scenes with Purdy.’ C.C. gratefully slumped down in the back seat, out of view, but none the less feeling at a loss. She would have said goodbye to him-wanted to, in fact. If only she hadn’t been crying, and gotten all red-eyed and swollen. She would have liked to thank him personally for all his kindnesses. She had imagined maybe even giving him a hug.

But no. She shook her head, telling M.J., ‘It’s just as well we’re in here. He might have gotten the wrong idea.’ Men often got the wrong idea about hugs. But she didn’t think Purdy would be like that.

Suddenly both front car doors flew open, Shelly on the driver’s side and Meg the other, hurling themselves into their seats. ‘Hurry! Hurry!’ shouted Meg, wrestling with her seat belt. Shelly wasn’t taking the time to buckle up, simply started the car, revved the engine once, then threw it into gear and floored the gas pedal, throwing C.C. into the back of the seat, M.J. into C.C. C.C. clawed at her seat belt, but suddenly the centrifugal force of the car careening across the road and turning around, made her instead grab on to the door arm rest and M.J., and hold on for dear life. Meg was dissolved in nervous laughter up front.

‘What’s going on?’ C.C. glanced frantically out every window. ‘Is the TV crew here?’ They drove past Mick and Kirby, the latter dressed in an ill-fitting suit coat, his hair greased back, small tooth marks from a comb still evident. Kirby turned away from Mick, waved his arm over his head at something in the opposite direction, then pointed toward the women’s speedily retreating car. Mick was pushing roughly at Kirby’s arm, but Kirby kept waving and shouting and pointing. Finally, Mick pulled his arm down and grabbed a fistful of his shirt and they tussled, till Kirby broke away, running north, heading toward a white SUV with a big dish on the top, a trail of dust behind it.

‘It’s them!’ C.C. shouted, just as Shelly turned the car south, heading toward the interstate.

C.C. breathed a sigh of relief as the SUV turned west, into Tupper, apparently none the wiser from Kirby’s efforts. M.J. jumped up, her front paws on the top of the back seat, looking out the back window, now that they weren’t careening around or peeling out, just steadily gaining speed to merge onto the interstate. She didn’t bark, her tail wasn’t wagging, and she wasn’t trembling; she appeared just to be watching the retreating scene. C.C. watched too. Kirby was still jogging toward the SUV, with Mick running after him. But something caught C.C.’s eye, the other direction. In front of the restaurant. Purdy. He wore a full, white apron. Maybe he had been cooking lunch, C.C. thought. His arms hung by his sides, his white bar towel hung limply from his left hand as he watched their car drive off.

C.C. lifted her hand, waved. But as she did, Purdy turned, draped the towel over his right shoulder, and walked slowly into the restaurant.

‘Whoa! Big bump!’ Shelly yelled, swerving but not in time. The car bounced mightily over where the asphalt had heaved, making M.J. momentarily airborne. Even C.C. felt the jolt lift all of her, briefly, an absence of gravity for a fraction of a second, like an astronaut, untethered, unmoored. Both she and the dog landed roughly back on the seat. And suddenly C.C. felt the opposite of weightless. She watched the spot where Purdy had been, till Tupper itself disappeared from view. She gathered M.J. into her arms and turned back around in her seat as they merged into the morning rush hour on the interstate, feeling like she, too, had disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN Kathryn

Kathryn grabbed the phone and angrily punched the intercom, for the second time in as many minutes. She took a deep breath, held the handset to her mouth, earpiece down, and said, ‘Can we have another checker up front, please? Now?’

She knew she had not succeeded in keeping the irritation out of her voice. She would no doubt be ‘having a little chat’ with Mr Knelbrecht again about the importance of intercom etiquette, which he infuriatingly pronounced ‘eti-kwett’. Chat, my ass, she thought, grabbing a stack of Lean Cuisines from the carry-basket, sliding them over the scanner one at a time. As she reached for the bag of apples, she looked up to see if any of the other checkers were coming. But all she saw was her line of angry customers. Only old Mrs B. smiled at her. Kathryn glanced at lane six, the only other one open. Marianne had just three people waiting in her line, but each had large carts, all very full. As Kathryn continued to scan items, she noted that all three of Marianne’s customers were moms with toddlers and/or babies in the front, bulbous legs dangling through the leg holes of the cart, chubby hands idly playing with keys or a pack of gum, while Mom flipped through a gossip rag for a few minutes of escape. Marianne was smiling and chatting with two of the women. The stay-at-home moms were almost always nice. They were rarely in a hurry.