SUSAN WIGGS
FOUR YEARS LATER . . . THE HOTEL ANGELINE, SEATTLE
She walks up the hill from the train station, feeling the freshness of the autumn air on her face for the first time in four years. In one hand, she drags an oversized suitcase. The other cradles Mr. Kenji’s bonsai plant, badly in need of the moist air of the Pacific Northwest.
The coffee smells, the reek of exhaust, the distant snorts of ferry horns surround her, and her heart expands with a feeling of anticipation. She passes a guy selling Real Change and pauses to hand him a dollar. Another panhandler rattles a cup at her; she finds some oyster crackers from the train in her pocket and hands them over.
Already, Seattle is taking hold of her. She still holds Sedona in the dry tan of her skin and in her hair, but the fine mist of the Northwest is making its way to places she didn’t know were parched. In her heart she carries the love and care of Uncle Burr and Namche Waterfall, who let her spend the last of her childhood being a child.
The next step is up to her. She didn’t really debate with herself much about her future. She knew she wanted to return. There is a program at the University of Washington that is perfect for her. Tomorrow she will move into student housing and into a new life surrounded, for the first time ever, by her actual peers.
First, though, there is a little unfinished business to take care of.
She considers flagging a taxi—the hill is a challenge with the giant suitcase—but decides against it. She trudges past her old landmarks and haunts, past the parks and public buildings, making her way up Pine Street.
A youth soccer game is going on in the ball field across the street, and just as Alexis turns the corner, a cheer goes up. She smiles briefly, feeling encouraged.
The sight of the Hotel Angeline freezes her on the sidewalk. She stands staring up at the old building. The front walkway is flanked by still-blooming Ligustrum. Sunset-colored leaves litter the damp sidewalk. There is a heaviness in the air, the weight of remembrance. Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat, she gazes up at the mullioned windows and odd, angular gables and dormers.
As if it were yesterday, she knows which resident occupies each room.
In Roberta’s window is the dreamcatcher Alexis sent her from Sedona, and in Ursula’s, a crystal on a nylon string. Deaf Donald’s window is plastered with “Save the Whales” stickers and yellow happy faces. Mr. Kenji’s window, off to the side, is serenely empty.
And then there is Otto. . . .
Alexis takes a deep breath, filling her lungs with piney, damp air, and hoists her big suitcase, bumping its wheels up the front steps. Her old key still works—no surprise. When she steps into the foyer, she is transported back to the past. The faint afternoon sunlight splashes through the front windows, painting the floor with bars of light and dark.
She is about to call out, but stops herself. She needs a moment. Did all that really happen? To her? It seems so distant, yet she can remember everything as though it had just happened. The memories are as crisp and well defined as old rose petals pressed between the pages of a girl’s diary.
She reflects on the girl she had been in this place, and the things she had to do in order to survive. For a long time, she’d had to live her childhood backward, forced to step up and take charge of things that were thrust into her hands.
It isn’t fair, but maybe that’s the whole point. Fairness has no part in real life, and she took that lesson away from the Hotel Angeline with her. The time in Sedona had been her refuge and her reward, but now she was ready to come back and face the things that had happened here.
The creak of old wood signals the arrival of Deaf Donald, tottering down the stairs. She rushes to him and slips her arms around him, feeling the nubby warmth of his sweater, the same one he has worn every year when the weather turns. His hearing is gone entirely now; Roberta had written to her about it. Alexis steps back and signs, “I’ve missed you.”
His face lights up with surprise. “You’re signing now.”
“I learned it in school, down in Arizona.”
The uneven thump of Ursula’s gait alerts her.
“Christ on a crutch, look what the cat dragged in,” Ursula says, holding out her arms. “Welcome back.”
The others join them, one by one, and they sit together in the parlor with furniture arranged just as it had always been, the overstuffed chairs, the settee, the bookcases crammed with bestsellers by her uncle Burr.
“You look wonderful,” Roberta says, beaming.
“I’m sorry I had to go,” Alexis says, looking around at their dear faces. “But I had to.”
They give her a plate of Fig Newmans and some organic green tea, and she feels their love surrounding her. Yet her pleasure at being among them again dims.
“It’s not the same without Otto, is it?” she asks.
There’s a beat of silence. Mr. Kenji says, “We miss him every day. It was a good death, though. No sickness or pain. Just . . . sleep. After a very good life.”
She gets up and fetches the bonsai tree, handing it to Mr. Kenji. “I kept this in my room the whole time I was away. I’m bringing it back in memory of Otto. Will you tend to it for me?”
Mr. Kenji’s hands are tender and reverent as he takes it from her. “Of course. It is in good hands.”
They sit together for a while in companionable silence. Alexis pretends she’s not tense about the upcoming meeting, but it’s not working.
“Nervous about seein’ Linda, are ye?” Ursula asks bluntly.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Alexis,” Roberta says. “We see you. We know you. Even though you’ve been away, we’ll always be family.”
She braces her hands on her knees and stands up. “I need to go down to the basement.”
It is about closure, coming here to remember some things, and to lay other things to rest. She opens the door to the basement and the damp, fecund smell makes her catch her breath. She recoils a little, then forces herself to go on, step by step, descending to a place that has haunted her dreams.
“Let me get the light for you,” Roberta calls, and flips a switch.
Alexis catches her breath again, this time with surprise and pleasure.
“What did you do?” she asks, feeling a lightness in her chest.
“We didn’t see the point of storing coffins down here,” Ursula says.
“Bad karma,” adds Mr. Kenji.
She studies the warm, friendly glow of green-shaded desk lamps, listens to the faint hum of computers. Seven of them.
A couple of the people working at the computers look up, nod, and smile slightly. “Come on in,” says a woman in sweats and fuzzy slippers. “Everyone’s welcome here.”
“We had a brainstorm,” Roberta explains. “This is a big, beautiful space now, isn’t it? We’ve rented it out.”
“So . . . who are they?” Alexis drops her voice to a whisper.
“They’re a bit quirky,” says Roberta.
“On account of them being writers, you know?”
“They’re writers?”
“All seven of them. They needed a space to meet and to work. It’s perfect.”
“You have seven writers in your basement?”
Donald nods, signing, “They like it here. There’s a poet, a couple of novelists, an opera librettist, an essay writer . . . . They don’t usually make much trouble.”
She stands back and takes it all in—the nicely designed workspaces, the lighting, the sounds of Rush and Neil Young drifting from various speakers. The lumber used to construct the desks and bookcases looks vaguely familiar.
“Is that? . . .” She turns to Mr. Kenji.
He offers a solemn nod. “We used the lumber from the coffins. No need to let it go to waste.”
“It’s brilliant,” she says quietly, then smiles at the writers. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks,” says a guy hunched over a Mac. “Drop by anytime.”
She heads back up the stairs with her friends. Her family. The writers in the basement have no idea what used to fill the space, and that’s probably a good thing. Now it’s filled with the ideas from their imagination, with laughter and conversation.
Her mother would have liked that. Her words, spoken so long ago, drift back to Alexis’s mind: The Hotel Angeline is the place where your family lives. You have to take care of your family.
She’d done her best. At fourteen, she’d given it everything she could, for as long as she could. And then she’d been given an opportunity to dive back into her childhood—a refuge, a welcome respite. The world had stopped, and Alexis had willingly stepped off.
The time is right to return now. She checks her watch. It’s the same Xena Warrior Princess watch Linda had sent her that first Christmas in Sedona. Coming from Linda, it had been a peace offering. At least, Alexis chose to construe it that way.
She feels a pinch of tension in her chest. “I’m going to head outside,” she tells the others.
They don’t object; they know this meeting is going to be difficult.
Sunlight slants across the front garden. Alexis sits on the stoop, watching families head home after the soccer match. She sees a young couple pushing a stroller, a small soccer player bouncing along beside them. There are a lot of ways a family can look, she reflects. As many ways as there are people.
A wave of gratitude sweeps over her. She used to yearn for a different life, for comfort and ease and tradition, but finally she understands that the life she has is the one that’s meant to be. Rather than fighting to stuff herself into a role, she has discovered that letting go and letting things be as they are bring the richest rewards.
Or so she hopes.
The streets grow quiet; evening is coming on. It occurs to her that she doesn’t even know what kind of car Linda drives these days. Each passing VW Bug or Subaru or SUV makes her tense up.
Finally a shiny pink Vespa whines to a stop in front of the Angeline. The matching pink helmet comes off, revealing a mane of hair dyed purple.
Alexis stands up, studies the young woman she hasn’t seen in four years.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey yourself.” Linda offers a flicker of a smile. “Long time no see.”
Alexis hesitates. She studies the pretty face, the dark skin, the eyes that still sparkle with mischief. She doesn’t feel that revved-up youthful excitement that used to fill her when Linda was around.
“You’ve changed,” Linda remarks.
“Four years will do that to a kid.”
“How are you doing?” Linda really seems to want to know.
“Getting ready to start school at UW,” Alexis says. “I’m a little nervous, but excited.” She’s curious about her own emotions. When she looks at Linda now, she sees someone who once meant the world to her, like a child’s beloved toy that now sits on a shelf in a room she doesn’t visit anymore.
“I’m sorry about that phone call,” she says.
“It’s OK,” Linda assures her. “I understood then, and I still do.” She pauses. “You staying here tonight?”
Alexis nods. “They’ve got my old room waiting for me. Just for one night.”
“Got any other plans?”
“Not really. You?”
Linda twists around on the Vespa. “I’m going downtown to meet some friends. Want to come?”
Alexis pauses. She looks at her friend, feels nothing but a warm sense of nostalgia. Then she turns back and looks at the Hotel Angeline. Its windows glow in the lowering twilight, and she thinks of the people inside—her family.
“Maybe another time,” she tells Linda.
“Sure, whenever.” Linda looks at her for an extra moment, then pushes off. The motor crescendos as she heads downtown, leaving a brief puff of exhaust in her wake.
Alexis stands very still, listening to the murmur of conversation coming from somewhere inside. In the distance, she can see the lights on the water, glittering like diamonds along the shores of Puget Sound. The stars are coming out.
It’s going to be a beautiful night.