The window to my room opens reluctantly. A summer paint job has nearly sealed the cracks, but with persistence I free the window and allow a cool morning breeze into my small space.
I shudder. Not from the temperature but from the realization that fall is here. My life in Tucson seems so distant, even with the trips back and plenty of phone conversations with the girls. While I have told everyone I feel so fortunate to have two homes, a more honest answer would be that I feel I have no home.
The urge to run away is overpowering. Fall does this to me. There is a longing to go away to school or to follow the season through the Eastern states. I will settle for a breakfast at Locals’ Landing, the corner café.
Excited, I dress in a pair of jeans, trail shoes, and my first sweater of the season. I keep my hair down and let the slight natural wave from a night’s sleep fall where it may. Hoping to sneak out unnoticed, I place most of my weight on the handrail and tread lightly on the stairs. As I set my gaze on the back door, the floorboards announce my arrival and everyone at the breakfast table turns to look at me.
Marcus is, of course, the one to comment. “Mari, you are supposed to sneak out after curfew, not at nine in the morning.”
“Hey,” Dad scolds and flicks a wadded up napkin at him.
“Sorry.” Marcus turns and addresses the kids. “Nobody should ever consider sneaking out after curfew because our security system is very sophisticated.”
Mom pipes up with, “And because it is unethical—which is the better reason.”
I point toward the door, which stands between me and temporary freedom. “I was just heading out for a walk. It’s fall.”
No more explanation is necessary for my mom. She nods and smiles.
Dad waves and says, “You won’t recognize the place. Take the route past the school too. The playground has been renovated; you’ll love it.” He knows right where I am headed.
Josiah makes a gagging sound. “School. Yuck.”
I cannot help but smile at strangers on my way down the street. The mixture of colorful houses, large brick apartment buildings, and small businesses seems a testament to the efforts my parents have made to bring revitalization efforts to this community. There were years when I was not allowed to walk or ride my bike home from school without an adult, though the two-story brick schoolhouse was only a few blocks away.
When I see young professionals sipping coffee at bistro tables outside the café I have to double-check the sign above. Only inside do I see the faces of the old neighborhood seated at regular booths and torn, red vinyl stools at the bar.
Since the place seems busiest outside, I decide to occupy an indoor booth. Most comfortable as an observer, I choose the corner table and sit facing the street. Nobody seems to notice the girl seated alone, not even the waitress. Instead of flagging her down, I reach for a pen from my purse and several napkins from the metal canister on the table.
I get lost in my rambling thoughts as they come from somewhere in my mind and onto the folded sheets that absorb ink quickly and make my letters large and nearly indistinguishable from one another. It won’t matter. Some life notes are meant for later reflection, but some, like this morning’s, are simply intended to purge the backup files of the subconscious.
“Darlin,’ you back in town?”
Pulled from my self-absorbed thoughts, I squint up at the waitress. Morning sun is her backlighting, and all I see is an eclipse of bouffant hair.
“Margie…Hemphill. I used to babysit at the home.”
The home. It gives me chills and a few flashback emotions, but Margie was a great volunteer. She used to give the younger kids piggyback rides up and down the stairs and let them use the walk-in freezer when we played hide-and-seek. Mom and Dad’s liability insurance agent probably made sure she never returned.
“I cannot believe you recognize me. I am back.” I intend to add for a short time, but my mouth stops moving as my eyes start tracking a girl who just entered the café. She has on a green suede dress with five link belts coiling around her waist. It is a look that could only be rivaled by…
“Caitlin?” It couldn’t be.
Marge looks over her shoulder and then back at me with a look of “what’ll they think of next.” “I will let your friend have a few minutes to look at the menu.”
I follow Marge to the front counter and keep my eyes on the girl who is looking through the window at the yuppie crowd. “Caitlin?” I ask the question again, but still in disbelief.
The woman, who is indeed Caitlin, turns around and runs over to hug me. I take her by the hand to my booth and we stare at each other for a few minutes and then she laughs as I speak half-phrases like “What are…When did…Why on…?”
“I’m on my way to New York, and at the airport it occurred to me that I was stopping at Dulles. So I asked the woman at the ticket counter—”
“Clarissa?”
“Yes! And she said she remembered my headdress from that time I picked you up. Isn’t that amazing?”
“It was rather unforgettable.”
“So when I explained how much I would love to have a full day here to visit you, she changed my departure time from Dulles to JFK so I could have a few hours. Isn’t she the sweetest?”
“Let’s just say this is a new side of her.” I cannot stop smiling. “Caitlin, I really needed to see you.”
“I felt it.” She places her hand on her heart. “And I really needed to see you. Your dad looks good. He is the one who showed me how to get here.”
“He recently had a setback, but he was pushing himself too hard. The doctor says he is doing well in his recovery.”
“I’m glad.” She beams, and then she adds with a grin, “I had hoped to see someone else while at the house.” She raises her brows a couple of times for emphasis.
“You might get that twitch looked at before becoming a New York City girl.” I say while folding up my napkin notes and shoving them into my backpack.
“I wanted to see Marcus,” she says as if I didn’t get it. “Angelica told me that you two were once involved. I never heard of him until this trip of yours. Now, every time we talk on the phone you mention the guy. Don’t act coy.”
“Involved with sounds like a soap opera romance. What we had was a hand-holding, high school dreamworld crush. That is it.”
I notice Marge approaching, so we scan the menu and make the fastest and strangest co-order ever. “Waffles,” we say in unison.
“We are in sync. We never ordered the same breakfast food before.” I motion out the window. “You gotta have waffles in the fall.”
“Gotta.” Caitlin’s eyes follow my quick gaze to her left hand. “No. There is not a ring on my finger. You are not very discreet.”
“Just checking.”
“You are trying to change the subject. But I will let you because we have so little time together.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head to her in appreciation. “So why do you need to fly to New York again?”
“This trip will be my final. That is, before I make my move. I told Isabel that I could start after Sadie’s wedding. I figure this gives me time to—you know, say goodbye to everyone.”
“You really are doing this?” I sprinkle salt on my palm and lick it.
Caitlin looks disgusted but continues. “I really am. It’s true that I might look back on this decision in three years and regret what I am leaving behind…”
“Namely Jim the Cop?”
“Yes. But training with Isabel is the education I have been wanting. Let’s face it, how long have I been researching opening my own store?”
“We have been researching it forever.”
“Exactly. And all this time I have been avoiding the truth about me—I am not ready to go solo. I don’t want that kind of responsibility. But I do feel ready to learn from someone else. I figure last year’s fashion show was your way to get back to Golden Horizons, it was Sadie’s venue for engagement, and it apparently was my connection to my future as well.”
My head leans to the side as I take in my friend’s newfound confidence. “This is a great choice, Caitlin. I see that now.”
“Sadie thinks I am running away from Jim and a possible commitment.”
I wave my hand in the air to brush away opinions of those not present. “Doesn’t matter. Look at me. People think I am crazy to leave…to be away from Beau.”
Caitlin looks down at the waffles loaded with berries and whipped cream. “Like me. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I get it. Maybe I am pushing the boundaries of a relatively vulnerable relationship.”
Caitlin stops a forkful of breakfast midway to her mouth, “What do you mean, vulnerable?”
I wave my own opinion away and take a huge bite of fruit.
“What do you mean vulnerable?”
I keep chewing, stalling while I figure out what is going on. “We are fragile right now.”
Caitlin looks down at her fork and places it back on her plate. Her face falls into blankness. “I cannot believe anything except that you two will end up together forever.”
As much as I don’t want to let down my romantic friend, I am desperate to talk about this. “Beau and I had a good conversation during my last visit home—I just sense we could lose each other.” I am surprised by the lump in my throat. The doubts I have kept tucked in my mind have escaped their confinement and sound more like fact than theory once out.
“Mari, Beau adores you. He talks about you all the time to anyone who will listen. That night at Golden Horizons he held you so close. Nothing will undermine that.”
Caitlin is being Pollyanna for me. And maybe for herself as well. We want to believe that true love conquers all.
“The distance feels overwhelming.”
She reaches for my hand. “A few states between you is not enough to come between you.” Her forehead wrinkles as she figures out what she just said. When she determines that it was indeed what she meant to convey, she nods emphatically.
I don’t have the heart to tell her I was speaking of emotional distance, so I shorten the distance between me and a huge bite of waffles and whipped cream.