“Hi,” Talia chirps, dropping a handful of panties into the suitcase. “How was the drive back?”
I’d been worrying about asking Talia to go to Cedar Hill with me. There are so many bad memories attached to that city for both of us, but she looks excited to see something new than the four boring walls of Portland.
I tell her about already having a new job, that I’d gotten in touch with a real estate agent who’s going to help us find something in Old Harbor. “You really don’t mind moving?”
“I really don’t, Devyn. It’s a nice place?”
“It’s beautiful.”
She nods. “Then I’m sure I’ll love it. A dress, do you think?” She holds a little black dress above the pile of clothes.
“Sure. We might as well go out and celebrate.”
“Cool.” She drops it onto the pile and flicks a glance at me. “You don’t have much to say about Rick.”
“He didn’t text after I told him I made it back to town. He’s got this strange idea that I left for good.”
Talia lifts her eyebrows. “You didn’t tell him you were going back?”
“Not in so many words. I’m waiting to see how mad he’s going to be at me for poking my nose into his business.”
“Your stubbornness takes a little getting used to. You’re like a dog with a bone when you know something isn’t right.”
I haul my suitcase onto the bed to empty it and repack. “Yeah, well, sometimes that’s paid off, and sometimes it hasn’t. I’m hoping to get on the road by eight. It would be nice to have half the day to start.”
“You mean go to bed at a decent hour.”
I laugh. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
I try not to act like her mother, giving her space to be herself and stay sober in the way she needs, but we both learned through group and singles therapy that Talia is most comfortable with rules and a schedule, which is why I’m nervous about leaving. I should have given Walt more thanks than I did for checking on her. While I was working for him, he hadn’t turned into a friend, but he did more than a boss needed to do and I should have let him know I appreciated it.
Talia ends up soaking in the tub before lights out. I drag a legal pad into bed with me and start a list of the things I know about Rick’s accident. It’s not very much, and I watch the clip again. The way the crane tips over still gnaws at me.
Rick still hasn’t texted me, and he doesn’t have his read receipts turned on. All I know is my message from earlier was delivered.
I ask him a question, hoping to encourage an answer.Where in Old Harbor will we live? Talia and I should have our own place for a bit, don’t you think?
We’ll see what he thinks about that. We have plenty of time to decide. Talia needs to finish out the semester, and it doesn’t end until Christmas break.
That reminds me to open my file of unpublished articles, and I send Barney what I have. I’ve written a few pieces about northern Minnesota living, dealing with the cold, safety precautions, things like that. I participated in a snowshoeing class last winter and took pictures with my phone, thinking the Pioneer could use it at some point, but Walt never expressed an interest. The Herald’s probably printed the topics I send him several times before, but a new writer brings in a new slant and he might find something useful.
I have a difficult time falling asleep, and I toss and turn all night, not stopping when Talia crawls into bed next to me and links my fingers with hers. She knows I’m nervous.
The next morning, my stomach is a ball of butterflies when I fill up the car and we head out of Portland. I’m worried the city will be a trigger for Talia, and I’m worried that Stevie Johansson will hear I’m back and sniffing around.
Rick didn’t believe me when I said she’d had her goons kidnap me and threaten to hook me on Sweet if I didn’t leave well enough alone, and I have no way to prove it happened. But it did, and I’m hoping enough time has gone by she’s forgotten about me and has other things to worry about other than a disgraced reporter back in town.
What I’m going there for has nothing to do with her.
We’re about twenty minutes out of Portland when Talia asks about Old Harbor, the newspaper, and the university. I chat with her, try to answer her questions, though I don’t know much about the town I’m asking her to move to all for the sake of my love life. She brings the university’s website up on her phone, and we discuss transferring her credits, the paperwork involved, and the deadlines she’ll need to keep if she wants to enroll in spring semester. They have a psychology department too, and internship opportunities at a mental health facility that the U of P doesn’t have. She’s skims while I stare into the bright orange horizon. The sun is coming up, and I feel the beautiful sunrise is an omen for good things to come.
I wait until after a coffee break at a gas station just off the highway before I venture into shaky territory. “Tal?”
She looks up from her phone. “Yeah?”
“When I was talking to Barney about a position on his staff, he said his niece was going to rehab for Sweet addiction. He asked me how you’d gotten hooked, but I had to tell him I didn’t know very much. You went to a party on campus? Is that right? Can you tell me?”
People blame addicts for their own problems and say just stop. Cold turkey. Stop drinking, stop smoking. If you were strong enough, you could stop if you wanted to. You’re weak. Selfish. Talia and I have heard it all, and I havenevermet a stronger person than my sister. She’s been clean for six years and every day is a struggle. Every evening she goes to bed sober is a triumph. I couldn’t be prouder of her, and when I ask, my voice is gentle, without a hint of recrimination.