Caribou Island

Rhoda drove away afraid but couldn’t pinpoint the fear. Everyone around her acting odd. Her mother, her father, Jim. None of them being who they were supposed to be. And where did that leave her? Her life was based on them.

What about what she wanted? Did any of them give a shit about that? This pissed her off, which was better than being afraid. She yanked the wheel to the side, then yanked the other way, fishtailing her crappy car down the gravel road, and that felt a little better. Go, cockroach, go, she said.

She took the turnoff to the lower end of the lake and skidded up to Mark’s house.

Hey, fucker, she said when he came to the door. It was late and he looked tired, or stoned.

That’s nice.

Not one visit, she said. You couldn’t stop by just once to see how she’s doing?

How’s she doing?

She died.

Well I guess we’re better off, in a way, Mark said. The weight of her displeasure and all that. But I will miss the Christmas cakes, and a certain girlish hopefulness.

Rhoda kicked him in the shin with her boot, hard enough he fell down howling. Then she ran back to her car before Karen could get into the mix.

Pancakes and canned peaches when she arrived home, so at least that was a return to normal. Jim standing at the counter, clicking his fork against the side of the can as he went for a slice of peach.

I’m putting you on notice, she said.

What?

You’re all acting weird.

All?

You and my mom and dad. You’re all freaks. My brother’s just a worthless shit, but the three of you are driving me crazy.

What did I do?

I don’t know, she said. But it’s not right. You’d better stop.

Jim looked hurt. I’ve been making calls for your mother, he said. That’s all I’ve been doing.

I’m sorry, Rhoda said. She stood in place a moment to try to slow down. She felt like she was running, her heart pumping. She wanted Jim to put his arms around her to help hold her in place, but he just stood there oblivious. Something freaked me out about my mom, she finally said.

What was it?

Rhoda threw her jacket off, sat on one of the bar stools. It’ll sound crazy, she said. But she can’t sleep, she can’t eat, she has this pain all the time, and so she’s leaving us. She’s going away somewhere in her head, back to her childhood, to her mother, and I feel like she’s already gone.

Could be just the medications.

Could be. But it isn’t. She’s going back to a place that’s not good for her.

Well I found her a good doctor. John Romano, the best ear nose throat guy in Alaska.

In Anchorage?

Yep. One p.m. tomorrow.

How expensive is he?

He’s the most expensive, but he’s also the best and he’s willing to cut his fees in half for your mom. Everything will be half price, even if she ends up needing surgery.

Surgery?

Yeah, a sinus operation. It’s pretty common.

Rhoda got up and gave Jim a hug. Thanks, Jim, she said. And sorry for snapping at you. I’m just afraid. Jim put his arms around her, and he put one hand on the back of her neck, the way she liked. She felt safe.

How old was she when her mother killed herself? Jim asked.

Ten. In Rossland, British Columbia. She came home from school one day and walked in and found her. But she never talks about it. A couple weeks ago, she told me what it was like, walking up to the house that day. First time she’s ever told me that. How there was snow on the ground, and how the paint looked. Something’s going on with her, even before these headaches. She’s getting all paranoid and weird, thinks my dad is going to leave her.

He’s leaving her?

No. She’s just weirding out.

Hm, Jim said.

Let’s not talk about this anymore, Rhoda said. Let’s talk about something fun. Let’s talk about what kind of wedding we’d like.

Okay, Jim said, and he let his arms fall, gave her a light pat on the back.

So Rhoda grabbed the brochures for hotels on Kauai and they sat together on the couch.

This is the one I like, she said, opening a full-size brochure of sea views and green-black mountains with waterfalls. Princeville, at Hanalei Bay. Listen to this. Forever Starts Here. As the sun kisses the horizon and you are bathed in golden light, your vows are lifted by eternal trade winds and scattered over a million miles of Pacific.

Doesn’t sound bad, Jim said.

It wouldn’t suck, Rhoda said. Eternity and all that. Look at that pool. Infinity, to go with eternity.

The rooms look nice, too. Pricey?

Rhoda put down the brochure and looked at Jim. The price doesn’t matter, does it? This is our wedding. It only happens once.

Yeah, Jim said. I guess so.

Rhoda elbowed him in the ribs, but only softly, and she opened the brochure again. What about our dance? she asked. We may have to go to Anchorage to take lessons. I don’t think there’s anything here.

Anchorage?

I just want something classy, she said. She didn’t like his responses. Maybe we should talk about this another time.