These Boots Weren't Made for Walking (8 page)

I imagine her now as I drive. She's probably schlepping around in her old, plaid flannel robe, if she's even up yet since it's barely past noon. Maybe she's in front of the TV putting away a box of
Russell Stovers. Chocolate is pretty much her drug of choice. I'm guessing the drapes are still drawn. She also confessed that she pretends she's not home if anyone stops by. “They all act like they come here to cheer me up,” she told me. “But I think they just come to gape. They want to see how fat I'm getting, like I'm some sort of sideshow freak.”

“What about your good friends?” I say, listing the ladies I remember her spending time with while I was growing up.

“Well, Barbara Berg moved to Florida last year,” she told me. “And you know Cynthia died of cancer. And Phyllis and Harold Abraham, well, they were one of our
couples
friends, so that's no good.” On she went, listing all her friends and all the reasons they don't come around anymore. Really, I was depressed by the time she finished. Poor Mom.

“Here I come,” I say aloud. I feel my spirits rising now, like maybe I will be Supergirl to the rescue—just me and my little cat, Felix. We'll get Mom out of her blue funk and back into the functioning world again. Maybe we can take walks together. Maybe we'll start a new hobby. It'll be fun. And who knows, maybe I'll find myself along the way.

My excitement builds as I drive into the mountains, slowly getting closer to my hometown. Just the sight of those magnificent ponderosa pines along the highway and the clear blue sky stretching overhead, well, feels almost like a welcome-home hug. Although I complained about it as a kid, I know I was blessed to grow up in the small mountain town of Black Bear. It might not be the biggest
or fanciest place, but its friendly and pretty and situated only minutes from Black Bear Butte, a small but popular ski resort. All three of us girls learned to ski at an early age, and Cammie even took up snowboarding in high school, which infuriated my dad since he believed that boarders were rebels. The town has grown since my sisters and I left home, but for the most part it feels the same. To my astonishment, I really feel like I'm coming home. I also feel like my tails between my legs at the moment, but Til get over that. Besides, I remind myself, I'm here to help Mom.

When I get to her house, no one is home. That doesn't surprise me, and I know where she hides the key under the flowerpot (so original). Anyway, I suspect she's at Warner's Groceries, stocking up on things we'll need because my homecoming has caught her totally by surprise. She probably got up early this morning, straightened things, aired out my room, and suddenly realized she needed groceries.

I decide to take advantage of her absence by emptying out the moving van into the big three-car garage. It's funny seeing it empty like this, though. I remember when all three of us girls were at home and driving, and how we fought over parking spaces. I back up the truck and start unloading. Today I'm thankful for my Spartan ways, since the heaviest thing I own is the futon frame, which slides out fairly easily. I scoot things around, working up a sweat as I shove everything up against one wall, making sure Mom will have plenty of room to park her old Suburban.

My sisters and I have been telling her to get rid of the old gas
hog, but she insists it's still handy for getting plants and mulch and things from the nursery. “I don't drive much anyway,” she told me the last time we talked about it. I felt so sad when she said this. She sounded forlorn, as if she were some litde old lady who should just give it up altogether.

Finally I get the last of my big stuff out, then I take Felix's crate and my personal luggage into the house. I'm surprised to see that a few things have changed in here, but maybe that's good. Maybe it's Mom's attempt at starting over. I have to admit that big white sectional really brightens up the great room, although it needs some colored pillows to cheer it up. Maybe she and I can work on this later, I think as I haul my bags upstairs to my old bedroom. My sisters and I always stay in our old rooms when we're home. Mom's made changes to them over the years, and I know other people have stayed in them, but we still call them
our
rooms.

I'm a little dismayed to open the door and smell how stuffy my room is. But I figure Mom was busy getting other things ready. It's a crisp, clear autumn day, so I go ahead and open the windows wide, letting the fresh air waft in. Then I get Felix set up, deciding to confine him to my room for starters so he can get used to the change. And then I wander around the house.

I'm pleased to see that Mom's allowed some of our old family photos to return to the walls. I know she hated seeing my dad's smiling face among the rest of us, but how do you erase all those years without erasing the whole family? I study the last one taken. It was at Christmas shortly after Callie's twins were born. We think
Dad was already involved with Michelle by then. Thirty-five-year-old Michelle, who graduated from high school just ahead of Cal-lie. We couldn't believe that she and our dad had really hooked up. She could be his daughter—such a scandal in a small town like Black Bear.

I study this family portrait of mostly smiling adults and two chubby baby boys, thinking how odd it is that the age gap between us and our parents somehow narrowed over the passing years. My parents were relatively young when they started their family. Not that they ever spoke of this much. It always embarrassed Mom to admit that Callie was born only six months after their first anniversary. She blamed it on Dad, the tall, handsome law student who seduced her when she was only a junior in college. And he blamed it on her for being “too darned pretty.” Who would've thought those two would ever part? Even thinking of it now puts a lump in my throat. Poor Mom. I'm so glad I came. It's almost four o'clock, and I wonder where she is.

I decide to go ahead and return my U-Haul to the rental place in town. They close at five, and I don't want to get charged an extra day. I leave Mom a note, saying that if she gets home in time, maybe she could pick me up. But after I turn in the truck and try her from my cell phone, I realize that's not happening. I leave her a message, saying I'll grab a quick cup of coffee at The Butte (Black Bear's best coffeehouse) and maybe start walking home, since it's only about twenty minutes anyway.

I am barraged with worries about my mom as I sit down with
my latte. What if she's been in a wreck of some kind? I think she'd fare well in that old, heavy Suburban of hers. Or what if she's stressed over my unexpected visit? She could be having some kind of meltdown or breakdown or something. But that doesn't seem likely. She probably just had a lot of errands to do, things she's neglected and is embarrassed to let me see. Although Sunday doesn't really seem the best day for things like that. I hope nothing's wrong.

I realize I'm pretty grimy and dusty and develop an instant worry that I'll see someone I know. So I pick up the local newspaper (the
Black Bear Bulletin)
and do my best to hide behind it as I drink my latte. I try to focus on the small-town news. Most of the stories this week are about the Black Bear Blues Festival and the big names the organizers have managed to attract, which actually are fairly impressive. I'd totally forgotten this event was in late October.

When I'm finished with the news and my latte, I try calling Mom again, but there's still no answer. Feeling a little worried, I decide to hurry on home. It's a beautiful day, and the exercise won't hurt me. I just hope I don't run into anyone I know as I pop on my big sunglasses and take the back streets, going as fast as these chubby legs will take me.

I'm actually huffing and puffing and freshly sweaty when I turn down the street to our house. I really must get into shape. All that sitting around on my big rear end and eating junk food has taken a serious toll. As I approach Mom's house, I notice a car that I don't recognize parked in her driveway—a red Jeep Wrangler. As
I get closer, I notice a tall guy leaning against it. He has on khakis and a light blue shirt, and his legs are casually crossed as he talks into a cell phone. Something about this guy seems familiar to me, but I can't quite put my finger on it. He closes his cell phone as I cut across the front lawn, and suddenly I get it. I know who he is.

It's Todd Michaels from Black Bear High. He was a year ahead of me and one of the coolest guys around—smart, athletic, really good looking—the kind of guy I used to daydream about, imagining him inviting me out for a Coke, later taking me to the prom, and eventually being the father of my children… Of course, none of that ever happened. Not even close. I can see that he's changed a bit, probably for the better if that's even possible.

As the full realization of who he is hits me, I also remember how disgusting I look right now. I'm wearing my too-tight jeans, which are also too short, my run-down tennis shoes, an old gray sweatshirt—your basic loser-chick apparel. I want to turn around and walk the other way. But it's too late. He's already waving, and to my horror and despite my sunglasses, it's as if he recognizes me. Good-bye, incognito.

“Hey,” he calls out, “is that you, Cassidy Cantrell?”

I try not to look like a shrinking violet as I nod and say an embarrassed “Yeah, it is.” Is it possible that he's actually here to see me? I cautiously approach him, wishing I could rewind the clock and do this totally differendy. I mean, this could've been one of those big moments in life—one of those times you dream of, hope
for, fantasize about later. But maybe it's not too late. I force a smile as I stand across from him. I think I can smell his cologne—and it smells expensive.

“Your mom told me to look for you. She thought you would be here by now.” He looks curiously at me as if he's not quite sure who I am. “You really are Cassidy Cantrell, right?”

“Of course.”

“But your mom said you were driving from the city, and I don't see a car.”

I laugh nervously. “No, I actually came here in a U-Haul truck. I just unloaded all my stuff into the garage.” I point down at my grungy attire. “As you can see, I still have on my moving clothes. I just turned the truck in and decided to walk home.” I really wish I could shove my hands into my pockets right now. I'd like to play up the sporty sort of fun girl who's not afraid to drive a U-Haul truck or walk across town, but my jeans are too tight for this little gesture.

He looks surprised. “So you are moving back to town?”

I shrug, then shyly smile again. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Your mom said it was just a visit.”

“Mom doesn't know everything,” I say a bit slyly.

He turns at the sound of a car coming down the street, and we both watch a sleek silver sports car slow down and pull into the driveway. I wonder what's going on here and why Mom's driveway has suddenly turned into Grand Central Station.

“Speaking of your mom…” Todd nods toward the pretty
blond driver, who's now climbing out of the car, as if this should all make some kind of sense to me, which it totally doesn't.

“Huh?” I study the tall, thin woman in the stylish denim jacket and belted, low-rise jeans. She smiles at me, then removes her sunglasses. For a split second, I almost think it's my sister Callie, only this woman seems a bit older.

“Hey, Audra,” says Todd, using
my mother's
first name, as he goes over to greet this woman. He gives her a quick hug followed by a peck on the cheek. Reality hits me like a baseball bat to the side of the head.
That woman is my mother!

odd,” says the slender, pretty woman standing in my mom's driveway, “did you meet Cassidy already?” She uses a voice that sounds strangely like my mothers. Can this really be true?

“Yes,” says Todd. “She just walked up, and I assumed it was your daughter.”

“You assumed right,” she says as she walks toward me.

Todd laughs. “But I forgot to introduce myself.”

“I already know you who
you
are,” I tell him in a chilly voice. My mom, who really looks nothing like my mom, has her arms opened wide and is grinning at me as if she thinks this is all very funny.

“You already know Todd?” she says as she hugs me tightly, the same way she always has, but there's so much less of her for me to hug in return.