Far From You (9 page)

There was

one small container of formula

and two baby bottles

Victoria brought along

in case we needed to feed Ivy

and couldn’t stop somewhere.

Good.

There were three

bottles of water

and one can of Diet Dr Pepper

I bought at the store

before we left.

Pretty good.

There was one sleeping bag

for two and a half people.

Pretty bad.

There were two small bags of chips

and one candy bar

for two hungry people.

Bad.

We each had a couple of chips

and a bite of candy bar

for dinner,

followed by

some sips of water.

“Somebody will find us,” she told me

as I slid into the sleeping bag

to take the first shift of sleep.

My stomach

grumbled a reply of

“I sure as hell hope so.”

I don’t think

there has ever been

a night

longer than

that first night

in all

of

eternity.

We took turns

curling up

on the backseat

in the sleeping bag,

although it might as well have been called

the tossing-and-turning bag

because I don’t think

either one of us

actually slept.

Ivy slept

in fits and starts

underneath the layers of clothes

and three blankets

she was swaddled in.

We turned the car on

throughout the night

and ran the heat.

As I lay there,

dreaming of home,

I thought of the movie

The Snowman,

where the snowman

takes the little boy

and flies through the air.

Too bad

real life

is never anything

like the movies.

When the darkness faded

and a grayish light

filled the sky,

we saw

that the monster

had grown

to gigantic proportions

overnight.

Not only

had it not

let us go,

but it had

completely

and totally

devoured us.

We were

savagely trapped

in the snowy belly

of the beast.

We managed

to make it out

to the tree

that had become

Mother Nature’s bathroom,

but the snow

was now up to our knees.

When the snow started to dump

on us again,

my hungry stomach

tightened up in response,

knowing

the snow

would only get

deeper

and deeper.

“We have to do something,” I cried

after a breakfast of Diet Dr Pepper

and a lunch of a few chips.

“We can’t just sit here and wait.

Can’t we build a fire or something?

So planes will see us?”

“Do you have a match?” she asked me.

“No, but—”

“But what?

We just have to wait.

They’ll go looking for us

when we don’t show up today.

They will.

And they’ll find us.”

“Isn’t the cigarette lighter

from the car in here somewhere?

Check the glove box.”

While she looked,

I jumped in the back of the car,

tossing items,

searching,

desperate to find something

we could use.

And that’s when I saw

the brightly wrapped

Christmas presents.

She didn’t find

the lighter.

I opened Ivy’s big gift,

with lots of colorful paper,

which would be

the most helpful.

I ripped carefully,

trying to keep it

as whole as possible,

to wave in the air

like a big flag.

It was an antique stool,

a few nicks

here and there,

obviously

lovingly used.

Victoria reached over

and ran her hand over it,

like it was a beloved pet.

“The stool my grandma gave me,” she said.

“They kept it all this time.”

An image

of a little girl

named Ivy

toddling up to the stool

to wash her hands

flashed through my brain.

Before that moment,

I hadn’t pictured her

as anything

but a little,

annoying blob.

But in an instant,

I saw what I couldn’t see,

and it was

wonderful

and sad

all at the same time.

Next I opened

the gift for Dad.

A bottle of his favorite

brandy.

Victoria opened the bottle

and took a swig.

She handed it to me.

I took a whiff

and the smell

sent shivers

through my body.

I put the cap on

and decided I’d save it

for a more desperate

moment.

When I got to my present,

I paused before I opened it,

hoping it would be something

really useful

in the coming hours.

I gasped

when I saw the antique book,

the cover worn and

corners frayed,

a musty smell to it.

Carefully

I opened

the front cover.

1897.

Incredible.

My own antique edition

of
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Truly amazing,

although not very helpful

unless we could slip into

the rabbit hole

and find our way home.

I realized

Victoria must have told

her mother that

my parents named me

after Alice.

I was snapped out of my

wonderland trance

when Victoria asked,

“May I open mine?”

I handed her the tiny box,

which wouldn’t do us much good

as far as wrapping paper

was concerned.

Inside

lay a gold locket

with a tiny picture

of Ivy inside.

She slipped it on,

then gave the locket

a little

kiss.

“For luck,” she whispered.

If only it were

that easy.

Like three-year-olds being silly,

we put socks on our hands

and underwear on our heads,

because we hadn’t thought

we’d need

gloves and hats

in California.

Then we stepped outside

and waved

our red and green paper

through the white frosty air,

with the hope

that someone would fly by

and see us.

The trees stood above us,

their branches a canopy

that kept us

from seeing

much of the sky

at all.

As I waved the paper

through the whiteness,

I thought of Mom

swirling her brush of paint

across the white canvas,

turning nothing

into something

magical.

And I wished

for some of that

colorful magic

to come

to us.

It wasn’t long

before our

crisp, vibrant paper flags

became a soggy mess,

like tulips in a flower bed

pummeled

by an unexpected

hailstorm.

We threw the paper

on the ground

in defeat.

I took the white underwear

off my head

as we trudged back

to the car.

I twirled it around

on my finger,

as if waving

a different

kind of flag.

The kind that says

we

surrender.

While we sat there,

trying to warm up again,

Vic asked me

how my phone

broke.

And so

I told her

the whole

ugly story

of me

and Claire.

She listened,

asking the right questions

in the right places,

like a good lawyer

in a courtroom.

And yet

I didn’t feel her

judging me.

Instead

what I felt

was her

trying

to understand me.

Over the course

of a couple of hours,

I learned

Vic’s favorite meal

is meatloaf with mashed potatoes.

But she never makes it

because Dad told her

I hate meatloaf.

I learned

her favorite movie

is
Sleepless in Seattle
with Tom Hanks,

which I’ve never seen.

She told me we’d watch it together

when we got home.

I learned

she was starting to miss

her accounting job

and hoped to go back to work

part time when Ivy

turned four months old.

I learned

some other stuff,

but mostly

I learned

she’s pretty easy

to talk to.

Vic reached over

and grabbed my guitar.

“Did your dad get you this?”

I shook my head.

“It was my mom’s.”

She handed it to me.

“Why don’t you play something?”

I strummed

a couple of chords,

then tweaked a jingle

Dad and I had made up

about a cheap wine he likes.

“When your car is stuck

and you’re out of luck

and there’s no tow truck

in sight,

and you’re horror struck

and a sitting duck,

drink Three Buck Chuck

all night!”

She laughed.

“I could go for a bottle of that about now.”

It was quiet for a minute.

“I wonder what Dad’s doing,” I said softly.

She reached over

and touched my arm.

“Everything he can to find us.”

I nodded.

She was right.

She had to be.

“Okay, now, let’s sing some campfire songs,” she said.

And so,

with no fire,

except the one

we kept dreaming about,

I played

and we sang.

After two days

of little food

and lots of stress,

Victoria’s milk

started to wane.

Ivy didn’t like

the cold formula

very well.

It made

Vic

more worried

than she had been.

When darkness came,

I held the baby

as Victoria tried

to sleep,

and I noticed

Ivy’s

teeny

tiny

fingers.

Tiny

little

icicles

I tried to warm

in my

hands.

I remembered the

day Claire asked me

all the questions

about her.

I thought,

If I could answer her now,

I would tell her:

Yes, she’s cute.

She looks like my dad,

with his flat nose

and dimple in his chin.

She has lots of dark hair.

And Claire,

although you didn’t ask me,

I’ve come to learn

that I love

holding her

in my arms,

even if I pray as I do,

Please keep her safe

Please keep her safe

Please keep her safe…

I drifted

in and out of sleep,

dreaming of

doughnuts with coconut

and warm, smooth coffee.

I dreamt of music

in church,

of a voice

that filled me with

joy,

love,

and hope.

I dreamt of

warm kisses

from a hot boy

with a burning flame

for me in his heart.

When I woke up,

the warmth vanished

faster than a bubble

that’s been

popped.