Still Missing

sometimes. He's not a bad man or even stupid, he's just one of those guys who really wants to be something, but instead of putting the pedal to the metal and driving forward, he's too busy trying to figure out the quickest route there and just ends up going in circles.

When I was a kid he took me with him a couple of times when he went to pitch a new investment idea. I was embarrassed for him--he stood right in people's faces as he was speaking, and when they tried to lean away, he talked louder. For the first few days after a meeting he'd walk around the house all happy, checking his phone messages a million times, and he and Mom would stay up drinking and toasting themselves. Nothing ever came through.

Once in a while he did something that made me think he might not be a total loser. Like when I was fifteen there was a concert I really wanted to go to, and I spent a whole weekend collecting bottles around town. On Monday--the day the tickets had to be bought--I turned them in but I didn't even have close to the amount I needed. I locked myself in my room and cried. After I finally surfaced, I found an envelope under my door with Wayne's handwriting on the front and a ticket inside. When I tried to thank him, he just flushed and said, 'Don't worry about it.'

As soon as I started making good money in real estate I tried to help them out--new tires, new computer, new fridge, even just cash for bills and groceries. In the beginning it felt good to give them a hand, but then I realized it was like throwing money down a hole--a hole that drained right into the next dumbass business scheme. After I bought my house I couldn't afford to help as much, so I sat them down and explained how they could set up a bud get. Mom just stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. They must be getting by somehow, because their lifestyle sure hasn't changed.

Mom noticed my lack of enthusiasm on the phone and broke into my thoughts. 'You haven't said anything.'

'Sorry, I hope it works out for him.'

'I have a good feeling about this one.'

'That's what you said last time.'

She was silent for a moment, then said, 'I really don't appreciate your negative attitude, Annie. After everything that man did for you while you were missing--after everything we both did--the least you could do is show a little more interest.'

'I'm sorry. I'm just not in a very good mood right now.'

'Maybe if you left your house once in a while instead of moping around all day, you'd be more pleasant to talk to.'

'Not likely. Whenever I do try to leave, some dickhead reporter is jumping all over me, not to mention Hollywood agents with their bullshit offers.'

'They're just trying to make a living, Annie. If it wasn't for those reporters you hate so much paying you for interviews, you wouldn't have anything to live on yourself, would you?'

Leave it to Mom to make me feel like I was the asshole. Especially when she was right--the vultures were funding my living expenses now that my savings were almost gone. But I still couldn't get used to the process, or seeing myself in print and on-screen. Mom saved every newspaper clipping from every interview--finally her chance to have a scrap-book for me--and taped every show. She gave me copies, but I watched only two of them and shoved the rest in a drawer.

'Your fifteen minutes are almost over, Annie. What are you going to do for money then? How are you going to keep your house?'

'I'll figure something out.'

'Like what?'

'Something, Mom, I'll think of something.' What was I going to do? My stomach twisted into knots.

'You know, an agent isn't such a bad idea. They might be able to get you some up-front money.'

'You mean get themselves some money. One I talked to wanted me to sign away all my rights--if I'd listened to him the movie people could've done whatever they wanted.'

'So talk to a producer yourself, then.'

'I don't want to talk to any of them, Mom. Why is that so hard to understand?'

'Jesus, Annie, I just asked a simple question, you don't have to take my head off.'

'Sorry.' I took a deep breath. 'Maybe I do need to get out more. We better talk about something else before I totally lose it.' I forced a laugh. 'So how's your garden doing?'

Two things Mom loves talking about--gardening and cooking. They're also two things that take a lot of TLC, always a lot easier for my mom to lavish on food and plants than on me.

When I was a kid, I actually remember being jealous of her roses--the way she talked to them, touched them, checked on them all the time, and was so proud when one of them won a ribbon at the local fair. It was bad enough I had a sister who was a prizewinner, not to mention a cousin, but how the hell do you compete with roses? Sometimes I wondered if it was because she could follow recipes or shape plants and everything turned out the way she wanted--unlike most things in life, especially kids.

She did try to teach me to cook, though, and I wanted to learn--but my lack of any cooking ability was only exceeded by my lack of a green thumb. Hell, I couldn't even keep a hanging basket alive before the mountain. That all changed there, when spring hit around the middle of April and The Freak started letting me outside to plant a garden.

I was around seven months pregnant the first time, and my eyes felt like they were going to explode with spring's light and beauty. When I took that first breath of clean mountain air--all I'd smelled in months was wood smoke and cedar walls--my nostrils tingled with the scent of fir trees in the sun, wildflowers, and the moss-covered earth at my feet. I wanted to lie down and grind my face into it. Hell, I wanted to eat it.

If I was farther north or off the island, I figured there'd still be snow, but it was warming up and everything was lush and green in every shade you could imagine--sage, emerald, pine, moss--the air even smelled green. I couldn't tell if it was comforting to know that I was probably close to home or if that made it worse.

He didn't let me go very far from the cabin the first time but he couldn't stop my eyes from exploring. The trees encircling us were so dense I couldn't see if there were any other mountains around. A few grassy spots showed through the moss carpeting of the clearing, but it was mostly just moss and rock. Must have been hard to drill a septic tank up here, not to mention a well, but I figured we were probably pulling from the river. At the forest's edge I saw some stumps, so they'd logged up here in the past. I couldn't see a road, but there had to be an access point close by.

The river was on the right side of the cabin--where the raised garden beds were--and down a bit of a hill. It was a beautiful jade color, and judging by some areas where the current calmed down and the water turned such a dark green it was almost black, it had some deep swimming holes.

From the outside, the cabin looked cute with its shutters and window planter boxes. Two rocking chairs rested side by side on the covered front porch. Maybe a husband and wife had built the cabin together years ago. I wondered about this woman who liked window planter boxes and brought soil in for a garden. I wondered how she'd feel about who was living in the cabin now.

I went into labor while I was gardening. He'd been letting me out--supervised, of course--to water and weed around the vegetables, which were looking great, and I could have spent all day working in the garden. I didn't even care when he decided I hadn't done something right and made me do it all over again, since that just meant I could stay out longer. The sensation of digging into cool dirt--which I could still feel through the gloves he made me wear to protect my perfect nails--and the scent of freshly turned earth sure beat being locked in the cabin with him.

I was intrigued by the idea that the tiny seeds I'd planted were growing into carrots, tomatoes, beans, while I was growing my own seed in my belly. Technically it was partly his seed, but I didn't let myself think about that. I was getting good at not thinking about stuff.

The one thing I could never seem to shut out was my ache for simple, affectionate touch. I never knew how essential it was to my well-being until I didn't have Emma to snuggle, Luke to cuddle, or even one of my mom's rare hugs. Affection from Mom always seemed an afterthought on her part, unless it was given as a reward, which always left me feeling manipulated and angry at myself for wanting her warmth so much.

The only time my mom's touches were given freely was when I was sick and she dragged me everywhere,