Surviving Valencia

I balanced my cigarette on the edge of a plate and continued sorting through the pile. Beneath the yellowing newspaper pages was a copy of the Border’s newsletter with the article about me. I hadn’t been expecting that there would be anything about me. There were other things in there I didn’t even remember, like an article I wrote in college about ways for students to save money around campus, and a picture of me in high school, winning an award for one of my clay pots.

Finding that there had been a focus, however minor, on me too, softened me a little.

Had it been interest in me, though? Or interest in Valencia’s sister?

They weren’t the same thing.

When there was nothing left to discover, when I had read and reread everything for the tenth time, I flushed the ashes and cigarette butts down the toilet, washed the plate, scrubbed my hands, coated them in flowery hand lotion, and brushed my teeth. I got a new manila envelope and shipping tape from the craft closet in the laundry room and after carefully replacing the contents of the envelope, I taped the new one neatly in place on the underside of the file drawer. Finally, I burned the one I had ripped open, carefully, over the kitchen sink, in little pieces as to not set off the smoke detector. I opened the windows and lit some candles to make up for the stench of cigarettes and melted tape. Frisky watched me and whined.

“Quiet, Frisky,” I hissed, nervous enough without his judgment weighing on me. He sank down on the floor and sighed.

That Adrian kept such a file right there, unlocked, in his studio, showed what a trusting fool he took me for.

I went back into the studio and took one more look around, making sure nothing was out of place. It was dark outside and Adrian would be back any time. I did not know when I might get another chance to be alone in there.

I went back to the file cabinet, opened the middle drawer, reassured myself that the folder looked exactly the same as when I had found it.

There is still hope, I told myself. You were in the envelope also.

Something was lingering in my mind, and I reopened the bottom drawer, the second drawer of inspirational artists. I thumbed my way to the back, to a blank, empty folder very near the end. It was the only empty folder I had come across in the whole cabinet.

Perhaps I could have convinced myself that Adrian had started out following the story of the twins, as anyone in his situation might have, and had gone on to stalk me in particular. Perhaps he had obsessed over me, seen something special, amazing, compelling in me. That would be thrilling. That would prove what we had was real, and I could forgive him. If he really loved me, it would raise us above these mistakes and sins.

But the thrill was marred by the placement of this empty file, a file I suspected had once housed the hidden manila envelope. It was carefully arranged between VAA (Visual Arts Alliance) and Siobhan Vam, precisely in the spot where one would file something he referred to, in his mind, as Valencia.

Chapter 62

A few days after Adrian’s trip to Jacksonville, Alexa called again. I had been hoping she would forget all about switching houses, and I’d thought we were safe when we hadn’t heard back from her. But as previous winters has proven, she would be unstoppable in her quest to escape the Midwest.

“Wouldn’t you like to come to Madison and see your old friends? You could eat some brats and drink some good beer. You could bike around the lake, or whatever you two do. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Adrian, wide awake and ready for a change of scenery.

It was easier to stay put. And as far as I could tell, a change of scenery was only a change of scenery. How was it going to fix anything?

“What do you think?” Adrian asked me.

“I don’t eat meat and I can’t drink beer. And it’s far too cold in Madison now to bike around the lake. Would she bike around the lake in November? Of course not.”

“There are other things to do there.”

“I don’t care.”

“We’re in,” Adrian told Alexa.

“Mind if I bring my new boyfriend? His name’s Glen,” Alexa asked.

“I don’t care,” Adrian said, moving away from me, hoping I hadn’t heard this.

I made a mental note to myself to lock my jewelry in the safe, but I continued looking blankly through the magazine in my lap, revealing nothing.

“Good, because I was going to bring him anyway,” she laughed. “What about your dog? Will we have to take care of him?”

“We’ll take Frisky to the kennel,” said Adrian. Frisky cocked his head to the side at the sound of his own name.

Adrian and Alexa decided we would make the switch the last two weeks of November.

Back in Wisconsin for the anniversary of the twins’ deaths, I noted to myself, benignly rubbing a perfume sample on my wrist.