Surviving Valencia

If psychics and private investigators had not been able to help me, perhaps a psychiatrist could, I considered. But I could never tell anyone what Adrian had done. So I was on my own. I put on my coat, ready to lose myself in two hours of someone else’s life.

“I’m thinking popcorn. If there’s time,” said Adrian, obliviously smiling, having disregarded our entire conversation.

Chapter 74

I took Adrian to the airport early on the morning of the first. A huge snowstorm was coming in, so I hurried back to Alexa’s to pack an overnight bag and get on the road before it started coming down. Stewartville was three and a half hours from Madison. As long as the roads weren’t too slippery, that gave me ample time to get there, find a hotel, and maybe even find where Valencia lived. Then I would need a few hours to get ready. I wanted to look perfect. I flew around Alexa’s house, my adrenaline pumping, throwing the things I would need onto the bed. This is the biggest day of my life, I sang over and over in my head.

What would she look like? What was I going to say? Should I approach her? Should I just stand in the background and keep myself hidden? Would she recognize me? Did she miss me as much as I missed her? What had John Spade done to her? How had she gotten away from him? Why hadn’t she wanted us in her life? There were so many things I needed to ask her.

By nine thirty I was on my way. I turned out of Alexa’s driveway, onto glare ice and nearly slid into a truck parked along the side of the street. I yanked off my gloves with my teeth so I could get a better grasp of the steering wheel. I was in her car, so I was going to have to be extra careful.

The roads were atrocious. I was actually having second thoughts. When I got onto Interstate 90, it was even worse. Traffic was trudging along at about thirty miles per hour. Every mile or so was another car that had slid off the road.

I had the newspaper on the passenger seat beside me, to help keep me focused. The picture of Coral, my niece, motivated me along.

I arrived in La Crosse a little before two o’clock and stopped at Subway for some chips and a soda. I was over halfway there. Once I got back in the car, I would cross over into Minnesota.

My cell phone rang while I stood in line to buy a cookie. It was Adrian.

“Hi. Are you back home yet?” I asked.

“Yeah, I just got in. I’m at the airport,” he said. “Are you out shopping? I tried calling Alexa’s house a minute ago.”

“I’m at Subway buying a cookie,” I told him.

“Oh. Well, I just wanted to tell you I’m back in Savannah, and tell you I love you.”

“When you get home say Hello to Alexa from me. I’m glad you made it back safely. Is she coming to pick you up?”

“Yeah, she should be here any minute.”

“Oh, Adrian, it’s my turn to order. Talk to you soon.” I snapped the phone shut and ordered my cookie, aware of my conspicuously absent ‘I love you.’

As I went back out through the snow and started again on my way, I thought perhaps he would call back. When I reached Stewartville it occurred to me that he had not.

I checked into a hotel and took a long, hot bath to calm and warm myself after the stressful drive. It was late afternoon. Now that I was safely there, I was able to concentrate on the evening ahead of me. I had the same exhilarated feeling I’d had the morning of my wedding.

After my bath I put on a black and cream dress I had just finished sewing the night before. With another season of Cut-Throat Couture in full force, I was becoming a better, more inspired fashion designer all the time. Lately I had begun fantasizing about going on the show if the orange selling business didn’t work out.

I looked outside at the snow coming down and drew in a deep breath. I was all dressed up with hours to wait. I had decided not to drive around looking for Valencia’s house. I would do that tomorrow. Or maybe she would invite me back there tonight, to meet her family. It was fitting that the dance, with its festive holiday spirit and teenage angst, be the setting in which we were reunited.

I turned on the television and discovered there was a Cut-Throat Couture marathon in progress. I knew I was nervous, because I was starting to talk to myself. “This is a really good sign. This is your show. These are your people!” I tried to control my breathing. I got up and walked around the hotel room, cracking my knuckles. I had printed out directions from the AmericInn to the high school and I couldn’t stop glancing at them to make sure I had not misplaced them.

At nine o’clock the marathon wrapped up and the winner of season three was crowned. I put on my winter coat, picked up my handbag and the directions to the school, and left the hotel. I started Alexa’s car and began clearing off the snow that was covering it, ignoring my cell phone as Adrian called for the second time in an hour. I knew I should answer it before he did something stupid like send my parents over to Alexa’s house to check on me, but I just couldn’t deal with him at a time like this.

On my way to the school, Blondie’s Heart of Glass came on the radio. Another good sign: Valencia had loved Blondie. Loves Blondie, I corrected myself. Valencia loves Blondie. It wasn’t until I felt the plop of the tears falling from my chin to my chest that I realized I was crying. Tears of happiness and fear, tears of love and dread. I pulled over and parked on a side street. The slippery roads and my emotions were getting to me. I wiped the tears away and checked my reflection in the rearview mirror.

My face looked small and white. My eyes held the wet, devastated look of cattle going to slaughter. I felt disgusted and annoyed with myself for being so transparent. But I reassured myself, You’re only transparent if someone is looking. Otherwise, you stay invisible. It wasn’t much of a reassurance.

Cheer up. Cheer up. This is a good night.

Best night ever.

Stop crying!

Why are you crying?

Stop crying! Pull yourself together!