August 19, 1995 [2]

"Just here on da corner?" the taxi driver asked as he pulled to a stop. "You sure?"

"Yes. The corner's fine, thank you." Martha replied.

"Yer da boss." He shifted into park. "That'll be 104 and 53 cents."

She counted six twenty dollar bills then handed them to the driver before grabbing her backpack and stepping out of the taxi. As she began down the residential block, she heard the driver ask, "You want change?" But she ignored him, continuing on.

He was behind her – just like the disaster in Pasadena and the solitary, painfully slow years in New Mexico. Though slow as they'd been, she'd at least felt some degree of control there.

For the remainder of middle school and the first three years of high school, she'd abandoned appearances, made no friends, scored a perfect GPA – sorry usual valedictorian, you'll take it back in the next life – and a perfect SAT all so she could have her pick of universities. But of course, she couldn't make such a life altering decision without visiting a campus or two before her senior year. First on her list was Northwestern University which happened to be situated just north of Chicago.

She'd easily convinced her father that she could travel alone. Considering that she'd not only taken care of herself these last years, but also her grandparents with their failing health and her father with his failing sanity, there wasn't much of an argument for Steven to make.

Losing her University assigned chaperone – a well-meaning incoming sophomore who was probably losing her mind trying to find Martha at the moment – was also easy. Again... sorry.

Martha had made sure to pack enough cash for a taxi ride out to the suburbs and back, and while she still couldn't remember his address, she did recall the names of the streets of a nearby intersection.

And this was his block – the gloriously unimaginative, cookie cutter row of beige, dark beige, and... there it is!

The gray ranch style home with his mother's red Pontiac in the driveway was exactly as she remembered. His Honda was absent, but that was okay. She'd prepared for this – obsessively reminding herself that he would most likely not be home when she came to his door. Chances were, he had already left for his freshman year of college, whether in Berkeley or somewhere closer to home. Or perhaps he'd decided against college this life and was at work or feeding the homeless or exploring the jungles of deepest, darkest Peru.

Or maybe he'll answer the door! No, Martha. We're not doing that.

She had to restrain the pure joy the thought inspired. Even if he wasn't there, this was a monumental step towards finding him. But the attempt to control her thoughts was proving pointless. The anticipation of his face, smile, and embrace pulsed through every part of her.

She walked up his driveway and to the front door. Her legs felt heavy as the weight of the twelve years she'd been searching bore down on her shoulders. As she reached the doorstep, her vision suddenly went black and she threw a hand to the house's vinyl siding to keep herself from falling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath then opened them to twinkling stars that slowly dissipated as she regained her equilibrium.

Standing straight, she shook the feeling back into her hands then reached to press the doorbell. Westminster Quarters rang out and the sound startled Martha. This was no longer just a fantasy. It's really happening!

The last bell faded, but no one came to the door. Martha craned her neck to peek through the living room window to confirm that the lights were on. A moment later, she leaned forward, her ear an inch from the door, to listen for movement... Nothing.

His mom's car is here. Lights are on. Someone should be home.

She debated ringing a second time. Would knocking appear less insolent? Did it matter? She raised her hand to knock but missed the door as it swung open to reveal James' mother.

She looked even more haggard than Martha remembered. Her disheveled hair was no longer bleached but mostly gray with sparsely lingering strands of black. She wore no makeup and the bags below her sunken eyes hung in resignation.

"Hello," she rasped.

"Yes. Hello, Mrs Quinn," Martha answered, doing her best to control her jubilation. "Is James home?"

James' mother flinched at the question. She narrowed her eyes then asked, "Who are you?"

"Oh, I'm uh..." It suddenly occurred to Martha that she was completely unprepared for this very predictable question. This Ruth Quinn had never met her and showing up at her door asking for her son was understandably suspicious. Without a planned cover, Martha would have to improvise. "James and I went to middle school together. And I... had just moved from California." (Might as well base the lie on some truth.) "It was really hard on me, but your son was really nice. But then my family moved again – this time to New Mexico, so... we haven't seen each other in a while. I doubt that he ever mentioned me, but his kindness meant a lot to me at the time. And so I was in town looking at colleges and I thought I'd stop by. Is he... out?"

Ruth stared at her for a few moments then said, "Is this a joke?"

"Um... no?" Martha said apprehensively. "Is something wrong?"

At this, Ruth smiled. It was clear to Martha that it wasn't from delight. The smile was confused – like something out of my dad's playbook.

"Yeah. Yeah, something's wrong." She stopped smiling. "James is dead."

The words hung in the air.

James is dead...

Then a black hole opened within Martha's chest intent on collapsing her heart, lungs, and the rest of her into nothingness. She started to fall but caught herself again on the siding.

Without concern for Martha's reaction, Ruth continued. "It happened last year – right before Halloween. I can still remember that morning." Her features softened as she stared off past Martha. "It was so early for it to be snowing. And he... was happy. Somehow, that's the worst part – he was so happy that morning. I remember he had to be at school early for some reason. Then he gave me a kiss on the cheek and left."

Martha tried to slowly take air in through her nose then out through her mouth to keep from hyperventilating. Sweat streaming down her forehead stung the corners of her eyes. With all her strength, she managed to raise herself from the wall to stand on her own. Ruth seemed oblivious to her panic.

She continued. "Then I got the call that afternoon. They found him in his car." She covered her mouth as the muscles in her throat clenched to stifle a rush of emotion. Her eyes welled as she choked on her words. "How can a boy seem so happy... How can a boy have so much going for him... And then just... just end it... just..." She made eye contact with Martha and now there was no emotional confusion. Her tearful eyes were filled with malice and blame directed at the strange girl on her doorstep. "You have to leave now," she said coldly then abruptly shut the door.

Martha stared forward, unable to move. How could he... Why would he... And then she remembered – the morning after I found my mom's letter, sitting on my couch with James...

He'd shared with her what had become his routine – waiting for her arrival on that same day in October of 1994. In almost every life, she would walk into his school that morning. But on rare occasions she wouldn't and each time it was because she'd killed herself that summer. And because Martha was James' purpose, there was no point wasting anymore time with the rest of a lost life. The sooner he could start the next, the sooner he'd see her... or so he thought. And that's what he did and what he... oh shit, what he'll keep doing until I show up on that day!

She found herself leaning against his door. Its aluminum was refreshingly cold against her forehead, though it did nothing to calm her nerves. An absurd thought of James being there to comfort her for her loss popped into her head. He was always so calm and in control – the Yin to her neurotic Yang.

Her knees buckled and she slid down the length of the door until she lay on the concrete porch in something between the fetal position and the haphazard splay of a lifeless corpse.

She began to sob as the ramifications of James' suicide flooded her mind. She'd have to do it all over again, but this time, she'd have to be perfect. There was no room for error. There was no plan B. But wait...

The solution was so obvious she almost laughed as she got to her feet.

Martha rang the doorbell again. "Mrs Quinn?" she shouted into the door. "Mrs Quinn? I'm sorry... to bother you. And... I'm sorry about James. But if you wouldn't mind, I have a strange request."

Through the door she heard, "I'm done talking to you."

"I know. I know. And I'm really sorry. And this is gonna sound weird, but... could I have your phone number?"

"Why on Earth would I give you that? So you could continue to harass me?"

"I wouldn't call you. I promise. It's... it's really hard to explain-"

"I'm going to call the police-"

"But your son means so, so much-"

"I have a gun-"

"He's-" Martha's throat tightened and her lower lip quivered. "Mrs Quinn, I need to find him. Which sounds crazy, but he... He was supposed to be waiting for me and... and I promise I'll never bother you again if you would help me this one time. Please, Mrs Quinn, I'm begging you, I just need-"

The door swung open and Martha saw a flash of white, but was gone before the sound reached her ears.

Author's Note:

I believe the phrase I'm looking for is... oof.

Thank you as always for reading!