* * *
Ellen untangled herself from the bike and stood up. Her bag of groceries was strewn across the road. She watched a blue Suburu wagon run over her new pair of socks. “Ellen?” Candy climbed out of her white Expedition and crunched over to the scene of the wreck. She was dressed entirely in immaculate powder-blue polarfleece. “Are you okay?”
Ellen bent her knee a few times. It was already stiffening and she didn’t know if the wetness against her shin was from rain or blood. She rubbed her left shoulder. “Yeah.” She shook her head and raindrops flew from her springy hair. “I’m fine.”
Candy began gathering up cans of tuna and soup. She picked up a crumpled package. “It looks like your cookies got crushed.”
Ellen felt oddly embarrassed that Candy had seen her Oreos. She whisked them out of her hand and stuffed them back in the plastic grocery bag.
“I’ll take you home,” Candy said, opening the back of her truck and hoisting Ellen’s bike in like it weighed seven pounds, not 70.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Ellen protested.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Candy answered, taking the bag of groceries out of her hands. Ellen shook off her backpack and threw it in with the rest of the stuff. She walked around to the passenger side and scrambled up. The truck was warm inside and smelled like graham crackers. She snuggled into the sheepskin-covered seat, comforted and safe inside the shuddering vehicle.
“This thing is huge,” she said, buckling her seatbelt. “It’s about the same size as my first apartment in New York.”
Candy laughed. “It was my father-in-law’s. He sold it to us last year after I wrecked the Volvo.” She pulled smoothly back into traffic, completely unruffled by having just scraped Ellen off the pavement like roadkill. “My husband calls it a Ford Valdez. It’s in love with the number four pump down at the Shell station—they fuck in public.”
Ellen’s eyebrows shot up. Had Candy just made a raunchy joke? Maybe she hadn’t heard her correctly. “You were in a wreck?” she asked. “Was it bad?”
“Yeah. A carload of drunk teenagers plowed into me. Thank god I didn’t have the kids with me.” They cruised to a stop at a red light. Candy turned to Ellen. “Most of the windshield landed in my head.” She pointed to several spots on her seemingly perfect face. Her nails were frosted with pink polish. Ellen leaned forward and saw tiny silvery red marks marring the finely grained skin. Their noses were just inches apart; Ellen could smell Candy’s plum lipstick, feel her warm breath. The word “luscious” popped into her mind. Luscious Candy.
“Wow,” Ellen said, looking into Candy’s blue eyes, “you can barely tell.”
“Neosporin.” The car behind them honked politely. Candy leaned back in her seat and accelerated. “Volvos and Neosporin. They do what they promise.”
“What happened to the teenagers?”
“Dead. All six of them. Their car rolled three times, slammed into a tree, then burst into flames. Happy Prom Night, kids.”
They sat there with that between them for a few blocks, past the strip mall with the crafting center, video store, recently closed low-carb shop and recently opened payday loan store.
Ellen looked over her shoulder into the back seat at the toddlers sleeping side-by-side in their carseats. They both had curly dark brown hair and chubby cheeks that could only be described as rosy.
“They’re so cute,” Ellen said. “What are their names?”
“Sierra and Dakota. We named them after pick-up trucks,” Candy said, then snorted.
The two women looked at each other and smiled. Candy rolled her eyes. “That’s another one of my husband’s jokes.“
“No, they’re cool names.” Ellen looked back at the children again. Was the boy Dakota and the girl Sierra? Or the other way around?
“So I noticed you guys only have one car,” Candy continued. “If you ever want to borrow my truck, it’s fine. No one should have to bike to buy groceries.”
“Oh, thanks, but I don’t drive.”
Candy swerved slightly. “You don’t drive?” She sounded incredulous, like Ellen had just announced she didn’t eat.
“I’m from New York,” she said, “we just take the subway or taxis. I want to learn but the driving school is booked up through summer.”
“Yeah, we’ve got to make sure those teenagers learn to drive,“ Candy said. “Well, if you ever need a ride somewhere, let me know.”
“Thanks.” Ellen thought of the airport. “Do you work outside the home?”
“Not really. I teach a course up at the college during winter term. And I have an in-home scrapbooking business.”
“Scrapbooking?”
“Yeah, I know, it sounds cheesy. My husband calls it crapbooking, but it sort of runs in the family. I’m an Applewood.”
Ellen nodded knowingly, then laughed. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what that means,” she admitted.
“I’m from hearty pioneer stock. We’ve been here forever. There’s even a trail named after us. The Applewood Trail? My mother published my great-grandmother’s illustrated diary back in the 1970s—it was a feminist cult hit. It paid for my college.”
“Oh I get it. You’re helping create scrapbooks for future generations?”
“I guess. Though the world will probably be flooded with these corny new millennium scrapbooks by then. They’ll be as common as old pictures are now. And then some women actually get addicted to it. They spend so much time scrapbooking their families they don’t have any time for them.” She shrugged. “Ah, the irony.”
“What do you teach?” Ellen gazed out the window, imagining Scrapbooking 101. Or pioneering.
“Constitutional Law for the poli sci department.”
“What?” She spun around to look at Candy, who seemed amused by Ellen’s reaction.
“Yeah. I used to work for the ACLU in Portland.“ She smiled and nodded dreamily. “It was brutal. I really miss it.”
Ellen had to work to keep her jaw from dropping. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Not at the moment. I’m dedicated to babyhanging now. Isn’t that hilarious?” Candy asked. “I read it in Harper’s or somewhere. It’s the term career women use to describe raising kids instead of working. Like, you’re hanging out with your baby. Or you’ve got a baby hanging off you all the time.”
Ellen turned back to the window and smiled. Okay, this chick was so not Mormon.
They turned into Arbor Heights; the sight of the bland houses always brought Ellen down a bit. She shivered.
“Are you still cold?” Candy asked. “I’ve got an old jacket right there.” She reached across Ellen, pressing into her for a moment, to pull a gray sweatshirt out of a compartment that was built right into the SUV’s mega-door. Ellen draped it over herself and inhaled the scent of something soft, not quite baby powder but clean and sweet just the same—probably a fancy dryer sheet.
They pulled into Candy’s driveway and waited for the garage door to open. Ellen looked at her own house, slightly dizzied by viewing it at a different angle. She glanced up at her bedroom window, wondering if Candy could have seen her spying. They drove into the garage and Candy shut off the engine. Ellen didn’t want to move. Her knee hurt like hell and she felt so relieved sitting there.
“So Ellen,” Candy turned to her. “Basil mentioned that you do PR. Are you going to do that out here?”
“Yeah, I’m working on that.” Ellen reluctantly folded the sweatshirt and placed it next to her.
Candy stretched back to unbuckle her kids’ seatbelts. They both stirred in their sleep. “You should talk to my husband,” Candy said. “I bet he would love some help promoting the golf course. He has to do all that stuff himself.”
“Oh. Thanks.” A splinter of hope pricked her.
“There are tons of new businesses cropping up: wineries, restaurants, a lavender farm, the golf course. I heard someone’
s even opening an olive oil bar.“ Candy turned and climbed down. The rain had stopped and the sun was breaking through, causing steam to rise out on the street. Ellen met her at the back of the truck and helped her pull her bike out. “There’s a world of opportunity out here.” Candy said, gingerly patting Ellen’s sore shoulder.
Ellen felt as though she were grinning like a freak on one of those antidepressants she used to push. “So I keep hearing.“
Candy nodded and smiled. “Well, I’m glad we finally had a chance to talk. Take care.”
“Thanks. And thanks for the ride.” Ellen threw her backpack over her other shoulder and watched Candy take one of the sleeping twins out of the backseat, then walk to the other side of the truck and scoop up the other one and shut the heavy door with her foot. The kids nuzzled into her neck.
“Babyhanging,” Candy whispered, flashing her a brilliant smile.
Ellen hung her grocery bag over her wrist and limped her bike next door. She felt like she’d been whomped in the head. “Wow,“ she whispered, looking back, craving one more glimpse of her neighbor, but the garage door was already closing.
Inside, she dumped all her stuff in the front hallway and headed straight upstairs. After taking a hot shower, she wrapped up in her red flannel robe, went down to the kitchen and fixed an ice-pack for her skinned and swelling knee. In her sparsely decorated living room, she plopped on the sage chenille couch—an island in an acre of beige carpeting—and opened her laptop. Expedia had a pretty good fare from Portland to JFK, but she really wanted a non-stop. There was a non-stop every morning to Newark. But what day to go? Her thoughts kept returning to her neighbor and how freaking nice she had been. And warm. And funny. The doorbell rang.
Ellen set her laptop aside and limped to the door. Through the high fan-shaped window, she saw that it was Candy.
“Hi!“ She nearly bellowed when she opened the door. When had she been so happy to see someone?
Candy held up a sparkly pink bike helmet by a strap; it swung hypnotically in front of Ellen’s face. “I don’t know about you,“ Candy said, “but I can’t afford to lose any more brain cells.“
Ellen blushed. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.“
“Please! I have two more in the garage.“ Candy smiled that beauty queen smile. “If you don’t take it, I’ll have to give it back to Barbie.“
Ellen laughed and took the helmet. “Thanks,“ she said, “I’ve been meaning to get one of these.“
“Speaking of killing brain cells, want to come over for a glass of wine? Mark has to work late again and I’ve got a big pot of lentil soup cooking.“
Ellen looked down at her robe.
“Oh, fuck it,“ Candy said, “Come as you are. I don’t care.“
“Just let me throw on some sweats. I’ll be over in a minute.“ She closed the door and returned to the living room, her heart beating hard. Tossing the helmet on the couch, she looked at her computer screen, poised to purchase her plane ticket. She hesitated, her hand hovering above the keyboard. But instead of buying it, she logged out of Expedia and shut her laptop with a hard click. She didn’t need to book a ticket just yet. Maybe she’d try to stick it out in Oregon for a bit longer.