This seemed to surprise her. “You don’t owe me any apologies, Tyler. I’m the one who didn’t know what to do about how you were raised. I’ve never known. It just seemed such an unfixable situation. And I’m a fixer. It frustrated me.”
I pulled into a spot with my brow furrowed. Lark had said the way I was raised was crazy. Liz just now called it an unfixable situation. But for me, it was simply the way my life had unfurled as I had lived it. I didn’t like the idea that to other people my life to that point seemed crazy and unfixable.
When I said nothing, Liz touched my arm. “I don’t mean that you’re unfixable, that you’re somehow the problem. It’s your dad and me. We’re the ones who let what happened, happen.”
“But there is no problem.” I turned off the ignition.
“Well, maybe not for you,” she said as she unclicked her seat belt, so softly that I wondered if she had said it at all.
“What was that?”
She had her hand on the door handle, but she paused. “Hey. Do you want to have lunch after this?”
She said it casually, but I could tell there was a purpose to her question, and that it had to do with why she hadn’t really answered mine.
“Sure. If you’re up for it.”
“I’ll be due for another pain pill when they’re done with the new cast. If I’m not hallucinating or near comatose, I’d like to take you to lunch.”
“Sounds great.”
It was tough waiting for Liz to be seen and then tougher still waiting for her to emerge with a new cast. I was eager to continue our conversation.
Lark texted me as I sat in the outpatient waiting room to see if we could meet the next day instead of Saturday. The reception in the hospital was terrible, so I stepped outside to text her I was fairly certain I could make the switch, but that Liz had returned early from Central America with an injured ankle and shoulder and everything was now a little different.
That text prompted her to ask me what had happened.
I texted back: Can I just call you?
Her answer back to me: No. I’m in class. Just tell me.
She was in a house that collapsed while she was inside it.
No way! Really? Is she okay?
Like I said, she has some injuries. But overall she was lucky. Could’ve been worse.
Is it weird having her home?
You could say that. She’s seeing the doctor now and then we’re going to lunch. I have a feeling there’s something she needs to tell me.
You want to call me later?
I really didn’t know what I wanted—except for the hundredth time I wished I could call Rachel.
I’m sure it’s not that bad.
Okay, but holler if you want to talk about it.
Will do. See you tomorrow.
I went back inside the hospital. Fifteen minutes later Liz emerged from the casting room with her injured leg bent at the knee and resting on a scooter-type contraption that she operated with her other foot. She was surrounded by colleagues who were wishing her well and offering sympathetic goodbyes until she returned to work. At least the sling was now gone from her arm.
As we headed back out to the car she told me the fracture wasn’t as bad as she thought but it was still going to keep her off of her leg for at least six weeks.
“I have a few bruised ribs too, and a few contusions on my back that are blossoming into a hideous, purple road map. But I’ll live. And it’s nice to lose the stupid sling, which they said wasn’t really needed anyway.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I just took another pain pill, so by the time we get to a restaurant, I’ll be able to be pleasant to people.”
I helped her into her car and then we headed for a Mexican place she liked. Once we were seated, I noted with a quiet laugh that the Baja fish tacos were a house favorite. I opted for cheese enchiladas. Liz ordered flautas. When the waitress walked away with our menus, I could see that Liz was still in pain.
“Would you like me to change our order to go?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay.” She took a long sip of her water.
The feeling that she’d brought me here to tell me something was even stronger now, so I waited for her to begin the conversation. After a second or two, she did.
“I’ve been thinking about what you told me last night. You know, about your wanting to know if your mother was happy.”
“Ya?”
“It’s not like we were best friends. She was just my neighbor for a few months.”
I waited.
“But I do know she wanted something she couldn’t have.”
“What? What did she want?”
Liz swirled a finger on the condensation sparkling on her glass. “She wanted both.”
“Both what?”
“Both lives.” Liz met my eyes. “She wanted to have the life she had and an Amish life. She wanted to return to Lancaster County, but she wanted to stay with your father. But she couldn’t have both. Having one meant not having the other.”