Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel

I WANT TO HAVE BREAKFAST AT A TRUCK STOP, AND I THINK LISE will probably complain, she of the Teutonic attitude toward healthy eating—she’s a big reason Joni got started with really healthy cooking—but she doesn’t say a word about the prospect. She says, “Oh, that might be fun.”

“I’m having biscuits and gravy,” I say, to make sure she’s really listening.

We’re just getting in the car when my cellphone rings. I see that the call is from the Arms. Annie, I think. Something has happened to Michael.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, climbing out of the car and walking a distance away.

But it’s not Annie calling, it’s Michael, saying, “I got your number from Annie, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes! It’s even better than I thought it would be.”

His voice lowers. “So, I need to ask you something. When exactly are you coming back?”

I estimate the date, then say, as casually as I can, “Why?”

“Just wanted to know,” he says.

I hesitate, then go ahead and ask. “How are you, Michael?”

“The same. Nothing new. Hanging on. But Phoebe is here every day now. That’s new. She’s here every day.”

“Is that good?”

The silence on the other end lasts so long I finally say, “Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says, and then, briskly, “Okay, come and see me as soon as you can after you get back.”

Lise toots the horn and I hold a finger up to her, Wait.

“I’ll come right away,” I say. “I won’t even unpack.”

“You can unpack,” he says, and I tell him I hate unpacking and welcome any excuse not to.

When I get back in the car I hear Joni ask Lise, “So is he a good kisser?”

“Yes, he is, he always was, but you know what the best thing was? We were finishing dinner and he all of a sudden got up out of his chair and came over and planted a kiss right on the top of my head. And then he said, ‘There, I’m sorry; I just had to do that,’ and sat back down and smoothed his tie, and I’d forgotten how much I love that gesture, a man smoothing his tie down. I pushed my plate away and said, ‘Let’s go.’ ”

“Is he really thinking about moving to Minneapolis?” Renie asks. “Or was that the martini talking?”

“It was the martini talking,” Lise says. “But also I think he might move to Minneapolis. Not just because of me; he was already thinking about taking a job offer there. And he’d be closer to Sandy.”

“So, do you want him to?” I ask. “I mean, here in the cold light of day?”

She looks over at me and her face grows serious. “I don’t know. I had a dream a couple of days before we left. It was about Steve, and we were standing out on the front porch and I was holding him really tight. I was just sobbing. I was saying I was a terrible wife, I was so terrible, but if you would just come home. I could feel him shaking; he was crying, too. He was dressed all in black, and it was shiny, like a costume. He had brought an empty shopping cart with him, and it was parked at an angle on the lawn like a car for sale. After I begged him to come home, he pulled away from me and grabbed his cart and put a magician’s hat on and walked away.

“That dream means you can’t trust him,” Renie says. “He’s a trickster.”

“It means he is no longer going to deceive you,” I say.

“What do you think, Joni?” Lise asks.

“I don’t know. I think it was a dream. What matters is what you think. When you’re awake.”

Silence, then, as the car pulls into the gravel lot of the truck stop. We all get out and walk quickly to the entrance. This is a good truck stop restaurant, it’s not a chain, or at least none of us have ever heard of it. There are roosters everywhere: an exuberant one on top of the restaurant with his wings unfurled and his open beak pointed skyward, figurines along the windowsills, even the wallpaper features roosters. The place is called Doodle Doo’s, and I think if you were having a bad day and a friend called and said “Do you want to go and get some eggs at Doodle Doo’s?” a lot of that bad energy would immediately disappear.

When we sit at the booth and are handed menus, it takes Renie one second to decide. “I’m getting the Long Haul,” she says.

I read the description: three eggs, three strips of bacon, three sausages, two biscuits and gravy, grits, large orange juice, and a bottomless cup of coffee.

“Order the same thing for me,” Lise says, and heads off to the bathroom.

“Did she say to order the same thing for her?” Renie asks.

“Maybe she doesn’t know what you got,” I say. “She was in a big hurry to get to the bathroom.”

“I’ll bet she’s going to email him,” Renie says. Then, to me, she says, “While you were on the phone, she checked her email and there was one from him but she wouldn’t tell us what he said.”

The waitress, a tired-looking brunette with a thin ponytail and the smallest waist I’ve seen since Dolly Parton, takes our order and then we take turns guessing whether or not what he said was romantic, sexual, or funny.

“Funny is best,” Renie says, and Joni says, “Yeah, but she didn’t laugh. Or share it with us. So I think it was romantic. And you know what? I hope she lets whatever might happen, happen. I hope she won’t let Sandy dictate what she should do.”

“Sandy’s just scared of getting hurt again, don’t you think?” I say. “We were talking about it last night and Lise wondered if she and Steve had changed enough to give it another go, or if it might mess things up even more with Sandy. There’d be an awful lot of pressure on them to succeed.”

“Too bad you didn’t bring your box,” Joni says, and I look over at her, smiling.

“Really?” she says. “You brought it?”

“I brought my favorite deck of cards. Just in case.”

“Let’s do them tonight!” Joni says. “There’s something I want an opinion on.”

“Lise should have a secret relationship with Steve for a while,” Renie says. “Seems to me it’s started already.”

When Lise slides back into the booth, Joni says, “So?”

“What?” Lise’s eyes are big.

“Oh, come on, tell us.”

She smiles, then pulls out her phone, calls up the message, and reads it to us: “It seems to me that you still have that same way about you, a sweetness, a kindness, and a vulnerability, but also a chronic and tightfisted resistance to things that might in fact be very good for you. My goal, if I may have one as pertains to you, is to convince you that I still want all of you, and think maybe we can rebuild a life together. I know how important it is for us to regain trust. I suppose some may find it miraculous that my feelings for you remain, especially when you made it so painfully clear all those years ago that you were not in the least bit interested in staying married to me. I confess it surprised me, the force with which so many things came back as soon as I saw your face. But you and I both know there’s more to the human heart than anatomy and physiology taught us. Tell me honestly how you’re feeling today, after a night that went a lot better than I think either of us suspected it would. Know that whatever you tell me is safe with me. Know, too, that I have no intention of moving back to Minneapolis this afternoon. But a visit soon with a walk around the lake might be nice. We always did like that.”

“Wow,” Renie says. “What’d you say back?”

She shrugs. “I said, ‘Come.’ ”

The waitress bangs down our platters, and Lise looks at hers and says, “I ordered this?”

“You did,” Renie says, her mouth already full.

“The biscuits and gravy are actually really good,” Joni says.

Lise dives in. “I owe you,” she tells me.

“For eating this?”

“For thinking of this trip.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.”

“Don’t you guys ever tell him I read you his email,” Lise says.

Renie puts down her fork. “Damn it.”

“What?” Lise says.

“Is he going to move in?”

“No! We’re just … I don’t know, Renie, we’ll see. I’m a long way from living with him again.”

Renie looks over at me. “When he moves in, you and I find another place, right?”

“What about me?” Joni asks.

“Oh,” Renie says. “That’s right. Well, I think the easiest thing is that Lise will have to move out.” Satisfied, she resumes eating.

I dip my toast into the egg yolk, and think how odd it is, how odd and wonderful, that at any age, and all of a sudden, just the prospect of love can draw the curtains open to such a dazzling day.

Many years ago, I went to see a very famous novelist speak after her latest book had come out. It was in a huge auditorium that was packed with people. She was so eloquent, so clearly respected and admired, and beautiful to boot. She said many noteworthy things, thoughtful and really intelligent things. But you know what’s stayed with me all these years? She was asked a question just before she left the stage, and she answered by saying, “Oh, well, I’m like everybody else: when it comes to love, I’m just a fool.” And all of us sitting in the dark, thinking, Oh, good. Oh, phew.

After breakfast, I get into the driver’s seat, adjust the mirrors, turn the key, back out of the lot, and head for wherever the freeway is not.

I watch the miles go past, and I think about whether Dennis and I could still be right for each other. If we could be right for each other long-term.

At the first bathroom break, I let the others go in before me, telling them I need to make a phone call. But after they’ve disappeared, I get out the cards. How likely? I ask. How much of a chance do we have of ending up together, finally?

I draw Cradleboard, “Ability to respond.” I’m not supposed to sit and wait for someone else to do something. I’m supposed to use my creativity and speak my truth.

Well, that’s a stupid card. All it does is fill me with fear. How am I supposed to use my creativity? What am I supposed to respond to? Maybe I shouldn’t even be doing this. Maybe it’s just too late. Although why should I think it’s too late when my mother is currently starring in The Housewives of HavenCrest?

How can I calm down? I think, and draw another card. I get Whirling Rainbow, “Unity/Wholeness achieved.” I’m being asked to remove discord in my life in order to grow. To not feed negativity. To create new beauty and abundance in my life.

I close the book, put it and the cards back in my tote.

All right. All right. I go into the gas station, where Renie is standing in front of gigantic ropes of beef jerky. “Want some?” she asks.

That night, Joni and I share a motel room and she asks to borrow my cards. She lies on her bed, closes her eyes, and pulls a card from the deck, then reads from the book. “This is really interesting,” she says. “This is helping me make up my mind, all right.”

“What’s your question?”

“I can’t tell you yet. I’ll tell you at some point, but not yet. It’s too … I have to be sure before I tell you.”

“Well, what did you draw?”

“Whirling Rainbow,” she says.