Dearly Departing

miles from Rokerton, but the two talked almost daily. Ray was constantly teasing her, and Dawn would always give it right back. That part of their relationship was strong. Ray’s last jab was met with silence. Something was wrong. “You know I’m flying back tomorrow... What’s happened, sweetie?”
“It’s Grummy... I’m sorry, Dad, she’s had some kind of attack.”
Dawn had always called Ray’s mother Grummy. It had been a mispronounced version of Gramma or Granny that neither he or Caroline had corrected when their girl was a toddler. Nancy Wallace loved the title, they all did. “What kind of attack? A stroke?”
“Uncle David isn’t sure. She fell at home three days ago and has been stuck in the hospital ever since. She can’t talk anymore... doesn’t know who anyone is.”
“Was she hurt? Did she break any bones?”
“No. The care worker found her sitting against her bed. They figured she collapsed getting up. Oh God, Dad... I shouldn’t have phoned you. It could’ve waited.”
Ray was already calculating flight transfers and airline ticket costs. His mother lived in British Columbia, over a thousand miles from where he’d be landing in less than eighteen hours. If he called Winnipeg airport now, he might be able to get the next flight out. Ray could be with his mother in twenty-four hours. “Don’t feel bad, Dawn. I’m glad you called. Did you... have you phoned your mom?”
“I talked to her earlier. She told me not to call you—she said there was nothing any of us could do.”
“Like I said, I’m glad you phoned.”
There was a long pause, and when Dawn spoke again, Ray knew she was crying. “I’m just being selfish. I needed to hear your voice. I love you so much, Dad. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Girl-of-Mine.” Was there more to this phone call, Ray wondered? Dawn didn’t just sound upset. She seemed desperate. “Do you work tomorrow? Can you meet me at the airport when my plane lands?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Is everything else okay? No other problems?”
Another pause. “I’m fine. Just make sure that stupid plane isn’t late.”
“I’ll fly it myself if I have to. I love you. Get to bed and have a good sleep.”
“I love you, too.”
Ray clicked the receiver down and thanked the receptionist on his way back to the elevator. He showered for the second time that evening and headed out onto the balcony deck wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. A breeze from the ocean dried his shoulders and chest, but Ray didn’t feel cold. The Dominican remained warm, day and night. He would miss this part of his vacation. The heat. The ocean. The long swims out away from everyone.
Ray could hear Bachata music coming from the open lobby bar. Dooley, Calvin, and Charlie were down there somewhere, drinking their faces off. So were Rhonda and her boyfriend, and about a hundred other strangers. Ray’s mother was dying almost four thousand miles away.
And soon Ray would be heading west as well on a jumbo jet flying directly over Rokerton to be with her one final time.

 
 
 
 
Chapter 3
 
Dawn Wallace walked aimlessly about her one-bedroom apartment for thirty minutes after the phone call with her father. She did this when she was hungry, and there wasn’t anything decent to eat in the kitchen. Dawn also did her walkabouts when she was feeling guilty or stressed. Eating was the last thing on her mind. Guilt and stress were the only things gnawing at her gut now. It was a hunger that spread from the empty pit of her stomach, up into her aching chest.
Her bare feet had gone numb from padding across the thick carpet of the living room to the cold linoleum in the hallway and bathroom, and back again across the carpet and to the white tiles in the kitchen. She hadn’t wandered into the bedroom to search for her slippers. That room was a total disaster—finding the slippers inside that mess of dirty clothes, blankets, and garbage would mean sitting in one spot and cleaning. She wouldn’t be able to keep moving about. And Dawn needed to keep moving so the thoughts wouldn’t have time to settle in.
She looked inside the fridge—even though she still wasn’t hungry—for about the tenth time knowing full well what was inside. Half a jug of milk. A quarter block of cheese with mold growing on one corner. An egg carton with a dozen empty slots. I should throw that away. She didn’t bother. The garbage bag under the sink was overflowing, and Dawn had no desire to drag it outside to the recycling bins. It was just another simple task she found too monumental to deal with.
She slammed the fridge door shut and rested her forehead against its cool surface. “I need a fucking drink.” Dawn started to weep. It was the one thought—the only thought—she was trying to walk off. She missed her dad, and she missed her mother. She wanted to say goodbye to Grummy. Dawn needed to find a job and get her life in order. But all she craved at this very moment was a drink—one long, continuous chug from a bottle of vodka or rye. Anything would do. Rum. Tequila. A pitcher of piss-warm beer.
Someone knocked on the apartment door. Dawn went to the sink and ran cold water over her shaking hands. She splashed some onto her face. “Just a minute,” she called out.
The knock sounded again, louder, more insistent. It was after ten. Who would be bugging her this late? The knocking turned to pounding and Dawn threw the hand towel into the sink angrily, her face only half-dried. “I said give me a minute!”
She opened the door and instantly regretted not looking through the peephole first.
Tyler Wahl braced his elbow against the open door before she could slam it