The Last Goodbye
A Mud Valley origin story
Ivan Maljarenk on Unsplash
THE DAY AFTER her tenth birthday, the girl hurried out of the cabin and hopped over the broken step, leaving forever her home, her father and mother, and everything she believed to be true.
Lucy Kloot had always been satisfactorily content at the remote stocky outpost, where her father had moved her and her mother three years ago to escape child welfare services. So long as she got to chill with Dad, visit new places and bilk the rubes by playing the paranormal games her dad had taught her, she liked her life as much any 10-year-old.
She was happiest during summer when she wasn’t forced by Nazis and commies to attend school. She was never sure who was doing the enforcing because her father used the terms interchangeably. In fact, she assumed police officers, wildlife officers, school teachers, social services and everybody who wore a uniform or had a university degree was one or the other. Nine out of 10 strangers too, her father told her.
But summers were special because during summer she and her father, the Inscrutable Kloots as they called themselves, travelled from town to town performing. Her father made Lucy up to look wild and starving to draw in the crowds, then she’d read fortunes and stage public seances for cash. Lucy’s talents bankrolled the Kloot family drug habit.
They visited small towns, mid-sized towns and large towns, but no cities. Dad didn’t like cities. And later, they slipped away quickly and quietly, never staying more than a night in one place.
Lucy’s mom always stayed home on the sofa, sick or sleeping.
But everything was different now. Lucy tumbled trying to jump over the broken step and dropped her pack thanks to the hard landing, but she clutched tight to the pillowcase in her fist. It swaddled the piece of cardboard torn from a Raisin Bran box with her dad’s letter scrawled on the back.
Lucy delicately set the pillowcase on the ground while she rubbed her ankle, testing for a sprain. She stood slowly. Seemed fine.
This is it, then. I’m really doing this? she thought. It was no statement of confidence and uncertainly crowded back in. She sat down on the ground and let the surging sense of loss overcome her again. She heaved and cried like so many times that day.
Yesterday, Lucy watched her mother die, just as celebrations for her tenth birthday were getting started.
They were outside the Big Heart Bakery waiting for her dad to return with birthday cupcakes and the vial of pills fell out of Lucy’s pocket. Her mother saw them, snatched them up and after scolding Lucy for stealing, she tipped them all into her throat. It took only about a minute for her to collapse in the street, shudder, and die face down in a puddle.
Mom, why did you do that? Lucy had been over and over it, but didn’t understand. What was the lesson? She couldn’t see the point to her mom’s actions.
The only thing she understood was that her mother would still be alive if she hadn’t stolen the pills from her stash, which she’d done to keep her mother lucid and awake for her birthday.
After her mother was taken away in ambulance already pronounced dead, Lucy and her father spent hours in hospital and with the police, until they were released in the early evening.
Her dad seemed OK on the long walk back to the cabin, impatient, but Lucy assumed he was gruff because he was tired.
This morning, she found out her father was bothered by more than fatigue.
She woke to an empty home but for herself, a note scrawled in felt pen on the inside of a cereal box and a need for somebody to tell her what she was supposed to do.
She remembered the note word for word. She read it over and over until it rang out as common as her favourite song.
Dear Lucy,
You have every right to hate me for leaving, but you are strong and I know you’ll be fine. You’ll probably even learn to be happy because you’ll be able to do as you please and you’ve always wanted that.
I am sorry. I think you might deserve better, but I can’t get the pictures out of my head, of how you gave your mother those pills and then stood watching and smiling while she died. I saw everything through the bakery window.
Don’t worry. I won’t go to the cops. I don’t blame you. If your mother and I had done a better job of raising you, it wouldn’t have happened. I blame myself.
You’re the blood of my blood, so I’ll never turn you in, but I can’t bear to stay.
You’ll find a way through this. It’s who you are.
Make your way to Maisie Kane’s place. She and her husband are good people and they’ll get you looked after.
I hope you find peace one day.
Your father,
Harley Kloot
The letter confirmed it. It settled everything. Her mom’s death was definitely Lucy’s fault. It gnawed at her gut, and darkened her mind. It darkened the day and the sky. She just stood by and watched her mother die. Did nothing. Didn’t lift a finger. Didn’t even call out for help.
Who could blame her dad for jettisoning her. Maybe he had a new family already picked out, Lucy thought.
She searched for him, to be sure he wasn’t playing some cruel game. She checked out back near the campfire, and behind the woodpile. She poked through the stacks of dirty mattresses, tarps and the piles of bungee cords, garden tools and propane tanks, but there was no sign of him.
She slept and cried intermittently all day. Mostly she laid on her bed, her mind frozen by the terrible unknown, and the realization that nothing was decided for her anymore.
It took several hours but finally she settled on a plan. She had to follow through with her father’s final request, the one he left for her in the note written on the Raisin Bran box. Go find Maisie Kane.
She stood, brushed back her white hair plastered to one side of her face, pushed up her glasses and turned back to look at the home one more time. Find Maisie Kane.
The problem was, Lucy didn’t like Maisie Kane. The skinny old bird looked down on everyone. Lucy once heard Maisie call her mother a waste of skin as they walked through town, weaving through the slow-moving cars in the street because it had more style than strolling down the sidewalk. Lucy’s mom was like that.
Lucy hated the idea of sleeping in the big, old Kane house. It would smell of dust and mould, like Maisie. And Fat Artie, Maisie’s husband would be slothing around the place, too. Ick.
Still, Dad wanted me to go, she thought. He must like Maisie and if he told me to go, I should go.
The day was getting grey. Lucy would have to leave immediately if she was to make it to Maisie’s place before dark.
There were other places she could sleep, like in the woods, or the old cemetery or the bandshell in the park in Jury.
It was sheltered, secluded. She nodded to herself, yes, the bandshell was very promising. She decided to start for town and choose the final plan when she got there.
The cabin was a few kilometres in the hills behind Jury, a small community on the high cliffs overlooking Lake Charity.
As she had stomped her way up and down along the trail, her mood shifted. The immense loneliness that consumed her remained, but anger and hate toward her father replaced the guilt she felt earlier about killing her mother.
How could he leave her? He really and truly did that. Dad actually left me, she thought. It was incredulous to think about it. Lucy was only 10 but she understood parents were supposed to look after their children.
You’re not my father anymore, she decided as she neared the town. You are dead to me. If that is the way you want it, fine.
But as she trudged up the final slope, hopelessness overcame her and she sank to the ground.
“I’m just a kid. I don’t know what to do.”
She remained there for some time, staring trance-like at the yellow lights of Jury below. She thought about stories she had read and shows she’d watched to see if she might learn what to do next from those books or shows. No luck.
So, she did the only thing she knew how. She followed her father’s instructions and headed down to find Maisie Kane’s house.
The place was a yellow and white, two-storey farmhouse. There were dozens and dozens like it throughout the Lake Charity Valley.
From across the street, Lucy saw shadows creeping about inside. Nothing to worry about. They were real, no ghosts, just Maisie and Fat Artie.
Suddenly, a sickness started to take over. Lucy felt the world tilt and rock side to side, up and down, the ground beneath her dissolved and her footing became unsteady. Ugh. Out of nowhere the nausea struck. Wave after wave of vertigo followed. Her nostrils burned with the smell of acrid, pink vomit being thrown up from beneath the Earth.
She woke later, she had no idea how much time had passed, in a room stocked with porcelain, ceramic and bone china teacups, saucers, knicks and knacks, and questionable art.
She lay on the sofa in Maisie Kane’s house.
“Hello Lucy. Are you feeling better? You gave us a fright.” Maisie leaned her heron frame into Lucy’s face.
“It’s lucky I was doing dishes in front of the kitchen window and saw you go down outside. You must have fainted.”
When Lucy moaned but didn’t answer, Maisie continued, “Did you want to see me about something? You seemed to be looking straight at my house.”
Lucy started to explain, but what would she say? Her dad says I should move in with you? She needed time to think.
“Oh, dear me. Never mind my questions for now. I’m sorry, Lucy. You relax. Stay there until you feel like you can move.” She gripped Lucy’s wrist and after a few seconds said, “Pulse feels good, strong.”
Maisie left Lucy alone. Lucy heard her talking to Artie in the next room, the kitchen.
Well, she made it to Maisie’s house but now what? Did Harley talk to Maisie about any of this? Lucy almost laughed at the thought. No, he just tossed the suggestion out so he wouldn’t feel so guilty about leaving. It was becoming apparent to Lucy that Harley was the last person she should be taking fatherly advice from.
Harley’s note said Maisie and Artie would get her looked after. What did that mean? Lucy slapped her thighs. She should have stuck with her other plan, where she hung out at the bandshell, or the old cemetery. There were a lot of places in town or up in hills where she could set up camp, start a real home. Or maybe she should just go back to the cabin. She could stay there forever and nobody would ever find her.
She swung her feet to the floor. Yep, she could do it. She could enjoy a life of freedom at the cabin with no one around to tell her want to do.
“I’ve got to go,” she said as she rose, loud enough for Maisie and Artie to hear in the next room. “Where are my shoes and backpack?”
Maisie and Artie filled the entryway to the living room. “Where are you going?” said Artie.
Lucy shrugged.
“We were just about to have some soup and sandwiches. Why don’t you sit down and eat with us first,” Maisie said.
Artie glanced at her sideways and patted his stomach. “I’m pretty full. That was a big chicken I just ate.”
Lucy caught Maisie pinching her lips for Artie to hush. But she was hungry, so she nodded.
The potato soup with dill and ham, was a revelation. Around Lucy’s place, soup was salty and came from a can. Maisie hefted a large pot of her home-made miracle soup and ladled it out like Lucy had seen them do in restaurants. After she devoured a bowl of it and a chicken-mayo sandwich, Maisie dished her more.
When the eating was complete, Maisie edged a glass of peach lemonade toward Lucy’s side of the table. Lucy grabbed it and drained the glass.
She looked up, feeling satisfied, the best she would ever feel from this day forward, she thought.
Then, remembering where she was and why, depression and fear spread through her body once again. Her lip trembled and she felt her face grow hot. She swallowed to hold back the tears.
The note, she thought. “I had things too. Did you find them?”
Artie nodded. “Everything you had with you should be in the front porch. I got you to the house and Maisie took over getting you inside and I went back for your stuff. There was backpack. That’s about all.”
“A pillowcase?”
Artie thought for a moment. “I think so, yes. A pillowcase tied to one of the straps on the pack.”
“Can I have it?”
“If you feel strong enough, all your things are right in there.” He pointed his head toward the front porch.
Lucy jumped up and ran. Her pack lay in the middle of the floor. Everything seemed in place. There was the pillowcase, tied to a strap, like Artie said.
She untied it, returned to the kitchen and handed the Raisin Box letter to Maisie. So much for her plan to live free. The need to feel grounded was suddenly more important.
Maisie finished reading and passed the note to Artie.
“Ah, I see,” he declared. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this matter sorted out.”
Maisie smiled and patted Lucy’s hand. “You can stay here as long as you want. We have extra rooms and more food than we can eat.”
Lucy glanced at Artie and caught him frowning and shaking his head at Maisie, before he noticed Lucy was watching. He slipped into his sneaky business smile.
Fine, Lucy didn’t need to stay here. She wouldn’t stay where she wasn’t welcome. Give it a day and she’d find somewhere else. Just tonight. She’d stay just tonight, if they let her.
Artie hefted her pack up the stairs to the room, the one next to theirs because Maisie said she wanted to be able to hear if Lucy started to cry in the middle of the night.
Lucy fell asleep almost the instant she hit the pillow, despite her desire to remain alert and on guard.
She dreamed of the cabin, her home, and her mother, who pulled two stones from her pocket; one flat, one round and held them at arm’s length in front of her. She nodded to four and on the fifth nod, she released the stones. The flat one quivered and fell, but not all the way to the ground. It hovered knee-high, repelled like two magnets with their like poles facing each other. The round stone bounced twice and shot across the floor, blowing a hole in the eastern wall.
An iridescent green beetle crawled across Lucy’s mom’s face and forced its way into her ear. Lucy’s mom smiled and held her hand out next to her ear so that the beetle could land safely as it exited. When it climbed out, her mother held her hand next to Lucy’s ear and Lucy let it in.
The world tinted purple and green and the smell of black mud filled her nostrils. There was so much to know, she thought, that it was impossible to know very much at all.
She travelled with the beetle for hours, days, weeks, years even. It became her teacher, her mentor and later, part of herself. It guided her through cycles of life and death, the moment of the continuous instant, never beginning and never ending, the erasure of forever and of the past. The soul eater, the cleaner, the one who dwells in the gaps between worlds, until Lucy developed an inkling of the things she possessed. Then, she made ready to leave.
The round stone had shown her the road east. But maybe she was a flat stone. How could she find out? How could she know for sure?
She woke. Wait. A shape flinched in the bedroom doorway, eyes watching. It was no heron, not Maisie. It was badger, Artie.
He noticed he’d been seen and walked to the bed.
“You’ve had a really shitty time of it, kid. Nobody your age should have to deal with that asshole for a dad. Nobody of any age should have to. I want say I’m sorry for earlier. You know, when I got a little angry and might have looked like I didn’t want you to stay.”
He stood and looked down at her serenely, hands in pockets.
Hrmph, Lucy thought. Artie didn’t scare her. She measured him and estimated she could take him in a fight, although that assessment was based on the unbreakable confidence of youth rather than reality.
“But I really do want you to stay, OK? Truth is, you’d be helping us out if you did. You wouldn’t have to do much, just be there when we needed a smile, or a hug. You wouldn’t have to right away, but after a while maybe, if you decide it’s what you want. And if you want something else, tell us what it is, and we’ll try our best to make it happen. Maisie and I know a lot of people, a lot of influential people, we have a lot of friends.
“But first, let’s get you warm and comfortable. I want you to know that you are welcome to stay here as long as you follow two rules. You don’t hurt anybody and you don’t touch other people’s shit.”
That seemed OK to Lucy, so she nodded and sealed the deal with a smile.