5. Addison
5
Addison
A ddison stepped out of the terminal into the blustery early evening. She tugged the collar of her coat a little tighter around her neck and peered out into the parking lot across the street, not looking forward to the trek out to the far lot where employees were expected to park. She shoved her hands into her pockets, clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering, and set off.
By the end of her shift, Addison was usually more than ready to get behind the wheel of her dependable, ultra-safe, fuel-efficient CR-V and head back to Autumn Lake. She really liked her job, but there were some days when it seemed that she spent her whole shift troubleshooting and problem-solving, and nothing lifted her spirit more than the thought of tucking herself into her little apartment in the lovely lakeside town she called home.
While she waited for the car to warm up, she plugged her phone into its car charger, pulled up her “Homeward Bound” playlist, and closed her eyes as the orchestral swell of 80s arena rock filled the interior of her vehicle. It pulsed through her, the beefy bass notes and pounding drums, the soaring vocals that rivaled any operatic number, in her opinion.
This was Addison’s secret vice, her means to decompress after a long day of dealing with the rollercoaster of emotions that accompanied travelers. Not because of the cheesy lyrics or the heavy eyeliner and big hair. Not even because of the guys in spandex—which she could never bring herself to study too closely, anyway. That was all part and parcel to the genre. But there was nothing like the music itself to shut out all the noise of her wandering thoughts, her unexplored hopes and dreams, and her unmet needs.
“I need Noel Stewart,” she murmured, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she’d said it out loud or not, since she couldn’t even hear her own voice over the throbbing melody. She glanced out her windows to make sure no one was nearby. She had no doubt that her music could be heard across the parking lot, even with her windows all rolled up, which was bad enough. She was too old to listen to her music this loudly, wasn’t she? But to be seen sitting alone in her car talking to herself? She couldn’t decide which was worse. Maybe they’d think she was singing along…
Except that there was no “they” around to witness her ridiculousness, no one to catch her in the act of being utterly and completely alone.
“Thank goodness Natalie didn’t hear me admit to needing a man,” she said with a dry chuckle. “Besides, I’m happy being alone,” she insisted to the strip of her face she could see in the rearview mirror. She toyed with the necklace she wore, a gift her parents had sent her from their last trip to Java. From a herringbone chain hung a silver twisted wire tree sculpture strung with tiny jade beads as the leaves. It was larger than what she might have chosen for herself, but the craftsmanship was so fine, the wire lacing so delicate, and she’d been enchanted at first sight. It hung at the perfect length below the juncture of her collarbones, just visible in the open collar of her uniform, and she wore it to work almost every day.
“I’m alone, but I’m not lonely.” Her thumb brushed over the texture of the jade leaves on the pendant. “I have crazy parents who love me. I have friends. I have a great job and I like the people I work with. I have an apartment that suits me just fine, and I really like my reliable car with its awesome sound system.” She still couldn’t hear herself, and for some reason, in some nonsensical way, that fact seemed to invalidate her words.
Addison sighed deeply and lowered the volume so that she could safely back out of her parking spot. She left the music low as she made her way toward the exit of the lot.
“Hey, Arnie,” she said to the attendant manning the ticket booth.
“Hey, yourself, young lady.” Arnie Bowman was a retired coal miner who had somehow survived his career with his hearing intact, his lungs in decent working condition, without any missing digits or limbs, and with a smile for everyone that passed through his lane. Addison loved knowing that she’d get one of those smiles from Arnie at the end of her workday.
“How’s the book coming along?” she asked. There was no one in line behind her. She put her car in park so that she could chat without thinking about keeping her foot on the brake.
Arnie wasn’t just a parking attendant these days. He was working on his third novel in a post-apocalyptic trilogy about a mining explosion that released a deadly toxin into the world, wiping out more than half the earth’s population. Arnie had a way with words that drew her into the story, and she had been delighted to discover that she really wanted to know how everything was going to turn out. “Give me some good news.”
“You are my biggest fan, I do believe,” Arnie said with a wink. He tapped the computer monitor in front of him where he had a document pulled up; he worked on his manuscript between customers. “It’s going along just fine, thank you very much. And no, I will not tell you how it ends.” He leaned out the window of his ticket booth and cupped a hand near his mouth as if to prevent anyone else from hearing his next words. “I don’t even know how it’s all going to go down, so how can I tell you?”
Addison gripped her steering wheel and grimaced exaggeratedly. “Hurry up, Arnie. I need to know what happens next. I’m dying here.”
“So is Panier Hellinthon, I’d wager.” He tapped the side of his nose and nodded.
Addison’s eyes grew wide. “No!” she exclaimed. “You can’t kill off Panier. He’s one of my favorites.” She covered her ears. “Don’t tell me anything else. I don’t want to know, after all.”
Arnie guffawed, then narrowed his eyes at her, although still smiling. “How you doing, my friend?”
Caught a little off guard by the question, Addison hesitated just long enough for Arnie’s expression to grow serious. “I’m fine,” she said, stumbling slightly over the word. She’d almost blurted out, “I’m happy,” as though saying the words again would make them true.
“Rough day?” Arnie asked, seeing right through her bluff.
“Not bad, but I am ready to call it over,” she admitted, wondering if she looked as out of sorts as she felt these days. Is that why he was asking? “I’m looking forward to curling up in my warm pajamas with a cup of hot tea and the last book in this really great trilogy by this author I know.” Talk about his work and maybe he’d stop looking at her like he was trying to diagnose her. “If only he’d get cracking and release it to his adoring fans.”
“Aha. I see what you did there.” Arnie pointed at her, but apparently, he wasn’t going to be distracted. He cocked his head to one side and said, “Forgive me if I overstep here, Miss Wedgewood, but you seem to me to be a little… oh, I don’t know. Lost? At loose ends?”
It wasn’t really a question. Nor could she take offense at his observation. It was exactly how she felt these days. Besides, Arnie would never say anything like that with the intent to be rude; he was a good man, and he’d become a good friend in the time she’d been working at the airport.
When she didn’t immediately respond, Arnie nodded slowly. “I’ve overstepped.”
“No, you haven’t,” Addison was quick to assure him. She scrunched her nose at him as she pondered her next words. “I don’t think it’s that I’m lost, exactly. I think it’s more that I’m tired of… of—” She broke off, grimaced, then said, “I’m tired of wandering.”
“Wandering, hm?” He considered that carefully, not hurrying to fill the silence between them.
“I’ve spent my whole life wandering. I have traveled the world, Arnie, wandering around in the footsteps of my parents. Literally. I just walk along behind them, going where they go, being wherever they are being.” She made a dismissive sound at the back of her throat. “Whenever I can catch up with them, that is. So yeah. Not lost. Just wandering.”
“As the great J.R.R. Tolkien once said, ‘Not all who wander are lost.’”
“Exactly.” She glanced in her review mirror, surprised to find that there were still no other cars behind her. “Maybe I’ll go home and read the Lord of the Rings trilogy, since the trilogy I really want to read isn’t finished yet.”
Arnie waved away that attempt to distract him, too. “Do you know the rest of that stanza?”
“’All that is gold does not glitter; not all who wander are lost,’” Addison quoted. It was one she knew by heart. “I write those lines on the first page of my journal each new year,” she explained. “I love the open-endedness of it. The idea that not only is there more than meets the eye, but also, that if we are only looking for what we expect to see, that we might miss out on what’s really there.”
“Hm,” Arnie said with a slow nod. “Yes. That’s about what it means to me, too. But the next line—do you know it, too?”
Addison shook her head. “I don’t.”
“’The old that is strong does not wither. Deep roots are not reached by the frost.’” He didn’t expound, but just let the words linger in the air between them.
Did he know about her obsession with roots? Her brow furrowed as she considered the lines. “That almost sounds contradictory,” she finally said, curious as to why Arnie had steered the conversation there.
“I wouldn’t say contradictory, Ms. Wedgewood. No, I believe that although Tolkien appreciated the wanderer’s soul, he was sending out a clear message that wandering—aimless wandering, in particular—could be dangerous. Wandering without purpose or direction could lead you into places you’re not prepared for or expecting to end up. Go ahead and wander, yes, expand your horizons. But know where your old deep roots are and keep them tended so you don’t lose your way. I believe that the verse in its entirety is about searching for, and finding ,” he emphasized, “our purpose on this road that we call life.”
Addison nodded slowly, not quite sure how to respond. She shouldn’t be surprised to hear Arnie unwrap so poetically one of the most iconic literary quotes known to man. He was, after all, a reader and a writer himself.
Arnie wasn’t finished. “You know what I think?”
“What do you think?” Addison asked, not really sure she wanted to know, but humoring him all the same. Although, she added, “Before you answer that, do you think I can handle it?”
He chuckled and nodded his head. “You can handle it. Here’s what I think. I think you are weary of wandering, not because you’re lost, but because you have yet to be found.” The crinkles around his eyes deepened as he studied her. “And everyone needs to be found.”
“What do you mean?” Again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, but there were still no cars behind her, and she couldn’t just roll up her window and drive away, could she?
Arnie patted his chest over his heart. “In here. Your heart. It’s waiting to be found. But if you keep wandering, how can anyone find it?”
“A man?” Addison shook her head, overwhelmingly disappointed in him. She had not expected him to play the ‘you need a man’ card. Natalie, sure. But Arnie? “You surprise me, my friend. I mean, I like men well enough, and there are times I even wish I had one in my life, but I—” She broke off, realizing she was starting to sound a little defensive. She took a stabilizing breath. “I’m not really interested in being rescued by a man right now, Arnie. I want to be rescued by me.”
“Rescued?” Arnie shook his head. “Who said anything about being rescued?”
“You know what I mean. Found. Chosen. Rescued. Same thing.” She heard the rumble of an approaching vehicle and sighed with relief as she watched a pickup wending its way through the parking lot toward the exit. “I’m not looking to be swept off my feet. I kinda like my feet planted firmly on the ground, in fact.”
“You’re putting words into my mouth,” Arnie admonished gently. “I didn’t say you needed a man. I said everyone needs to be found. To know where they belong. And yes, to whom they belong. Your people. Your place. Home.” He patted his chest again. “Where your heart lies. That’s what I think, Ms. Wedgewood. You’ll find yourself, your way in life, your purpose, when you figure out where your deep roots are.”
The truck pulled up behind her, his lights half-blinding her in her rearview mirror. Arnie was right. Cliché, yes. A little cheesy, definitely. But correct, nonetheless. She pressed the heel of her palm over her own heart in response to the dull ache that settled there. “I’m working on that, Arnie,” she finally said, then reached over and patted the ledge of the ticket booth window. “And you need to keep working on that book. I’m desperate to know how it ends.”
“Aren’t we all?” he retorted with a ready grin. “You have a nice evening, now, you hear?”
“You, too, Arnie. See you tomorrow.”
Half an hour later, Addison pulled into the narrow back alley that ran the length of the buildings along Larkspur Lane. Her apartment was perched above The Quill and Ink Shop, and behind the art supplies and stationery boutique were two parking spaces allotted for her use. She sat in her car after she took the keys from the ignition and stared at the second space, clearly demarcated by parallel white lines on the asphalt. It was rarely used, at least not with her knowledge, and tonight, it seemed glaringly empty.
“I should get a cat.” She pushed open her car door and peered up at the little deck above her. She could just picture a fat tabby perched on the railing, waiting for her to get home so it could purr loudly and rub against her legs. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called out, letting her imagination play out. “Mommy’s home.”
The words echoed cheekily off the back of the tall brick building, and she smacked a palm to her forehead. “Wow, Adders. Just wow. You are a crazy cat lady and you don’t even have a cat.” She chortled self-consciously as she circled her car and headed up the narrow flight of steps, hoping that no one had witnessed her borderline madness.