Any Way Out - 10. Island Time

The previous summer

“Ugh!”

This interjection was cast, sotto voce, at the two men ambling hand-in-hand down Assateague Beach. Their unsteady gait in the dry brown sand, a mere six feet distant from Ashlee Vance and her mother, Cathy, had precipitated a clumsy stumble. The men had taken advantage of the resulting stoppage to exchange a kiss before resuming their journey.

“They should at least try to keep it private,” grumbled Cathy. “You never used to have to look at that kind of thing around here.”

Mother and daughter each reclined in a folding chair, the elder’s green and the younger’s blue. Each wore khaki shorts, sandals, and a button down cotton shirt in the pastel of their chair’s color. Tan visors protected their eyes and face, though the westering sun at their backs was a diminishing threat at this point. From the back, one might have mistaken them for twins, but for the half inch of gray radiating from the crown of Cathy’s head.

A red chair stood empty beside them, a neon orange shirt draped haphazardly across the back, with Crocs resting askew at its feet. Dad had rushed into the throng frolicking in the gray waves as soon as the chairs were unfurled. It made Ashlee smile; now that her parents’ nest was empty of its solitary chick, the daily dance between Mom’s methods and Dad’s relative abandon must be something to see. Even on this annual beach trip, Ashlee couldn’t miss her father’s agitated pacing and clock watching while she had helped Mom stock their rental condo’s dressers, inventory the dishes and paper products, wipe down the surfaces, and compose task and shipping lists.

Traffic had been bad on the causeway from the mainland, and Mom had nearly vetoed a day-one beach excursion due to the late hour. Sand, she insisted -- and Ashlee agreed -- had to be dealt with carefully, lest it end up in every crevice of the car, clothes, sheets, and their persons. They would be rushing around, end up spending too much money on dinner, and end the night miserable, and there was shopping to do if this condo was going to be inhabitable for the next three days. Dad presented a compromise to the committee: let him go swimming, and the women could sit up on the beach and hash out the evening’s plans, in exchange for swearing to de-sand in the bath house.

“I mean, people are watching!” Cathy broke into Ashlee’s reverie. “I don’t care what they say, it’s not natural.”

Behind her shades, Ashlee focused on the rumbling breakers. She was the almost the only gay woman her age she knew who was still hiding it from her parents, and the pilgrimage to Chincoteague was probably not the ideal time.

“Well, it’s their right, Mom. You don’t have to like it, but there’s no going back.”

“Harumph! Your grandmother could tell you about when they might have been arrested.”

Ashlee considered whether this was worth dignifying with comment. She looked left and right at the diverse families, couples, and parties roaming the shore. After half a minute, Ashlee was inspired to rejoin, “Well, Grammy could also tell us about when all these black people would have been arrested just for being here.” Ashlee shifted and looked left at Cathy. “And I wonder how many Jews are out here today?”

Cathy managed to roll her eyes through squinting lids. “You know that’s completely different.”

Ashley sighed with a huff and pulled her phone back out. “Can we talk about something else? Are we going shopping or eating first after Dad is done?”

Cathy picked up her own phone. “The Great Valu closes at nine, so we should go there first. Oh, but -- damn -- we can’t get any of the frozen stuff if we aren’t going straight back to the condo.”

Ashlee chewed on this problem. “Why don’t we pick up something from the deli and a couple of bottles of wine on our way out of there and just eat in?”

“Could also call for take out from here and pick it up after Great Valu. Let me see, Maria’s might be good. I’ll start looking. When do you think we would be done shopping?”

Ashlee’s mind started pulling strands of possible futures for the prediction, but was interrupted by her quivering phone alerting her to an email. “Oh my God! It’s Mr. Carter! From that contractor!”

Cathy leaned over. “What does it say?”

The message was terse and factual. “He says if I want the job it’s mine. He can take me on after I finish at Appalachian in December as long as I pass the Virginia bar next month.”

“Can you work in D.C. with a Virginia license?”

“It’s in-house counsel, so generally yes. I can appear pro hac vice in court, but I’m going to pass the Universal Bar in D.C. in February, too.”

Cathy indicated approval with a couple of nods. That was as close to praise as Ashlee was going to get. “So, another bar exam? Straight to work after college? Are you going to take some time for yourself?”

“Mom, I need this. Do you know how hard it is for a first year lawyer to get into corporate counsel? Somewhere small like this Stetson branch will get me noticed, and I’ll be close to a zillion other companies, too.”

Cathy looked to the horizon, then watched a little girl careering into the water, a panicky mother a few steps behind. “Do you ever hike anymore? I know there’s lots of hiking up there in Grundy.”

There was. Appalachian was in remote Buchanan County, in the most rugged terrain Virginia had to offer. “Yes,” lied Ashlee, hoping the next question wasn’t “When?”

“You’ve done nothing but work for the last seven years,” Cathy went on. Ashlee relaxed; it was just judgment. “It’s always college in the spring and fall, internships or extra courses in the summer. You don’t have fun like you did when you were younger. We practically have to drag you out for Christmas and Chincoteague. You always enjoy the breaks, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to waste your money, and it feels good to be busy. I thought you would appreciate it.”

“Are you sure you're not a long term manic? That’s what I hear they’re like. Or maybe you're trying to get away from something.”

Ashlee clenched. Did she know? Someone leaked it? Grundy was a small town; was she spotted on one of her few dates? She was too terrified to say anything and willed her face to crystallize into a grim stare.

Cathy sighed. “You just keep an eye on yourself. We worry sometimes. We’re all praying for you, and I don’t want to see you in a psych ward. And at this rate, you’re going to be thirty by the time you get married and have children.”

Oh, shit! Ashlee was almost unready to deflect the topic. “Mom, I can’t right now. I’ve got too much to do.”

“Don’t you even have any prospects?”

“No, not really,” Ashlee replied honestly.

Cathy eyed her earnestly. “Don’t wait too long. Promise me you’ll look, all right. When was the last time you went on a date?”

In October, but just one, Ashlee didn’t say. “I hope you aren’t just worried about your grandbaby-maker.”

Cathy shrugged. “It occurred to me. I pray for that, sometimes, too, but you’re going to have to meet Him halfway.”

Ashley chuckled almost against her will. “Whatever, Mom. Just don’t whore me out to some basic from Roanoke, alright?”

“Promise me you won’t wait till all the good ones are taken?”

“Ask me again in a year, okay?”

“Alright then, I’m putting it on my calendar right now.” Cathy jabbed at her phone. “June 15. One year.”

Crisis averted again. Ashlee had plenty of goals for the next twelve months, and it was turning out to be a terrific way to dodge the marriage question.

Cathy checked her watch. “It’s about time to get your dad out anyway. We’ll tell him about the job offer, but not till after he showers, okay? I need him to concentrate.” She waved her arms and shouted, “Fred! Fred! Time!”

***

Present day

Wednesday dawned damp and clammy, but clear skies promised that the muggy morning would burn off to reveal a delicious spring day. Perfect for a midweek drive to the Eastern Shore. The trees would be in nearly full leaf, crops poking their heads out of the fields, and the Chesapeake would be a shimmering blue-gray canvas framed in verdant shores for miles north and south of the Bay Bridge. Even the causeway to Chincoteague itself would be nearly traffic-free this early in the season.

In the dewy parking lot by Ashlee’s car, Felicity wondered how much she would be able to enjoy it. She had spent the night cramming her meager belongings -- mostly clothes -- into the little sedan’s trunk and backseat, and had managed nearly all of it. Her purse, carrying among other things, her meds, syringes and sharps box would travel up front with her.

She was waiting by the car forty-five minutes early, but Ashlee wasn’t long in trudging back from her motel lodgings. With barely a second glance, Ashlee disappeared into the apartment, emerging ten minutes later in nondescript jeans and tshirt, carrying her stupid mailing crate. Felicity spared as few words as possible telling Ashlee just to cram her stuff farther into the backseat. She didn’t care about everything being perfect the way Ashlee insisted.

Stopping for gas allowed some of the traffic to burn off, so taking the beltway out of town was marginally less of a nightmare than it might have been. They were soon striking out across the diminishing suburbs east of the District, and by nine had reached the woods separating the sprawl from Annapolis.

Felicity didn’t remember passing Annapolis, but woke with a gasp when the tires hit the Bay Bridge. She wiped off the slight grease from her head resting on the window, then pressed her face to the window, eyes peeled clean. She had never in her life seen a day like this on the bridge. The Bay was like pure blue, glassy, and shining in the morning sun to the limit for human vision. A barge tow and a container ship plied the central channel, while a handful of yachts skirted nearer the low green shore. The glistening paddles of a blaze-orange kayak even flashed for her attention a moment before the bridge swept north.

Felicity remained pasted to the glass for the entire transit. Sighting a marina near the eastern landing of the bridge, she uttered the first muffled words of the journey.

“Dad used to take us crabbing over there when we went to Baltimore.”

“What?” Ashlee was taken aback by the sudden noise.

“Crabbing. You tie a chicken neck to a ball of twine, lower it off a dock and wait for the crabs to climb on.”

“I know what crabbing is.”

The exchange died, and the rhythmic thumping of the tires on the bridge returned to fill the space. I guess it really is over, thought Felicity.

“Yeah, we used to do it like that in Chincoteague,” mused Ashlee. “Never really figured out how to get the meat out or what you were supposed to eat. Except for the claws.”

Felicity almost leapt out of her seat belt for joy; and of course, knew all there was to know about crab-picking. “Claws are easy; just crack them shortways and it usually comes right out. For the insides you need a sharp knife to pry off the back …”

Twenty minutes later, Felicity was explaining that there really was no difference between Virginia and Maryland crabs, but that Baltimore got all the credit. Then her eye was caught by a sign: EASTON 5 MI. “That’s where we used to live before we moved to Chincoteague,”

“We moved into our house in Roanoke before I remembered anything,” replied Ashley. “Dad’s worked at the same bank for a long time.”

Felicity was trying to hold onto the idea that she was mad at Ashlee, but every few seconds they passed a childhood memory and she was bursting to share. There was the spot where everyone in her family had gotten a flat tire -- somehow even her sister Yaidali, and she had barely gotten her license. On the bridge over the Choptank River, she pointed out the Harriet Tubman museum, where she’d been on at least three field trips in school. Ashlee hadn’t known Harriet Tubman was from Maryland, somehow, but Felicity had noticed more than a few blind spots

With twenty-five minutes to go by the GPS, Ashlee unexpectedly pulled into the Virginia Welcome Center.

“Hold on, Felicity, I have to get rid of my coffee,” declared Ashlee, who sprang from the car and sprinted to the building.

The day was perfect. Sunny, seventy degrees, and the air was nearly dry. Felicity unfolded herself from the passenger seat and wandered over to the “LOVE” sign: four three-foot letters standing in the grass, supplemented with the motto “Virginia Is for Lovers”. She leaned on the “V” and idly rubbed dust and grime off of it using the heel of her hand. V for Vance; Mrs. Felicity Vance. That E could almost be an F. But what was she thinking? If Ashlee sank her claws into her, she would be driven like a slave, and have to escape like Harriet. However, try as she might to hold onto that thought, its purchase on her mind seemed to slip.

She jumped when Ashlee asked: “What are we even doing, Felicity?”

“What do you mean?”

“This. It's the middle of the week and I’m driving you back home to your mother. It’s crazy.”

Felicity nodded cautiously and agreed, “A little.”

Ashlee started to lean on the “O” but recoiled at the grease, dust, and pollen sticking to it, opting just to rest a foot on its pedestal and pocket her hands. “But it is fun. I’ve never just ditched work like this -- ever -- and I’m glad I did it. And even though I know you must hate me, there’s no one I’d rather be with. It’s -- it’s -- is there a big word for really exciting?”

Felicity was stumped. “Super-exciting?”

“I don’t know, either, but I can’t think when I’ve been this happy just to be alive. You’ve been in therapy before, right?”

Felicity tried to keep hold of Ashlee’s pivoting monologue. “Tons, yeah.”

“I obviously can’t blow off work whenever I want, but I want to be happy more, and be happy with you, and be happy with you being you. Does therapy do all that? Can it help me?”

“I -- I -- I guess -- I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Could you do it with me? You’re so nice all the time, and I never realized what a bitch I am until you came around. I don’t think I would get much out of it without you beside me.”

Felicity melted for a moment, but stiffened back up before replying. “I think it could be good for you, but first, I really feel like I’m being bossed around in this relationship. Can you lighten up?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to do it again. I know it sounds like an excuse, but I am worried that I’ll have too much power if I’m making all the money. I think that’s why I was being pushy about you and college, but if you need a break, we can put it off.”

“No, I think I do want to do college,” Felicity said, “but I don’t think I would ever do it without you kicking my butt to get started.” Felicity paused as a subconscious thought ate its way into her forebrain. “It's one of the things Robert would have done if I hadn’t derailed his plans.”

“Oh? Robert. That’s right. I’m guessing you really don’t need me digging him up -- reconstituting his remains, I guess -- to have a baby. Can you forget I said anything about that?”

“No, I don’t think so --” Ashlee’s presumptuous suggestion to become a man again still rankled Felicity like a burning splinter behind her eyes. “ -- however, I guess we can park it till we get some therapy.”

Ashlee was quick to try and make amends. “If you drive, I’ll get on my phone and find some online stuff. I don’t want to wait for a PCM referral, but I can pay for it out of my company HSA.” The abbreviations soared past Felicity, but they sounded earnest. “So, do you want to turn around and go back?”

“Nah, we’re almost there. We’ll get lunch at my house. Mom and Dad won’t mind. Come on!” Felicity started to pound back to the car.

“Wait!” shouted Ashlee. Felicity skidded and turned.

“Can you please wash your hands before you get in the car?”

Felicity considered her filthy fingers. “Sure, babe!”

***

Traffic was nearly non-existent. Ashlee had almost finished working her way through the therapy questionnaire, trying to concentrate over Felicity’s excited chatter as they crept down a quiet Chincoteague road lined with a diverse hodge podge of houses and trailers, punctuated with boats, RVs and work trucks. They pulled up to an older two story home just past twelve-thirty.

Felicity parked by a battered white pickup -- displaying faded Pride decals, Ashlee noticed -- and yanked Ashlee out of her seat as if she were trying to carjack her. Ashlee was towed over the oyster-shell driveway and through the fine grass in its sandy soil. Felicity barged past the porch’s screen door and pushed straight through the unlocked front door, shouting “Mom! Dad! I’m home!” as casually as if she were just coming back from a day at high school.

Ashlee remained rooted to the spot on the porch. She heard banging, footsteps, and vague yelps from inside, and then Felicity returned, leaning in the door and looking wonderingly into her eyes.

Looking directly in her eyes? Ashlee understood: she was looking at the most gorgeous middle-aged Hispanic woman she had ever seen. So, this was Mom. No wonder Felicity was so beautiful and feminine!

“So you’re Ashlee?” she said in a shockingly deep voice through a sultry accent. Ashlee’s heart pounded for a moment, before the woman smiled and nodded in approval. “Ricky, hurry up!” she shouted over her shoulder. In a twinkling, the real Felicity reappeared, along with a tall, lanky white man in what appeared to be a company polo and khakis: Dad.

“Mom, Dad, this is Ashlee Vance. We’re in love,” declaimed Felicity.

The older man slid by his wife -- taking the opportunity to surreptitiously caress her waist and butt, Ashlee noticed -- and greeted Ashlee with a smile splitting his thin face.

“Ashlee! How the hell are you? I’m Rick. Not Dick; Rick.” He nearly dislocated Ashlee’s shoulder shaking her hand. He stepped back by his wife and wrapped an arm around her. “Nice work, Felicity!” he said while still looking at Ashlee. “You sure picked a good one.”

This earned him a slap on the arm from his wife. Felicity buried her face in her hands behind him, then leaned, laughing, on a wall. Rick was unfazed. “Come on in, we're just having lunch. We’ve got some workers in here, so there’s lots of food. Is there enough for two more, Mami?”

Mom nodded. “I think so. I’ve got some more bread, too, if we need it.” She turned back to Felicity. “It’s caldo.”

Felicity jumped for joy and ran into the house. When they caught up with her, she was hugging a pretty girl in tight jeans and a polo like Rick’s while two grubby and slightly smelly men looked on from the kitchen table. At Mom’s stern Spanish bidding, they rose and helped put a leaf in the table. They were soon all sitting in front of huge bowls of soup, and Ashlee felt somehow as if she had lived there all her life. Spanish and English conversation whipped across the table, with questions about Ashlee competing with the business of maintaining houses. The two men, Cristian and Yovani, explained to Ashlee in halting English how much they loved the Davises, both Rick and Mama Marisol, and how they missed Felicity when they came up this year and found her absent. The young girl, Estrella, was a cleaner, and was complaining to Felicity in English about her boyfriend Miguel. Yovani grumbled at the name and Ashlee caught three words: “estupido”, “mexicano”, and “mamador”. The conversations stopped for a moment to stare shocked at Yovani, who kept eating.

Ashlee leaned over to Rick and whispered, “I heard Mexican and stupid. Is ‘mamador’ like ‘mother’?”

Rick chuckled. “Kind of, but not really.”

While they cleared the table, Rick made calls canceling appointments and issuing orders to workmen. After wiping the table, Marisol and Felicity retired to the living room, and Rick invited Ashlee to sit and remain in the kitchen with him.

“So,” he said with a smirk, “what are your intentions with my daughter?”

Ashlee blushed. Rick was turning out to have a sarcastic, light-hearted way about him. “Um, I’m not sure. We’re living together. We kind of talked about getting married -- well, actually I did -- but we had a fight about it.”

“Fighting already? Good for you. Better out than in, right? So you’re a lawyer? Has anyone ever told you that you look like that brunette girl from Legally Blonde?”

“A couple times, yeah.” She self-consciously pulled at her bobbed hair. I really should do something about that, she noted mentally.

“Reese Witherspoon would have been cool, too, but you can’t have everything.” Rick smirked to himself. “Felicity says you have your life together, everything planned out. She’s not like that, is she? Oh, hold on. I know we just ate, but you have to try these. They’re local” Rick stood, then produced a paper sack of peanuts from a pantry. He sat again, took a small handful, and left the bag open between them. “No, not our girl. Never has been able to plan farther than lunch.”

Ashley gaped as Rick tossed a peanut, still in its shell, into his mouth and crunched happily on it. “Aren’t you having any?” he asked.

“Um, there’s nowhere to put shells,” protested Ashlee weakly.

Rick leaned his chair back and snatched a coffee filter from a nearby counter, setting it before her. “You just passed your first test,” he said, managing a straight face for about three seconds before breaking back into a grin. “Naw, I’m kidding. Sorry about that.”

He went on: “Transitioning was one of the hardest things she ever did. It kind of consumed her for years. I’d never seen her so dedicated to a goal. But when it was done --” he lowered his voice a bit “-- she kind of got into a rut. But, she’s got a good heart, and she’s smart enough to stay out of real trouble. When she ran off with that Annie girl, I thought it was pretty dumb, but I knew it was just one of those times I had to let her go and be herself. I had hopes that whatever happened she would find herself. Looks like she found you, too, which is a bonus.”

Ashlee blushed and cracked open a nut. A moment’s chewing soon brought a question to mind. She leaned in and whispered, “Can I ask you something crazy personal about Felicity, while she’s not here?”

Rick swiveled his head at his surroundings then replied softly, “Go for it.”

Ashlee gathered her thoughts. “She talks about Robert, her old name, like a dead person. It can be weird, and I’m afraid to really dig into it. Just today, she was saying Robert would have gone to college if she hadn’t come along. Is that normal for trans people? Does she actually have multiple personalities?”

Rick drew in and blew out a big breath. “No, we went through this in therapy. Trans people aren’t crazy or delusional. The shrink thought that ‘Robert’ was a coping mechanism that comes out when she’s stressed about something, or if she’s trying to put something behind her, but it’s nothing clinical.

“No, Robert and Felicity aren’t different people. She used to blame 'Robert' when she got in trouble for doing girl stuff when she looked like a boy, but therapy got her to take responsibility for her own actions. Then when the legal stuff had all finished, she would come to me as 'Robert' and apologize for being a burden and asking if I could forgive him. We, uh, didn’t have any more money for therapy, so I suggested having a funeral.”

“She told me about that,” Ashlee remembered from a lifetime ago.

Rick stroked his smooth chin. He raised his voice in the direction of the living room. “Marisol! Is it too late to get Yaidali out of school?”

“No,” came the answer from across the room. “Why? Do you want to go somewhere? Did you forget you have to inspect 103 with the owner at four?”

Rick muttered a very dirty string of words. “Didn’t he say between four and five, though? I’ll call him. We need to go to the Park.”

“Now?” Felicity’s mother appeared in the kitchen door, appearing quite annoyed. “Can we go later?”

“Mami, don’t make me get the marriage coupon book out. I’m still entitled to one crazy family excursion. Be glad we’re not going to Rehoboth or Baltimore or New York or something.” He beckoned Marisol over, and wrapped his arms around her hips, gazing sternly up into her eyes. “I want Ashlee to meet the whole family.”

Marisol gave a disapproving squint. “Not this again,” she sighed, but Rick’s face was set like flint. “Okay, let’s go, then”

***

The little teenager who burst out of the high school at a near sprint skidded to an astonished halt when she apprehended the figures in the truck cab with whom she was about to share a backseat.

Felicity pushed a door open. “Hello, Dolly,” she sang. She scooted to the center of the rear bench, pushing Ashlee all the way to the left, then patted the right seat.

Yaidali sneered. “Shut up, Felicity.” She threw her backpack into the bed, and as Rick drove them all away, she crowded the right end.

“Hi, Yaidali, I’m Ashlee,” attempted Ashlee.

“I know. Hi,” was all the acknowledgement she could get from the moody girl.

Ashlee recognized the road to Assateague Island, but felt like a VIP as rangers waved the Davis truck through the gate, hardly slowing them as they motored by. Rick cracked a window, letting the salt-marsh air flood the cab. Rick recounted stories of shipwrecked Spanish galleons like a seasoned tour guide, but Ashlee had heard them all. As it was only May, the wind-swept grassy expanses were thick with wild ponies, serenely strolling through their domain, probably unaware of the round-up and the swim to Chincoteague that awaited them in two months’ time.

Eventually, Rick pulled his truck to a stop in sight of the Atlantic. The beach was sparsely populated, but Ashlee still distinctly recognized it from last summer. She followed suit as the entire family shed their shoes. Yaidali struck out ahead of them, sulking resignedly. Rick and Marisol followed after, leading Ashlee and Felicity. Rick was in a jaunty mood, and Ashlee saw him grab a big handful of Marisol’s backside, to which she responded by giving him a hearty shove. He theatrically tumbled in the sand while she pointed and laughed, then kept walking. Rick's middle-aged frame seemed to regret the pratfall, but he caught up to her and kissed her, then settled for holding hands.

Yaidali circled a patch of sand no different from any other, then veered slightly off and came to a halt. Rick and Marisol imitated her, but Felicity insistently took Ashlee’s arm and led her closer to the waterline, where they both stared into the blue distance

The gray Atlantic crashed into the brown sand like some giant's deliberate heartbeat. Standing abeam of the wind, their hair blew across both of their faces as they stared, cross-armed and shivering, into the limitless ocean.

Suddenly, and without averting her frowning face from the horizon, Felicity said in a deep, distant voice: "So, you're the woman who wants my baby?”