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She found the familiar turnoff and slowly maneuvered the car
over the bumps, careful not to damage the chassis. When she
reached the gate, she parked the Mustang and headed into the
woods. There were so many rocks, dead tree limbs and stumps
that she was amazed she and Diane had not been thrown from
the motorcycle at least once before. At one point her ankle
caught in a hole and she fell to her knees. She shook her head,
never having noticed the hazards at twenty miles per hour. She
walked slowly, realizing she was in absolutely no hurry. She no
longer had anyone to answer to, nowhere to be and no obliga-
tions to fulfill.
It took thirty minutes to get to the edge of the cliff, a cool
breeze blowing from behind her. She looked down at the rocks
below, a perfect place for a suicide, if she had been melodramatic
and so inclined, but she wasn t. She pulled a piece of paper from
her back pocket and unfolded it. The official Carlson crest sat at
the top, along with her name and a list of all the classes she had
taken and the grades she had received. It was impressive, she
thought. More than halfway through her master s program, she
was carrying a 4.0 grade point average. Most students could not
boast such an accomplishment. Unfortunately, she no longer
cared.
Across the course titles and grades earned, in large, red, block
letters was the word WITHDRAWN. Ronnie stared at the paper
and crumpled it into a ball. She hurled it out over the cliff,
already turning away before it landed in the sea.
By the time she had returned to the car, she desperately
craved a cigarette. When she opened the glove box, much of the
junk she had piled inside spilled out, revealing an old pack of
smokes and a lighter tucked in the very back for emergencies.
She dropped her seat into a reclining position and just stared at
the stars, the only light source around, save for the glow of the
ember from her burning cigarette. It surprised her that she was
so calm. She had still not told her parents that she d dropped out
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of school, but they would understand, because they understood
everything. It was her life, not theirs. They were the only parents
she knew who truly got it. Still, they would be worried about her,
about her future, her life course, all of those things that gave
older adults ulcers.
Ronnie, however, was at peace. She stubbed out her cigarette
and began piling years of car registrations, insurance cards, old
napkins from a multitude of drive-throughs and everything she
had ever thought she d lost back into the glove compartment.
She fired up the last cigarette and stared at the business card
she d retrieved, the slick gold writing shimmering in the moon-
light: Nola Monroe, ALM Modeling Agency.
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28. Crash Landing
We are now beginning our descent into Los Angeles. At this
time the captain asks that you return your seat to the upright
position and turn off all electronic equipment.
Diane quickly finished the e-mail she was writing to her pub-
lisher and followed the voice s instructions. Once her laptop was
stowed, she reached for an abandoned New York magazine, the
current issue, stuffed in the seat pocket. She hated flying, and she
craved distractions to help her forget that she was thousands of
feet in the air, sitting in a little metal canister.
She skimmed the table of contents, looking for an interesting
article to read. It soon became apparent why the magazine had
been left on the aircraft. It was one of those fashion magazines
that Diane detested full of advertisements and smelling of
three different types of perfume. There was perhaps one inter-
esting photo spread about Italian fashion, and since she had just
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spent a month in Italy, it would hold her attention.
She flipped three-quarters of the way through the magazine
and found the photos. She barely noticed the models and their
attire, her focus on the scenery behind them. The pictures were
breathtaking, reminders of the last seven days she had endured
in Rome with her mother, staring at cathedrals, walking up and
down cobblestone streets and looking at artwork. Prior to that
they d been on the coast not far from Pisa. There had been
enough mother-daughter bonding time to last her for another
year. Although her father had been present for brief parts of the
trip, it didn t take him very long to map out the ten golf courses
he wanted to play and disappear every morning for his tee time.
The first two weeks had been hideous, Diane s mind wallow-
ing in the images of the night she left Ronnie standing in the rain
after Michaelson s attack. The shame she felt consumed her. She
was a coward and a selfish bitch, and it reached a point where if
Ronnie entered her thoughts, her own self-loathing eclipsed all
the memories they shared together. She stopped thinking of
Ronnie, hoping to protect the moments she cherished, coveting
them for another time in the future, when her heart had healed.
Her strategy made the last month bearable. She had not checked
her messages, called Camille or initiated contact with anyone
else except with her publisher. They d formalized their agree-
ment and Diane had committed herself to a September release
for her book on homosexuality and school culture. Thoughts of
the book quickly shifted to thoughts of school how her classes
were going, where she would find a new TA and Elliot
Michaelson s fate. She d walked out on her life, and now that she
was returning to it, she was filled with anxiety.
She decided the trip was a mistake. She d run away from her
problems and spent a month answering her parents questions
about her relationship with Ronnie. They loved Ronnie and
pried endlessly until Diane finally told them they had split up.
Her father had been livid. I don t understand how you could
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have let such a classy dame get away from you were his exact
words. Diane had remained silent and taken his abuse. There
was no point in telling him anything about what happened and
the potential retribution Michaelson could inflict upon her.
Her mother s comments, although more reasonable, almost
drove Diane over the edge. She wasn t angry, just totally per-
plexed.
What don t you understand, Mother? Diane asked.
The two of you just seemed perfect. You were so happy, and
I ve never seen you smile so much.
Well, sometimes it just doesn t work out, Diane said,
resorting to clichés to end the conversation.
I know. I m just surprised. I remember when we were visit-
ing the two of you, and Dad told you how much he liked Ronnie.
You were beaming from ear to ear.
Well, Mom
No, let me finish, her mother had insisted. I was watching
Ronnie. Her expression, well, it s so hard to explain. Her
mother stammered with the familiar sounds Diane had heard her
entire life whenever her mother couldn t verbalize her thoughts.
After a deep breath she said, When you smiled, I could see the
love pouring out of her face. Her mother had laughed. It prob-
ably sounds silly, huh?
Diane closed her eyes as the plane touched the tarmac. The
rush of pressure and noise sweeping through the plane caused
her to lose her place in the article, despite her efforts to focus.
She thumbed back through the pages, knowing it would still be
a good five minutes before she could disembark.
A face caught her attention as one of the slick pages slid
through her fingers. Something immediately held her, but she
didn t know why. It was probably a splash of color on the page, a
way to make a certain advertisement stand out. Still her curiosity
demanded that she see whatever it was. She worked backward
until she found the picture, a woman in a long flowing black
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