Cookie Cutter (26 page)

* * *

The next morning, after I get little to no sleep in my parent’s guest room, I take a drive over to Sutter Memorial and visit my dad. There isn’t a single sound except for my heart pounding inside my chest like a hammer on a mission. Even the nurses are scarce in the hallway. Dad looks like he’s sleeping so I make to leave. It’s not like I know what to say to him, anyway.

“Carter.” His voice comes out like a croak. It sounds like he’s been screaming at a concert all night but I know it’s from the tubes they’ve probably had jammed down his throat for the past couple of days. I turn and give him a small grin.

“Hey Dad.”

This man does not resemble my father. He’s old. Too old for his age – and he looks weak. My dad was never weak. I shove my hands into my pockets, unable to come up with anything else to say. He waves me over. Even his hands look smaller. I’m nervous all of a sudden. We haven’t done this since the day I left. There still seems to be so much that needs to be said but how do I say it? Now, especially. Turns out, I don’t have to.

“You have to stay, Carter.” My dad forces the words out. It sounds like it might be painful. “Anthony can’t run things by himself.”

And even with him looking as frail as he does, with tubes in him and a tray full of crappy food and a half eaten pudding cup sitting nearby, I’m ticked that’s the first thing he has to say to me.

“Dad, I’ve got a life of my own now. And I’ve been disbarred, remember?”

Maybe he forgot.

“They make exceptions.” He clears his throat and reaches for a glass of water. I hand it to him. “You could get reinstated. If you really wanted to.”

“I don’t know if that’s what I want.”

That’s a lie. I know it’s not what I want. As usual, though, I try to soften that blow with kinder words. He shakes his head, then turns away from me, to look out the window.

“You’re a stubborn child, you know that?”

“I’m
stubborn?” My tone is harsher now.

He nods. “And selfish.”

“What?”
The fuck?

He looks back at me. “Your old man is dying and you can’t even be bothered to stick around for a while and help out.”

He’s not sick. He staged this shit to get me to come back here. It’s exactly like him to something like that. Devious.

“Dad . . .”

“Mother’s . . . gone. Uncle is . . .” He huffs. “Your brother is the only
one who cares enough about this family to . . .” He trails off.

I don’t know if he’s unable to keep bitching or he’s gotten tired of it after all these years. On one level, I’m pissed he’d have the nerve to say that shit to me.  I busted my ass for him for since the beginning, but on another level, irritatingly enough, I get what he’s saying. Tony’s good but he gets overwhelmed and even if Dad pulls through this, he won’t be in the shape he needs to be to guide my little brother through the ins and outs of running a law firm.

“Dad . . .”

He waves me off and rolls over.

“I’m tired, Carter.” He breathes in, groggily then lets out a long, exhausted breath of air. “Too tired to fight with you.”

I stay a while longer and watch him sleep. Never have I seen him as vulnerable as he is now. It’s odd, sitting here. I honestly thought I wouldn’t be back this soon, if at all, and yet here I sit, in a room, much like the last one I was in with my father. Empty, except for us: cold. I have a similar decision to make. There’s really only one place in Sacramento that helps me think through tough decisions. I get myself up out of the hard visitor’s chair that sits next my father’s bed, leave word at the front desk for my brother, and head South onto the Capital City Freeway toward 21st street and Broadway.

* * *

I sit at my mother’s grave and stare at the words carved into her head stone.

Loving mother. Caring wife.

It’s so bland. It doesn’t do her justice at all. She was bigger than life. Bigger than all of us combined. She held us together. And now . . . As if on cue, I get a text from Spencer.
How’s life?

I smile. I swear it’s like the kid has mini cams all over and knows exactly what’s happening before he even asks the questions.

I type back a quick reply.

Still here, you? How’re your classes?

No need to stress the guy. He’s got college to keep him occupied.

Classes are good. We’re talking about HH today. Thought of you.

HH is Habitat for Humanity. I have to grin at my own memories. Luckiest day of my life, finding Spencer at the construction site. Man do I miss the kid.

You need to visit during break. I’ll send money.

He’s quick to reply.

No need, I’ll get there, just tell me where.

Where. Good question. Doesn’t matter though.

Will do,
I tell him.

Meeting friends, just wanted to check in,
he types and I tell him,
have fun.

Mom would have loved Spence, and she would have really loved how I met him. I’ve made a commitment to this guy and it’s been rough lately. Flipping doesn’t exactly pay enough to cover college tuition and cost of living when you don’t quite know what you’re doing yet. If I did try to get my license reinstated, which isn’t guaranteed, but if I tried, and I succeeded and I came back to the firm, even for a little while, I could easily ensure Spencer doesn’t miss out on all things college life. He could attend all the right social gatherings, and go on all the right trips . . .

But if I did stay, I’d no doubt lose Iris.

My brother sits next down to me. “Got your message,” he announces to the wind.

And there we sit, the two of us, cross-legged in our business suits, probably looking like a couple of very lost, very highly paid funeral directors.

“What’s up?” He breaks the silence.

“You know,” I pull at some grass, “my life would be a lot easier if you had just been born first?”

Tony laughs and then breaks out the paper bag full of Stellas he has brought with him. “Can’t help you there, bro.”

He hands me a beer and I take it, gladly.

“Carter, I know this isn’t something you were planning on happening.”

“No, it’s not.”

He takes a swig of his beer.

“So, this life you have now; I take by the torn look on your face that it involves a woman?”

I look over at him, surprised. How did he know?

“I am a lawyer you know. Not a good a lawyer as you, maybe, but I know how to read people.”

I laugh a little and shake my head but don’t really know what else to say on the matter of Iris for now.

“Sounds like you have a decision to make,” he says after finishing his Stella.

“Sounds like I do.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He pushes himself up off of the grass and leaves the beer. “Oh and Carter?”

I twist my body and block the sun from blinding me as I look up at him.

“I missed you, man.”

I nod and grab another beer out of the bag as I go back to staring at mom’s headstone, looking for answers. For the first time in a half a decade, I have no idea what to do.

Chapter 19. Iris

I end the call from Strickland’s Music Store, slightly panic stricken. I know somewhere in the back of my mind that I should have put the manager on hold when I saw Carter start to leave but . . .

What was she thinking?

My head spins and my throat tightens. I can’t think clearly at all as I walk in circles searching for my keys and purse.

Ah.

I find them, grab them and run out to pick up my daughter, who is now apparently, a shoplifter.

* * *

“If she wasn’t your daughter, Iris . . .” Tracy, the daytime store manager of the music store Ally has so graciously stolen from today, shakes her head and gives my daughter another look of disapproval as we talk privately.

“I know, I know, and I am so sorry about this, Tracy. She’s been going through something lately, and . . .”

I spot my daughter, who isn’t paying either one of us any mind but I can tell she’s deep in thought. I look back to Tracy.

“I’m just so sorry – and thank you for not pressing charges.”

The air leaves Tracy in that irritated way that some people let it out – like they aren’t sure whether they’ve made the right decision or not.

“You might want to keep a better eye on who she hangs out with in my opinion, Iris. Not that it’s any of my business, but that boy---”

“Boy?” I put a hand on her arm. “What boy?”

She shrugs. “Blonde, cute, hangs out at the strip mall way too much and has too much time on his hands. He left her high and dry when I snagged her walking out with the CD.”

My blood boils. It’s that Blake.

I take a controlled breath before I continue. No need for Tracy to know he’s been a thorn in my side for too long already.

“If there’s anything I can ever do to help make up for this . . .”

She nods and finally smiles. “Just . . . keep her out of trouble.”

I nod, then I collect my daughter and go. It’s not until much later, when we arrive back at home, safe and sound, that I find my voice with her. Ally is making her way up the stairs to retreat into her room when I call after her.

“What in the hell were you thinking exactly?”

She stops and throws her head back. She groans as though she’s
the one who’s been inconvenienced today. “Really not that big a deal, mom . . . I was just skipping school.”

“Just . . .” I force myself to breathe and to calm down. “Allison, you shoplifted honey. I’m not sure you’re grasping the full gravity of what that means.”

“I just---”

“And
if Tracy had pressed charges, you could
have very well gotten thrown off of dance team for pulling your little stunt.” She would have definitely gotten thrown off the dance team.

“Mom, would you---”

“And worst of all, you were with that boy.” I throw my hands up into the air. Does she not get it yet? Why doesn’t she get it yet? “I mean, what do you think would have happened if something went wrong? What if he hurt you? Or . . .” I can’t even finish the thought. “Have you learned nothing this year?”

“Yeah mom, I’ve learned
something
.” Ally’s expression turns from semi-embarrassed, to slightly enraged. “Would you like to hear what I’ve learned this year?”

I don’t get to tell her it was a rhetorical question. Plus, I don’t want to, not yet – I’d much rather hear why Ally thinks she knows more than I do.

“I’ve learned that it doesn’t matter
if I make straight As or straight Fs, or if I make team captain, or that I’ve been chosen as one of very few
dancers to participate in the state finals, or, if I get drunk off of my ass, or skip school with some stupid boy who likes to steal things, even though he’s got more money than he knows what to do with – my parents are still
divorced: they still
hate each other, and they still hate me.”

She’s in tears and I’m shocked. Hormones are one thing but this – first of all, when did she get drunk off her ass?

And secondly, “We don’t hate you, Ally, we could never---”

“Whatever!” she screams, full on crying now. She runs to her room without another word. The door slams shut and I have, as I usually do, a strong urge to follow her; to hold her until she understands that none of what she’s said is true but I know my daughter. And I know she won’t hear me until she’s ready to so I give the both of us some time to settle down, some.

* * *

Hours later, I’ve baked two dozen sugar cookies from an extra batch of dough I saved in the fridge. I frost them with care and place four on a plate then I walk up to my daughter’s room, determined to make her hear me.

When I open the door, I turn the dimmer up a little. Her eyes are closed but I can hear the music from her ear buds and I know there’s absolutely no way she’s napping with the music playing that loud. I turn up the light some more and step inside her room. Ally rolls over and sits up. Her eyes are red and she looks tired.

“I brought you some cookies.” I sit down on the bed with her.

She’s so big. When did she get so big? Ally takes one but doesn’t eat it right away. She simply stares it like she’s waiting for it to say something.

“Ally,” I begin, because there’s really nowhere else to start with this conversation.

She doesn’t look up. I’m kind of glad.

“Your father and I aren’t perfect. We’re full of a whole lot of not knowing what we’re doing when it comes to you.”

She looks up now and I barely recognize my baby anymore. She’s still my little girl, though.

“Babies don’t come with instruction manuals,” I say. “But you need to always remember, we could never,
ever
hate you.”

“But you do hate each other.”

I’m not sure how to tell her the ins and outs of my emotions when it comes to James, so I try to be honest with her as simply as I can.

“How your father and I feel about each other right now has nothing to do with the way we both feel about you. If nothing else, know that.”

I search for better words but nothing comes to me. If I say too much, I might lose her attention, if I don’t say enough, she’ll probably resent me. There’s no way to know the right thing to do here so I leave the plate, I kiss her forehead then I get up to go.

“Mom?” she calls to me with the voice I remember from when she was younger. I twist my body to see her expression matches the voice.

“It wasn’t me,” she says and her eyes are hoping I believe her.

My mouth falls open to say something but I’m at a loss.

“I didn’t . . .” She takes a huge breath. “Blake took the CD.”

“What?”

Oh thank God.

I sit back down.

“I didn’t even know it until the manager stopped me and pulled it out of my purse. By then, he was gone.” She eyes her cookie again. “I’m so stupid.”

Tears fill her eyes again and this time, I pull her close and hold her and squeeze her until she feels my love.

“Sometimes it takes a couple of mistakes to learn from them I guess.” I admit.

I just hope she learned this time. Please let her learn. I squeeze her harder then I pull us apart to kiss her cheek. She sniffles and wipes her nose with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Is that what happened with you and Dad?”

“What?”

“Was I a mistake?”

And now I’m the one that can’t pull back on the tears.

“Oh, honey. No.”

“The other night---”

I shake my head at her. “Ally, your dad and I might be
really
mad at each other right now. In fact yeah,” I nod, “we’re definitely mad at each other. And he might not be the right person for me, or even visa versa, but you are the single best thing that has ever happened to me. Do you understand?”

She nods but can’t speak. I know the feeling.

“I know he’s a jerk,” she finally says. “But I don’t want him to hate me.”

“He doesn’t hate you sweetie.” I assure my daughter.

I don’t know much about who James is anymore but I know this. I have to.

“He just needs to find a way to communicate with you better, that’s all.”

I hug her to me again and we sit there like that for a little while, rocking.

“Mom?”

“Hmmm.”

“He cheated on you with Miss Meg?”

“Mmm hmm.” It’s all I can do to not cry again. Not because I found out my ex-husband slept with my best friend but visa versa, and because our daughter knows it. There’s nothing like the disappointment a child feels in the two people they’re supposed to be able to count on no matter what. She breathes in and sniffs hard.

“That’s messed up.”

“Yeah it is.” I wipe the last of the tears away from the side of my face.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think you could ever love him again?”

I need to handle this delicately, but honestly. “I thought, for a long time that maybe I could. I wanted to, but honestly, no, honey, I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

She sits up and now we’re facing each other again.  She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me.

“You like Mr. Blackwood, don’t you?”

I hadn’t thought about how I would deal with Ally and what’s happening between Carter and me. He’s temporary. I’ve already told myself that but Ally’s young. She shouldn’t have to do temporary. I could pretend it’s not important. That we’re just friends. But in the end, I decide to give her what I would hope she’d give me if I were asking her questions about a boy. The truth.

“Yeah, I do.”

She scoots over and gives me a hug. A real live, Ally hug. And she whispers into my ear.

“Good.”

* * *

Later on, when I’m in my own room, exhausted from the events of the evening, I find my phone and check my messages. Which I have none of, but there is a text. It’s from Carter and I remember how abrupt our afternoon was cut short. I open the text, excited to hear from him until I read that he’s “had to take off” and “will explain later”.

Take off? Explain later?

“What does that even mean?”

Who am I talking to?

I call him but it goes straight to voice mail. I check the time and see that it’s not that
late. Not when we’re talking about the all-nighter house flipper anyway. I get out of bed, walk into the front room and peek across the street to see if his lights are on. They’re not. I try him again but I’m taken to voice mail again.

I try his phone twice more as I walk across the street and am completely unaware of what I’m doing until I find myself dialing and listening at his door to see if I can hear it ringing inside his house. Maybe he’s hurt and can’t answer. I have officially watched too many episodes of Dateline.

“He’s not home, sweets,” Naked Paul calls from across the street, which I should have gathered by the fact that his truck isn’t in his driveway. I suppose I was too busy acting like a crazy person to notice.

I slip my phone into my pajama bottoms and head back across the street.

“Any idea where he went?”

He shakes his head. “Left in a hurry though.”

“Thanks, Paul.” I smile and try to appear in control of my emotions.

He waves and heads inside then I look back to see if Alex is home but her car is missing as well. Once upon a time I would have run to Meg’s house and cried on her shoulder. Not anymore. Never again. Maybe it’s time to get the Rocky Road out. And
Gone with the Wind.

* * *

Saturday morning and I feel a bit refreshed, for lack of a better word.  There have been no more texts from Carter to explain his cryptic text but I did miss a few calls from him.  When I check my messages, I get an error message instead. Something else to look into. I haven’t been able to get him live when I call, either, which is extremely infuriating. Instead of dwelling, I redirect my frustration by focusing on the cookies I’ve officially committed to baking.

Baking always helps.

I get Ally up and take her to the store with me. She thinks I’m a genius by the way, for accepting the baking opportunities.

“I don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.”

She’s joking but there’s also a serious tone to her statement and suddenly, I don’t know either. I must admit, I’m having the best time spending time with Ally and doing what I love but whenever I pull into the driveway or leave and see the empty driveway belonging to Carter, my heart sinks just a little bit. So many questions flood my mind. Why would he leave like that? Why wouldn’t he tell
me he was leaving? Why text me if he’s not going to answer his stupid phone?

I nearly drop one of the bags I’m carrying when my cell phone rings. I can’t quite maneuver my way through getting my phone out of my purse without spilling everything in my hands all over the walkway so I run – as fast as I can with five bags in my arms.