Healthy Scratch
Page 23
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After a week of seclusion, leaving the hotel only to shop for some clothes and pick up takeout meals, Lauren contacted Amanda and invited her to meet…alone. She did not want to spend time with her mother then—or in the near future. I can’t just forgive and forget. What they did defined my life—how can Amanda expect me to embrace our suddenly sober mother?
When she invited Amanda, she clarified that she wanted to see her sister alone.
“You realize how awkward this is—you want to exclude Mom?”
“Can’t you drop her at an AA meeting? Or, I don’t care—tell her the truth.”
Amanda sighed. “I wish you’d give her a chance, but since you’re determined not to include her, I’ll come alone. Where and when?”
Lauren named a coffee house not far from either Amanda’s home or the hotel. She set her phone on the dresser and selected the new jeans and light sweater she’d bought. She had just turned on the water in the shower when she heard her phone. Marty’s ringtone. She considered not answering it, then felt guilty about dodging him so long. She flipped the water off and ran to grab her phone before it went to voicemail.
“Marty…hi.” She knew she sounded as awkward as she felt.
“What’s going on, squirt? You fell off the grid last week. Are you okay?”
“I guess. Just licking my wounds and staying low.”
“If you’d come home, I’d do more than just lick your wounds.” Lauren giggled at Dave’s statement even as her stomach flipped.
“I’m sure you would, Mr. Martin. I need to resolve some personal issues first, though.”
“You and Amanda still not on the same page?”
“That and some other things.” Lauren blinked against the tears that filled her eyes. “I’m trying to cope with stuff from my past, and new information uncovered thanks to my trolls. I can’t wrap my head around everything, Marty.”
“You know I’ll do anything to help you, babe. Do you need me to come to Vancouver?”
“You’re about to begin the playoffs. I will not distract you.”
“And not knowing what’s going on with my girl’s not a distraction?” His sudden burst of anger felt like a slap to Lauren’s face. “Have you even listened to my messages or read the texts?”
Lauren briefly considered lying. “No…it hurts too much, and I know I’m acting selfishly. I can’t return to Tampa until I’ve got a resolution to all of this. And not until I can at least accept the past. I’m not going to pull you into this soap opera, Marty.”
“Too late, babe. I’m all in. Will you at least promise to take my calls? And clear out your full voice mailbox?”
“I’ll clear out the voicemails now, and I will keep in touch, Marty.” Lauren walked to the window and watched the rain splash against the glass. “Forgot how much I hate rainy days in Vancouver.”
“I can give you sunshine right now.” Dave paused, then continued, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Don’t leave me hanging, Lauren. I’m fairly patient, just don’t push me away.”
Lauren nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “I understand. I’m trying to deal with a lot of memories and new issues—but I do want to come home soon. Promise.”
#
Dave tossed his phone across the sofa, then reached for the remote. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Lauren was pulling away from him. He heard it in her voice, her non-answers, and deferring any offer to help. If she’d just share everything that’s obviously haunting her. He’d help her carry that burden, no matter what’s hidden in her past. She can’t think I care about anything that happened years ago? Is she afraid of anyone learning whatever information she discovered? He thought about Caryn mentioning Lauren’s request for help to put some case records under a court-ordered seal. Something about her childhood? If she’d just trust me enough, I could help her. But if she shuts me out, I can’t force her to accept my help—even if it’s just to listen and stand beside her.
He flipped through channels on the TV, finally settling on a hockey game in progress. He’d give her the space and time she’d requested…to a point. If she continued to dodge his calls and stay away, he’d get the message that once again he’d been scratched as her guy. And he would not beg her to come home to him.
40
FOR THE NEXT several days, Lauren kept her promise to connect with Dave either through texts or a phone chat. She refused his requests to FaceTime with odd excuses, but he wouldn’t complain so long as he heard her voice. Reassured, yet still unsettled, Dave focused his energy on the Suns’ opening round in the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Boston, a perennial force in the postseason, matched up well against the Suns, with no love lost between the teams. Each time he’d faced them this season—either playing for the Blues or the Suns—the match proved contentious with physical play. He knew he had to tune out the chirps and keep his head in the game. Harper won’t tolerate stupid penalty minutes or game misconducts. Never thought about the chirps about wives and girlfriends that other guys endure—some better than others. The ultimate perk that comes with going public with a girlfriend. Keep prodding until you get under the skin.
John had already spoken to him about ignoring the taunts. “We’ll have your back, Martin, but we’ll exercise a little subtlety with the paybacks. You need to just keep skating and scoring—you don’t want to wind up a healthy scratch in the playoffs.”
After the first two games, which the teams split, Dave proved he could ignore anyone trying to get him to throw down his gloves. He scored three goals in two games by fueling his anger into his slap shot. When Lauren called after the first game, he deflected her praise and didn’t share his motivation. Lauren continued to hedge on a date she’d return to Tampa, explaining that she was not ready to leave Vancouver. She kept the details tightly held, obviously not prepared to share whatever had happened with him.
He dangled the next home playoff game as an enticement. Although Lauren didn’t say no, neither did she agree. “I promise I’ll watch the game wherever I am, Marty.”
“You’re my good luck charm, you know.” He kept his tone light, knowing that she would not respond well to pressure.
“I still am." Lauren sighed. "I miss you so much, Marty. I wish I were in Tampa.”
But not enough to book a flight and return. The unspoken words hung between them when they ended the call, and Dave’s unease continued to grow.
#
After continued prodding from her sister, Lauren finally agreed to meet with her mother—if Amanda would take them to her first home. She felt compelled to reconcile her memories with realities—what was real and what had she imagined? If Child Services intervened, it could be worse than my memories…seeing the actual house may supply some context.
“I still own the house, Lauren.” Her mother turned to look at her in the back seat. “I’ve lived there off and on until Amanda invited me into her home.
Lauren nodded but didn’t reply as she watched the unfamiliar neighborhoods. They had ventured into a part of Vancouver where Lauren knew the government provided low-income housing. The further Amanda drove, the more rundown the structures appeared. Finally, Amanda turned onto a street with a dingy block of homes and pulled into a driveway.
This is where I lived? Wonder how it looked twenty-five years ago? Cozy starter home? Or a small step up from a trailer?
“Look familiar?” Amanda attempted a light-hearted conversation.
“Not at all. Can we go inside?”
Her mother pulled the keys from her coat pocket and led them to the front door.
“Have you been here, Amanda?” Lauren kept her voice low.
“Just to help Mom pack her clothes. We didn’t stay long.”
Familiar images and smells assaulted her senses once Lauren entered the house. The furniture teased her mind—or maybe she imagined it? The drawn curtains mimicked her memories of a gloomy interior. An old television perched on a table in the corner. Beside it was an old console stereo
system. Smoke residue permeated the air as Lauren wandered toward the short hallway containing two bedrooms and a single bath.
The moment she opened the door, Lauren recognized her room. The same bed, curtains, a few toys scattered around the floor. She opened the closet, and visions of her cowering inside with her hands clutched over her ears flashed through her mind. Without speaking, she knelt beside the small bed and peered underneath at her other hiding spot. She suddenly remembered someone—her father?—dragging her out by her feet. Her screams and protests had gone unheeded. Her three-year-old self spotted the small stuffed rabbit wedged between the mattress and the bed frame. She wiggled under the bed and emerged, clutching the one toy she remembered.
She heard the strains of a familiar tune coming from the living room. Her hummingbird song? Holding the stuffed toy securely, she followed the music to the living room, where Amanda and her mother huddled about the record player.
“The song. I remember it—I thought I’d heard it at your house, Amanda. My hummingbird.”
Both turned toward her, a tentative smile on her mother’s face. “Music was the only way to stop your crying. You had quite a set of lungs…sometimes, we just let you sleep on the floor here and had the stereo play the album repeatedly.”
“I don’t remember that at all.” I slept on this floor?
Her mother stooped by the console and pulled several tattered albums from an extensive collection. “Many of these belonged to my mother…your grandmother. We called them ‘Lauren’s Greatest Hits.’ You were specific regarding the songs you wanted to hear.”
Lauren took a tentative step toward them. Her mother handed an album to her. “Look. We circled the songs that seemed to calm you.”
Lauren turned the battered album cover over. Boz Scags? Do I even know who he is? She glanced at one of the circled songs, trying to read the title with the magic marker hiding much of it. “All Alone?”
“I remember that song,” Amanda said. “I love it.”
All Alone? Appropriate, right? Her mother held another album toward her.
“This was your favorite, by far.” Curious, Lauren accepted it, examining the cover for clues. “Seals & Crofts? Never heard of them.”
“Most of these are your grandmother’s records. Artists from the ‘60s and ‘70s. The hummingbird song is on that album. Would you like to have it?”
Lauren shook her head and handed both albums back to her mother.
“Do you remember your bedroom?” Her mother’s voice seemed hesitant.
“Yeah. Nothing’s changed from my memory.”
“When you left, I shut the door and never opened it.”
“You mean when the government forced me to leave.” Lauren didn’t hide the bitterness. “This bunny kept me safe when both of you were screaming or drunk. Even after I went to Amanda’s, I needed my bunny. But I knew it had been cast away—just like me.” She turned abruptly and walked out the front door and closed it behind her. Old records and second-hand smoke—only things my parents gave me. Why would I want those old songs? To trigger other memories? No thanks. My old bedroom supplied more than I’ll ever process.
She walked to the car and climbed into the back seat and examined the long-lost stuffed animal. Her little bunny desperately needed a bath and minor repairs. How she’d loved that little guy! Her only friend.
Lauren looked around the neighborhood, taking in its run-down condition. “Trailer trash” came close to nailing it. Meanwhile, how could Amanda and Trevor live in a clean, beautiful apartment and never think about taking me away from this—until they had no choice? Lauren swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and opened the bottle of water she’d brought. Amanda and their mother remained inside—what more can they have to talk about? Listening to more songs from fifty years ago? Her fingers touched the tiny tattoo on her neck. At least she knew the story behind the hummingbird. Maybe she’d see if it’s on iTunes when she returned to the hotel.
Lauren watched as the curtain parted and a window opened. It’ll take more than fresh air to rid that house of its aroma. Why not tear it down? Just an eyesore along with the rest of these houses. She wondered about the safety of the neighborhood and who inhabited these homes. Crack houses? Drug dealers? Or just people stuck in poverty’s net? Some homes appeared abandoned, but that didn’t mean squatters hadn’t moved in. Her stomach turned at the thought of her mother living alone in this environment. For the first time, Lauren felt relief that her sister had moved the woman from this house.
#
After she returned to the hotel, Lauren examined her bunny. Could the little guy be salvaged? Her first thought, wash it in the sink with shampoo, but after noting the rotting threads and bits of stuffing peeking out, she couldn’t risk it falling apart. She grabbed her iPad and googled until she found a local business that restored old toys. She entered the address in her phone’s map app, then saw it was in walking distance. Make that hiking distance—the exercise may kickstart my brain.
Pulling on the Suns’ hoody she’d “borrowed” from Dave, Lauren tucked the bunny in the front pocket along with her phone, credit card, and ID. She enjoyed walking in Vancouver because she could disappear into the crowd and explore anonymously. She tucked her hair inside the hood and burrowed into the warmth of the sweatshirt. Bet I could walk right past Amanda, and she wouldn’t recognize me.
The elderly owner of the toy restoration company chuckled when Lauren placed the stuffed animal on the counter. “This little fellow has seen better days. Do you know how old it is?”
“Twenty-four or twenty-five years, I think. I had him when I was three and just found him again today.”
The older man’s eyes crinkled when he smiled at her. “You hope to clean and repair him?”
“Yes, as good as new or as close as possible.” Lauren watched as the gentleman examined the seams and materials.
“Overall, it’s in good shape. I can clean and repair. Maybe replace the stuffing in case of mold.” He met her eyes. “This won’t be cheap.”
“What do you estimate?” Lauren shrugged when he named a price. “How long will it take?”
“Several days. I’ll get him right in the queue.” He put a piece of paper on the counter. “Fill this out, and I’ll need a credit card for a deposit.”
“Not a problem.” Lauren picked up the pen, suppressing a smile as she completed the form. Wonder how many people tell him he looks like Santa Claus?
On her way back to the hotel, Lauren shook off the hoody and allowed her hair to tumble over her shoulders. Somehow reclaiming the bunny lifted her spirits. Something that holds good memories from the past. Her mind locked on the intervention of Child and Family Services. What had prompted the agency to get involved? She’d read a few of the reports in the case file and remembered the comments alluding to earlier police visits to the home. What prompted those? Was either of her parents arrested? For what—drug possession? Domestic violence? She’d explore the police records back at the hotel.
Another thought jumped into her mind. Child and Family Services didn’t mention any grandparents or adult relatives other than Amanda. Were they aware of the situation or even alive? What type of people were they? Had both sets of grandparents cut ties with her parents? Or perhaps the opposite.
Questions, more questions. Why didn’t I think to voice them when I was younger? Surely my entire family isn’t as screwed up as my parents? Maybe my grandparents were hippies living in a commune when they met? Maybe my parents were raised in that lifestyle? Maybe my parents were high school sweethearts who’d run away to get married when their parents disapproved?
Lauren’s mind could create an endless stream of scenarios. You could just ask, Gentry.
She called Amanda once she was back inside the hotel room. “Two quick questions, Amanda, if you have time.”
“Go ahead.”
“When does Cassie come to your house? What do you know about our grandparents, any aunts, uncles, cousins?”
“What do you know about the other question?” Lauren stopped walking when she realized she was pacing and settled on the sofa.
“Not much to tell. Mom’s father, Corey, was from Seattle and died in Vietnam. Only child. Her mother, Serena, died when she was thirteen—heart attack.” Amanda caught her breath. “Dad’s parents—his mother, Kristen had cancer and died when he was only seven or eight. His father, John Sr., died in prison—serving time for selling/transporting controlled substances. Also, an only child. They were both placed with foster families and met at some holiday function when they were sixteen. They stayed in touch, and when they aged out of the system, they got married.” Amanda’s tone sharpened. “You could ask Mom about their marriage. She’s told the story many times at AA.”
Foster care? How did I not know they both lived in foster homes? Lauren felt a flash of guilt—did that contribute to their behavior as adults? In what way?
“I think they were happy when they first married.” Amanda filled the silence. “Then Dad lost his job when Mom was pregnant with me. They got by for years, each working opposite shifts in the hospital maintenance and laundry services departments. Most of my memories are of one of them always sleeping. So, I grew up quickly.” Amanda stopped for a long minute. “Does that help you look at them with a different perspective?”
Lauren released a long sigh. “I guess I feel sympathy for their lives, going through foster care. It doesn’t excuse the drinking or their behavior, but they may have had scars from the system. I’m not sure I can tolerate a relationship with our mother. I never saw the side of her that you did growing up. The memories I do have are recurring nightmares. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to run her off or cause her to drink.” Lauren knew at once that bitterness had bled into her tone and apologized.