by Fiona West
Right Back Where We Started: A Small Town Romance
Timber Falls
Fiona West
Published by Tempest and Kite, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
RIGHT BACK WHERE WE STARTED: A SMALL TOWN ROMANCE
First edition. July 27, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Fiona West.
Written by Fiona West.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
EPILOGUE
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Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
“HOW LONG IS THIS GOING to take?” Carter’s father checked his Bulgari watch.
“I don’t know.” Carter kept his eyes focused on the framed diplomas behind the desk.
“I have things to do, Crash. I’m sure your job doesn’t miss you, but I have people who depend on me. I can’t spend all day sitting here waiting for some doctor to grace us with his presence.”
“It’ll only be a few more minutes. I’m hoping we’ll finally get a diagnosis today; this should be the last appointment for a while, so just . . .” Don’t leave. They won’t talk to me without you here.
The office door opened, and Dr. Rose entered, running a hand down his pale pink tie. “Sorry about the wait. You must be Mr. Carpenter and Carter.”
“That’s right,” his father confirmed, offering his hand and giving the man a firm handshake. Carter realized his palms were sweaty a fraction of a second too late to wipe them off before Dr. Rose extended a hand to him as well. They all sat back down, and Dr. Rose woke his computer.
“It looks like your wife’s hemoglobin and iron came back normal, and so far, we’ve found no sign of tumors or acute infections that could be causing her memory loss and poor judgment.”
“It’s been going on for some time,” Harrison said off-handedly, adjusting his watch on his left wrist. Carter hid his surprise at the comment; he wasn’t aware that his father had even noticed Willow’s memory issues, apart from what he’d told him.
“How long, would you say?”
“I’m not sure, I’ve been traveling extensively for work. More than a year.” Extensively. That was one way to put it; this was the first time Carter had seen him in over a month. And he knew better than to ask questions about where his father went.
“I see,” Dr. Rose replied. “Her chart says Carter brought her in with a fractured wrist a few months back. What were the circumstances surrounding that injury?”
When his father stayed silent, Carter sat up straighter in his chair. “She was standing on a rolling chair to try to kill a spider, and she fell. Dr. Durand assessed her for a head injury at that time, but he didn’t find any evidence of one.”
“Mmm. Which Dr. Durand?”
“There’s more than one?” Mr. Carpenter asked, clearly surprised. “I know Evan, but not the others.”
“There’s three,” Dr. Rose smirked. “A father and two sons.”
“It was Kyle. In the emergency room,” said Carter.
Dr. Rose turned more fully to Carter. “But you’ve noticed a difference in her behavior?”
“Yes.”
“Can you elaborate a bit more on that?” I’d rather not. He scratched his ankle. This was awkward. He felt like he was tattling on his mom, betraying her confidence somehow. But if he didn't do something, she could really hurt herself. And there was no one else to tell these secrets; no one else cared enough.
“She forgot my twenty-seventh birthday.” His leg was bouncing. He was glad his mother wasn't here for this part of the appointment; he'd sent her home with Mr. Fisher, the estate’s handyman. He drove for them occasionally, so hopefully his mother wouldn’t mind. But he wasn’t putting any money down on a bet about what would or wouldn’t upset her these days.
Dr. Rose typed something into his computer. “She didn't show up to the party or she didn't mention it?”
“Both. She was supposed to meet us at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse in Portland. She never showed. When I called her, it was like she had no idea what I was talking about.” Truthfully, it had started long before that, months ago. She kept getting stuck in their conversations, a repetitive loop. She'd called her SUV a “driving machine.” He had laughed before he’d realized she wasn't joking: she couldn't find the word in the files of her mind. When called on it, she laughed off her forgetfulness as a product of age. He told Dr. Rose about those moments, too.
“How’s your mother’s hygiene?” he asked.
“Stepmother,” Harrison corrected.
Really? You have to bring that up now? Carter wanted to snap. She’s the only mother I’ve ever known, and you know it. And she’s a better parent than you ever were. He settled for ignoring the comment.
“I don't think she can get her contacts in . . .” Carter murmured. “She’s been wearing her glasses lately, which she usually doesn’t do unless she's got an eye infection or her prescription is off with her contacts. Her clothes are clean, but they're . . . simple?”
“Can you expand on that?”
“Like, she never wears anything that would require dry cleaning, nothing with complicated snaps or buttons. Does that make sense?”
“And that’s not normal for her?”
Both Carpenter men barked out a laugh. “No. Not at all,” his father confirmed. Carter had rarely seen her in anything but Chanel, Dolce and Gabbana, or Versace. He couldn’t get comfortable in the chair, and shifting around didn’t seem to help. His father stood up. “I apologize, gentlemen, but I have an important meeting to get to.” It was a lie; Carter had asked his father’s assistant, Nancy Buchanan, to clear his schedule all morning, and he knew she had.
Dr. Rose put down his pen. “Before you go, let me just say that early-onset dementia is a possibility, but an unlikely one, given Willow’s overall good health. We’ll need to rule out more possibilities first; check her thyroid, B-12 . . . let’s schedule an MRI and a CT scan to rule out brain bleeds, get a feel for her brain health . . .”
“Fine. Just let me know when, and we’ll get her here.” Harrison shook the doctor’s hand again and thanked him for his time while Carter took a deep breath and just held it. He was barely holding back his anger; this was all taking too long. This was the most inefficient process he’d ever encountered, and it was downright infuriating. These people didn’t know how hard it was to get his father to these appointments, how hard it was to live with his mom right now. It was like having
an ankle bracelet, the kind they put on felons; he was secretly tied to his parents’ house, this heavy weight with him all the time, no matter what else he was doing. His father should be doing this. It shouldn’t be his job.
“From what you’ve told me,” the doctor went on once his father left, “there's a genuine chance that she's suffering from a neurological condition that could affect her health, possibly even her life expectancy. It's a good thing that you came in.” Affect her life expectancy. Affect. her. life. expectancy. It was such a cold way to talk about his mother's death. She was fifty-one. She was supposed to be concerned with planning parties and receiving donations and organizing family reunions. In a few years, marrying off her boys and playing with her grandkids. Not this.
“Yeah, Dr. Durand thought it would be a good idea.”
“He's right. I'm glad you listened. We’ll set up those tests and have you come back in next week. And l encourage families to seek some help for themselves, too. This is a huge change in your life. You're moving from child to parent, from cared-for to caring-for. It's not selfish to start to grieve that change, to start to process it.”
“Yeah, okay. I'll work on that.” Never mind that he should be studying for his next actuarial exam for work. Never mind that he kept having to stop by his place in Salem just for more clothes or random books or electronics, only to lock it up again and head to his parents' estate, where he was practically living again now. Never mind that he was afraid to go out with friends, afraid she'd wander onto the highway. Bitterness began to creep in, but love swept it out. He loved his mom; their genetics were irrelevant. If she needed him, he'd be there for her.
“Do you have any recommendations for in-home care?”
Dr. Rose frowned a little. “Let's hold off on that kind of talk until we have a firm diagnosis, all right?”
Screw that. He needed help now; he'd already waited seven weeks for this appointment. Carter nodded along with him, but as soon as he was back in the hallway, he pulled out his phone.
Carter: Hey, Dr. Durand. I'm at the hospital. Do you have a minute to talk?
Dr. Durand: Yes. Please go to my office, I'll be there shortly.
Carter: Will do. Thanks.
Kyle was only two years older than Carter, but he'd been really helpful through all of this. He had no official responsibility, yet any time Carter texted him, he always answered, never seemed to mind being interrupted. Considering he'd only seen his mom once two months ago, Carter felt he was really going above and beyond. He walked to Dr. Durand’s office and waited outside the closed door until the doctor arrived.
“Good, you're still here. Sorry, I got held up by a lady who wanted to talk about her bowel movements. Come in.” Carter had no time to respond to that strange greeting before he was being ushered into the small office. “What's up?”
“I just met with Dr. Rose.”
“Good appointment?”
Carter nodded, then shook his head. “He didn't want to talk about care options until we had an official diagnosis. But the thing is . . .”
“You need help now.”
He nodded. “I do. I need to be able to go to work without worrying, and it’s not fair to ask our household staff to keep an eye on her.”
Kyle leaned back in his chair and picked up a pen off his desk, spinning it between his fingers while he talked. “I don't mean to be crass, but you've got money, right?”
Carter smirked a little. “Yes.” It was the worst-kept secret in Timber Falls: the Carpenters were loaded. His father was president of Timber Falls Paper Products, a certified “big deal” in the community. Half the town worked for TFPP, so the whole town knew who he was. Which made his brother Chase’s drug problems all the more embarrassing.
“I don't like to assume,” said Kyle. “I mean, you could still be drowning in debt if you don't manage your money well. But since cost isn't an issue, I know someone who'd be great. She's got her Master's in adult gerontology, which is technically not your mom's situation, but if Willow's got early-onset AD, she'll be an expert in that, too.”
“Early-onset what?”
“Early-onset Alzheimer's Disease,” Kyle clarified, not pausing to let the words land, apparently not realizing that they'd made Carter's heart clench like a fist. They were the words he'd been dreading since this began. “In the interest of full disclosure, she's also friends with my brother’s best friend and my brother’s fiancée, but I wouldn't let that sway me. She worked here at the hospital for a few years, so I've seen what a professional she is. I heard she went to Partners in Care just recently. See if she's available; her name's Martina . . .” He closed his eyes for a second. “Can't remember her last name.”
“Lopez,” Carter mumbled. “Martina Lopez.”
“Oh good, you know each other.” Know her? That was a bit of an understatement. She was the first—and only—woman Carter had ever loved. It wasn't just that contacting Martina was a bad idea—it was a terrible idea. Kyle wrote down the company's phone number on a yellow sticky note and passed it to Carter. “It would be beneficial if she knew your mother as well. It might help Willow be more comfortable with the whole situation. There’s a dearth of medical professionals of this caliber in the area, so you’ll want to call her as soon as possible, before she gets hired by someone else.”
When Carter got back to his car, he sat and stared at the phone number for a long time, listening to the rain fall against the roof. Had she forgiven him? It probably didn't help that he'd never gotten to apologize; she'd shut him out so completely, there was no opportunity.
Who was he kidding? She'd been so bright and beautiful and full of life even in high school that he couldn't imagine she wasn't married now. It would probably be no big deal. Maybe they could even be friends again. He sighed, then started his car to drive back to work in Salem. He’d call later. Maybe.
CHAPTER TWO
ON MONDAY, MARTINA awoke before dawn. Snow White was singing again.
“Cat!” Martina called. “It is early, cat. It is not getting up time. Quit your yowling.” There was a momentary coda in the song, a brief, thinking pause. Then the singing continued.
“Why,” she moaned. “Why, cat? Why are you like this? Your breed is supposed to be quiet.” It did explain why she'd been given to the shelter in the first place. Martina pried herself out of bed, yawning, feeling her way through the dark to her bedroom door. The moment she opened it, a large, fluffy Persian rubbed against her fleece-covered legs. “Yeah, yeah. Good morning, Snow.” A tortoiseshell cat meowed at her from the back of the couch. “Good morning, Charming.” A thin calico under the desk hissed at her as she made her way to the kitchen. “Same to you, Rajah.” She got out the wet food and dished it into three bowls, taking one to each corner of the room to avoid fighting. It didn't matter; Rajah would likely ignore his so long that Snow would eat it. Charming didn't seem to know that was an option, but Snow's fluff wasn't as much fur as she liked people to think. “Greedy guts,” Martina whispered to her, giving her a scratch on the head as she dug in.
She curled into a corner of the couch, pulling a knitted afghan up over her shoulders. She was too tired to go back to bed. Charming bounded up onto the couch next to her, tail twitching, curiously sniffing at her. She pulled him down next to her, letting her eyes droop closed again as she stroked his silky fur. He was a nice enough cat, but not terribly bright. In the other room, she heard her phone ding. Martina groaned.
“Rajah. Go get my phone.” At the mention of his name, Rajah went scurrying under the desk again. “Snow White, how about you? You gonna earn your keep around here?”
The phone dinged again, and she sighed. “Why did I stay up so late last night?” At the suggestion of Disney Plus, she'd gotten baited into a re-watch of The Princess
Diaries . . . and then, of course, she had to watch The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement, not only because it had Chris Pine, but also because she liked to finish things once she started them. The books were better
, but there was only so much you could do. She wasn't sure she really loved a love triangle, because someone always got left out in the cold. That's probably why she'd fallen asleep before she was halfway through it.
Martina stopped into the kitchen to grab herself a glass of kefir, then trundled back into the bedroom, carrying Charming under her arm. Her phone was blowing up, but the texts were all from different people.
Lola: Thanks for shopping with me yesterday! It was fun.
Winnie: You left your maple syrup here. We’re enjoying it.
Francesca: When does your new job thingy start?
Mom: So excited for your new job today! Please let us know how it goes. :kissy-face emoji:
Dad: se acabó tu libertad, ¿sí? :smirk emoji:
My liberty is over, Dad? Really? The truth was that she was really looking forward to starting her job. Cindy Hewes, her new boss, seemed ecstatic to have someone with her education working at Partners in Care. It had been nice to have a few weeks off . . . she'd given herself a little vacation between finishing up at the hospital and starting her new profession in adult geriatric care. She was a little burnt out between long shifts at the hospital and long hours spent studying. It'd been nice to just have time to paint her toenails, hang with friends, and catch up on all the shows everyone was talking about on Instagram.
She picked up her phone to reply.
To Lola: Yes, super fun. Let’s do it again soon. :kissy face emoji:
To Winnie: Girl, if you use up all my Grade A maple syrup without me, you and Daniel are both dead to me.
It was the good stuff: Canadian. Accept no substitutes.
To Francesca: I love you, please try to talk like an adult so people will take you seriously. Today!
To Mom: Yes, I will! Thanks, Mom!
To Dad: Gracias. Muchas gracias.
She skipped to the shower, ready to get this new job started.
SHE ARRIVED AT CINDY’S promptly at 7:30 a.m.. They had an 8 a.m. appointment with an employer. Since she’d expected to wait for a placement, Martina was thrilled. She loved this job already.