Addison’s head didn’t move, but her eyes shifted to Brianne. “He’s never been the kind of man to give me any concerns about his faithfulness. But how many times do you hear women say they didn’t see the signs? Or maybe it’s not a woman, and he lied for some other reason. What if he’s covering up something else? Something even worse.”
“What makes you think that? Do you have any other reason to suspect Caleb is lying to you about his memories?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. The night of the accident, it seemed like he was avoiding me, like he didn’t want to talk. I brushed it off, but now it really has me scared.”
“Did you ask Caroline? Maybe she heard something.”
Addison tipped up her chin. “Caroline has been even worse since then. I can’t get a straight answer out of her, and she talks in circles and zigzags.” She twisted her hair along her right shoulder. “I flat out asked her, ‘Where did Caleb tell you he was going that night?’ Her answer was ‘Caleb is a good man.’”
“I don’t understand.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m working with.” Though the temperature was in the near nineties, Addison rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “If I push her, she gets agitated. Or she goes to Caleb, which makes me look like a lunatic who’s attacking everyone with crazy questions. I’m not kidding you, I feel like I’m living in one of those old asylums.”
Brianne nudged Addison’s side. “You’re doing better than that. I mean, the food is enough to know you’re living in the free world.”
“Well, I hope you like what Caroline’s cooking up for lunch.”
“As long as it’s not laced with sedatives, and I don’t wake up to find myself undergoing electroshock therapy.”
Addison grinned. “No guarantees.”
At the sudden sound of a smoke alarm, they both turned toward the house.
22
Addison burst through the mudroom into the kitchen. Black smoke hovered like a cloud near the ceiling. On the stove, a pan crackled, its contents long dry.
In five long strides, she reached the source of the problem, snagged the handle, and dropped the pot and remains into the sink. Without thinking, she twisted the faucet, sending a stream of water onto the overheated metal. Steam billowed up, joining the smoke.
Addison blinked and coughed, eyes stinging as she opened all the windows and doors while Brianne snagged a magazine from the table and waved it near the smoke detector.
After several minutes of airing out the kitchen, they’d made it to the point where they could at least breathe, though the kitchen would wear a stinky perfume for a few days.
“This is what I’m talking about.” Addison leaned back along the Formica counter. “Caroline is more than forgetful. I worry about her safety, and now the safety of my kids. Caleb doesn’t seem to see it.” The mention of her husband reminded Addison that he should have heard the commotion from the couch. She peeked around the corner and found his station empty, his crutches missing.
“What?” Brianne set the magazine in the center of the table.
“Caleb is supposed to be on his back unless he’s making a trip to the bathroom. The concussion makes him dizzy, and his leg can’t bear weight. But he won’t do it.”
Brianne opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a scream sounded through the open window.
Addison’s heart leapt to her throat. Hannah. What could be wrong now? Hadn’t they had enough?
Mother’s instinct took over. She ran for the door, flying through the mudroom and down the steps. The yard was empty, aside from a rogue chicken, who pecked at the currants hanging from a bush alongside the house. Addison jogged through the grass toward the hay shed, where a door stood open.
“Hannah?” She burst through the door. “Are you okay? Where are you?” Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimly lit building. When they did, she found the five missing people staring at her like she was the one on fire.
“Mom?” Hannah took a step closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not the one who screamed.” Addison raised her eyebrows. Sometimes living here made her feel like she was going crazy.
Caleb sat along the wall on a bench that looked like a dump reject, his crutches beside him. A half smile lit his bruised face. “It wasn’t anything but a little mouse. Not even a fat field mouse.”
Hannah shrugged. “It looked big to me, and it was fast.” A shudder seemed to run through her entire body.
Lilly patted Hannah’s arm. “He was so cute. You just didn’t get a good look.”
Hannah shook off her sister’s hand, returning the kindness with her newly perfected what’s-wrong-with-you glare.
Caroline raised her callused hand in greeting to Brianne, then turned her attention to the stack of hay at the end of the shed. “Where did that barn cat get to?” She shoved her hand into the hay, sending the sweet smell into the air.
Addison clutched her hands together. The thought of what could be living in those dark places made her want to run.
“Coolidge, you in there?” Caroline put her eye to a gap.
Taking a step back, Addison bumped into Brianne, who held her arms tight around her own body.
“Who’s Coolidge?” Connor asked.
Caleb hoisted himself up and shuffled to his son’s side. “An old cat we had when I was a boy. Grammy is just being silly.”
This was the example Addison had been waiting for. She pressed her palms into her sides. How much would it take for Caleb to see what was right in front of him? Caroline wasn’t messing around. She was seriously looking for a cat that would have been at least thirty years old. “Let’s go inside and find some lunch.” Maybe the remnants burned to the pan would help her convince him.
“Ahh.” Caroline reached in and pulled out a skin-and-bones, half bald, nearly toothless orange-and-white cat. Guinness Book of World Records should be notified about this ancient feline. She laid the scrap of a cat on a hay bale.
Coolidge looked around, then dropped his head and closed his eyes.
“You lazy old cat.” Caroline scratched behind his head. “No treats for you until you get your chores done around here.”
The cat responded by lifting his head, licking his paw, and wiping it across his face.
“You can be replaced, you know.” Caroline wagged her finger.
“Maybe we can hire an assistant for the old guy.” Caleb’s face registered his shock as he leaned closer. “Sorry, Cool.” He patted the cat’s head. “I figured you were long dead.”
“Are you sure he’s not?” Connor cocked his head, his lip raised in disgust. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Respect your elders, young man.” His grandmother bumped him with her hip.
Addison bit down on the side of her index finger. No one told her this relocation would be more like a jump off Wackadoodle Pier. “Let’s get lunch going. Brianne is staying to eat with us. And, Caleb, you’re supposed to be on the couch, resting.”
“Don’t fuss over me. I’m fine, and I think Mom already had a plan for food.”
Addison rubbed her hand over Caleb’s, firmly gripped on the crutch. “I’ve saved her plan just for you. The rest of us will have sandwiches.”
He gave her a questioning stare, but Addison wanted him to wait and see with his own eyes what her words could not do justice describing. Caroline was slipping big-time. Maybe this move had come at just the right moment. The woman was capable of burning her house down around herself. “Kids, be sure to wash your hands when you get inside. And, Connor, use soap.”
Brianne smirked in a way that broadcasted sympathy. At least someone understood. If not for Brianne, Addison could have been convinced that this craziness was something her imagination had cooked up.
The first thing Addison did once she was back in the kitchen was to pull out the ancient address book that Caroline kept in the drawer under the landline. She found the doctor’s information in the front with the emergency numbe
rs.
The phone rang seven times before a man answered, “Hello?” He sounded as if he’d been woken from a nap.
“I’m trying to reach Dr. Campbell. Do I have the right number?” Addison tapped the ballpoint pen against her front teeth.
“You certainly do.”
“I’d like to make an appointment for my mother-in-law, Caroline Kilbourn.”
“Dear me. Carrie isn’t ailing, is she?”
Addison hadn’t heard anyone call Caroline by this nickname since her Charles had passed away. “No, sir. She just needs to get in for a checkup.”
“Oh, well, I don’t do that kind of thing anymore. They say I’m getting up there in the years, but I’m still licensed. And you know what, experience makes a good doctor. You can’t get experience without putting in time out here in the real world, treating real problems. Don’t you agree?”
“Sure. I see your point.”
“And the bedside manner. Well, there is none. All these young guns care about is the almighty dollar. Give ’em a buck, and they’re happy, no matter how the patient feels. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes. Can you tell me who I should call for Caroline’s appointment?”
“I suspect the clinic is about the best you’re going to find in this area. They took it over when I stopped practicing a while back, but don’t make any judgments about my character based on the know-nothings there. I could write her out a scrip if that’s all you need.” A hard sigh filtered through the line. “It’s just a shame. Hold on, and I’ll get you the number.”
Addison shook her head at Brianne. This guy needed to have his license revoked. At least three minutes passed before the old man was back on the line, reciting the clinic’s phone number.
“Thank you.” Addison ended the call.
“What was that about?” Brianne undid her ponytail, smoothed her hair, then banded it up again.
“Caroline’s doctor. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they both were drinking from the same batch of whiskey.”
Brianne cocked an eyebrow and laughed.
“What’s all the ruckus about in here?” Caroline looked around the room, her gaze stopping on the charred meal. “Aw. You think that’s a hoot, do you? Well, you’re welcome to do the cooking around here. I’m sure you never have a flop.” She shot a high-powered glare at Addison before wrinkling her nose and marching out of the room.
“Caroline, that’s not what we were laughing about.” Addison spoke loudly enough to be heard throughout the house but was relieved when Caroline didn’t return to the kitchen. Joking about her mother-in-law throwing back liquor with a kooky doctor might be worse than insulting her cooking ability.
23
Tally insisted she’d seen Roger’s eyes roll back before he collapsed into the lamp. But how many times had Emilia spoken with witnesses who were positive about what they’d seen, only to find out that version of their story wasn’t even possible?
She’d asked Roger again if there was any chance he’d lost consciousness at the time, but he remained insistent. He remembered it all with such clarity, giving details down to the moment he fell into the lamp. Whom was she supposed to believe?
Eyewitness testimony was not as reliable as the general public believed. In fact, it was the most common factor in wrongful convictions. Translating that to her home life might seem off base to some people, but didn’t butchers bring home meat? If Emilia were a doctor, she’d surely evaluate her daughter’s symptoms when she became sick.
Choosing whose side to take was the issue. If Tally was right, Emilia should get the neurologist involved, which was a solid connection to more paperwork and more hoops to jump through for workers’ comp. Based on the experience she’d had already, nothing would change.
If she let Roger’s version of the story continue to win out, they’d keep moving along like they’d done for months. No new tests, no long meetings with doctors who had differing opinions, and no new hopes that would end in disappointment.
Either way, Tally was frustrated.
She knocked on her daughter’s door, giving her more privacy than her cop mind felt necessary.
“What?” Tally’s words hammered through.
Emilia opened the door and stepped in. For the first time that summer, the floor was clear of layered dirty clothes, papers, and dishes complete with dried-on leftovers. “Wow. What happened in here?”
“Seriously? You’re on me all the time about my room, and now that it’s cleaned up, you have a problem with that too?” Tally’s upper lip lifted to one side. “There’s just no winning around here.”
No kidding. Emilia and Tally finally had something they could agree on, but Emilia couldn’t and wouldn’t share that with her daughter. Hope was a fragile thread, and reality cut like the blade of a knife. There were so many things Tally didn’t have to know about at thirteen, so many she’d already seen, and so many Emilia would do anything to protect her from. Once hope was torn, it was nearly impossible to repair the fiber. “I meant that as a compliment. It looks great in here.”
The cocked lip dropped back into place, but Tally continued to stare her down with narrowed eyes. “I’m still grounded. What else am I supposed to do?”
“Hmm. You’re making discipline seem enticing from my perspective. Are you sure you want to do that?” Emilia winked.
Tally fell back onto the mound of pillows at the head of her bed. “Whatever.”
“Here’s the thing.” Emilia eased down onto the mattress beside her daughter. “I called in a favor at the parks and recreation department. I got you signed up for soccer camp. It starts Monday.” Her voice flew up an octave, as if her tone would dictate Tally’s reaction.
Emilia braced herself for the smile she’d finally see on her daughter’s face, but instead, Tally rolled her eyes.
“Don’t I get a say?” She crossed her arms against her chest.
No way. That ridiculous camp had cost Emilia seventy dollars, two hours, and a favor she’d rather still have available. “Girl, you are going to soccer camp. Dig out your shin guards.” Throbbing pounded in her jaw. No matter what she did lately, she lost. Parenting had turned from her greatest joy to a thankless daily encounter. She cut her losses and left the room, hoping to escape before the next sassy comment made it to her ears.
“What was that about?” Roger sat in the corner of the sofa, his hand gripping the armrest. His eyes held sincere interest, something that hadn’t been there since before the accident.
“I signed her up for soccer camp, and apparently, she didn’t want that.” Emilia eased down on the other side of the couch, being sure to move slowly and not upset Roger’s balance.
“She loves soccer. Is something else bothering her?” He turned his head in her direction, but his gaze seemed to stare through her the way cartoon ghosts glided through walls. He blinked, then covered one eye with his free palm.
“I’m sure it’s just hormones. She’s a teenager.” There was so much more to it, but Roger’s shoulders were not the place to set her burdens. They held enough with his efforts to make it through each day.
His head jerked in an awkward nod. “I suppose . . . you’re right.” He tipped forward, then stood. “Going to lie down.” The eyes that once simultaneously gave Emilia comfort and hope now turned away. They were strangers living in the same house. But every once in a while, she sensed Roger in there, like a prisoner fighting to break free. If only she could find the key to getting her husband back.
Roger moved across the room, his right leg almost pulled along, as if it had grown heavier. Was that new? Emilia searched through her memories, trying to remember the last time she’d paid enough attention to her husband to notice something like that. She found nothing.
Emilia pulled her cell from the pocket of her jeans and searched her contacts until she found the one for the neurologist, then made the call.
“You’ve reached Mountain View Neurology and Memory. We’re serving another client. Pleas
e hold. Your call will be answered in the order it was received. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911.” An instrumental version of an eighties ballad played through the phone.
“Mom?”
Emilia looked up to find Tally standing in the last place she’d seen Roger. She tipped the phone away from her mouth, keeping the earpiece pressed to her head. “Yes.”
“I’m really sorry.” Tally’s eyes glistened. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I shouldn’t have been so mean.”
Emilia pulled the cell away from her face and terminated the call. Her chest deflated like a balloon that had been blown up too tight. The space gave her heart room to ache for her daughter. She patted the cushion beside her on the couch.
In a second, Tally was there, warming Emilia’s side, the weight of her daughter in her arms reviving hope and peace. Tears dampened Emilia’s T-shirt. She pulled Tally tighter and ran her hand over her daughter’s dark hair, the scent of coconut so familiar on her girl.
Until last year, Emilia had spent time each day running a brush through her daughter’s hair, savoring the familiar freshness the shampoo left behind. Memories poured over her. Tally as a toddler, streaking through the house Emilia had shared with her grandmother, Tally’s dark curls transformed into wet ringlets from her bath. The sound of her little-girl laughter had swelled Emilia’s heart until she felt she would burst with the pressure of so much all-consuming love.
She hadn’t thought anyone could ever understand that kind of love until she met Roger. He had fallen in love with Emilia, and that transferred to her daughter. How many times had she watched him as he watched Tally, the sparkle of fatherly affection in his eyes, pride for a daughter he didn’t create but loved as if he had.
More Than We Remember Page 15