And nothing. I shrugged my shoulders angrily. “Fine,” I muttered. “Fine!” And I got in the car and went right to the airport.
“I would like a ticket to Miami, please,” I announced at the check-in counter. “One way!” I slid over my credit card. I had been thinking about doing just this for weeks; what had happened this morning was exactly the kick in the ass I had needed to finally step on the gas.
“Tired of the snow?” the airline lady said sympathetically, and I nodded. “There’s nothing direct from Traverse City to Miami, so you’ll connect through Detroit or Chicago.”
“Whatever is fastest.”
“Ok, let’s see what’s available.” Her fingers tapped away at the keyboard. “We could put you through O’Hare, arriving at Miami International at 3:22,” she announced, and kept going on about different flights and connections.
“Whatever gets me there the fastest,” I repeated, and pushed the credit card toward her.
“Because this is a same-day purchase, the fare is quite steep,” she warned me.
I edged the card even closer. “That’s ok. I really need to get to Miami.”
She took it and it disappeared behind the counter, but then she frowned. “This card has been declined.” She placed it back in front of me with a little click.
“What?” I stared at her for a moment, then reached into my purse for my wallet again. She was mistaken, but I wasn’t going to argue. “Here.” I put down another card and she ran it.
“I’m sorry, this has also been declined.” She put it on top of the first one.
“There must be something wrong with your machine,” I said, puzzled.
“Let me try again.” She did, with both of them. “No. Sorry.” She made a sympathetic face.
I didn’t know what to say—it had to have been a mistake. “Ok. Ok, thanks.” Well, I could pay with my debit card. I never used it, but I had to have it around somewhere. There was plenty of money in my account at the bank, I was sure, even though I rarely paid with cash or checked my balance. But money went in there, I knew. I dug around in my wallet for the other piece of plastic.
The airline lady peered over my shoulder. “Do you mind stepping aside so that I can help another customer?” she asked.
I glanced behind myself at the line, at the next guy with about 14 overloaded bags. “Sure. Thank you for your help.” I got out of the way. There was an ATM by the exit—I would just withdraw a bunch of money and pay for the plane ticket with that.
“What?” I said it out loud, and the woman nursing a baby in a chair next to the ATM looked up. “This can’t be right,” I told her. “It says I have five hundred dollars.”
“That’s a good amount,” she said. Her baby came off her breast with a pop and it made both the mom and me smile. But then I returned to the cash balance, the one that was way too low.
“It is a good amount,” I said slowly. A good amount, like, to spend on shoes at one time. But not what I thought I would have—there should have been thousands, tens of thousands. I didn’t get it.
I looked again at the airline agent, but $500 wasn’t enough for the same-day plane ticket. And if I spent it all right now, then what would I do? I had never been one to budget. I sat down next to the mom and her baby to think, but that got boring. “Where are you guys heading?” I asked conversationally.
“To see my sister in Des Moines,” she told me. “She hasn’t met TJ yet. Thomas John.” She touched his cheek and he grinned up at her and blew a milk bubble.
“Oh, he’s beautiful!” I exclaimed. “I love that name, too.”
She smiled at me. “He’s named after my grandfathers. What about you? Where are you going?”
“Well, I was trying to go to Miami. To see my ex, he lives down there now. He used to play football here, for the Woodsmen, but he got traded to the Cottonmouths.” The trade had been the biggest news of the United Football Confederation’s off-season.
“Wait a minute. Are you talking about Nico Williams? The wide receiver? He was your boyfriend?” Her mouth fell open. “Seriously? That guy is a god!”
I nodded. “Right?”
“Didn’t he just get into some trouble with his new team?” She put baby TJ on her shoulder.
“Yeah, he’s having a few problems settling in,” I confided. “That’s why I’m going. To help him figure out how he’s going to fix the situation down there.”
“But doesn’t he have an agent, and advisors, and all that? And if you guys broke up…”
“I know. I know it sounds crazy, but I really feel like he needs me there. I had this dream that he was saying my name, talking about the good times. And there’s nothing keeping me here in Michigan, not anymore.” I frowned a little. Crap.
“You know what my mom used to say about couples getting back together?” Baby TJ burped and she lowered him to rest against her chest. “She used to say, ‘There was a reason they broke up in the first place.’”
“Your mom is generally correct. But isn’t there room for redemption and rebuilding bridges, stuff like that? I mean, I hope so, for myself!” I had made a few mistakes, and other people had too. Now that I had suddenly found myself in the middle of a mess of disappointments and recriminations, I hoped even more that things could be fixed. “I can’t afford a plane ticket. I’ll have to drive to Miami, I guess.”
“You could take the bus. That was how I used to come home from K College downstate. It would probably take a long time to get to Miami with a bunch of transfers, but it would be a lot cheaper than flying.”
“The bus,” I repeated. I’d never had to think about being cheap before, but if this situation with the bank account balance and credit cards didn’t resolve, I was going to have to start.
“Oh, there’s my husband,” she said, and started gathering up her stuff. A guy pushing a luggage cart with a car seat falling off the top was hurrying towards us. “What’s your name?”
“Liesl. Liesl von Salzburg.”
“Nancy Daniels,” she told me. We shook hands. “I love your accent.”
“Thank you. I’m from Austria.” I wished I were wearing the dirndl and Tyrolean hat that I had packed away in my suitcase.
“So cool,” Nancy said admiringly. “Good luck to you, on your trip and with Nico Williams. I hope you’re right about him being able to redeem himself.”
I hoped so, too. “Have fun visiting your sister. Auf Wiedersehen!” I waved at the baby and wandered out to the long-term parking lot where I had left the car, thinking at the time that I would never see it again. I wondered how long it would take me to drive to Florida and I put the route into my phone. I stared at the screen, perplexed. It was that far? Yeah, sure, it might take me 23 hours if I drove the speed limit, but what if I went 90 or faster? I did some calculations as I continued to walk briskly, pulling my big rolling bag behind me.
Stall 52, 53, 54…wait a minute. The car was supposed to be there, in number 55, but there was only a blank space. Maybe I was at the wrong parking spot—no, because there was the gum squished on the pavement that looked like a blue, dirty flower, which had reminded me of my best friend, Daisy. Not because she was blue and dirty, but the flower part. So where the hell was the car? I turned in a circle, and looked up into the sky, like it could have flown away. Oh, shit!
“Help, my car was stolen!” I shouted, pounding up to the booth at the exit, my bag bumping wildly behind me. “My car was parked here, and I came out, and it’s gone! Help! A red BMW, license plate H-O-T—”
The attendant looked bored and held up a piece of paper. “Red BMW, plate said H-O-T-D-D-D-Y?” She squinted at the letters written there. “What is that supposed to mean, ho teddy, a slutty bear? Hot toddy, like a drink by the fireplace?”
“Everyone always thinks that. The A didn’t fit between the first two Ds.” I gave her a minute to think. “Hot Daddy!”
“Oh.” She paused, frowning. “That’s…”
“Yeah, it’s gross. Where’s my car?”
>
She shrugged. “Two guys came and drove it off.”
“What? They stole it, you mean!” I was incensed.
“It’s not stealing if you have the key. They mentioned that the car had been taken by a small, blonde woman,” and here she paused to frown at me and my hair, “and they wanted me to know that they were returning it to the rightful owner. I wrote down the license plate number so I could keep a record of all these shenanigans.” She gave me a long look. “Sounds like you’re lucky no one called the cops on you, miss.”
He had taken back the car. I had no car? I had no car and I had barely any money. Oh, this was looking bad, but I could deal. I stood up as tall as I could. “Can you please tell me the best way to get to the bus station from here?” I asked the attendant.
An hour later, I was sitting on a bus to Miami.
Find The Comeback Route on Amazon
Read More about Amy & Steve Whitaker in Tuck
My mom eyed me doubtfully. “We always put cereal in the bottle for you and your brother,” she told me, as I tried to spoon the disgusting pap into Janie’s uncooperative mouth.
“The books say not to.” Having been born without maternal instinct, I was relying heavily on the books. “And the pediatrician said it too, Mom.”
“I never listened to all that. I just listened to my mother,” she told me pointedly.
“Yeah, Grandma Joann gave you great advice. What was that thing again about how it’s ok to smoke while you’re pregnant if you only do it at night?”
“It wasn’t smoking. It was drinking,” she clarified. She put a toaster waffle down in front of me, and I thanked her and grabbed it off the plate as I continued the cereal struggle. Since Janie had come into my life, eating had become a one-handed experience. “And I think that’s why she’s waking up so much at night,” my mom continued. “The poor thing is hungry! She needs a full tummy to go to sleep.”
I shoved the rest of the waffle into my mouth as Janie started to fuss. “Dr. Van Dam said she was the perfect weight at her last checkup,” I told my mom through waffle. “Exactly where she should be.”
She mumbled something else about people who don’t listen and turned back to the toaster. I smiled at Janie. “You’ll listen to me, won’t you, sweetie pie? You’re my little nugget and I love you so much!” She did her gummy smile back at me and the cereal slid out. I sighed and tried to scrape it back in. Her gums looked a little red. That was it!
“I think she’s starting teething,” I told my mom confidently. “That’s why she’s back to waking up all the time.”
“That or you’re starving her,” my mom commented, and I stuck out my tongue at her back. “Both you and your brother had teeth already. And slept through the night.”
“Probably Will was also reading,” I mentioned. “I have an idea. You can come to Janie’s next appointment with the pediatrician and fight with Dr. Van Dam instead of me.”
She turned to me, face the picture of shock. “I’m not fighting with you! I’m helping you!”
“How are you helping Caroline?” my dad asked, as he came in with the newspaper. My parents were the last two people in the nation who read the print edition. He opened the oven door and hung up the sections to dry, as he did every day, as the newspaper invariably landed in the sprinklers. The oven’s primary function in the kitchen was as a newspaper drying rack.
“I’m just telling her how we used to take care of her and her brother,” my mom explained to him. “We would put them to bed with a bottle of formula with cereal mixed in, and both of them slept through the night beginning at two months. I think even at one month. You remember, don’t you, Jim?”
My dad was patting around his body for his glasses. “Mmhmm,” he agreed. It was usually easier to agree with my mom. “That’s right, Edie.”
But I decided to push back. “Mom, the books say that you shouldn’t put babies to bed with a bottle. They can choke. And get ear infections, and cavities.”
“How could she get cavities when she doesn’t have any teeth? I’m just saying, you and Will were excellent sleepers. It worked for me. And you’re starting to look very run-down, Caroline. It’s worrying me and Dad. Right, Jim?”
He was peering into the oven to read the front page.
I kissed her cheek. “I’m fine, Mom. I have to run. I’ll be home at six.”
She leaned forward and kissed Janie’s soft little neck. “Don’t forget to change her.”
“I won’t.” She stunk. With her little angel face, it was hard to fathom the evil that I found in her diaper.
“Your turn to cook,” my dad reminded me. He looked very happy about this statement. The three of us traded off nights, and if I said so myself, mine were the best dinners. My dad was sucked into trying recipes out of magazines that had a lot of ingredients but never exactly worked, and for my mom, it was hard to pull together a variety of dishes in the toaster oven, her appliance of choice.
I quickly changed Janie and gathered up her gear for the day, then hazarded a quick glace in the mirror at myself. It was a mistake. The bangs that I had cut pre-baby were now at strange cheekbone-length fringe, but at least all that scraggly hair hid my dark-circled eyes a little. My clothes looked rumpled, and like they belonged to someone else—completely unfitting, not to mention unflattering. I tugged at the shirt and rolled the waist of the pants. Not any better, and definitely not matching. I had never been a fashion plate, but things were looking pretty bad.
At least I didn’t have spit-up on me. But, the day was young.
I carried Janie, her bag, my lunch, and my purse out to the carport, or porte cochère, as my mom liked to call it. Things sounded better in French. I buckled Janie in, remembering the first few days I had used that instrument of torture, the infant car seat. Torture for me, not for her, because somehow I hadn’t understood that there was a chest clip that opened, allowing the side straps to split apart so you could just lay the baby down. Easy peasy, right? Not if you didn’t know about it, and had been spending half an hour trying to maneuver a wobbly newborn baby in and out of the GD straps without undoing them. Every car trip had made me want to cry. I was sliding newborn Janie up through the straps when a lady in the grocery store parking lot had stopped me. “You know that opens, right?”
It was like holy light shone down on me, that was how life-changing opening the chest clip had been. It was one of the first in a long line of head slapping, duh moments in my real-time coursework in the care and feeding of infants. A lot of times I felt like I was failing some of the pop quizzes. But Janie was healthy, and pretty happy (except at night, darn her) so overall, I gave myself a passing grade.
We hit the road, first to Janie’s daycare, then for me to go to my job as a receptionist at an accounting firm in downtown Phoenix. Not my dream career, but it was what I found right away after I graduated with a degree in English and had to start paying back my student loans. Then when Janie came along, I stuck with it. The hours were good, they were pretty decent about time off for sick kids, and there was nothing to take home with me. Pay wasn’t great but we could make it if we lived with my parents, also not a dream of mine, but they were happy to help with the baby. Janie had changed up a lot of my thinking. It was definitely all a workable situation, and it was ok for now.
Until I could sort all this out with Tuck Whitaker.
Tucker Whitaker, Tuck to his teammates and legions of fans. Janie’s dad. The guy who didn’t answer emails, messages on his social media accounts, or any other form of modern communication. Even letters. The guy who had sicced a lawyer on me telling me to back off, or he would take out a restraining order and sue me into oblivion if I tried to establish paternity through the courts. Yeah, that prince of a guy, the one who might very well be sitting on his A in a Mexican prison as I rode the icy, air-conditioned elevator up to the sixteenth floor to Hogg, Wiener, Marquez, Stuart, Plotsky & Dodge. Only Dodge was still at the firm, a nice old guy who still kept an office but spent most of hi
s time on the golf course. The other five founding partners were long dead, but their names stuck around.
I was two minutes late and I quickly switched the phone off the service. When I was hired and the office manager, Bettina, trained me, she had told me to only use the first two names of the firm when answering the phone. “It takes much too long to say all the partners, and we’re best known by our first two names.”
“Are you really sure?” I’d asked her, hiding a smile, and she answered yes, in a confused way. Did she really not hear it?
“Hogg Wiener, may I help you?” Due to my great maturity, I managed to only crack up when I said it for the first two or three months of my employment. Three years in, it didn’t even make me crack a smile. Mostly.
The phone kept me busy for most of the morning. Lots of people needed help with their money. During breaks between calls and clients coming in I checked the various news sites for updates on the Tuck Whitaker situation in Mexico. And checked out sales on baby clothes, because Janie was growing super-fast and none of my college friends had kids yet to give me hand-me-downs.
Whatever was going on behind the scenes with Tuck was being held close to the vest, because there was no additional information, which the websites duly reported. I read some of the comment sections too, and the more paranoid sports blogs, to see if anyone had insider info not being conveyed on the major sites. Looked like most people were complaining that it wasn’t fair that he was being prosecuted because he was an American in a foreign country, which was a load of horse S. Something that had been pounded into me, growing up as a Navy brat, was that you were always subject to local law. Your embassy or consulate could only intervene if you were being treated worse than how they treated all the native-born criminals. The diplomats couldn’t get you sprung.
Fixing Lia Page 27