Finding Casey: A Novel

by Jo-Ann Mapson

  It was time to remind Juniper of the birth-control talk.

  That night, after Grandma Ave was settled in the guest room next door to hers and her mom, dad, and Aunt Halle were in the kitchen cleaning up the pile of dishes and pots and pans, Juniper walked Topher out to the casita, where he’d be sleeping. She took Dodge along with her. “Why are you bringing the dog?” Topher asked. “Scared to be alone with me?”

  She laughed, but realized he wasn’t far from the truth. “Dodge is kind of slipping in his training. I thought it would help to work with him while I’m home since my mom is too pregnant.”

  “Is it much farther? I’m freezing.”

  “I offered you my dad’s jacket.”

  “And I said no for a good reason. Your dad hates me, or didn’t you notice?”

  Juniper didn’t know how to answer. “We’re almost there.” Daddy Joe was kind of zoomed in on Topher, and not in a good way. The champagne fiasco—why had she made a stink about it? She didn’t even like the taste of wine, but somehow when Topher turned out to know all these random facts and all she knew was that it came in two colors, it hit her how immature she was. Sure, Topher was a couple years older than her, but they were in the same year of college. She was smart, her GPA proved that, but she wasn’t “wise in the ways of the world.”

  What if that was a problem that could cost her Topher?

  As they made their way through the snow, Dodge picked up a frozen tennis ball and nudged her leg. Finally she threw it back toward the house just to get rid of him. “Did you enjoy my dad’s cooking?” she asked, squeezing Topher’s hand.

  “It was a thousand times better than commons food. Your mom is so pregnant. Isn’t she worried about birth defects at her age?”

  Juniper felt a wave of embarrassment flush her face. “Jeez, Topher. I told you, I’m adopted. She’s still young enough to have a baby. And the tests came out perfect, so no worries. It’s a girl.”

  “Won’t it be weird to have a sister in diapers?”

  Juniper looked up at the night sky, filled with stars and planets and who knew what else beyond the human eye’s capability. The intoxicating smell of wood smoke drifted from neighborhood chimneys. She’d never told him about Casey and didn’t intend to. She unlocked the door to the casita and flipped on the light switch. “The way I look at it is it will be great to have a sister of any age.”

  “Whoa,” Topher said. “This place is sick awesome.”

  Juniper beamed. “My mom designed the whole thing. She hired one of my dad’s cousins to do that diamond plaster on the walls, but I got to pick the color, so I chose orange. It’s my favorite color.” Juniper pointed to the wall sconces and chandelier, all dark bronze fixtures with amber mica glass inserts and shades. “I picked those out, too. The woodstove came from Santa Fe Hearthstone. It’s the Tudor model, and that’s real soapstone quarried from the state of Virginia. I started it up this morning so the place would be all toasty for you. You’ll need to add more wood before you go to sleep, but it’ll keep you warm all night.”

  Topher tossed his backpack on the floor and pulled off his jacket and tie. He loosened his collar, kicked off his shoes, stretched his arms, and pulled Juniper along with him to the floor on the Persian rug. “I know what would keep me warmer. This would be the perfect place,” he said.

  “Perfect place for what?”

  “Taking things to the next level,” he said, unbuttoning the gray cashmere cardigan she wore over the dorky pleated wool skirt her grandmother had given her last Christmas. He cupped his hand around her bare shoulder, just inches from her breast.

  When they had been dating a month, she’d allowed him to touch her breasts as long as he did it with a layer of clothes between them. They kissed a lot, but she’d stalled him on anything else, saying she wasn’t on the pill and she didn’t trust condoms. Of course at school there wasn’t any way to have time alone, really private, to make things romantic. The stupid dorms didn’t even allow candles. Topher had suitemates, too. The one thing he never had any of was money, like for a nice dinner out, or flowers, maybe, or a hotel room, and shouldn’t the boy pay for that? They weren’t in the dorm now. They were in a cozy, beautiful place that would be perfect to make love in, and what if he had been expecting this all along, misunderstanding her invitation?

  He kissed her neck, right near the hollow of her throat, undoing her resolve like pulling a thread on a sweater. Until Topher, she hadn’t known there were so many nerve endings there. She enjoyed the tingling sensation while mentally reviewing her anatomy and physiology: There are four main types of nerve endings in the glabrous skin of humans: Pacinian corpuscles, Meissner’s corpuscles, Merkel’s discs, and what was the last one? Oh, yeah, Ruffini corpuscles. She’d aced that course and nearly changed her major to premed. “You know,” she said when the kiss ended, “if I stay out here longer than fifteen minutes, my dad will come knocking at the door.”

  Topher snorted. “More like ten minutes. He was shooting daggers at me the whole time we were eating. Why? Doesn’t he think I’m good enough for you?”

  Juniper ran her fingers through Topher’s hair. It was thick and dark, always wildly messy, but somehow that only added to his handsomeness. “He’s just being protective. He probably doesn’t think anyone is good enough for me. My grandmother liked you, though, and she never likes anyone.”

  “She’s a hoot. What’s the matter with her?”

  “It used to be just inflammatory arthritis. Now it’s treatment-refractory systemic lupus erythematosus.”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “A much worse kind of arthritis that isn’t responding to medicine. Sometimes she’s really cranky, but not on purpose. It’s because of the pain. Did you know that in stem-cell treatment, seven out of ten lupus patients had their pain levels drop seven to ten points?”

  “Why would I know something so random as that?”

  Juniper shrugged. “I don’t know. I find it interesting.” She tried to think of something to say to make up for sounding like a geek. “Stem-cell therapy will dominate the medical field in the next ten years. Already they’re using it in Europe.”

  “That sounds amazing,” Topher said. “I like how your grandmother rags on your aunt. She doesn’t hold back, does she?”

  Juniper thought for a minute while she tried to decide if that was a compliment or an insult. “All I know is she made me feel welcome from the minute I met her. She gives me fifty dollars every birthday, even though she really can’t afford it.”

  Topher laughed. “Awesome! Coin is always welcome. What did you spend it on?”

  “Nothing. I put it in the bank.”

  He ran his hand lower down her arm until his fingers reached her wrist. More nerve endings. “That’s what makes us so great together, Junie. You’re practical and you plan ahead. Me, I live in the moment.” He leaned in close and kissed her again, gently prying her mouth open and poking his tongue into hers. After she’d gotten over the idea of his saliva in her mouth, it felt good, but she couldn’t help wishing they’d had the chance to floss first.

  “Hey,” he said. “I love you.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  She let him kiss her again, but peeked at her watch. When they stopped kissing, he was out of breath, and she knew what that meant. “Well?” he said.

  “You know what I’d really like? To hear the song you wrote about my tattoo.”

  He sighed. “I can do that anytime. Here we are, alone together in this beautiful room, it’s snowing, and so warm. Don’t you want to take advantage of that?” His eyelashes were so dark and long it just wasn’t fair wasting them on a guy.

  “I do, honest. It’s just that I’m scared—”

  Topher ran his fingers up her leg. She was wearing new gray tights her mom had bought for her, and hoped he wouldn’t snag them. He stopped about two inches above her knee, rubbing his thumb on the inside of her leg. More nerves she’d never paid attention to. “Scared of what? C
ome on, tell me. I’ve slept with virgins before.”

  She wondered how many. “Topher, I’ve told you before, I’m not a virgin.”

  He shut his eyes, smiled, and the fire crackled inside the woodstove. “Junie, you don’t have to pretend with me. Trust me, I know how to be gentle.”

  “I’d really like to hear the song. Or maybe I should just go back to the house and see you in the morning. Want to go to the movies tomorrow?” She knew he wouldn’t be able to resist playing his guitar.

  “Fine.” He sat up, unlatched the guitar case and unwrapped his twelve-string, tuned it, and began to play.

  Juniper sat with her knees pulled close to her chest, eyes shut, listening to the voicings of the strings. Topher had explained to her that he tuned his twelve-string guitar harmonically, just like Roger McGuinn of the Byrds did. She’d Googled the term and the band and learned that McGuinn’s guitar had influenced the Beatles, who her dad pretty much worshipped. To her it sounded as if each note was wearing a belly dancer’s coin belt.

  He sang, “On her throat there’s a bright blue bird, right where I like to kiss her the most. Sometimes her heart is blue, so I kiss her there, too …”

  Oh, my gosh, he really had written a song about her. She decided right then and there, she’d do what he wanted during this visit, make love, only just not tonight. Grandma Ave had always told her, Promise me, if you have a big decision to make, sleep on it first. She would, but she didn’t think she’d change her mind. She loved Topher. He loved her. Making love was what grown-ups did, showed their feelings physically, because that was the tenderest part of love, right?

  Then, wham, one of his guitar strings broke and smacked him in the cheek, leaving a huge welt. “Ow,” he said, stopping. “That really hurt.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t get it. I changed these strings only four days ago. They’re probably defective.”

  Juniper knew better. This smelled like the work of Dolores. She visited at the strangest times, and while usually she just messed with the lights or made that groaning noise or knocked something off the table, she occasionally did do something this blatant. It seemed almost personal, and she wanted to laugh, but held it in. Thanks, Dolores, she sent into the ether. You saved me.

  Chapter 7

  The magazine said Española was twenty-six miles up highway 285 from Santa Fe, the capital of the state. I’d never been there, not even once. Seth and Aspen and I had first arrived at the Farm at night. It was night now. I sat in the recliner the janitor had dragged in for me so I could stay by Aspen’s bed. Not that we ever celebrated Thanksgiving at the Farm, but I felt lonely all the same. The doctor had left a pile of forms with me that I was supposed to sign. The top one was for a spinal tap, also known as a “cisternogram.” In the part of the page where it listed “adverse outcomes,” the print was tiny and went on for a page and a half. “Cisternogram” sounded to me like a weird kind of message. All I could think was the words inside weren’t any help. Cistern meant a place for storing water. There was star, a word I loved for its sound and spelling, and I looked outside to see if I could spot any, but there were too many lights in the parking lot. A tern was a bird, like a gull, but with a much better sound to it, and ern meant the same thing, but I couldn’t remember why there had to be two spellings. Grit was what I got in my teeth when the wind was blowing the way it did all summer. Gem was there, too, and cat and tram like there was in Albuquerque, not that I’d ever been. But mostly the words that kept coming to me, and kept me from signing the forms, were nor, not, and no.

  The doctor would be angry if I didn’t sign the papers. He might even tell the people in charge to take Aspen away from me. If only I had some clean clothes and a hairbrush. Why didn’t Seth come to the hospital? I couldn’t even call Louella to check because she was either working at the casino or on the pueblo visiting her people and I remembered that her phone was turned off until she got more money. I leaned my head back in the recliner chair they wiped down every day with antiseptic. It was hard to sleep sitting up, but I’d slept in much worse circumstances.

  Then I heard a tap at the door and there was that lady, Mrs. Clemmons.

  “Hello there, Laurel,” she said. She was dressed in a bright red skirt and a white sweater. “I thought you might enjoy some turkey dinner,” she said, holding out a foil-wrapped plate. “I’m glad to sit with Aspen if you’d like to take a break and eat.”

  I looked at her, wondering why she’d interrupted her own Thanksgiving to visit me, some trashy mother and her very sick daughter. I was too tired to think about not trusting her. “Thank you,” I said, my voice raspier than ever, from telling Aspen stories all day.

  “You’re welcome,” Mrs. Clemmons said, and held out the plate.

  I swallowed the tears I felt making a lump in my throat. It felt so thick I probably wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite. I took the plate and walked across the hall to the family visit room. I propped the door open so I could see Aspen’s room, and then I peeled back the foil: turkey, cranberry, potatoes, gravy, and stuffing. I scooped it up with my fingers and ate every bit.

  When Juniper returned from getting Topher settled for the night, Glory exhaled a sigh of relief. Not for herself, but because now Joseph could finally relax. She saw the way he scrutinized their daughter as she hung up her coat and scarf. He was looking for clues as to why it had taken her forty-five minutes to turn on the lights and show Topher where the woodpile was. Glory tried to catch his eye, to send him a look that said, “Let it go. She’s still got her skirt on frontwards,” but Joseph wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “You sure were gone a long time,” he said, setting down the deck of cards he’d been using to play solitaire at the pine desk Glory had bought off Craigslist for the ridiculous price of forty dollars. “I thought maybe you two were inventing electricity or something.”

  “Seriously, Daddy Joe,” Juniper huffed, taking a handful of almonds from the speckled blue Texasware bowl Glory used only on special occasions. While the house had the Santa Fe style structurally—vigas, latillas, built-in nichos—her own decorating touches, with vintage tablecloth curtains and hooked throw pillows, gave it a homey, comfortable feel.

  Halle, sitting on the couch next to Glory, pressed the hooked throw pillow that featured an Airstream trailer over her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh. Glory poked her and whispered, “Don’t you dare get lipstick on that.”

  Halle made a face and whispered back, “This is eight-hour lipstick. You have to take it off with makeup remover.”

  “That sounds gross, Halle.”

  “It’s very expensive and all the movie stars use it,” she said, and stuck out her tongue.

  Joe gathered up the cards and stacked them into a deck. “Well, what were you doing?”

  “If you must know, we were listening to music.”

  He placed the cards back in their box and tucked in the flap. “Last I checked, there’s no radio out there.”

  Juniper chewed an almond. “A radio? Everyone and his brother has an iPod or listens to Pandora. Besides, we weren’t listening to that kind of music. He was playing the guitar for me.”

  “Oh, really? What was the song?”

  Juniper couldn’t help but smile a great big dazed-with-infatuation grin, Glory noticed. Halle poked her back and whispered, “Sounds like s-e-x to me.”

  Glory shushed her.

  “It’s called ‘The Girl with the Blue Tattoo.’ ”

  “Sounds intriguing,” Glory said, wondering if he’d poached the title from that mystery book by the dead writer from Sweden.

  Joseph wasn’t letting it go. “Yeah? I don’t know that one.”

  “Of course you don’t, because he played it for the first time tonight. He wrote it. For me. And I am not humming it, so don’t ask.”

  Halle put down the throw pillow. “Go get him. I want to hear it, too.”

  “Jeez, you guys!” Juniper said. “Can’t I have a private life?”

  “You should go to bed,” Glo
ry said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I have no idea how I’m ever going to fall asleep,” Juniper said, and with the same dazed look she’d worn at the dining table, she wandered off toward her room.

  When they all heard the door shut, Joseph said, “That nails it. I’m going to booby-trap the French doors. Glory, where do you keep the thread?”

  “Thread? Why?”

  “It’s an old detective trick Rico taught me. You put a thread in the latch and close it. If it’s not there the next time you check it, someone has opened the door.”

  “That’s sounds so James Bond,” Halle said, and giggled.

  Glory leaned back against the cushions. “Joe, will you stop worrying? Juniper’s a smart girl—”

  “Since when have Mr. Sperm and Ms. Egg ever listened to smart? No, they meet, decide that they’d like to go dancing all night, and pretty soon there’s a baby on the way.”

  “Like us?” Glory said.

  Joseph sighed. “It’s not the same thing. We’re married adults. You know what? Forget the thread. I’ll go have a talk with the folk singer right now.” He transitioned into Spanish and Glory heard the words honorio de hija and she got up, stopping him before he opened the door.

  “Joe, go to bed. Juniper is in hers, the boy’s got a long walk through the snow to get to her, and you know the dogs will bark their heads off if anyone comes indoors. For crying out loud, Caddy sleeps in Juniper’s bed. And hello, just last week weren’t you telling me how proud you were of Juniper for making such smart choices?”

  He gave her a baleful look. “When it comes to school, I trust her. Driving her car, I trust her. Boys? It’s not about trusting her, it’s trusting them.”

  Halle said, “Glory’s right. Besides, it’s time for some good old-fashioned sister talk. Unless you want to sit here listening to us discuss birthing options and reliving accounts of past boyfriends, you might want to turn in.”

  “All right. But don’t you keep my wife up too late. She needs her rest for the baby.” He left the great room and headed to the master bedroom, muttering to himself. Eddie pranced back and forth, torn about who needed him most—clearly upset Joseph, or Glory, the pregnant one that needed to be guarded twenty-four seven? Italian greyhounds were called “Velcro dogs” for a reason.