Finding Casey: A Novel

by Jo-Ann Mapson

  The kitchen went silent. Glory heard a car drive by, the branches of Joseph’s beloved aspen trees scraping against the kitchen window, and, under the table, Eddie pawing at her mother’s leg.

  Juniper broke the silence. “Aunt Halle, please come with us. We’ll go see The Secret Life of Bees. You loved that book, right? Then you can take us to the mall and I’ll show you where Hot Topic is. You’re so thin now that I think you’d look great in their skinny jeans. We’ll pick out a new wardrobe to go with your new life. Starting over can be a good thing. I ought to know. You sure helped me when I was so down I tried to kill myself.”

  Glory looked around the table in amazement. Topher: The expression on his face looked like he’d just been told folk music had been banned. Ave: Her mouth was slightly open; nothing silenced her mother as effectively as the hard truth. Halle, however, was all smiles. “Juniper, bless your heart,” she said, and hugged her. “You two go on your date. When the movie’s over, call my cell and I’ll come meet you. We can shop at Hot Topic or wherever you want to go. I have a little something for you, so hang on while I get my purse.”

  When her sister hurried back to the bedroom, Glory felt her pain so deeply that her heart ached. There was nothing like the holidays for ramping up heartache. That first year without Dan she’d spent so many hours sitting in her closet crying and feeling sorry for herself that she’d considered putting up wallpaper. All her married years, Halle had lived the good life. The sprawling home in Santa Rosa, trips to Europe twice a year, designer clothes, the latest model car. Why did Bart deserve to get everything? Why not Halle, who’d made a home out of a house, thrown parties for people he worked with, and stood by him every step of the way as he worked his way up in the company? Ave had her house, free and clear; Glory had this lovely old adobe they were restoring, Joseph and Juniper, her dogs and chickens, even time off from work while she waited for the best gift of all, a new baby. There was no reason for her to feel even a tinge of longing, but there was always a moment in the day when she’d remember Dan’s whistle, or the way he smelled like cedar from his woodworking shop, or how it felt to make dinner knowing that at five o’clock every evening he’d walk in the door and sing, “Hey, good-lookin’, whatcha got cookin’?”

  Halle was back with her Louis Vuitton purse. “Juniper,” Halle said, handing her some folded bills, “show Topher how we put the Milk Duds on the popcorn. Be sure to sit in the high seats so you can kiss.”

  “Er, thanks, Aunt Halle,” Juniper said. “Topher and I have to go or we’ll miss the previews.”

  And zoom, just like that, there went the kids. Halle gathered up her keys. “Coming or not, Glory?” she said.

  Glory knew she should go because her sister needed to talk the sorrow out. She’d been there for Glory. They both flirted with anorexia when things turned dismal in their lives, and this way she could make sure her sister ate lunch, but she was worried about her mother being alone and the dogs’ digestive tracts. “Sure, I could use a bigger pair of maternity jeans,” she said. “But you have to promise me we can sit and rest a lot.”

  “I swear,” Halle said. “Mom, I’ve circled things you might like in the TV Guide. Think you can work the remote or do you need me to show you?”

  Ave looked at the sisters until Glory felt as if her face should have melted. “Halle, don’t spend all your money,” she said. “Divorces start out with each party acting genial, but when the rubber hits the road, it’s a different story.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too,” Halle said. “I’ve just decided. I think I’ll spend it here in the Land of Enchantment instead of in California. How’s that sound, Glory?”

  Chapter 10

  “All I need is one pair of jeans in size whale,” Glory said. “Let’s go to Target.”

  Halle continued tapping into her iPhone and then smiled. “Hurrah! Your Dillard’s carries Eileen Fisher! Let’s go there and find you something yummy to wear for the holidays.”

  “I can’t afford that,” Glory said. “I’m on leave from work. Target’s right on the way to the mall. You can wait in the car. I’ll just waddle in and grab them.”

  “You shop in that horrid place where you worked for minimum wage?”

  “Hal, everyone shops at Target. Besides, it’s just a pair of maternity jeans. In three months I’ll give them to the thrift shop, because I’m never getting pregnant again.”

  Her sister set her phone down on the console. “Everyone wants nicer things. You might not think it’s important, it may only be a matter of months, but looking good on the outside makes a girl feel good inside. Besides, I’m buying, so end of argument.”

  Although it sounded like Halle was talking about herself, Glory knew better than to argue. She couldn’t help wondering about what their mother had said. And Halle without Bart—it was still hard to imagine. All Halle had said last night was, “He met someone else. You can’t help who you love,” and to Glory that sounded like therapist lingo, not a woman whose husband had just dumped her after twenty years.

  Glory watched the road for icy patches as they drove across town. Traffic was insane, probably because it was snowing; that and Thanksgiving caused people to panic at how short a time it was until Christmas. After living her whole life in California, Glory loved how snow turned the scrubby piñon trees from a dull green to Christmas-card brilliance. They’d gotten a late start due to having to type up directions for the remote for their mom, who absolutely refused to go to lunch, but she did let Glory make her a sandwich for later, and made a solemn promise on pain of death that she would not feed so much as a crumb to the dogs. Glory saw the way Halle slipped her mom the pain medication. Ave would never come right out and say she was suffering, but when it flared, her mom’s lupus took a toll. One snide comment was Mom’s unfortunate tendency to be snarky with those she loved best; two meant she had a bug up her bottom and likely for a good reason; but three comments meant major uh-oh time—pain and the aforementioned folded into the mix led to hurt feelings. It feels as if each one of my joints has the flu, was how she described it. Maybe it had been a bad idea to ask them to travel all this way for Thanksgiving. When Glory asked Dr. Montano if it was okay for her to fly to California, her doctor had shook her head no before Glory finished her sentence. “You need a low-key holiday season,” she’d said. “Your blood pressure is high normal, but if it goes any higher I’m going to have to hospitalize you.” Glory knew Dr. Montano was exaggerating to get her to listen. The only person she told was Joseph. Why add to anyone else’s worries?

  Halle fiddled with the radio station. “I can’t believe rental cars don’t come with Sirius radio,” she said. “See if you can find a decent station, please?”

  Glory tuned in classic rock. She adjusted the volume and sat back in her seat. Twenty years of marriage, and then your husband says sorry, he can’t help it, he’s fallen in love with someone else? She couldn’t have imagined Dan doing something like that, but what if she was being naïve? Would Joseph come home one day and say their cultures were too different? Divorce statistics made it hardly worth the trouble to take vows, but vows were supposed to be promises. Could even the most timeworn cliché be proven true, or was life simply a matter of knocking the idealism out of a person bit by bit until she waved the white flag? Glory fussed with the seat belt that pressed uncomfortably against her belly, finally placing her hand between it and her belly so it wouldn’t irritate her skin. “I’m paying for lunch,” she said. “It’s the least I can do, you giving Juniper all that money. By the way, if you think she’ll use it to buy a Christmas sweater with a sequined reindeer on it, you’re delusional. She’ll put it in the bank, or go to the thrift store.”

  “Sequined reindeer! Listen to you. I’m hoping she buys a slinky black New Year’s Eve dress and dances all night.” Halle looked across traffic, waiting to make her turn. “When I get home I’m turning the Volvo in and buying myself a convertible Mercedes for Christmas. Yellow. All my life I wanted a car like tha
t. Now I’m going for it. What’s your dream car, Glory?”

  “Whatever I can depend on not to break down. I also appreciate air-conditioning and a working heater. Halle, I know Mom’s a buttinsky, but are you sure you can afford a Mercedes?”

  “No, but Bart can.”

  “Don’t spend money for revenge.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What have you guys decided so far as your money and assets?”

  “Oh, sixty-forty, since I said I didn’t want the house. In addition, I get ten years’ alimony. Believe me, he’ll feel my absence for years to come.”

  “I thought California had that no-fault law?”

  “Terminology,” Halle said. “And if his income appreciates, you better believe I’ll take him back to court. Reassess the whole enchilada.”

  “Halle, I know you’re hurt—who wouldn’t be? But this sounds so calculated. Almost mercenary.”

  “Maybe it is. Maybe he deserves that.”

  Halle sang along with the radio, Elton John’s “Candle in the Wind,” which always made Glory get tears and think of Princess Diana’s short, unhappy marriage to the prince who essentially used her as a brood mare, though no one would say that outright.

  “Halle, are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course I am. That Topher is adorable, don’t you think? Are they sleeping together?”

  “I doubt it. When Juniper has an important decision to make, she usually talks to me or Joe about it.”

  “About sex? Glory, talk about delusional! She’s not going to tell you. Have you seen how she looks at him? You should have a chat with her about birth control and safe sex.”

  “I already did,” Glory said, irritated and on the verge of a headache. If Halle made Juniper’s private life her business, then Glory had a right to Halle’s. “Hal, don’t be upset—”

  “Do I look upset?”

  “Let me finish my sentence, will you?”

  “Fine. Go ahead.”

  “You poured Baileys into your coffee and it wasn’t even nine in the morning.”

  “It’s a holiday.”

  “No, yesterday was a holiday. Today is just a regular day, and nobody I know puts Baileys into their morning coffee unless they have a bad head cold or to celebrate the end of a war. It’s none of my business—”

  “You got that right.”

  “You’re my sister and my best friend. I love you. Please tell me that’s not becoming a habit. Hey, you drove past the turn for Target.”

  Halle snapped the radio off and the car went silent except for the whirring of the heater. She made a last-second lane change and right turn into the Starbucks take-out lane so abruptly that Glory had to grab the dashboard. “A venti espresso with three extra shots,” Halle said into the frost-covered speaker. “My sister here would like a bucket of shut the hell up.”

  “Pardon me?” came the disembodied voice along with the slap of chilly air.

  “A venti hot chocolate, extra whipped cream,” Halle said, zapping the window closed to pull up behind the truck ahead of them in line.

  “I’m worried about you,” Glory said. “However things with Bart turn out—”

  Halle sighed. “For crying out loud, I’m getting a divorce, not plotting world domination.”

  “I apologize. That came out wrong. I just—what can I do to help?”

  Halle’s mouth trembled. Glory could see the worry lines makeup failed to cover. “If you really want to help, rent me your guest house,” she said. “I’ll pay whatever the going rate is. I won’t bother you and Joe, I’ll live my own life. And I love Mom dearly, but in order to get through all this without killing myself, I can’t be around her constant blame and dire warnings. We can hire her a home health-care companion or something. Bart will pay for it. Besides, if I stay in Santa Rosa, I just know I’ll run into the tree surgeon, and that will do me in.”

  “What tree surgeon?”

  Halle lowered the car window to pay for their drinks. “The pregnant thirty-one-year-old one that Bart’s engaged to marry.” She handed Glory a wad of napkins, then laughed at Glory’s expression. “I know, how backwards is that? Getting engaged to someone who’s already pregnant with your child before the ink on the divorce papers is even dry? Buying her a ring that I only found out about because it was on our American Express bill!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that part?” Glory said.

  Halle pulled the car forward. “Why do you think? Because it’s so freaking humiliating! I’m forty-four. That’s not all that old, but put me next to a thirty-one-year-old and suddenly I’m an infertile dried-up crone with absolutely no purpose, so toss me out with the trash.”

  “Jeepers, Halle, it’s not your fault, it’s his. How on earth did he meet a tree surgeon, let alone find time to fall in love and impregnate her?”

  Halle sipped her coffee before placing it in the cup holder. “She came out to give an estimate on planting more cherry trees. You know Bart and his effing cherry trees. He wanted an entire grove planted and producing before he retired. Well, he’s planted a crop, all right.” When the light changed, she turned into the mall parking lot. It was about half full, crowded for Santa Fe.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Glory said. She hadn’t touched her hot chocolate.

  “It gets better. Her name is Cookie and she wears a giant rodeo belt buckle that reads COWGIRLS FOR CHRIST. How ironic is that?”

  “Cowgirls for Christ and she’s sleeping with a married man? Oh, Halle. That’s just crazy. Give me your phone.”

  “What for?”

  “Because I’m going to ask Joe or one of his cousins to beat the crap out of that two-timing Bart. Believe me, when they’re done with him, he won’t be impregnating anyone.”

  Halle smiled as a tear ran down her face. “I’m tempted to let you.”

  Half of the Candela board meeting was spent reviewing the balances of various funds and predicting the budget for the fiscal New Year. Certain expenditures needed to be pushed through before December 31, but looking at the pie graphs made Joseph think about how much Christmas baking he needed to do. Theoretical budget numbers seemed a world away from actual dollars and cents. He needed to be freezing cookie dough and planning Christmas, because his family depended on him to make the sweets for the holiday.

  Dr. Adame said, “Fund-raising thus far has netted only seventy-five percent of our usual target amount. That does not bode well for this coming year.”

  Joseph was thinking, should he make bizcochitos only? What about the Russian teacakes Juniper loved? Maybe he could sneak some arsenic into the marzipan and feed it to Gopher.

  Harold Weiss was going on about the February fund-raiser, saying that calling it the Black-and-White Ball sounded too much like “black and blue,” as in domestic violence, and he wanted the name changed to something innocuous like Sweethearts Ball, and Elena Gonzales said, “Absolutely not. If we infringe on Valentine’s Day, no one will attend.”

  Joseph didn’t really care what they called it, because his back was hurting so bad he couldn’t dance at either event. He pondered taking a pain pill here at the table or ducking into the restroom. “Why not just call it a fund-raiser?” he said, and was met with silence.

  There was always one person on every board Joseph had served on who was adamant about Robert’s Rules of Order, and whose voice could silence a roomful of quarrelers. On Candela’s Santa Fe board, that person was Mary-Caterina Adame, a retired physician whose family had lived in Santa Fe for generations going so far back they remembered stagecoaches. In high heels she was barely five feet, and she wore her white hair twisted into a tidy chignon that would have been stylish in 1920s Paris. The gavel in Dr. Adame’s small hand looked ridiculous, like she was playing with her father’s tool box. Of course that got him thinking about his forthcoming daughter and genderless toys. No matter what Glory said, he was getting Baby Casey-to-be a tool set. Everyone needed to learn how to use a hammer. Once he’d caught Glory using h
is shoe to pound in a nail so she could hang a picture, and just the memory of it made him smile, which helped the pain a little bit, but not enough to skip the pill.

  “Mr. Weiss,” Dr. Adame said to one of their biggest benefactors, “kindly submit your concerns about next month’s agenda via e-mail so we can get through this month’s. If you have suggestions for the name change, submit them to Jamie and we’ll get to it next meeting. Every person here has other places to be, and at the rate we’re going, we’ll be here all night.”

  Harold Weiss looked sufficiently chastened, and Joseph was impressed. If it had been him in charge of the board instead of Dr. Adame, Weiss would still be jabbering on due to that posturing men could not help but indulge in.

  “All right. Moving along to item sixteen,” Dr. Adame said. “Mr. Vigil has been offered a paying position. Should he accept it, he would begin in February, working in our Santa Fe shelter with the duties listed below. However, with his wife expecting their first child in February, he may need to delay acceptance, in which case we need to find a substitute. Nominations?”

  “Congratulations, Joseph,” Elena Gonzales said. Elena was Candela’s Española board member, and had actually trained Joseph when he first came to volunteer three years earlier. “How is Glory doing?”

  “Muy bien,” he said. “Just a few more months and we will have a second daughter. May God give me the necessary strength to survive another female in my household. If not for the dogs, I’d be outnumbered. “

  Everyone laughed, and then Dr. Adame rapped her gavel. “We’re all very excited for you, but people, we have an issue on the table. Joseph, do you have an answer for us? Or should we consider nominations for a substitute?”

  “Thank you, Dr. Adame,” Joseph said. “I’m still considering your very generous offer. I’m afraid I won’t be able to make a decision until the baby is born. However, I am looking forward to developing our alliance with Española, so long as there’s no conflict in my sitting on the board.”