Glory Days

by Irene Peterson

  Carly reached for a tissue, found the box on the desk empty and threw it across the room. Wiping her eyes with her uniform sleeve, she bawled like a baby until no more tears would come.

  Her mother never wanted to hear from her. Threw her away and never, ever wanted to know whether she lived or died.

  Rot in hell, lady.

  John knew something was wrong the second he turned the doorknob to his office home. A quick check of his watch told him it was only a little after five. The kid ought to be inside, doing her homework at his desk.

  She was. But with her face tear-stained and reddened, the emotions blazed through her blue eyes and in turn, ripped through John.

  “Carly. What’s the matter?”

  With the inevitable future on his mind, he shook it off, clearing his head as much as possible.

  “You’re finally back. I need to talk to you.”

  He took her anger as if it were a gift.

  “I had a bad day. A real bad day.”

  It was easy to share this. After all, he was her father.

  “Have you had anything to eat yet? I’m starved.”

  She looked toward the small kitchen area. “Flo brought up some leftovers. There’s lasagna and salad, but I’m not hungry.”

  Going over to the kitchen, he began pulling containers out of the refrigerator. “Well, I am. If I’m hungry, you’re probably hungry and just don’t know it. Let’s stuff our faces and then talk. I always think better on a full stomach.”

  The kid slanted a look his way. “I hired you to find my father. I need to know if you’ve been looking for him.”

  He paused in his quest for dinner for a second then continued opening containers and making up plates for the microwave while he thought.

  What to tell her? How to tell her?

  “Here,” Carly said, pushing him out of the way as he dumped salad greens into a large bowl. “You’re messing up the counter with that.”

  He had allowed two pieces of curly lettuce to escape.

  “Sorry.”

  Hands on hips, she came closer to him, red-rimmed eyes looking up into his own with a mixture of anger and sorrow over a wall of disdain.

  “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

  Evidently surprised by his response, the kid pulled out one of the two chairs at the tiny table and sat.

  “You know that list you had for me when you arrived on my doorstep?”

  “Yeah. The six names.”

  John juggled plates out of the microwave and set them on the table one at a time, feeling the heat in his fingers, smelling the fragrant tomato and cheese, hoping he knew what he was doing. “I knew all those names. I shared a beach house with those guys the summer before you were born.”

  The fork stopped halfway to Carly’s mouth. “You know all of them?”

  John sat down across from Carly. “Yeah. I know all of them. So it wasn’t hard to locate them.”

  Carly stopped eating, but John motioned for her to continue. “I’ll only talk if you eat.” He liked giving orders and having them followed, especially since it gave him time to think of the right words.

  “As I was saying, I looked for the guys and found them. I went to see them and questioned them. All of them had had relations with many women over that summer. You do know what I mean by that, don’t you?”

  “Duh,” she replied from the edge of her seat.

  John gestured for her to put the fork into her mouth. “Okay. One man is dead. One runs a rather unsavory club for sickos. One is a pathetic, worn out individual who will probably be dead in a few years from the kind of work he does. Another guy is a complete scumbucket who thinks he’s a gangster. One is so completely out of the question it doesn’t matter. And then there’s me.”

  Carly dropped the fork. “What do you mean by that?”

  John ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from her. “It means that of all those guys who could be your father . . . I am really the top of the list.”

  “How . . . how do you know? Do you know who my mother is?” Her voice broke and the waterworks started.

  Now came the hard part. John hadn’t been able to figure out how to handle it all afternoon and in his own kitchen, it wasn’t any easier.

  “Carly, here’s the thing. There were two blond women who more or less stayed at the summer house with us. I didn’t know them very well, in fact, I didn’t remember their names if I ever knew them, but some of the other guys did. I followed the surest lead and found one of them.”

  “My . . . mother?”

  John felt a stab inside his chest as he looked at the kid and saw pieces of her mother there. “No. This woman wasn’t your mother. She had been in an accident that summer and couldn’t have had a child.”

  Carly’s face fell. “Oh.”

  “So, by process of elimination, the other woman had to be your mother.”

  “The sisters told me my mother was dead.”

  “Yeah. They told me that too.” Oh, please let me stop here.

  “But,” Carly stood and went to retrieve the papers from his desk, “you and I know that isn’t true, don’t we? My mother is alive somewhere. She’d have to be to send me this.”

  She threw the papers at his chest. Deftly he caught them and gave them a quick look-over. Oh, man.

  “Ah. When did you get this? Today?”

  Carly’s eyes were almost even with his . . . blue and so full of hurt. He wished he could take it away. But he was just getting to the hardest part of the story. “Look, let me finish this. I know I’m not doing a very good job of it, but let me tell you what happened.”

  Anger flashed, but she sat once again.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I found the other woman. She denied having a child. She wouldn’t say much to me, but she did let me know we had . . . we had been together. I have to take her word for it, Carly. I swear to God, I don’t remember. . . .”

  “You don’t remember making a baby?” Carly spat.

  John steadied himself and looked directly into her eyes again. “Yes. That’s right. I barely remembered the two blondes. I could have sworn I hadn’t . . . been with either one of them, but this one, the one I think is your mother even though she denies it, said we had.”

  He watched as Carly digested this news. “So, you don’t even remember being with her, but you think you’re my father.”

  Her tone was dead. After all his earlier soul-searching, he had hoped she’d be a little happier about it. “Do you want me to be?”

  Silence overtook them as John waited for an answer. Carly sat so still, he couldn’t even see whether she breathed.

  “I know I’m not much. No real prize. You’ve seen the kind of life I lead, but I’m not that bad . . . am I?”

  “Those other guys. Did they look like me?”

  Shaking his head, he tried to smile. “Not in the least.”

  “Do I look like my mother?” Her voice wavered as she trembled now, fighting to hold back emotions.

  “You’re more beautiful than she ever was.”

  Carly felt the involuntary shaking and could do nothing to stop it. Her mother was alive. This was the mother she’d thought dead for her entire life. This was the woman she dreamed had held her and loved her as her life ebbed away and the nuns had pried the baby from her dead arms.

  Or, she hadn’t really died and this was the woman who was going to go on Oprah and send out a call to find her daughter and they’d be reunited, maybe even on television, and everything would be wonderful. The woman would be rich and famous and have spent the last sixteen years searching everywhere for her daughter.

  That hadn’t played too well with her, but, heck, it had crept into her brain every time she’d watched Montel or Oprah or John Walsh reunite kids with their long lost parents. She’d seen kids who talked about how their parents had given them up but were all rock stars or basketball players and would suddenly remember they existed and come for them. There were plenty of shows on television a
bout that kind of thing.

  She’d never ever dreamed of a father, though. Only her mother. A father hadn’t occurred to her until she’d taken that list from Mother Superior’s office.

  On that long scary walk to the Parkway, she’d thought that maybe her father the musician or football player would have this huge mansion and limos and tons of money. He’d be movie-star handsome, too. Well, realistically, she hadn’t thought about it that much, but the thought had crossed her mind.

  And she’d found her father and he was not exactly an ideal specimen of manhood and worse yet, he had some kind of secret thing going on that sounded pretty bad.

  Deadly, in fact.

  And yet, he sat in front of her, stabbing at the cooling lasagna and looking kinda worried.

  “Would this make your parents my grandparents?”

  John choked softly then swallowed. “Yes, it would.”

  Carly stood up so fast the chair tumbled to the floor. “I gotta get out of here,” she said. “I . . . this is too. . . .”

  John came to her side, put his hand on her shoulder and tried to turn her to face him. “This is a lot to take in, I know. Imagine how I feel—learning I have a beautiful daughter who’s smart and honest and everything a parent could want in this world. Out of the blue. Let me tell you, it sure surprised me. But,” here he paused and a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth, “I’m getting used to the idea. In fact, I think it’s pretty cool.”

  Carly turned away from his searching look. “I can’t . . . I don’t know. Look. Let me think about this. You’ve been great to me, all this time, letting me hang around here and treating me really well. But that was what you did for me because I hired you.” Her heart felt as cold as the lasagna she’d messed around on her plate.

  “This is all different now,” she whispered.

  John put his hand on her halo of hair. “I think I know how you feel, but it’s late. Maybe you shouldn’t go outside to think. How about I leave you alone for a couple of hours and come back here and we’ll talk some more if you want to?”

  She wrenched away from his gentle hand and looked him square in the eye. “What’s gonna happen to me if you’re dead or in jail?”

  John stepped back. “What? Where did that come from?”

  Carly swiped her forearm across her nose. “I overheard Curtis and you talking when I came up from school. I heard something that sounded like you were going to be killed or something.”

  John shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that conversation.”

  Carly spun around and pointed her finger in his face. “Oh, no. You tell me you’re my father and break all this heavy news on me and I’m all mixed up and trying to figure out what to do because I heard you say something like that. Are you? Are you going to do something that will put you in jail? Are you going to die?”

  John tried to pull her into his arms but she wouldn’t let him.

  “Something that has nothing to do with you, some unfinished business that happened a long time ago, has to be finished. I made a vow and I have to keep it. I may have to go away for a long time, but I’ve made provisions for you, Carly. You’ll be fine. I promise.”

  She felt her chin rise in defiance. “Oh, yeah. You never made a vow to me and certainly not to my mother, so it doesn’t count. I don’t count. In fact, I probably came along at just the wrong time. That’s me, all right. Wrong-time Snow. Oh, wait . . .” she tossed back her hair and gave her most regal look. “My name is really Preshin. Carly Preshin. I have a legitimate last name now, don’t I? Well, not really legitimate.”

  Tears filled her eyes but she didn’t care to wipe them away. “And of all the men who could have been my father, the one I wind up with might end up in prison or, worse yet, dead. Well, that certainly is an improvement in my life. Whoopee.”

  Chapter 30

  Carly saw him shrug, try once more to hug her, but she turned her back on him and prayed he’d go away. Not far, but away. She needed time to think about all this. She needed to work all this information around her brain and see if she liked it or not.

  She heard the door shut softly as John left, as she’d asked him to do. Christ, where would he go?

  Running to the door, she threw it open and yelled out after him, “Don’t get run over by a bus!”

  His deep laugh rumbled from the stairwell, but he didn’t promise not to.

  Yeah, some father.

  With the door shut, Carly sank to the floor and hugged her knees. What was she supposed to do now?

  She allowed herself fifteen minutes of wallowing in self-pity before getting up, clearing up the mess in the kitchen and standing there with her hands dangling at her sides.

  She thought of going online to get in touch with her friends. She could call Bridget, but this latest earth-shattering event was a little too personal to unload on a brand new friend. Besides, if John had found her father and he’d been the rich, handsome celebrity, it would have been different. But John Preshin was something else altogether.

  He was okay looking enough for an old guy, even Bridget had thought so. But to tell someone that some old guy she thought was cute actually was your own father, well . . . that wouldn’t be cool.

  “Carly? Are you in there?”

  She turned at the voice coming from the hallway. “Yes, Flo. I’m here. Hang on. I’ll get the door.”

  Flo stood there, wearing a large flowered apron over a loose housedress. She’d tied up her hair with an ancient scarf, but bits of gingered gray poked out from underneath the silk.

  “You okay, sweetie? You look kinda peaked.”

  Nothing got past this sharp old lady.

  “I’m okay. Just trying to sort out my life, you know. Teenage stuff.”

  Flo gave her a crooked smile. “Do you think you could help me sort out some of my stuff at the same time? I need strong young arms.”

  Carly had to smile. End of pity party. “Sure, Flo. I just happen to have ’em. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got this great idea, kiddo,” she began. “The luncheonette is all spiffied up, but it doesn’t have any theme. You know, like ferns in hanging pots or antique dressers or old pictures.”

  “So?”

  Flo led her out into the hall, explaining as she went.

  “All my old trunks are up in the attic. They’re full of costumes and programs and all sorts of show-biz bits and pieces. I thought maybe we could salvage some of it to hang on the walls downstairs, kind of decorate the place. And I thought of a name, too. A real name. S.R.O. Do you know what that means?”

  “Nope. I do not.”

  Flo scowled and rubbed at her temples. “Standing room only. Box office . . . they’d sell tickets so you could stand in the aisles if the house was full.”

  Carly saw her sway slightly. “What’s wrong, Flo? Are you okay?”

  The older woman stopped scowling and pursed her lips. “Headache just came on. It’s a doozy.”

  “Maybe we should stop and you lie down or something.”

  Flo dismissed the suggestion with an impatient wave of the hand. “I got this idea and I want to see it through. Leastways, if I show you where the stuff is, you can look through it tomorrow or over the weekend and bring it all down to Liz. Maybe we can get John to help us with the decorating.”

  “Okay, let’s find the trunks so you can get off your feet.”

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Liz looked at her reflection in the salon mirror. Her hair tamed finally, sleeked and smooth, the fiery color glowing with subtle highlights, she knew she had something better to work with at last. Oh, yeah. This was hot stuff. Sssss!

  Three hours for an instant makeover. Not bad, she decided. Not bad at all.

  Hello, New Jersey! Look out, Preshin. Liz Atwater is back.

  Her cell phone buzzed in her purse.

  “Where’s my grandmother?” Liz demanded through clenched teeth.

  John and Carly perched at the edge of the plastic seats in t
he waiting room.

  John stood and attempted to put his arms around her while she pushed him away. “Calm down”

  “Bullshit! Where’s my grandmother?” she asked, barely able to control her temper.

  “She’s in with the doctors. She’s had a CT scan and she’s comfortable. They won’t tell us much more because we’re not close relatives.” He softened his expression but Liz couldn’t be mollified. The terror clawed and snarled in her belly, goading her to scream to let it out.

  “What happened? What was she doing? Whose fault is this?”

  “Hey, now, wait a minute, Liz. First of all, it’s nobody’s fault. Flo was going up into the attic with Carly. I don’t know exactly why, but Carly came down when she realized Flo hadn’t followed her up. She immediately called 911 and I arrived just a few minutes after that. The ambulance came, picked Flo up and I followed. Carly called to say she’d finally reached you, so I went home to bring her back with me.”

  Liz sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to calm down. Silently she berated herself for leaving the apartment to waste time at the beauty salon. For what?

  “I shouldn’t have left her alone. I just wanted to get out of the restaurant and the apartment. I knew what she wanted in the attic, but I didn’t want to run up there and get it for her.”

  John tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. “You know your grandmother. You also know that nothing can stop a stroke if it’s going to happen.”

  Liz’s knees gave out on her. “A stroke?”

  John guided her to an empty chair. “That’s my guess.”

  “Is that what the doctor said it was? A stroke? Oh, God! Oh, God!” She put her hands up to her face and started to shake.

  John turned to Carly. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night. Maybe I’d better take you home. We probably won’t know anything for hours.”

  Carly protested. “No, I want to stay! Please . . . I want to stay.”

  John shook his head. “It’s after ten already. You’re dead on your feet. You did what you could do for Flo, Carly. You’ve done all you can. I’ll take you home and we’ll let you know if anything happens.”