But all of that had been years ago. Janice had died. The divorce split the two families, everyone taking sides. Peri had begun to shun Carl, leaving only Noel to celebrate with Peri and the kids. And then Janice died. What had Peri done this past Christmas? Where had she gone? She'd refused to answer any of his calls and turned down an offer of gifts and money, telling Noel to say, "She said she doesn't need what you can give her now. She needed it years ago. Sorry, Dad." Had Garnet called her to offer anything? Or had Garnet stayed on Graham's side, consoling him, pretending to understand why he wasn't visiting his own children on the holidays?
Carl stepped out of the car, noticing that Rosie's truck, a Chevy 4x4, was parked in the driveway, the apartment parking lot sticker--Walnut Creek Heights--slapped on the bumper. In less than a day, Rosie Candelero had proved herself to be more family than any of them, sticking by the children when she had no need to, hauling Garnet back here to her mausoleum without a fuss. He'd always hoped there were people in the world like that, people who went out of their way for others. Most of the people he knew stuck to their own lives and families, as if that was the extent of their love. He was like that, maybe worse because he'd left Janice, let Peri disown him without fighting back much, explained away Noel's early panic about Peri's disappearance. Sprinklers had come before children. But Rosie Candelero was truly a nurse, and he didn't mean by her profession alone.
The maid let Carl into the house and as he always had, he looked up, the ceilings in this house amazing with dark wood beams, the deep shine moving down to crown molding, built-ins, wainscoting, hardwood floors. He used to wonder how many forests had been destroyed to whip this house into shape, but he wasn't an environmentalist. He was simply had a curious, though he'd never brought the subject up with Garnet. She had this house, her antique furnishings, her half-acre of high-end land, and she didn't like to talk about it. She moved through life as if the house and the money that had bought it had always been there. Carl walked into the living room, knowing that for Garnet, it probably had been.
He heard the children talking somewhere, and was about to go toward their voices, but he stopped as Garnet clicked into the living room, pulling closed the pocket doors that separated it from the hallway. "We have to talk," she said, sweeping an arm in the direction of the couch. Carl sat down awkwardly. His long legs were too big for the delicately upholstered cushions, and he crossed and uncrossed them, finally sitting like he had as a schoolboy at his desk.
"How are the kids? Did they have a lot of questions?" he asked as Garnet sat down on a spindly wooden chair, the back a heart shaped bow of lacquered wood.
"Not as many as I do, though I've just spoken to Graham. He told me what Peri did."
"We know that. Noel told all of us at the hospital."
Garnet shook her head primly. "She actually jumped the fence and tried to break into his house. His wife Blair is still terrified. Carl, you have to face facts: She's gone mad. Stark raving."
He breathed out slowly, the air hovering over his tongue. They'd driven her to this. None of them had paid enough attention, especially Graham. "Maybe, but she’d not home yet. We haven’t heard what she has to say. Fran even said that."
"What could she say to make any of this understandable? Those poor children.”
Carl stared at the wall, finding an ivy vine to follow up the wallpaper. Yes, those poor children.
“Now,” Garnet continued. “Graham wants them to stay here. He's hopping the next flight out of Paris and is coming straight here. He's going to take Carly and Ryan back home with him."
"What?"
"That's what he wants to do. I'm going to keep them and then he'll take them home."
"No." Carl slammed his heels against the couch. "No. He doesn’t have custody. He can't just take them. He gave them up, Garnet. He signed the blasted papers. He can't change his mind now."
"He's their father. He can do what he wants."
"No, he can't. He absolutely cannot! There are court orders in place here. He didn't want custody, only summer visits, and he didn't even see them once. Peri has full custody of the kids, and she hasn't been charged with anything yet. If she is, then the courts will decide where the kids go."
Garnet brought her hands together, folding them neatly in her lap. "He's still their father."
"Sure he is. And he can tell that to the judge."
"Carl."
He stood up and moved toward the door. "And did he say anything about Brooke? What judge would give two kids up and not the third? What kids of father would only want the pick of the litter?"
Garnet looked down. "Brooke is in the hospital. She needs treatment."
"So what are we going to do? Put her in a home? Until Graham walked out on them to make himself a life without a damaged child, they were doing fine. Brooke's slid back years since then. What judge is going to let him do anything with those kids?"
"That may be, but what judge will give those kids back to Peri? She's lost her mind. She left those children at home alone. You can't imagine she'll be ready to take care of them any time soon." Garnet's voice was at a high pitch, and he could see she was trying to keep her tears in check. This was a woman who would never cry in public. He felt like sneering at her attempt at control, but he knew he wouldn’t dare cry in front of her either.
"Your son is totally disinterested in those kids, and that's putting it nice. There's going to be some wrangling about both of them as parents." He folded his arms across his chest, trying not to notice his heartbeats, one, two, three. So fast.
"But for now, I think I can offer them a better home than you. They've stayed here so often."
"Forget about it. I'm keeping them for now. Their stuff is at my house. I'm the one who found them. Don't think I'll forget you wouldn't even hand over Graham's number. I'll tell that to a judge, believe you me."
Carl pushed open the doors and left Garnet in the living room still sitting in the chair, her legs crossed neatly at the ankles. He followed the sounds of the children's' voices and found them in the eating alcove off the kitchen sitting with Rosie and drinking glasses of lemonade. "Let's go, kids."
"Grandma Mackenzie told us we were staying here. That's what Dad wanted," Carly said.
"She was mistaken. Come on. We're going back to my place. Clear up and say goodbye to your grandmother."
Both Ryan and Carly stood up, taking their glasses to the kitchen.
Rosie looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. "I didn't think they'd end up here."
"No. Not if I can help it. She and Graham are already plotting and no one's heard Peri's side yet. It's bad though."
"What do you mean?" Rosie said, walking with him toward the front door.
"It’s just . . . She’s not the girl I knew. The Peri I know would never have left Brooke like that. It means—It means she really is crazy."
“Crazy is relative. Like everything else. Trust me,” Rosie said, nodding.
“But it’s going to get ugly. With Garnet and Graham.”
"Look, you do the best that you can with this, Carl. It's not going to be pretty. I've seen such things at the hospital. But if you all keep the kids in mind, it'll go better."
They stopped at the door, waiting for the kids, who were talking with Garnet in the living room. He turned to Rosie. "You've been so great to us. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. You did more in one day than I've done in a year for them."
Rosie shook her head and placed a hand on his arm. She was warm, and without meaning to, he thought of the rest of her skin. Was as comforting as her hand? What a jackass, he thought, now trying not to feel her smoothness. Just what I always do, what I've always done. He didn't know how many women he'd had while married to Janice, always wanting what wasn't supposed to be his, always wanting more. More women, more money. Sure, he’d been able to retire a bit early. But with whom? And for what? Sprinklers? Tennis? Bridge?
"That Carly pulled at my heartstrings from the first time I saw her,” Ro
sie was saying. “I guess she reminds me of me when I was little. Sort of plucky even when it's terrible weather, you know what I mean?"
“She’s an amazing kid,” Carl said.
“I loved those years. They were the easy ones. My boy used to listen to me. He actually wanted to be with me when he was that. Now, well, I’m handy to have around.”
“He wouldn’t be there unless he loved you.” Carl could imagine the warmth Rosie’s home, the wisdom. The food. Not like the stuff he put together for himself.
“Humph,” she said, but she smiled.
"But really, thanks for everything."
"Call me if you need me. I mean it. Anytime." She dug in her purse and held out a card, Rosemary Candelero, R.N., her hospital address and phone number below it. "It makes me feel like big stuff to have this. I've got hundreds because I never have the chance to use them."
He tucked the card in his pocket just as the kids walked toward them, Garnet following. "Okay, get into the car," Carl said, opening the door, letting Carly, Ryan, and Rosie out. I beat the maid to it, he thought, almost smiling.
"Okay, Garnet. We'll talk soon, I’m sure."
"Yes, we will. This isn't over. I hope you understand that, at least."
Carl nodded and walked out, listening to the door close behind them. In front of him, the children were talking to Rosie and hugging her, even Ryan, his gangly teenaged arms wrapping completely around her waist. Carly laughed, made kissy sounds. Ryan let Rosie go and play-punched Carly in the shoulder. As Carl watched his grandchildren, he sighed. Peri couldn't lose them.
For the first time in years, he wanted something bad enough to fight for it.
EIGHT
On the way back to Grandpa Carl's house, Carly watched him as she sat in the passenger's seat, his hands holding the steering wheel at what her mother would call seven and five rather ten and two, the safest places. But he didn't seem relaxed as he usually did, the radio playing those old songs he listened to from way back in the 60's and 70's, his head turning to her as he talked for so long she was sure they would crash. Now, he was still and focused. Something she couldn't describe rubbed raw in her stomach, scratchy and hot.
When they got home, the afternoon sun beating on the back of the house, an old lady was leaning forward to stare at them through the bushes--the witch that ate children, Carly remembered. Grandpa unlocked the door and they walked in the house without saying a word. Ryan poked Carly with his elbow, and she looked at him, raising her eyebrows in that silent language they'd developed since the divorce. I don't know, she was saying. I have no idea.
"So here's what I'm thinking," Grandpa said, turning around suddenly in the hall. They both stopped their silent conversation, their eyes wide. "Oh, Jeez, come into the kitchen and sit down."
The followed him and sat down at the table. He rubbed his chin, his whiskers white under his fingers. "What is it, Grandpa?" Carly asked.
"I'm thinking that--that I should go and live with you at the apartment. We can get it all arranged, and when Brooke gets better, she can come home, too."
Carly looked at Ryan, the scratching in her stomach so loud she imagined he could hear it. Just the thought of the apartment and the stale, stinky smell made the muffin Uncle Noel had bought her at the hospital rise in her throat. When she closed her eyes, she could see Brooke, hear her mumble, "Ma, Ma, Ma," see the unpacked boxes, the laundry, her worry stacked in every corner of the apartment. Then there were the two months of her mother only a mound under the blankets, the bedroom ripe with the smell of Brooke's pee.
"That place is a shithole," Ryan blurted out, bringing his hand to his mouth after the words were already out. But Grandpa only nodded.
"Yeah, it is. But we can clean it up. I can sleep on the couch in the living room."
"The rent is due. I know it's a lot," Carly said. "Rosie told me yesterday. Maybe it's too expensive to go back."
"Everyone will know," Ryan said quietly. "They'll know about Mom."
Grandpa sat back in his chair. "Here it is. If we get you back there, you can go to school. You need to go to school. Too much has interrupted your lives. And we can make it better for when Brooke comes back. And your mom."
Carly hadn't allowed herself to think about her mom more than just that fact that she was gone. She didn't dare because there was too much to comprehend, and a feeling that was red and had a whipping tail came to her when she thought of feeding Brooke and cleaning Brooke and being all alone, even Ryan leaving her. Now she didn't care about her mother because Brooke was okay. And Carly liked sleeping in the big bed in Grandpa's house. "I hate that school. I don't want to go there. I want to go to any school but my old school."
"Me, too," Ryan said. "I hate that school. I don't have any friends."
"You have Quinn."
Ryan shrugged. "He's not a friend. He just has a car."
"He's got other stuff."
"Shut it."
"Well, you can't go back to Monte Veda," Grandpa interrupted. "The only option would be to go to school here in Oakland.”
This new Oakland life wouldn't be like her old one in Monte Veda, with her best friends and both her parents, and Brooke almost saying "Carly" after her speech therapy. Now, neither of her parents was around, her mom probably even arrested. But they would have Grandpa Carl, and Grandma Mackenzie lived right up Park Boulevard. Maybe Ryan would stop smoking and going out because Quinn would be gone, and then it seemed possible that her mom and Brooke could come and live here, too. Carly could share a room with Brooke, and Grandpa could turn his TV room back into a bedroom. She didn't have any friends to miss from Walnut Creek, anyway, so what would be so hard about starting over again?
"Okay," she said slowly. "I'll live here. I'll go to school here."
"Yeah," Ryan said, agreeing. "That's good. That's the best."
Grandpa Carl sighed and shook his head. "Well, this is a piece of work. I'm going to have to get on the horn. I don't know if I can do it like magic. I have to talk to Fran McDermott, the social worker. Maybe the judge. Or we might have to wait until your dad gets back into town."
"When will he be here?" Ryan asked.
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can try to work it out."
"But if he's coming, won't he want us to go home with him?" Carly asked, her stomach flaring again, tears behind her eyes. "Will we have to move to Phoenix? Will we have to leave Brooke here alone?"
Grandpa put his arms around her shoulders. "Don't get upset. No one really knows anything. But I'm going to do my best, okay?"
Carly nodded and looked at Ryan, who was staring at the table. He had on the face he wore when he slammed into the apartment, dropping his backpack, staying just long enough to grab whatever food there was and slip some money out of their mother's wallet. It was his I Don't Care face. Why did he have it on now, when people were finally helping them?
"Right. Like anyone's cared all this time," Ryan said, standing up, his chair skidding on the linoleum. "Where were you for the last year? Now everyone's all over us, like we're so fucking important. So do your best dude, but it won't mean jack."
He walked away and Carly heard the study door slam. She grabbed onto Grandpa, not wanting him to be mad, not want him to leave. He patted her hand and sat back in his chair, sighing. "He's right. Everything single thing he said was right on."
Later, when Grandpa was on the phone, Carly tapped on the study door, leaning her forehead against the wood.
"It's me," she said quietly.
"Hold on."
She heard a window open, and then breathed in the cigarette smoke Ryan was trying to push outside as it slid under the door and into the hall. After a minute, the door opened a slit, one of Ryan's blue eyes blinking at her. "What?"
"Are you mad?"
"What do you think?"
"It's not his fault."
"Dad's?"
"No. Grandpa's." Carly put her palm on the door to see if there was any give, but he was leaning against it.
&nb
sp; "No shit, Sherlock. I can't believe we might end up back in that apartment or with Dad. I don't want to be anywhere."
Carly put her shoulder against the wall, angling the toe of her tennis shoe in the opening of the door. "Let's go for a walk."
"Forget it."
"Come on. Grandpa's on the phone with the social worker or somebody."
Ryan looked behind him, the door opening a bit, the outside noises leaking in. Some kids were skateboarding down the street; a dog followed behind them barking. Cars rounded the corner, and behind the house was the whirring whack of a hedger. The witch, Carly thought. She wants to trap us and throw us in her oven.
"Fine. But let's go through the window."
Carly almost asked why, but for the first time in maybe a year, Ryan wanted to do something with her. They used to play all the time, board games or Mario Cart or a make-believe game with Legos, but that had been before he gave up on them, before their dad left. Ryan let her in the room, closing the door behind them. "If you tell Grandpa I smoke, it's all over."
"It's bad for you."
"Like who really cares? Mom?"
"Grandpa."
"I just don't want anyone on my back, okay?"
She shrugged, but Ryan was already leaping out the window, turning around to watch her. She didn't want to trip and fall on the lawn and look like an idiot, so she bit her lip and concentrated, jumping and landing with only a bit of a wobble next to the bottlebrush tree.
"Hey! You! Kids! What are you doing?"
"Shut up, you old bag," Ryan muttered under his breath, pulling Carly with him to the gate that led to the sidewalk.
"Who are you? Why are you coming out of Mr. Randall's house?"
"We're his grandkids." Carly stopped and looked at the woman, who stood with a hedger in one hand, a length of extension cord in the other. Her face was hidden by her hat's shadow, she smelled like the Bug-Off Carly's mom used to pack in her summer camp gear, and her nose and cheeks were covered in zinc oxide.
When You Go Away Page 8