"Someone had to be. Mom died. Someone had to care."
Carl nodded. "Yeah. That's true. And I care now. I know it’s little too late. But I'm in for the long haul. The kids--they can stay here too if the court allows."
"Even Brooke?"
"Even Brooke. I've got designs on that hospital bed back at the apartment. But like you said, it's kind of a wait-and-see thing. I'll take care of it though, so what about you?"
Noel looked around the room, putting an arm on the top of the couch. "Work. More work. The usual. I want to be around for her though."
"Of course. Do you have a lady-friend or somebody?"
"Not now."
"Who was your last one? You never mentioned anyone special."
"Listen, Dad, I don't know what you're doing." Noel stood up, putting his hands in his pockets and facing the large picture window. Outside, house finches chattered and fought in the sycamores, flying away in a flash of brown and orangey-red as a girl with a yip-yapping dog walked down the sidewalk. "We've never talked much about this stuff."
"I'm just curious, that's all. I'd like to see you--see you happy. I never said anything before. I know that. I never asked. You're so good with Peri's kids. I wondered if you wanted a family of your own some day."
"You're going to extol the virtues of family? You?"
"Stupid, huh. But right now, even with all this, I’m glad I have you both."
Noel turned to look at him, and in a space of seconds, Carl could see him as a boy, reading on his stomach in the living room, his legs crossed and rocking, his chin in his palm. So serious, always so serious. His boy. His only boy.
"Dad."
"What, son?"
"I think . . . I don’t know how to be with a woman for more than six months. I always think I’ll end up being . . . ."
“Being me?” Carl asked.
Noel shook his head and then turned away. Carl could see his pulse beating in his son’s neck, his blood full of the words he’d almost said. Noel was scared of being like his old man.
All the things that had never been said coiled in Carl's throat, the I love you's, the I’m unhappy's, the I need help's. No one in this family had ever practiced the simple art of the truth, wanting to shield others from the terrible fire inside. In the last weeks, he'd heard more from Peri and Carly and the hospital staff and even Rosie Candelero than he'd heard his whole adult life. Even his tennis buddies wanted him to articulate his sadness. Why hadn't he ever learned to say the things that helped? Why hadn't he ever listened to what his family needed to say?
"I did screw up. Royally. But you aren’t me. You aren’t, son. You’ve stuck by everyone in this family: your mom, your sister, the kids, me. You’re the only one. You know how to do family more than any of us."
Noel put his head in one hand, his shoulders shaking. Carl stood up and walked to him, pulling him close. He hadn't hugged him since he was a boy and Noel’s head used to reach only to his chest. Now, Noel's quick breaths were in his ear. "What is it, Noel?"
After a minute, Noel pushed away and wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve. "God. I haven't done that in a while."
"I saw someone on Oprah who said we should cry every day." Carl tried to find a place for his arms, not knowing if the moment had passed or he might need to hold his son again.
"Since when do you watch Oprah?"
"When I don't make it up to tennis. Don't tell Ralph," Carl said, finding the right laugh, one that lightened but didn't suggest he was ready to stop talking. "Son?"
"We can talk later. We will. There is someone I met recently, but I just can't think of anything but Peri right now."
Carl shrugged. Part of him didn't want to let this go, needing to expose every truth and buff them clear with Lemon Pledge. But a son--a man--wasn't a table or a counter, and he knew, at least, that one day, Noel would come to him. "That's fine. You know I’m always here."
The front door opened and Peri walked inside holding one of Mrs. Trimble's prized rhododendron blooms. That woman, thought Carl. I bet she talked Peri's ear off. His daughter closed the door and put the flower carefully on the entry table, its long droopy petals hanging over the edge.
"He was here."
"Who?" Noel asked, all traces of his tears gone.
"Graham."
"That son-of-a-bitch." Carl walked toward the door, but Peri moved in front of him, holding his arm.
"He's gone."
"What did he want?"
She shook her head, gripping him tighter, more holding on to him for support than holding him back. "I don't know. He asked about me and how I felt. He asked me about what I did. He talked about Brooke."
"Shit!" Noel slapped his thighs. "I hope you didn't say anything."
"Maybe I did. I think . . . I got angry."
"Shit!" Noel said again. "He's probably on his way now to his lawyers. Maybe he was even taping the whole thing."
Peri was silent, still, pale, dropping her hand from Carl's arm and backing against the wall. There was a different look in her eyes, fear freezing her flat and empty. Is what she looked like that last month in her apartment, the shell of a mother Carly found every morning under the covers? He wouldn't let her go back to that, not ever. "Hold on, Noel. Just wait a minute. Peri, come sit down."
He led Peri to a chair and she sat, curling her legs up under her, leaning her head against the back. He sat on the coffee table and patted her knee. "So do you think he had a motive?"
She shook her head, the new cut making her look more like the girl he remembered. "No. He--he seemed like he wanted me to tell him something. To tell him what to do. Like he was the one who needed direction. He said he was sorry."
Noel paced back and forth in front of the window. Carl shook his head at him as Peri rubbed her eyes, not wanting to scare her any further. "So, that doesn't sound like the kind of thing he'd want on tape. If he wanted to frame you, it would be oilier, sneakier, snake-in-the-grass questions, I think."
Sighing, Noel sat down next to Carl. "That's right. He'd lead you into saying the worst kind of thing. I’m sorry. I just don't trust him."
"He seemed sad." Peri looked up at them. "And he was trying to tell me something. But I remembered what you told me, and I left. I didn't say all the things I wanted to."
Carl and Noel looked at each other, and then Noel said, "I better let Preston know about this." He stood up and then turned back to Peri. "Have you thought about what you want to do? I mean, with the case? How do you want to plead? You know what I think."
Nodding, Peri exhaled. "I want to plead guilty." She glanced at them both, her eyes watering. "I am guilty."
That evening just after dinner time, Carl drove up to Garnet's to take Ryan and Carly out for an ice cream at Fenton's. After phone calls with Fran and Dr. Kolakowski, Noel had called Preston to tell him to accept the deal. Preston had promised to get back to them in the morning with the sentencing date. Noel and Peri went to a movie, that romantic one about the time traveling man, and once they left, Carl decided to visit the kids and tell them what was going to happen. Maybe he'd also get a chance to check out Graham, he thought. See what the SOB was up to.
Garnet was actually sitting on the living room as Brooke's physical therapist, that guy, what's-his-name, rolled Brooke around on a large rubber ball.
"Leon had some free time and decided to come visit Brooke," Garnet said, standing up stiffly, smoothing her pants, and then walking briskly with Carl into the entryway.
Leon raised a hand, and Brooke said, "Gapa," her consonants already more pronounced after only a few visits with the speech therapist.
"That's right, honey. Have a good time."
Garnet led him into the dining room, motioning to a chair. "Let me get the children."
"Where's Graham?"
"Oh. I . . . I . . ."
"He came to the house today. He talked to Peri." Peri. His girl, out in the yard because it was good for her, so thin, so alone, forced to talk with
Graham, who let this happen.
Garnet turned back, confused, her eyes dark. "What?"
"That's right. Graham came up to her while she was gardening and started asking her questions. Scared her to death. Made her think he was trying to get her to say something bad. What's going on Garnet?"
Garnet bit her lip, flecks of red lipstick sticking to her teeth. "Well, I don't know. I didn't know he was going to do that."
"Where is he?"
"This is inappropriate, Carl. You are here to take the children for an ice cream. We can't talk about this. It might come up in court."
"Peri's pleading guilty to a lesser charge. She's going to be sentenced soon." The words were out before he had a chance to think, the truth a new habit to which he was becoming addicted.
"Oh. My."
"It probably means she won't get custody right away."
Garnet quelled a smile using her lipsticked teeth. "Oh.
"So I was wondering what he was doing at the house."
Garnet grabbed a chair back and leaned toward it, looking down at him. "He went home for a few days. He needs to get some things in order, and now, it seems doubly important."
"Maybe. But what did he want with Peri?"
She shook her head. "I don’t know."
"He needs to leave her alone. She's doing so much better, but she was real shook up afterward."
"Maybe she needs to . . . well, fine. You're right. I'll tell him. He shouldn't have done that."
"Exactly," he said, turning to avoid Garnet's raised her chin, narrowed her eyes, puckered lips that always said, "Cast no stones here." In the frame of the kitchen door, Maritza's dark form flickered past.
"Well."
"Good." He looked up, as prepared for Garnet as for one of Bob's big serves. "The kids ready?"
Ryan ordered the largest sundae on the menu, a concoction with eight scoops of ice cream, bananas, whipped cream, and three sauces that spilled over the dish and pooled on the table. Carly had eyed it as well, but chose the hot fudge sundae instead. Carl ordered two scoops of peppermint stick in a dish. After the waitress tucked her order book in her pocket and walked away, he remembered the flavor had been Janice's favorite, not his.
"So I wanted to tell you two about what's going on with your mother's case." He licked his spoon and placed it in his dish. Both kids' lips covered with chocolate they wiped away as soon as they saw him notice.
"What?" Ryan asked.
"Her lawyer decided that it might be better for her to plead guilty to a charge that's not as bad as the one she was arrested for."
"Guilty? Does that mean jail? Will she have to go back to that place?" Carly dropped her spoon, the metal clattering on the table.
"No. Well, probably not. If she does, we'll have to visit her there instead of at the park or at Fran's office."
Carly looked down at her lap. Carl reached over to pat her shoulder. "I'll go with you. So will Uncle Noel."
"But she might not go, right?" Ryan kept eating as he talked, almost all eight scoops gone.
"That's right. Jail time is really not that likely. Your mom has done great since she came home. The medicine is working, and she goes to her doctor every day. And she gets to visit you and Brooke once a week. She's feeling really good."
"But will she get us? If she's guilty, how can we live with her?" Carly bit her lip in the same way Garnet did, shocking Carl into remembering his grandchildren were actually related to her.
"That's what I wanted to talk with you about. Your mom might not get custody, but those arrangements can be reevaluated. Whatever a judge decides now doesn’t have to be forever."
"I don't want to go to Phoenix. I hate Phoenix,” Carly said, crying now.
"Dad left for Phoenix today," Ryan said, sliding his spoon into the ice cream murk at the bottom of his dish.
"I know. When exactly did he leave?"
"In the afternoon or something. He said he had to go home to do some stuff but that he'd be back in a couple days. He packed everything."
"Maybe he thinks he won't have to come back. Maybe he thinks we'll have to go down there and live." Carly's voice was rising, and Carl shushed her under his breath, patting her shoulder and leaving his hand there to calm her.
"It wouldn't be that fast. He'll have to come back to court. Don't think that," Carl said. Graham was up to something, though. His wife surely could have flown up with whatever he needed. Or if there were bills to pay or matters to organize, couldn't she have done that for him at least? And Graham must have this much or more vacation time at whatever job he had. Hell, he could claim it as personal leave. These were his kids, for Christ's sake!
"I'm not going down there," Ryan said flatly. "I'm staying here. I’m going to tell the judge that. I'll even stay at Grandma's before I move in with him."
"You okay with Grandma Mackenzie?" Carl tried to keep the answer he wanted out of his question.
"Yeah. It's cool,” Ryan said. “We start our new school tomorrow. She's went down and signed me up for a skateboarding class at the new skate park."
"What about you, Carly? Is it going okay?"
She looked down at her half-eaten sundae. "It's okay."
Carly was holding back something, maybe words she imagined would hurt him. What? That she liked it? Or that she didn't? Ryan shifted, kicking the table pedestal, and then shrugged. "Are we like done yet?"
Outside, Carl took Carly's hand, and she let him keep it, her skin cool against his. Peri used to walk beside him waiting for him to hold out his hand, grabbing on to it, not wanting to let go until the last minute. If he closed his eyes right now, he could be back in 1968, his two children walking with him down this same sidewalk, Peri chatting about school, Noel quiet, one step behind them but watching everything.
"Listen. You know I don't want you two to live anywhere but here. But whatever happens, I'm here for you. Do you understand?"
Both of them nodded, Carly almost smiling.
"I'm serious. Don't think I won't know what's happening with you for one second." And he closed his eyes, wishing it was 1968, and he was saying this to Peri and Noel, and they were nodding and smiling like Carly and Ryan. Like these children, they would actually believe him. Like he did now, he would mean every word.
TWENTY
Already, even though she pretended not to sigh, to sink into her sturdy desk chair, to breathe in the smell of a newly-carpeted, clean classroom, Carly felt better. Back when she started school in Walnut Creek, she refused to look in the corners of the room at the stacks of old tests, rolled up maps, and broken overhead projectors piled on the dusty linoleum. She'd tried not to compare Walnut Farms Middle School with her old school in Monte Veda with its brand new Macintosh computers and HP printers and Sony televisions in every classroom, not to mention the computer lab, the performing arts building, the auditorium that even the high school kids sometimes borrowed. If she'd thought of all those things plus what was going on with her mother and Brooke, Carly wouldn't go to school at all.
Though she didn't know one single person at Piedmont Pines Intermediate and tried to smile as the first period English teacher announced her name and the students all turned at once to stare at her, she was happier. She'd be lonely and whispered about, but this school was clean and ordered like the one in Monte Veda, full of computers, moms working in every classroom. And the best parts were that Brooke was with a speech teacher right now, and Ryan walked Carly to school and even talked to her on the way, and her mom was just down the street and not crazy any more. Who cared about the rest?
But at lunchtime, some of her relief vanished, and she sat by herself at a table with the bag lunch Maritza had packed her. "Don't look inside until lunch, Mí'ja. It's good." And it was. A torta, as Maritza called it when Grandma wasn't listening, a thick ham sandwich in a soft roll, a bag of crisp potato chips, and a huge brownie. She didn't want to go stand in line for a milk, drawing more whispers and stares to herself. Carly could hear them even now, the "Her mom w
as in jail," and "Her sister is like a cripple," the story changing like a sentence in the telephone game. By the time school was over, her mom would be on America's Most Wanted, and Brooke locked up behind brick walls in dark mental hospital in England or Bulgaria or somewhere.
"Hi. I know about you." A girl sat down next to Carly, sliding so close, Carly felt her thigh against hers. "I read it in the paper. Mom says your grandma lives up the street from us."
Carly froze, holding her sandwich in her hands, looking at the girl's black hair, short and wild and gelled in stiff pointy spikes. Ryan would want to know her in a couple of years, a girl who hung out with skateboarders and smoked Lucky Strikes in the culverts under the overpass after school. Carly put her sandwich down. She would just pack up and go outside and sit on the lawn. Then the girl moved even closer.
"But I won't say anything to anyone."
"You won't?" Carly had said this too loudly, her voice froggy, two girls from the next table turning to look at her.
"No. No one else around here reads the paper anyway. They're all into boys and shit. I don't think they know anything. I've read all of George Eliot’s books."
"Oh." Carly raised her eyebrows, pretending to know who George Eliot was, saying with her expression, like everyone knows him. She'd have to go into Grandma's library and look when she got home; the name sounded as old as the shelves and shelves of ancient books Grandma warned her to be very careful with.
"Are you here forever? Or do you have to like go to some different house with a whole new mother and shit? I've read about that. Maybe someone really famous will adopt you, and you'll live in like Beverly Hills or Zimbabwe or some amazing place."
Carly shook her head. "I don't think so. I think I'm going to be here for awhile. There's a case and stuff."
"I've read about that. Oh! My name's Simone. That's not my real name. I took it from Simone de Beauvoir. You know."
Carly raised her eyebrows again, thinking, How will I remember that name?
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