Deliver Her: A Novel (28 page)

SEPTEMBER 2012

CARL

Carl reviewed the provisions in his trunk, which now included an oversize spotlight and a portable defibrillator. He was debating whether he had time to catch a meeting at the Seaport before getting on the road when a trill of feminine laughter wafted down his block.

“Don’t treat me like some sort of bumpkin, honey. I lived here, remember?”

“I
know
, Mom. You keep reminding me.”

He knew their voices instantly: Iris and Mia, strolling arm in arm down Pearl Street toward him.

“Carl Alden. My goodness. What are the chances?” Iris raised her sunglasses.

“Small world, I guess.”

“Mia’s in school here now,” Iris said. “I had to come down and check on her.”

Mia surprised him by stepping up and hugging him. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Alden.”

“You, too, Mia. How’s the painting going?”

“Not bad.”

“My daughter’s being very modest,” Iris said. “From the work she showed me this weekend, New York is clearly her new muse.”

“Mom. Please stop.” Mia squirmed at her mother’s praise.

Of course New York would inspire the girl—
especially this time of year
, Carl thought. Manhattan trees toasted cinnamon and amber against cerulean skies; glass towers glittering like diamonds, mirroring it all; secret green pockets softening steel and concrete.

It was a magical place to find oneself—or lose oneself, if life required that.

Out of politeness, he invited them inside for a cold drink, which they refused.

“We have a brunch reservation,” Mia said quickly.

Iris gestured to the packed car. “Looks like you’re headed out as well. Where to this time?” She smiled, her eyes warm with interest.

“Pickup in Connecticut, outside Hartford.” This transport was a seventeen-year-old male, heroin addict. In recent weeks, Carl had broken in a new partner—Josh, a twenty-eight-year-old probation officer. The single ex-football player was physically strong and emotionally nimble, with no ties. He bonded well with the boys; Carl was accepting only male transports for the moment.

Carolyn was making great strides, he said when Iris asked after her. His partner insisted she’d be back to work within the month, although Carl knew her mother and daughter took issue with that.

“How’s her little girl? Jamie, wasn’t it?” Mia asked. Since her mother’s injury, Carl had begun to visit Jamie regularly, he said, taking her to minigolf, Coney Island. Kid stuff, keeping it light. Jamie had even invited him to her karate competition, and he rearranged his schedule to be there.

And though he didn’t share this with the women, when the time was right, he planned to tell Carolyn about the account he’d set up for her daughter, in Jimbo’s memory. Perhaps even broach the idea of the art therapy that had been such a tonic for the young Mia.

Iris raised a hand to shield the sun, her bangles lining up neatly at her elbow. “I see your forehead healed nicely.”

“Not even a scar.”

Mia checked her phone. “Sorry, Mom, but I don’t know how long they’ll hold our table on a Sunday.”

“Go ahead and let them know we’re here.” Iris gave Mia a gentle push. “I’m right behind you. Promise.”

“Nice seeing you, Mr. Alden.” Wiggling her fingers at him, Mia turned and bolted across the street as the light changed.

“She looks wonderful.” Carl leaned against the trunk, genuinely pleased at seeing the shopkeeper again.

“She’s a little annoyed with me,” Iris said. “I told her I’m closing my nook—you know, those trinkets I sell at Swiftriver? Her dad and I have been talking about some changes.” Iris looked down at the sidewalk.

“Anyway, Mia said it would be like Washington Square Park without the arch, or some such thing.” Iris threw back her head and chuckled. “So theatrical. Can you imagine?”

“I’m sure the store holds fond memories for her.”

“We’re talking about some old junk in a general store, not a national monument.” Iris adjusted her sunglasses. “I told her to focus on school, and her dad and I would figure out the rest.”

“She’ll adjust. Just as you’ve adjusted to her being in New York.”

“I’m still working on that. I couldn’t bear to watch Cam pack up her studio. But now that she’s here, and I’m here . . .” Iris sniffed the air appreciatively. “I’ve just missed New York so much—especially the fall. Something about the light, you know?” Her face grew serious again. “Anyway, I sent Mia ahead so I could ask how you’re doing.” She pointed to the loaded car. “I guess everything worked out with the business?”

“More or less.” He had taken some time off after New Hampshire to regroup, he said. The publicity from the accident had been minimal. If anything, calls to Begin Again had increased. From the easing recession was emerging a whole population of parents needing his help, apparently.

Iris hesitated. “About New Hampshire. I don’t know if you’re in touch at all, but Alex is doing well. She’s still at The Birches.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I wish her the best.”

Alex’s decision to go on to The Birches had surprised and cheered him. He knew the bright girl would succeed there. Her parents had settled amicably with him in the end. There’d been one angry, incoherent call from Jacob Carmody late one night after Carl returned their money. Carl had been certain he was under the influence.

At any rate, the book on the Carmody transport was closed, all parties (including the New Hampshire authorities) accepting the events that transpired on the Kancamagus that afternoon as a tragic accident, an uncontrollable combination of elements and circumstance.

It was what Iris had tried to convince him of that night at Swiftriver, what his sponsor kept telling him
.
Carl was working to make peace with it himself, a day at a time. Some days, it was an hour at a time.

Getting back to Trinity had helped. Accustomed to his comings and goings, Martin didn’t even ask Carl where he’d been for the last few months—just dropped a stirrer in an extra-tall ginger ale and set it in front of him at Trinity’s bar. On his first few visits back, Carl shrugged off DJ Ken when he motioned him to the stage. He wasn’t ready yet; things were still too raw. But in recent weeks, Carl had been polishing a new number, a slower, more reflective song with a refrain that haunted him during the long, solitary ride home from New Hampshire, after visiting Carolyn.

He remounted Trinity’s stage one Thursday in August. DJ Ken released the first strains, obligingly slowing it down a little for Carl. The customers leaned back on barstools as he began to sing:

Fork ahead, that’s my daily bread, ride the shoulder if you dare;

Some folks fear the detours but my ride’s no worse for wear.

Four walls is nice, count my blessings twice, but what’s the point if I’m alone.

We never know where roads may lead; what heart will call you home.

Happy Corner, Happy Corner. You soothe my soul, you paint my sky
 . . .

Happy Corner, Happy Corner . . .

Looking out into the half-filled bar, Carl had felt the pull of the many roads ahead of him.

Like the Connecticut itinerary beckoning today. A passing taxi horn blared. Distracted, Carl and Iris both spoke at once.

“I really have to get on the road.”

“I should meet Mia.”

They laughed. Carl lifted his hat and rubbed his head. He was overdue for a haircut; the smooth hair felt foreign under his hand. “If you’re in the city again, I’d love to buy you both dinner. For all your help last spring.” He drew a business card from his wallet and handed it to Iris.

“I’ll be back. That’s for certain.” She examined Carl’s card. “Funny. All those hours we spent together, and I never did ask the name of your business. Begin Again. How appropriate.” She slid the card into a pocket. “Be well, Carl Alden. I wish you safe travels.”

With a quick clasp of hands, Iris was gone.

Inexplicably, her departure pained him. Leaning against his car, Carl watched Iris walk down the block,
his
block—past the bodega, the new nail salon, Trinity. Slamming the trunk shut, he felt again the longing to share his neighborhood, his life, with someone.

In his pocket, Carl’s BlackBerry buzzed. He ignored it, letting it go to voice mail, and watched Iris Bailey disappear into the shimmering city afternoon.

OCTOBER 2012

MEG

Sitting beside Alex on her twin cot in The Birches dorm room, Meg stroked her daughter’s braid, now an electric blue. They had just come from watching the regular Saturday night movie in the school’s community room.

Alex grinned. “Relax, Mom. It’s not permanent.”

“Of course not. Not like a
tattoo
or anything.”

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Alex offered her forearm. “Come on, Mom,” she said when Meg didn’t answer. “We could have gone
way
bigger.”

“That’s true.” Meg scooted closer to examine the design.

“You see this spiral? It’s infinity. It means Cass and me go on forever. For eternity.”

Meg swallowed. Eternity was a very long time. Apparently Shana had ink to match. She didn’t even
want
to know how two underage girls had managed to get themselves tattooed. “It’s beautiful, Alex.”

“Don’t worry. It’s all good karma.” Alex’s eyes were clear and honest. “It makes me feel like Cass is always with me.”

Strangely, that same sensation had washed over Meg on her last cemetery visit. She faithfully visited Cass’s grave each week, something Alex had asked of her when they dropped her at The Birches. “I can’t count on Shana to go, Mom. You have to do this for me.”

That good-bye at Alex’s initial drop-off had been too emotional for Meg to compound it by sharing Shana’s confession with her daughter. But over the weeks at The Birches, Alex had let her know, in bits and pieces, that Shana had told her everything.

These days, Alex barely mentioned Shana. She was slowly making new friends at the school and was even thinking about joining an improv group, she told Meg on her last visit. There was a newfound buoyancy in her daughter’s demeanor, a light in her eyes and in her laugh. The Birches was working its magic, just as Meg had hoped it would. Time could heal.

Meg hadn’t done anything with Shana’s confession. Perhaps there was a legal or moral duty there somewhere, but right or wrong, Meg’s focus was her family.

She was doing her best to focus on things in life that she
could
control, a strategy she picked up from her Family Together meetings. After a few weeks back home with Jacob, she resurrected Ruthann’s card and located a meeting a few towns away, having zero desire to bump into her coworker at the Riverport Presbyterian chapter. Meg did nothing but listen the first night—and the second and the third. Two messages came through loud and clear. One: despite myriad factors driving a loved one’s substance abuse, the fallout rarely varied—ravaged families, blame and self-doubt, a vast, deep well of despair. And two: since there was precious little a person could do about someone else’s choices, the shortest route to sanity was simply taking care of oneself.

It was that basic—and that daunting. Meg drew a bizarre comfort from the group members’ common terrain. They were in the trenches together. Maybe one night she’d find the courage to speak.

Things on the home front were complicated. Meg and Jacob resumed their separate living arrangements, without a word about what happened between them that night at the Washington Pines motel. There were superficial bright spots: Jacob occasionally reprising his culinary adventures with Jack, putting out more feelers for construction work, getting a haircut.

On the other hand, Jacob had not yet come clean with Alex about the pills as he had promised, always pushing off his confession until his next visit. Meg could imagine how hard that admission would be for him, but his procrastination fueled her suspicions he was still using.

Her accusations put him on the defensive. He was handling it his own way, was all he’d say. Meg only knew that if Jacob
was
using, he could no longer remain in the house. Melissa had offered to put up Jack and Meg so they could rent out their house, if it came to that. Meg hoped it wouldn’t.

In any case, she would make no moves without telling Jacob first. That much she had learned.

All of a sudden, Alex jumped off the bed. “Mom. Wait till you see what Dad sent me.” She thrust a brochure in Meg’s face. “It’s from the University of Miami. It’s a state school, so it’s way cheaper. Dad said they have a junior year exchange with
Hawaii
.” Alex’s voice leaped up at the end, her hips rotating in an approximation of a hula.

Meg grinned and said nothing. There was time enough to figure out the college thing, and it was just so delightful to see her daughter smile. Alex had been doing that a lot lately, appearing more relaxed and happy than she’d been in ages. You couldn’t ask for a more supportive environment. Most of The Birches faculty lived right on the grounds. After a late-night raid on the dorm’s vending machines, Meg returned to the motel recommended by The Birches. (Washington Pines did not appear on the school’s list, she had noted.)

The next day, she was back at The Birches in time for brunch. After, the two strolled the lush grounds, needing only sweaters, even on this Columbus Day weekend, stopping to sip bottled water in a gazebo near the administration building. Overhead, Meg noticed a bird’s nest tucked in its rafters. She couldn’t imagine how it hadn’t tumbled off the narrow beams by now.
Mother Nature was nothing if not determined,
she thought. She slapped Alex’s knee playfully. “So . . . what do you want to do this afternoon?”

With permission to take Alex off the grounds for a few hours, Meg hoped she would suggest shopping or a movie, but all Alex wanted to do was go back to Swiftriver.

“Mia’s home on fall break. She said to come by.”

Meg toyed with her bangs. The young woman had been immensely helpful, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to encourage the friendship.

But Alex insisted they go. Resigned, Meg signed Alex out. They drove out of the school gates, radio blasting hip-hop, Alex’s new obsession, her daughter’s Teva-clad feet scraping the dashboard. Meg resisted the urge to correct her.
Talk to them like they’re someone else’s kid,
the school counselors suggested in a parents-only workshop. Even though Meg was reasonably certain she would tell somebody else’s kid to put their feet down, she kept quiet.

Driving along the Kanc, Meg didn’t ask if they passed the scene of the accident.

After a bit, Alex shouted excitedly. “There they are. The pig tanks.” She directed Meg into Swiftriver’s parking lot, past a pair of stomach-churning pink gas pumps, leaving Meg to wonder how she could have missed the whimsical landmarks last spring.

Inside, Iris smiled in welcome, throwing her arm around Alex. Apparently the shopkeeper made a point of visiting her daughter some weekends. “Mia’s down in the studio with her dad, Al. You know the way.”

Alex flew out the back door, Swiftriver’s screen door flapping behind her.

Alone with Iris, Meg felt uncomfortable. The two had barely been introduced in April. To cover her awkwardness, she moved toward an antiques-covered table. “You have some beautiful things here,” she said, stroking the teapot of a silver tea set.

“I’ll give you a good price. I’m cleaning things out.”

Meg smiled. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

They sat at the store counter, sipping seltzer Iris offered. Meg was hearing all about Mia’s move to Manhattan when the two girls returned to the store, Mia bubbling over with stories about her new life in the city.

“Can you tell how much she misses us?” Iris deadpanned.

“Stop, Mom. We have a plan, remember?” Mia ticked off the itinerary for Iris’s December visit: a stroll on the High Line, Chelsea Market, a new modern hotel nearby with an ice-skating rink outside. “Oh, Mom, did you tell Alex’s mom who we—”

“Nope. No need.” Iris refilled Meg’s glass. “Two months in New York and she’s the guide now. Mia, what was that new Asian fusion place you liked?”

Listening to the easy banter flowing between mother and daughter, Meg couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Would she and Alex ever get to that place? To her daughter’s credit, Alex’s time in New Hampshire was such a leap—progress she might not have made without Mia’s help. Meg turned to the young woman. “You know, we’re not far from Manhattan,” Meg heard herself saying. “If you ever need a home-cooked meal while you’re at school, I can come get you, or you could take the train and . . .”

“Home-cooked meal? You, Mom?” Alex teased.

“You know what I mean. A break from the city.”

Mia smiled. “I’d love that, Mrs. Carmody.”

“Please. Call me Meg.”

“Watch out. Jack will drive you crazy,” Alex warned.

“I spent an entire day with
you
, remember? Jack should be a piece of cake.”

At the mention of her son, Meg stood and checked her watch. “I’ve got to get you back, honey. I promised your brother I’d be home before he goes to bed.”

It would be a beat-the-clock ride back to Riverport, but Meg was trying to keep her promises to Jack these days.

There were more thanks and hugs all around. Meg and Alex were almost to the car when Alex stopped. “One sec, Mom. BRB.” She ran back inside, returning with a crumpled paper bag.

“What’s that?” Meg leaned over, sniffing unobtrusively.

“Crack, Mom.”

“Ohhhh.” Meg struggled for nonchalance. “Enough for the whole dorm?”

“Chill, Mom, it’s nothing. Just snacks.” Alex shoved the bag down by her door.

Meg’s stomach lurched. Was Alex’s joke a screen to cover Mia giving her something to take back to school? Using at The Birches would get Alex kicked out. Her daughter seemed too happy there to risk that. Then again, she was barely seventeen. Meg snuck a sideways glance. The bag was too bulky for pills; it must be wine, then. Or hard alcohol. Meg’s mind raced with the possibilities.

Beside her, Alex chattered about meeting Mia in New York one day. “She said I could stay in the dorm with her, Mom. That would be sick.”

Sick, all right: fake IDs, staying out ’til all hours, Alex locked in a cell with common street criminals and drug dealers in a filthy city police precinct.

Stop, stop, STOP.
Meg slammed the brakes on her runaway thoughts. She had to leave things up to Alex now.
And
to Jacob. Allow them to experience the natural consequences of their actions. There was little point in worrying about things that might never happen. She and Alex had just had a lovely day together, and Meg was determined to enjoy its remaining moments. The thought of saying good-bye summoned a lump to Meg’s throat.

At her dorm entrance, Alex thrust the bag at Meg. “This is for you.”

“Snacks? For me?”

“They’re not snacks, Mom. Open it.”

Meg unrolled the bag; inside was a silver sugar bowl, part of the set she admired back at Swiftriver. “Honey, that’s so sweet.” She held Iris’s bowl up in the fading afternoon sun filtering through the overhead pines.

Alex beamed. “Do you like it? I saw it the day you picked me up. I bought it out of my school allowance. Which kinda means,
you
bought it? Anyway, Iris is putting the other pieces aside for me.”

“It’s lovely.” Meg tilted her head. “But why . . . ?”

“I know you have Grandma’s tea set. But after the house party . . . well, I know it got messed up. I thought maybe this could be the start of our special set.” Her eyes glowing against golden skin, a testament to The Birches’ healthy living, Alex permitted Meg to hug her.

“I love it, honey. I really do.” Meg sniffed. “And now I have to go.”

“Please, Mom. Don’t cry.” Alex rubbed her mother’s arm. “I’ll get you the rest. I promise.”

“You know what, Al? I believe you will.” Meg tugged Alex’s cobalt braid. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

It was a phrase Alex and her friends exchanged carelessly, a stock sign-off, yet hearing it again from her daughter made Meg’s tears flow, despite Alex’s objections.

“And make sure Dad comes next time.”

“I’ll do my very best, honey.”

As she navigated the school’s rocky winding drive, Alex’s wave receding in the rearview mirror, Meg acknowledged that her best was all she
could
do—and all anybody should expect.

Turning onto the Kancamagus, Meg readjusted the mirror and focused on the winding road ahead. There was no longer a need for the GPS. She knew her way home by heart.