Evolve Series Box Set (59 page)

Bambi—mom killed in first ten minutes of movie.

Cinderella—mom dead, enter evil stepmother

Snow White—again with the evil stepmom

The Little Mermaid—no mom or stepmom

Finding Nemo—mom eaten in first five minutes of movie

Beauty and the Beast—you guessed it, just a dad

Sleeping Beauty—you see the mom for five seconds, long enough for her to let three fairies disappear with her newborn for 16 years

Aladdin—he’s got no one, Jasmine’s got just a dad

Peter Pan—no parent or bad parents? Who knows, but YO—there’s a dude sneaking in your kid’s window every night and flying away with your daughter!! Red flag!

I think I’ve made my point, and I fear I may be subconsciously drawn to Disney because I connect with the recurring absence of mother theme. Too much? Overdramatic? It’s a Psych paper…I’m totally getting an A.

Am I playing it off like my mom thing doesn’t bother me? Probably.

Am I now gonna actually mail her the letter I wrote her? Possibly.

The edge of the folder sticks out from the pile on my desk; I can clearly pick it out of the pile of clutter from here. All the information Dane gathered on her is in it, the answer to many unanswered questions just five feet away. Where she’s been, where she’s at, probably even an address. Does she love me? Okay, that answer probably isn’t in there.

And why is it all of a sudden important to me to know?

Or has it always been important to me and I’ve just been kidding myself?

I should have never taken Psych.

If I lay across the bed and stretch this arm…a little further…got it! Page one, I already know all this; name, birthday, etc. Page two, yup, right there—address. She’s only about two hours away.

Maybe I should take the chance. Maybe this is an opportunity to heal, unafraid of any backfire, any more hurt. Maybe it would help, or at least get rid of this nagging burn in my gut that surfaces out of nowhere every once in a while. Maybe I should send the letter. Maybe I should take a road trip.

Can you just show up for a visit at this type of place? I could call and ask. Yeah, I’ll call and ask, and if they say I can’t come, then that’s my sign that this is in fact a terrible, Disney, Psych 101-induced bad, bad idea.

I clutch my phone, staring at it, willing Dane to call right now and talk me out of this. One more try; surely he’ll answer this time and save me from doing something rash.

Voicemail again. So done.

Snatching up the paper and slicing one very painful paper cut into my finger, I dial the number. As it rings, that juicy, extra saliva in your mouth, tingly jaw, I’m about to puke feeling kicks in, but I bite it back. I’m a big girl now and I fight my demons like a big girl. By myself.

“Rosehill, can I help you?”

“Y-yes, I was wondering if I could just come visit my, uh, someone?”

“A patient here?”

No, the janitor; I really need to see him.

“Yes, a patient there.”

“Are you a family member?”

“Um, yes, she’s my…” I clear my throat, swallowing down the pool of nervous fluid in my mouth. “She’s my mother.”

“What’s the patient’s name?”

“Tricia. Trish. Tricia Walker.” She probably thinks I’m guessing since I’m stammering like a skittish schoolgirl.

“And your name?”

“Laney. Laney Walker. I’m, well, I’m her daughter.”

“I need to place you on hold for a moment, all right?”

“All right.” Oh my God, is she going to ask my mother if she wants to see me? What if she says no? I am such an idiot, just laying myself out there for more fucking rejection. I should hang up. Shit! I gave her my name! Breathe, in and out, breathe. She can’t eat you through the phone.

“Miss Walker?” the woman’s voice comes back on the line, surprisingly stalling my panic attack.

“Yes?”

“I’ve put a call in to your mother’s doctor as well as her guardian. As soon as I talk to them both, I can give you a call back. When were you wanting to visit?”

“I guess, I mean today is fine, if that’s all right.”

“I’ll ask. What number can I call you back at?”

I give her my number and hang up, nervous she’ll never call back, scared she’ll call back and say no, terrified she’ll call back and say yes.

I want to talk to Dane. Obviously I can’t be left to my own devices—look at the catastrophic mess I stirred up. For years I’ve tucked it away, but left alone for one harmless Sunday morning and I’m planning reunion road trips and digging up bones with a big ass shovel.

And where the hell is he??? Lemme guess, he lost his phone and didn’t memorize my number to call me from another one. Been there, done that; he better not even try and go there. He owns planes, he can get to a fucking phone. Or here’s a thought…your brother dates my roommate—phone a friend! Use your 50/50!

Okay, so I’m losing it. Calling my other man.

“Hello?”

I feign cheerfulness. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Slugger, how are you?”

“Fine, just thought I’d call and see how you were.”

“I’m the same as when you called me yesterday,” he goads, “what’s new with you? I know your life has to be more exciting than mine.”

“Nothing’s new.” LIAR! “Just missed you.”

“Uh huh.”

I know that tone…the jig is up.

“What’s really going on, Laney? Out with it.”

Deep breath, and go, “IcalledtogovisitmymotherandnowI’mfreakingout.”

“Did you go?”

“I just called a second ago. I wrote a paper, and Dane’s busy, so I got crazy. Did you know Walt Disney’s mother died of asphyxiation in the house he bought her?”

Perhaps I should be checked for PMDD. It’s different than PMS, worse, in fact, and I’m almost positive the commercial I saw was scripted specifically to my current symptoms. Is the P before or after your time of the month? Either way, pretty sure I have it.

I take a minute and google it…that’s how sure I am. Jesus, the list of side effects from suggested medication is longer than the symptoms! I think I saw everything from blurred vision to run out of gas in your car to give off a scent attractive to werewolves to ingrown nose hairs on there. No, thank you, I’ll deal with this on my own…

“So, what’d they say?” His voice is as calm as ever, monotone and infuriating. Also, he seems to care nothing about the horrible news of Walt’s mother, which is kinda harsh.

“They’ll calling her doctor and her guardian and gonna call me back. She might not want to see me. And who is her guardian? Shouldn’t that be, like, you?”

He may seem cool and collected, but once in a great while, like now, the slightest shift in his voice betrays him. “I have no idea who it is; I quit getting information or options years ago, Laney. Can’t guard somebody who doesn’t want me to. And she’ll want to see you.”

“You don’t know that for sure, Daddy.”

“It’s the only thing I know for sure, kiddo,” his voice doesn’t exactly crack, but it’s strained, “is that she’s your mama, Laney. She loves you. Always did, always will.”

My dad is a very “B comes after A” kind of guy, so he won’t speak again until I do; it’s simply my turn now in his eyes, but damn if I know what to say to that. We may just sit here in silent standoff for hours.

Finally, I croak out a “well—”

Must have been enough, ‘cause he jumps in. “I’m proud of you, Laney. Real big thing you’re doing. Praying it works out for you the way you want it to.”

“Thanks, Daddy. Do you, uh, do you want to go with me?”

“Better not. I think this needs to be your thing. You understand?”

I nod even though he can’t see it. “Yeah, I understand. Anyway, they may not call back or even let me come, so we’ll see.”

My phone beeps then and I’m not sure if I want it to be Dane or Rosehill more. “Daddy, I have a call. I’ll let you know how it all goes.”

“Love you, Slugger. Good luck.”

I glance at the screen as I quickly flip the call over. It’s not Dane.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Laney?”

“It is.” my answer anxious and wispy.

“Laney, this is Joan, calling you back from Rosehill.”

“Yes.”

“I spoke with both parties, and everyone is in agreement it would be fine if you came for a visit. You are over 18, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, then it is fine for you to come by yourself, which is the preferred plan as of right now. Your mother’s guardian would also like to be present, so can you tell me what time you’ll be here?”

“Um…” I look at the time on my phone; it’s almost noon and I haven’t showered. “Is around three o’clock all right?”

“Should be fine. I’ll let her know and we’ll see you then. Press the buzzer by the front doors and ask for Joan. I’ll come up and see you back.”

“All right, thank you.”

I’m going to see my mother. In mere hours. What do I wear? Do I bring anything? I can look directions up on my phone. Do I have gas in my truck? I need a shower. I need to throw up. I need to calm the hell down.

Decided for me, I run to the bathroom, emptying all I had in my stomach and then some. When the dry heaves stop, I rise, brushing my teeth immediately. I use my left hand to hold the right one for the task, since just one alone isn’t stable enough to do the job. Next I turn on the shower, going to grab my phone while the water heats up, trying Dane again. Even though I said I was going to.

All previous plans are obviously out the window; I can’t even brush my own teeth functionally. I am officially a hot mess.

And his voicemail is now the most annoying fucking sound on the planet.

This time, I leave one in return.

“It’s me. Not sure where you are, but when you get this, call me, please, kinda a big day here. I love you, Dane, I really hope everything’s okay.”

***

“Where we going?”

Oh, look, I invited Sawyer to go with me…except I didn’t.

“Hello to you too, Sawyer.” I laugh at the big teddy bear who just hopped in my truck out of nowhere. “I am going to see someone. Not sure where you think you’re going.”

“Someone who? Where? Where’s Dane?” His eyes squint, grumpy scowl aimed right at me.

“Someone personal, a couple hours away, and your guess is as good as mine. He hasn’t answered his phone or texts all morning. Now jump out, stowaway, I gotta go.”

“No can do, Gidge, no way you’re going on a couple hour mystery trip alone. P.S. though, I’m excellent company. You just hit the fucking travel buddy jackpot. You need to recognize.”

“You’re pumping the gas every time.”

“Done.”

“And don’t touch the music.”

“Now hold on a damn minute,” he growl-whines, “I said travel buddy as in buddy system, not dictatorship.”

My lips purse as my eyes cut to him, my fingertips drumming the steering wheel. I’m actually very happy to have this silly man’s company, he will no doubt lighten the stress of the trip, but no way am I showing my cards and listening to Metallica the whole way.

“How about every other song I get to pick?” How cute, Sawyer has a pweeeeaseeee face.

“How about you buckle your seatbelt and zip that lip right after you tuck the bottom one back in.”

“Every two songs?”

“Sawyer!”

“Fine,” he rips his seatbelt out a little too hard, “but no boy bands.”

I’m already driving at this point, my Backstreet Boy playlist starting to shake the windows because I can. Sawyer tosses his head back against the seat with a dramatic groan, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. I know his big ass is uncomfortable right now, his knees scrunched up almost touching his chin, but I also know he’s putting on a pout show that’s awful important to him.

“So where are we going?” he frumpily asks.

I turn down his torture, aka the music. “I’ll tell you, but unless I say different, it’s between you and me. Okay?”

“Laney, you know the drill. If he asks, I won’t lie to him.”

“Well, he’d have to use a damn phone before he could ask, right? Maybe by the time he gets around to doing that, I’ll have decided he can know.”

“Did y’all have a fight?”

“Actually, no,” I pause to slap the hand sneaking for the music, “we didn’t. So I don’t know what’s up.”

“Shit, Laney, should we stop at the next store and check the back of milk cartons? I know my boy, and he wouldn’t ever ignore you.”

“He’s probably just busy with work.” I shrug my shoulders, not quite buying my own answer. It is odd, Dane usually texts me at least five times by this hour, and the mornings I don’t wake up with him curled around me, I wake up to a “Good Morning” call or text.

“On a Sunday?”

“He gets calls on Sundays all the time.”

“Why didn’t you stay with him last night anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Hmmm now that he mentions it, why didn’t Dane demand I stay with him on a Saturday night? I honestly hadn’t even been thinking logistics when he dropped me off, but now that’s it brought to my attention, something’s not computing.

“I’m gonna text him just in case.”

“Knock yourself out; he won’t answer.”

His big fingers are tapping away on his phone and I steal a quick glance and laugh; Sawyer’s a one finger typing bandit. I turn the music back up, but he lunges for it desperately.

“No, no more, please! I’ll be good, I swear,” he begs. “Back to my original question, where are we going?”

I suck in as much air as my expanding lungs will hold, then let it out in a calming, smooth exhale. “We’re going to see my mother. Well, I’m going to see my mother, you have to wait outside when we get there. Their rules, not mine.”

“Whose rules?” He mouth twists in question.

His reaction confirms it for me; Dane hadn’t told him my business, which I was pretty confident in, but it’s nice to have my trust reinforced.

“My mother’s not well. She left when I was very little and I never knew why, or where she’d gone.”

I pause, waiting for him to say something, but he stays silent.

“Dane tracked her down, found out she has trouble.” I refuse to say exactly what, ‘cause honestly, I don’t know enough to explain any questions he would have. “She lives in a special home where they can help her.”