Falling Angel (20 page)

There was a photograph of her father, dressed in blue jeans, a plaid shirt and his signature Cubs baseball cap. He sat on top of a brown horse in a flat dirt field, a cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. Brandy. Unbidden, the word came to Cara. Brandy was his favorite mare, whom he used to take out into the wild bush around the farm as a teenager. The one who stopped to crop the grass when they were out for a lazy amble one afternoon and got bit on the nose by a snake. Her nasal passages had swollen up immediately, and despite his best efforts to get her back to the stable, she had suffocated and died right in front of his eyes. He’d never forgiven himself for not carrying bits of cut-up hose in his pack that could have been inserted into her nostrils, thus keeping the air passageway open and saving her life. ‘Some people had dogs as their best buddies growing up,’ he’d told Cara, absently stroking her blonde hair. ‘But mine was always Brandy.’

In the picture, which must have been taken soon before Brandy died, he was smiling broadly at the photographer, so happy and so in his element that Cara felt a wave of sadness, for she had never seen him that way. The father she remembered was sad and distracted, and always seemed to be ill-at-ease, wherever he was.

There were more photos of her parents, and of her mother and Ingrid, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, looking like best girlfriends, which she supposed they were at the time.

Toward the end, Cara entered the picture, red-faced and bawling in a frilly white bassinet, her tiny fists clenched in impotent rage. Her father looked down at her tenderly. A portrait of the three of them, Cara clutching a limp stuffed bunny rabbit, one of those childhood loveys she had held on to way past the age when one is supposed to outgrow them. It was painful to see them all together, looking so complete and united.

Cara felt jealous of Ingrid for sharing the part of her parent’s past when they were happy together. Cara’s only memories of her parent’s relationship were of anger, distance and acrimony.

Until now. It was clear from the pictures that her parents had loved each other once. Cara smiled. Ingrid had given her a truly special gift; a new perspective on her own past.

At Great Expectations,
Cara worked non-stop until early afternoon, managing to resolve most of the glitches of the day before. The new band was en route from California, and she had discovered a vendor in New York City who stocked the exact same lace that had been embargoed at the port. He promised to Fed-Ex it to Seattle overnight.

Ingrid was pleased with the morning’s accomplishments, and suggested the two of them take a rare break for lunch in downtown Mercer Island. They went to one of their favorite hole-in-the-wall eateries; a small Vietnamese restaurant tucked in between a women’s clothing boutique and a chocolate shop. Both women ordered steaming bowls of pho. The fragrant broth packed with noodles, meat, and vegetables was brought to the table, served with a cornucopia of fresh sprouts, basil stalks, sliced jalapeno peppers and wedges of lime.

Ingrid fanned herself with a beringed hand. “It’s easy to get stressed out in this line work. But you have a talent for handling multiple tasks while staying calm. You remind me of your mother in that way. Louise never allowed anything to bother her too much, or if she did, she didn’t show it. She was a very cool customer.”

“That reminds me,” Cara said. “Thank you so much for the photo album of my parents.”

“I was cleaning out one of our attics a couple of weeks before your birthday and I found this old box of pictures I had taken. When I saw them I realized I had to give them to you. It’s almost as if it was meant to be.”

Cara tasted her broth, inhaling the rich aroma with pleasure. “What were my parents like back then?”

“Very much in love. But with such vastly different needs and desires. In the end, it wasn’t enough.”

“My mother always said they split because my father couldn’t hold down a job and provide for us.”

Ingrid sighed. “I think your father could have given you a good life. You never would have been wealthy. But it wasn’t the life your mother wanted.”

“You mean she wanted to be rich?”

“Not necessarily. I think their differences had more to do with their backgrounds and general philosophies of life than with money
per se
. The farm Dan grew up on was very dear to him. It was a small, family farm, and his father and grandfather had farmed it before him. As the only child, it was assumed he would take it over from his father. And, in fact, that’s exactly what he wanted to do. He and Louise moved there soon after they got married, and I visited them a few times. I thought it was lovely, but I could tell your mother was miserable there. It was too isolated for her, and such hard work, especially after you were born. She wanted to be in the city, in a house with modern appliances and a small yard that she could plant a few vegetables in. She didn’t want to be a farmer’s wife.”

“So that’s why he sold the farm?”

“I think it broke his heart to have to choose between the two things he loved the most. After the sale, they moved to a house in the suburbs, just as Louise had wanted. But Dan had a hard time adjusting. He couldn’t find another job that he loved as much as he loved farming.”

 “And my mother’s hopes of a comfortable middle-class life went up in smoke.”

“Of course, you know, I was always on the outside. I can’t tell you what really went on between them.”

“My mother said the last straw for her was when he quit that sales job he had.”

Her mother had told her about her father’s job selling HVAC systems to commercial buildings throughout the Midwest. Even though it meant he was on the road two weeks out of every month, for the first time he was earning a steady income, and she felt that they had a chance to grasp the American Dream. “She was devastated by that. She felt as though they were turning a corner financially, and he threw it away because he said it bored him.”

“Is that what she told you?” Ingrid blurted out, and then pressed her lips together tightly as though regretting her outburst.

“Why? Was there another reason?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ingrid busied herself with her soup, not meeting Cara’s eye. “Your father loved you and your mother both. I think he got lonely, being away from you so much.” Ingrid signaled the waiter. “How about truffles from the chocolate shop for dessert?”

She rose to pay the bill at the front counter, and Cara followed.

Why had Ingrid ended the conversation so abruptly? What was it she didn’t want to tell Cara about her parents’ past?

At home that evening, Cara found a message from David on the answering machine, asking her to call. There were no more messages. Cara knew Ann was working late at the coffee shop that evening, so there was no way she could have erased any messages from Ben. She was curious as to why he hadn’t called her, either at home or on her cell phone. Probably wrapped up in his work, she told herself.

She called her mother.

“Cara? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Hi, mom. How are you?”

“I’ve been having such a time of it with Jemma. Her wound became infected, and then she had to go on antibiotics, and she hates the collar, it makes her shift around throughout the night, and Andrew has taken to sleeping in the guest room because the noise bothers him so much.”

“I’m sorry.” Recognizing there would never be a good time to ask, Cara took a deep breath and plunged in. “Mom, there’s something I wanted to ask. About you and dad.”

“What on earth could you want to know?”

“When you separated, you said it was partly because he quit that sales job that was so good. Were there other reasons you haven’t mentioned?”

Her mother’s voice rose in pitch. “Have you been talking to Ingrid? What did she you?”

“Nothing. She gave me a photo album with pictures of the two of you from when you were first married, and you looked so happy together. I just wanted to know what happened.”

“I’ve told you all you need to know,” her mother snapped. “Your father and I grew apart. He wasn’t a good provider and we fought about his values.”

There was a silence. Cara let it grow until her mother spoke again, sounding suddenly old and tired.

“You know there are always two sides to every story. I admit I made my own mistakes in that marriage. If I had the chance, I certainly would have handled some of our problems in a different way. But it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. I have to go, Jemma’s whining at my heels for a walk, the poor thing. Everything ok?”

“Everything’s fine. Goodbye, mom.”

Cara put the receiver down, more convinced than ever that Ingrid and her mother were hiding something from her. But what was it?

Chapter Nineteen

Ben didn’t call the next day, either. Cara didn’t have time to think about it at work, but at night it was hard not to. Had she done something to upset him?

In the kitchen after work, she opened the fridge and stared with unseeing eyes at its contents. Dinner seemed like such a formality and a waste of time. All that energy to prepare, cook, and clean up after a meal that was consumed in less than half the time it took to make. It was too much. Closing the fridge, she poured herself a bowl of cornflakes and milk, and then sat at the kitchen table to eat her solitary meal.

Ann got home about half an hour later from her shift at the café. She entered to find Cara still seated at the table, staring into space.

“What’s up, pussycat? Why the long face?”

Desperate to confide in someone, Cara looked up as Ann sat down next to her. “I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t heard from Ben. I was expecting a call from him this week.”

“He’s probably busy.” Ann opened a copy of the
Seattle Weekly
and flipped through it.

“Probably,” Cara said without conviction. Her cornflakes had turned into a soggy mush, about as appetizing as pig’s slop. She rose, emptied the contents of her bowl into the garbage, and rinsed it out.

“Hey, what’s Ben’s last name?” Ann asked.

“Kilpatrick. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Ann folded up the paper and placed it in the recycling container under the sink. She leaned against the kitchen counter next to Cara.

With one hand she lightly touched Cara’s amethyst drop earring. “Those are pretty.”

“Thanks. I got them at Macy’s last week.”

“Mind if I borrow them sometime?”

“No, go ahead,” Cara said wearily. If Ann lost one of them, as she invariably did, at least Cara knew where to pick up a replacement pair.

“Hey, thanks.” Ann looked at her curiously. “What’s going on with David? Are you still seeing him?”

Cara shrugged. “I guess so.”

“What does that mean?”

“To be honest, I prefer Ben. But he’s so flaky. We get together and have a great time, and then he doesn’t call. I don’t know where I stand with him. At least David is reliable.”

“Want my advice? Forget Ben. He sounds like a total loser. David is a much better match for you. If I were you, I’d hold on to him.”

Raising her eyebrows meaningfully, Ann left the kitchen and could soon be heard on the phone in her room.