Love Me: The Complete Series (79 page)

Roger sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for a family night at the moment. “What are you doing here?”

Rebecca nodded at Caroline and spoke between mouthfuls. “Need your help. My calculus class is kicking my ass. I was fine until a couple of weeks ago, then bam—he threw a curveball at us.” She turned toward Caroline and waved. “Hi!”

You’re kidding me.
“Now? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Caroline wiped her hands on her back pockets and introduced herself. She held out a hand, and the two shook. “It’s fine,” Caroline said. “I was pretty good at calc at one point. What are you working on now?”

“You’re the decorator? I thought you were—” Roger knew what was coming next. Blonde. He had to stop her.

“Caroline and I knew each other in college. She’s a partner in the new florist business downtown.”

Recognition flitted across Rebecca’s features, an almost unseen quirk to her eyes. Roger hoped Caroline hadn’t noticed her confusion. “Oh, cool. Here. Look at this, then.” Rebecca slid a paper in front of her then twisted in her chair and winked. “I have a question, brother.”

Uh-oh. What next?

“You have a butcher knife in your hand, and she,” Rebecca pointed at Caroline, “has red goo all over her shirt. I didn’t show up for some kind of slasher scene, did I?”

Roger stared at the knife, which he’d intended to toss into the washer. A cackle came from the table; he shifted his gaze toward the two women and blinked. The cackle turned into a howl, and Caroline wiped her eyes. From tears to hysterics in thirty seconds flat. “What’s so funny?”

Caroline pointed—at his crotch. He looked down to see a blob of spaghetti sauce that was now permanently embedded over his privates.

Rebecca chortled. “Just asking: Are you still able to have kids at some point in the future? I just want to make sure our wonderful lineage doesn’t end with you. That would be a crime.”

Roger put the knife in the dishwasher, wet a towel, and attempted to clean himself. The end result was worse. He now had a
huge
soaking-wet spot surrounding the red stain. Great. “Don’t worry. Dad took care of that for us. Seems our new addition is a boy.”

Rebecca gasped. “What? So the baby’s okay? I thought—I—oh, shit. Don’t tell Dad, but I sort of thought she’d lost it. Why did I jump to conclusions? That’s
awful.
”

Roger frowned. “Nice of you. No, she’s fine, just a little anemic—and very pregnant with your baby brother.”

“That’s
half
-brother, and don’t forget he’s yours, too. Kinda makes you feel young again doesn’t it?”

That wasn’t what it made him feel at all, but he’d keep the conversation PG. “Watch your tongue, young lady. Oh, and by the way, Dad doesn’t know it’s a boy—they wanted to be surprised. I told him you were thrilled and couldn’t wait to babysit for them.”

Rebecca stuck out her tongue and pointed both eyes at her nose. “Creep.”

Caroline cleared her throat. “Okay, so I think I remember what all this is about—on your paper, I mean. Let me show you.”

The two girls buried their heads in calculus as Roger finished the dishes. He enjoyed listening to their voices; it reminded him of when the whole family lived under one roof and his father was still ... his father. Those days were gone, just like the days of seeing his mother happy.

The clincher was that things would need to get a lot worse before they got better. While the two women gelled over equations, Roger plotted in his mind how he’d deal with his new discovery. How could he help Caroline while still managing the family finances? It would be a hell of a lot easier to simply take his dad’s route and leave.

But he wasn’t a quitter.

• • •

Opening up for the first time felt like pulling the plug from a bathtub full of water. Was this similar to what an AA meeting feels like for an addict? Tides of emotion rushed over Caroline, pulling her to tell more, to learn more. Once she had exposed her darker side to Roger, she felt a need to confront her father. He’d tried to talk to her about it once, but she’d dissed him. She still had a lot of anger to overcome.

An open box of flowers waiting to be removed and displayed sat beside her as she stared at the computer screen. She had no idea where to begin, so she just ... typed.

Daisies, Dads, and Do-Overs

I sit here staring at a box of flowers that want, no,
need
to be placed on display for our customers. They’re my favorite and quite beautiful in the most simplistic way: daisies. DAISIES. Only three colors—yellow, green, and white—but they complement each other perfectly and smile at the world with an internal scrappiness that only comes from a plant devoid of delicacy. Devoid of delicacy, you ask? Yes, that’s right. Daisies were originally (and still are) weeds to a farmer. They take over fields and crops so that soon you have nothing but a field full of flowers. They’re stronger than a brick fortress and can grow and thrive in virtually any habitat. I’ve always thought of myself as having the strength of a daisy, but a few years ago that strength was tested and now I’m selling ... daisies. I’ll circle back to that story in a minute.

One major source of strength in my life has been the impact my mother had on my youth. She passed away after an illness a few years ago. Until then, she’d been my primary caregiver because my father was gone. Not gone as in deceased, just ... absent. I wasn’t sure why or when it all started, but he was a journalist and on assignment during my teen years and later. My mother never explained it to me and talked as if he’d return any day. Yet he didn’t. I stopped expecting him when I left for college.

Recently, though, he reentered my life. And with my mother gone, it’s been—interesting. Memorial Day is coming soon, and I wanted to mention him because he won a well-known literary award a few years ago for an article about Korean War veterans. It exposed the deficits in our public health system’s ability to care for disabled vets. He was obsessed with the story for years. Now, after reading that story and my father’s subsequent book ... I hate them both. They were the mistress. The other woman. The replacement for me and my mother. Yes, I realize I shouldn’t air my dirt publicly, but ... come on, Dad. You could have at least cared enough to take us along on your dream quest, couldn’t you?

So, people, I ask you: is there anything in your life you wish you could DO OVER? For me, there are several, but the two that stare me in the mirror every day are these:

1. Could I go back and make him love me enough to take me, too?
   
2. I let a mass of children die while trying to please him by following in his footsteps.
   

I can explain this one. It’s the most important part of this message because ...

She stopped typing and read over the words two or three times, knowing she hadn’t the guts to publish such a bombshell. Regardless, it felt good to put the words to paper and voice a miniscule piece of her discontent. She was sure debating whether to continue when the door to the stockroom flung open.

Caroline jolted and slammed her hands against the keys, shoving the keyboard off the desk. “Holy crap—warn me before you fly through here like a bomber plane.”

Abby grinned in mischievous pleasure. “Oops. What’re you doing?”

Caroline leveled her gaze on the blank computer screen. She must have shut it off accidentally. “Well, I
was
writing this week’s blog until you blasted in here. I’ll have to start over later, as it looks like I lost my post when I dropped the keyboard.” She placed the board gingerly in place and pushed away from the desk. “Did you need me?”

Abby sucked in her cheeks to stifle a grin and continued in her “business voice.” “Yes. I believe it’s time we discussed the store’s plans for the upcoming holidays. Maybe you could blog about those? Valentine’s is over, but we have Easter, Memorial Day, and all the rest. I’ve given a little thought to—”

Caroline felt the infection of her excitement as it coursed from Abby like magic dust from the good fairy. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

Abby’s eyes rounded as she bobbled her head up and down. Holy shop-mania, she looked crazy-giddy. Her voice skated into a high-pitched song. “I love being able to support myself without my family’s interference. It’s ... awesome.”

Was she hugging herself? Caroline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll bet that family interference is a real pain in the ass,” she snapped. Without another word, she rose from her chair and strode past Abby, who stood with her mouth agape.

It was a mean thing to say, and her regret manifested as a massive headache, but she continued out of the store and went for coffee. Abby deserved a partner who was into their business—focused and excited. Like her.
All I seem to do is live in the past with my demons.

• • •

Roger sat and pretended to focus on the work strewn across his office desk. In truth, his mind whirled around the list he’d made the night before, after Caroline left. The first item taunted him—did he have the balls to make the call?

He lifted his phone from his pocket, but it burst into action before he touched a key. The number looked familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He answered.

“Roger? Abby here. I’ve done something terrible, and I need your advice.” Her voice was staccato and breathless with panic.

“Are you hurt? Wait, is Carter okay? You’re not—”

“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s fine—we’re both fine—although I think I’ve done something terrible to Caroline. She wrote this blog post today that was more than disturbing, but I only looked at the title and didn’t bother to read the rest. The computer had flickered off when I startled her, and I thought she was finished. It was sitting at the ‘post’ prompt, so what was I supposed to do? She had walked out.”

What? “She walked out? She quit?”

He heard music in the background, probably their speakers at the store. Caroline exhaled into the phone. “No, of course not. Why would she do that? We’re partners. No, she got mad at me after I bragged about my family. It was stupid. That’s not the issue. I posted the post ... only now I don’t think she intended it to post. And, oh my God, it’s posted. The whole world is going to read it, her
dad
will read it, and—oh shit, here she comes. Call me back. Okay?”

He stared at the phone in awe of the crazy woman on the other end of the conversation. “Okkkaaayyy.”

Out of curiosity, he clicked the link on his desktop—and gasped. He read down the page, letting the revelation creep over him. Then he gave a double fist-pump in the air.
Way to go, girl.
Finally, she’d said what he knew she wanted to say all along. Accidentally, albeit, but it was out. He read back over and thought for a second. Well, at least he wouldn’t need to have a sit-down with her father.

The screen refreshed, and he read the first comments. Holy shit. More comments. People asking for the details and wanting to know more. Hell, the fact that she’d put those words on the page was a huge step toward building herself back to the girl he knew. He doubted she was ready to spill further. Abby was right: there’s no way Caroline would have posted that post. She must have written it for herself, expecting to delete it. Thanks to Abby, her personal therapy had just turned into an episode of the Kardashians, complete with some serious parent bashing.

Roger grabbed his keys and strode from the office. He wasn’t sure what he’d do but knew she would need support. No need to call Abby since the store was only a few minutes away.

He whisked the car into the fifteen-minute customer parking and shoved through the door. “Where is she?”

Abby’s head throttled back and forth. “She grabbed her purse and said she needed a coffee. She hasn’t come back. How do I delete the post and make sure no one has read it?”

“It’s too late for that. I took a look, and there are at least twenty responses already. I could delete the whole thing, but I don’t know that it matters.” Maybe a little come-to-Jesus with Dad wasn’t such a bad idea.

Caroline’s partner covered her mouth and bulged her eyes. “Oh, no—what have I done? I thought I was just ... helping. She said she’d spent some time writing it and then I scared her and—”

Roger strode forward and hugged Abby. “Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine. Not too many people read your blog anyway. Besides, she needed to vent a little.”

Abby reared back and searched his face. “You think so?”

He forced a reassuring smile that his insides hadn’t supported. “I know so. Where’d she go?”

“She just left. I have no idea. You think she’s seen it yet? Maybe not.”

He hated to spoil her hopes, but there was no way in hell Caroline had missed all the responses. They’d automatically end up in her mail on her phone. There was enough male-bashing in those posts to start a gender revolution. “She’s seen it, all right. The question is what will she do next? I need to find her.”

Abby strummed her fingers on the store counter. “If she’s seen them, she’ll probably try to find her father and explain.”

Of course she would. “Where does he live?”

“From what I understand, he’s living in their cabin about an hour from here. I went with her ages ago when she first came back from her journalism job. I can draw you a map. It’s a tough drive—not long, just rough.”

It took Abby ten minutes to dictate her directions to Ben’s cabin, and Roger patiently noted all her little remarks about where
not
to turn. Anyone else and he would have shut down all the superfluous information. He wasn’t going to piss off Caroline’s best friend when he needed her help.

• • •

Caroline turned her cell off after the fifteenth or so message chimed. If her father read all that crap, he’d be ... hurt. Perhaps she should feel vindicated that he might get a nuance of the pain she’d endured all those years, but she didn’t. He wasn’t perfect and had been a complete absentee father, yet he was
here now.
Shouldn’t that count for something? One thing she knew for certain: she didn’t want him to leave again—at least not right away.