Mother Load (5 page)

Lily was stretched out on the long side of the sofa with her head on a pillow, watching TV. Anna could have sat at the other end by herself, but chose instead to push the envelope by sliding under the pillow and pulling it away, leaving Lily’s head in her lap. “Is everything okay?”

“I guess,” Lily answered meekly. “I just got excited when I thought I’d popped out a little, but then you said you couldn’t see it. I wanted you to get excited too.”

Anna breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I am excited. And that business about not looking good when your tummy gets bigger? Ridiculous. You’ll always be the most beautiful person in the world to me, and nothing will ever change that. In fact, I bet you get more beautiful every day. My sister did.”

“She didn’t think so.” Lily sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “My hiking pants were tighter than usual, I swear.”

“I believe you.” Anna swept a lock of short blond hair from her forehead tenderly. “Looks like it’s time to go shopping for some stretchy clothes.”

That suggestion drew an exasperated groan. “I’d rather scoop dog poop than shop for clothes.”

“Lucky for you, there’s always lots of dog poop in the side yard.”

Without a word Lily rolled toward her and burrowed into the opening of her robe.

Anna thought at first it might be an amorous advance, but then Lily blew a loud raspberry into her belly, and all she could do was laugh, grateful the tension had passed. “You know what would feel good right now?” she asked, tipping her head toward the French doors.

“Count me in,” Lily answered, hopping up to grab bath towels from hooks on the back of the bathroom door.

Only minutes later they were in the churning water of the hot tub. Anna pulled Lily into her lap, determined to erase any doubts about how she felt about her body.

“…and there’s nothing quite like realizing your own kid is afraid of you because you’re a drunk,” Norman said from the tabletop podium, his chin dipping in obvious shame. “That was the bottom for me and I knew the only way I was coming up was to stop drinking. This program—these twelve steps—I work them every day. If I didn’t I couldn’t bear to look my son in the eye.”

Lily liked Norman, a moderately successful film producer who had joined her regular Alcoholics Anonymous group a couple of years ago and already was a meeting leader and sponsor. Unassuming and friendly, he had none of the pretense she generally associated with Hollywood types. Here in this room, no one was special.

“Anyone else have a story?” he asked, relinquishing the podium to return to his seat in the small meeting room in the basement of St. Simon Catholic Church. Two dozen men and women, mostly professionals in their thirties or forties, pondered his call.

Lily’s attendance at the meetings had fallen to about once a month, which was more than enough to sustain her resolve not to drink. She rarely talked in front of the group but their topic tonight—how they came to admit their lives were unmanageable—resonated with her, stirring painful memories of her brief separation from Anna four years ago. She had been thinking about those days because they were such a contrast to the joy in her life now.

“I’m Lily and I’m an alcoholic,” she began, taking the podium to recite the traditional introduction. “Like Norman, I work the steps every day to keep my life manageable. It’s amazing when I think back to how out of control I used to be, and even then I wouldn’t admit I was an alcoholic. I’d lost my license, my job, my home…and worst of all, the companionship of the only person who mattered to me, my partner. I was almost halfway through a twenty-eight day program before it finally dawned on me that maybe…just maybe…being a drunk had something to do with all that. I guess it took a couple of weeks of sobriety to clear my head enough to see it, but once I did, I knew this program was the only path back to being in control.”

Virginia, a woman in her fifties who had befriended her at Redwood Hills and become her sponsor, nodded along in support from her seat on the second row. Her long dark hair and clear blue eyes had captured Lily’s attention back then, since it was easy to imagine Anna aging just as beautifully.

“There’s no comparison to my life now and my life then. I’m in control because alcohol no longer dictates my choices or priorities. I was luckier than a lot of people here because the losses I suffered weren’t permanent. I got my job back, and my partner and I are stronger together than ever. And now we have a son who means more to me than life itself. I hear Norman talk about his son and it scares me to think that could have been me, and that if circumstances had been different my son might have suffered from my drinking. How can you justify bringing pain to a five-year-old because you chose to be a drunk? Thanks to this program and the people in it I don’t have to answer that.”

Virginia corralled her in the parking lot after the meeting. “Something good is going on in your life.”

Lily planted her tongue in her cheek and shook her head. “It’s uncanny how you do that.”

“You only speak up when you’re struggling with something or feeling good about it. Tonight was obviously the latter.”

“I get so focused on myself that I sometimes forget the Twelfth Step.”

“Helping others,” she said, nodding along. “It does help when you speak up, and I like it because I can hear how confident you are. It makes me not worry when I haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I’ve been swamped,” she said sheepishly. “But life is good, Virginia. And everything I said was true. Good things happen when you’re in control.”

“So what’s happening? Anything special?”

It was too soon to share the news of their baby, but not the sentiment. “Nothing…just that I love my family. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately, and it’s impossible for me to come to one of these meetings and not acknowledge how important the steps have been for getting us where we are today.”

“I like hearing that from you. I worried last year when you didn’t take that job that you might have regrets about it, but it sounds like things have worked out for the best.”

No question it would have been nearly impossible to hold down a job as executive director of the county’s guardian ad litem program and also juggle the demands of a newborn. Lily summed up her perspective with aplomb. “Things have a way of working out.”

Lily had almost finished her lunch when Sandy Henke shuffled between the tables in the crowded café and took the chair across from her. Sandy’s brown sweater, worn over tan polyester slacks that forgave her abundant hips, set off the strawberry highlights in her wavy blond hair. At forty-two, she had nearly twenty years with the California Department of Social Services, and balanced an active caseload of more than two dozen children. If the size of her black canvas satchel was any indication, she had already had a busy morning.

“Sorry I’m late. I had to get Doris to sign off on this affidavit.” She drew a manila folder from her satchel and passed it across the table. “I can’t believe those two are back in court again. Someone should just kidnap their two kids and whisk them away.”

Not only was Sandy her best friend, she was also the caseworker for the Esperanzas’ two children, Sofia and Roberto.

“Maria’s finally gotten her feet on the ground,” Lily said. “She’s working full-time at a daycare and the kids are keeping up at school. Miguel’s the one making trouble.” She scanned the folder quickly to make sure it had everything she needed. The affidavit documented four social service interventions that came about because of Miguel’s violent outbursts. “This is perfect.”

“Good. Maybe this time they’ll nail his ass once and for all.”

“Who knows if it’ll be enough? Pete Simpkins called and said his PO didn’t find a gun, so our only shot is to get the judge to look at Miguel’s history and connect the dots. He’s threatened her before and followed through.”

“You think she might be lying about the gun?”

“If she is, she’s gotten very good at it. She seems really afraid this time.” Lily pushed her plate away, suddenly nauseous at the smell of tuna salad, which until today had been one of her favorites. “I keep remembering all those horror stories about men who kill their own children just to get back at their wives. It gives me chills to think of Miguel doing something like that.”

“Guys like him give me the serious creeps anyway. Let’s hope he just moves on.” Sandy ordered a glass of ice from the waitress, then drew a can from her satchel and began to shake it.

“Don’t tell me you’re back on that diet.”

“I need to do something,” she whined, pouring her drink over the ice. “The holidays are right around the corner and I can barely get into my clothes as it is.”

Lily knew that feeling, though she didn’t share Sandy’s angst. She had taken Anna’s advice and picked up a few new things that didn’t pinch her waist. “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Bakersfield,” Sandy grunted as if it were a terminal diagnosis. It was no secret she detested her partner’s mother, and the feeling was mutual. “But at least I’ll have my annual visit out of the way.”

“I always feel so sorry for you when you talk about your mother-in-law. Anna’s dad is a piece of work, but I have to admit I love the old coot.”

“That’s because George Kaklis is a normal parent who wants his daughter to be happy. Suzanne’s mother can’t stand that she’s gay, and she never misses an opportunity to let us both know it.”

“Then why do you put yourself through it? Just tell Suzanne you don’t want to go.”

Sandy augmented her diet shake with a handful of potato chips from Lily’s plate. “I think Suzanne actually likes antagonizing her. She wants to rub her mother’s nose in it, and she needs my help to do it.”

Lily couldn’t begin to imagine such a rift in the Kaklis family, but she knew all too well from growing up in foster care that giving birth to someone didn’t mean love automatically followed. “It sucks to spend a holiday like that. You guys should book a cabin somewhere and take off for a weekend together.”

“That sounds romantic. Unfortunately, I’m married to a woman whose idea of romance is not farting when my friends are around.”

She clinked her water glass against what was left of Sandy’s shake. “And for that she has my eternal gratitude.”

Anna pressed two fingers to her forehead as she studied her printouts one last time. “I refuse to have a migraine on such a glorious day,” she said under her breath, trying to temper her excitement. It was the last day for employees to accept the offers of early retirement or severance, and she had exceeded her quota by three with five hours to go, which gave them a little extra wiggle room to recover from the downturn. It wasn’t a cheap solution—a one-time payout of a million and a half dollars—but it meant Premier Motors should be operating in the black by the first quarter of the next fiscal year. She was tempted to gather her whole family at Empyre’s to celebrate, but it struck her as unseemly to be so cheerful after bribing people to give up their jobs.

The list of departures included a few she would genuinely miss, such as Javier and Rudy, two of her detailers who planned to pool their payouts and set up their own business. Others she might not miss as much…Janet in payroll, who hadn’t smiled since Reagan was president, or TJ, the service representative whose cologne could asphyxiate at thirty yards. Only one of her managers had bailed, Roger Goforth of the Palm Springs VW service department, and she already had a replacement in mind.

Her intercom phone beeped to announce a message. “Anna, are you in?” It was Carmen Soto, the receptionist.

“That depends on who wants to know.”

“Me, silly.”

Anna’s laugh was a low rumble. Carmen had worked at Premier Motors for over thirty years, and was probably the only one on staff besides Hal who could get away with calling her “silly,” except today when her good mood was practically invincible. “I’m always in for you.”

Moments later, Carmen appeared in her office, her macramé belt swishing against her denim skirt. At fifty-eight years old, she was a self-described child of the Sixties who always dressed the part. To Anna, that made her a breath of fresh air among the Beverly Hills fashion plates.

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” Anna said, suddenly noticing the single sheet of paper in her hand.

“It isn’t another summons for jury duty if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Without waiting for an invitation Carmen plopped into the chair across from her desk. “I’ve decided to accept your generous retirement offer.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve just hit quota. I’m not accepting any more.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t go calling ‘bullshit’ on me. You can’t leave this place until I do.”

Now it was Carmen’s turn to laugh. From her deep pocket she withdrew a new paperback and plunked it in the middle of Anna’s desk. From the blood dripping off the title font, it appeared to be a thriller, the type that filled the racks at airports and grocery stores. “Did you know your mother loved to read murder mysteries? She and I used to trade back and forth, and we’d read them on our lunch break.”

Anna hadn’t thought of her mother in weeks, but when she did, it was often in the context of the old days at Premier Motors, before her mother died of breast cancer at age thirty-four. “I honestly don’t remember that much about my mom, but I can almost picture her with one of these.”

“That’s the first in a series. The heroine is Nora Scot, ME.”

“A medical examiner?”

“Affirmative. And it just happens to be an anagram of Carmen Soto.”

Anna blinked and studied the book jacket until realization dawned. “You wrote this?”

Carmen nodded and smiled with pride. “I’ve been reading these for years and finally got up the nerve to try one myself.”

“You’re a published author!”

“It’s not exactly a million-dollar enterprise…just barely five figures if you want to know the truth, but I’m having the time of my life. I go to mystery writer conventions, and I meet readers and sign their books. You can’t imagine how delightful it is. If your mother were still living, I bet she’d be my biggest fan.”