Completing the Pass (22 page)

That evening, Carri let the thoughts that had been spinning in her mind evaporate slowly while she stenciled the wall around her parents' garden tub. It was soothing work, almost mindless, and it helped to calm the constant
What if?
game her mind was playing. Sadistic game, that
What if?
game.

Maeve walked in, carrying a few rolls of toilet paper to store under the countertop. “I thought you were finished painting in here?”

“I finished,” Carri said absently, “but I thought this would add a nice touch. Accent wall.”

“It's the same color.” Maeve stood with her hands on her hips. “I don't get it.”

“Wait until it dries. It's a different finish. It'll catch the light for a subtle accent.”

“Hmm,” was all Maeve said.

“Daddy's having a good day,” Carri said after realizing her mother wouldn't be leaving like expected. “The mind exercises seem to be helping.”

“That, and ballet.” Her mother's voice held warm affection. “Whatever it takes.”

Carri swallowed, then set the stencil on the drop cloth she'd laid down and tipped the foam brush against the paint can. “Mom, can I . . . Can we talk?”

Maeve flipped the lid of the toilet seat down and settled in. “Sure.”

So calm, so easy. Definitely not Maeve-like. Skeptical, but hopeful nonetheless, Carri tried taking a step in the right direction. “I've been thinking about things. About Utah, and here . . .”

Maeve simply sat, legs crossed, arms folded in her lap, waiting.

“And maybe about . . . Josh.” She winced, then looked toward her mother.

Who was sitting still as a statue. Nothing in her face had changed a bit.

This was a bit odd.

“So,” Carri went on, “I'm curious if you would have problems if I ended up moving back here.” When her mother didn't even breathe, Carri added, “To Santa Fe. For good. And dated Josh, seriously.”

Maeve stood, looking nearly as graceful as one of the ballerinas who volunteered in her father's class. Then she let out a shriek and started jumping, fists clenched and pumping in the air. “Yes! Yes yes yes! I knew it.
I knew it!
”

“M-Mom?” Carri slid back in the garden tub, not at all sure what the hell her mother was doing. “Mom! What the hell?”

“I just knew it!” With a dramatic sigh, Maeve sank back down onto the toilet lid, a smug smile creasing her face. “Well, Gail and I both knew it.” She rubbed her hands together with obvious relish. “It worked.”

Carri felt a sick twisting of her stomach. “What worked, Mom?”

“Oh, just throwing you two together. Don't act like you didn't realize that was the entire point,” Maeve added, looking exasperated at her cluelessness. “You know Gail and I have always hoped you'd end up together. We practically planned it since you two were in diapers.”

“Not practically,” Carri muttered. “Did.
Did
plan it since we were in diapers.”

“You can hardly blame us. Mothers know best,” Maeve said, looking pleased with herself.

The sick feeling spread, until Carri thought her fingers had gone numb. “I'm going to clean this up,” she said, her hands shaking a little as she picked up the stencil and paintbrush to wash in the utility sink.

Maeve didn't notice her daughter's distress. “I'm calling Gail.” With another clap, she bounced out of the room like a preschooler in search of a cookie.

In the utility room, Carri let her forehead rest against the cabinets above the sink while the hot water beat down on the brush. This was exactly what she'd feared. That her life, her entire adult life, had been planned for her before she'd been able to form full sentences. Was that crazy? Was this actually all because of her mother's meddling? Or was what she was feeling for Josh, for this new life she could create her . . . Was any of it real?

Not that it mattered. There was no option left. She couldn't abandon her father's care to just her mom. And they couldn't afford a health-care worker, or for Maeve to retire. Not yet.

So moving back to Santa Fe, being with Josh . . . Was it all inevitable?

The thought that her life had been reduced to nothing more than her mother's whims made her want to throw up.

***

Josh was about to pull his mother's latest casserole out of the oven when there was a knock on the door. With a sigh, he set the disposable baking dish on the stovetop to cool and walked toward the door. “Michael, I told you, I don't want to take on any more guys to mentor,” he began as he opened the door.

And found a confused looking Carri standing on his doorstep.

“Oh, hey.” Sheepishly, he stepped back. “Sorry, Lambert's been hassling me for weeks to sign up to mentor guys coming in from the draft next season. He's relentless.”

“Huh,” was all she said. A small smile creased her lips. “Nice mitts.”

“What?” He glanced down and realized he was still wearing the oven mitts from when he'd pulled out the casserole dish. “Whoops. Come on in.” He left her in the doorway to toss the mitts on the nearby kitchen countertop, then took down two plates from the cabinet. “I just pulled some of my mom's chicken, broccoli, and rice casserole out of the oven. Wanna stay for dinner?”

“Sure,” she said from behind him, but her voice was hesitant.

Setting the plates down, he turned. “I can toss it back in the fridge if you want something else. I'm not picky.”

That small smile returned, but it looked a little sad. “You're not, are you?”

That made him blink in confusion, but she waved it away. “Ignore me, I'm just in a mood. The casserole sounds great.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated at his small kitchen table. Though Gail's cooking was always good—and the casserole was no exception—Carri picked at her food more than she ate. Josh bided his time, waiting for her to bring up whatever it was that had her in such a mood . . . but she wasn't cracking. Finally, he couldn't stand the waiting anymore.

“Tell me what's wrong.”

She looked up at him, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Who said anything was wrong?”

“You did.” He scooted his chair closer to her. “I won't say that stupid,
We've known each other since diapers
crap anymore, because that's not it. When we were in diapers, you didn't have this little set of lines right here that pucker when you're thinking too hard.” He grazed a fingertip between her eyebrows. “And you were louder when you were angry or upset, like you could shout the problem away. Now you're turning in on yourself. It's different. I know you, now, as you are. So what's wrong?”

That all seemed to soak in, then she sighed and pushed her plate away. As it was his mother's famed cheesy chicken, rice, and broccoli casserole, he knew it was serious. “I might have mentioned to my mom that my plans have recently . . . shifted. Maybe. Possibly.”

“Plans for what? The bathroom reno?” He'd seen her work, and it was solid. If Maeve had a complaint about her daughter's handiwork, she was crazy.

“No, I mean about when I return to Utah. Or not.”

The
or not
caught him off guard, but after a moment, he felt a smile spread over his face. “Or not sounds good.”

Her face scrunched up. “That's the problem. Or maybe it isn't. I don't know.”

Neither did he, the way she was spinning in circles. “Start from the beginning.”

“Back when we were in diapers,” she said in a dry tone. “But seriously, it starts there. This whole thing with the moms pushing us together. My mother's smug tone when she said,
I knew it
when I mentioned I might move here and we might be an item.”

Might be.
Two very painful words for his emotions.

“And the little dance she did, and how she had to run straight out of the room to call Gail . . .” Carri covered her face with her hands and scrubbed violently. “I don't know. I don't . . . know.”

“Don't know, what?”

“I don't know anymore if this is me, and us, or if this is engineered and I'm being the puppet. Maeve the Manipulator scores again,” she said with such venom, he flinched internally. “And how can I ever be sure this is what I would have picked? How will I ever know?”

There was the crux of it. Carri was independent, and determined to live her own life. He respected that, but he thought she knew they could have a life together and still maintain independence. “I'm not trying to force anything.”

“You're not, I know.” And her face was so sad, his gut clenched. She scooted her chair closer toward him, until their knees bumped. Then she framed his face with her hands. “You're so much more than I thought you were. So much more than I expected. And you deserve better.”

“Don't do that.” His voice was fierce, but that was because he was fighting to keep from losing it. This conversation . . . the turn it had taken was ugly. “Don't say that. I don't
deserve
anything. You're here. We're together.”

“But why?” she persisted, letting her hands fall. He held on to them in his lap instead, because losing that contact felt too much like losing—the end. “Why are we together? Because of our moms?”

“I don't see either of them here.”

“I'm here because my mom pissed me off.”

“I'm your safe place to run. Why is that a bad thing?”

Carri just shook her head, looking defeated. Then she stood. He followed her to the door. “I . . . I know. It's crazy. My head's just not on straight. Maeve messes with something up here,” she said, tapping her temple gently. “She's got me all twisted. I let it happen, so I'm at least half to blame. But still . . .” She rested a hand over his heart.

“Don't say I deserve better, or I'll throw something,” he warned.

Her crooked smile said it anyway. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then said, “I need to head back. I'm shitty company tonight. I'll call you later.”

“Carri,” he said as she started walking down the hall. “We're . . . You and I . . .”

“We're good,” she said easily, but her posture said otherwise. Nothing about it said victory.

The moment she disappeared behind the elevator doors, Josh called his lawyer. “Burt? Yeah, how's that project coming I asked you about? Great, because we need a rush order.”

***

Three days later, Carri sat on the small twin-size bed in her childhood home and stared at her empty suitcase. How pathetic was it that she wanted so badly to pack and never return, and yet was struggling to put a single item in her suitcase? Freud would have an entire series on how backwards her mind was these days.

At the knock on her partially closed door, she glanced up. “Hey, Daddy, come on in.”

“Hey, pumpkin.” Her father sat beside her on the bed, dipping the mattress so she leaned toward him naturally. He wrapped an arm around her and hugged her tightly to his side. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Utah. I have some loose ends to tie up.”

“Hmm,” was all Herb said.

“I won't be gone long,” she added, though it hadn't seemed to upset her father in the slightest. “I don't think. I have properties to list and just, you know . . . stuff.”

“Let's take a walk,” Herb said suddenly, standing. Carri fell a little into the hole he left on the mattress. “I need some fresh air. Helps me think.”

“Uh, okay. Mom should be home soon, so just give me a minute to write her a note.” Carri picked a jacket out of her closet, then said, “Go get a jacket on and meet me at the front door.

Herb glared at her, as if pissed his own daughter would think to tell him what to do. But that was how things worked these days. But he shuffled off in his slippers, causing her to add, “And put on your tennis shoes, please.”

Ten minutes later, with a note left for Maeve, Carri walked slowly with her father around the block.

“Are you happy here, pumpkin?” Herb asked after a few minutes of walking quietly.

“I'm not unhappy.” Most of the time.

“But are you happy? Do you like being back?”

Was this one of his moments of pure clarity, where he knew his degeneration was the reason she was back in the first place? Or had he forgotten that? “I'm back, so that's pretty much the end of it.”

Herb turned to the left, so she followed his lead. “Being okay and being happy . . . they're not the same thing. One's existing, one's living. I thought I taught you that.”

Her face flushed, but she kept her eyes down, looking for potential hazards for her father. Sticks, rocks, a sewer grate.

“So if being home isn't making you happy, you should leave.”

“I'm just . . . still trying to . . . you know.” It sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. She was trying to, what? Not hate the lack of choices in her life? Not dislike that she was basically forced to come home or face a life of guilt over having abandoned her parents when they needed her?

They passed by Josh's childhood home, though it was still early enough Gail wasn't back from work yet. All the lights were off, and the one-car-garage door was down.

“Josh likes you being back.”

“He does,” she agreed. “He makes it more bearable. More . . . not unhappy.” Grammatically incorrect though it was, it felt accurate.

“Hmm.”

They walked until he stopped dead in his tracks. It took Carri a few steps to realize she'd walked on without her father. Turning to look, she realized he'd halted in front of the abandoned house in the back of the neighborhood. Carri sighed and came back to him. “How long's it been empty?”

“At least a year. Shame. Young family lived here, but I think . . .” Herb looked off to the side, as if he were chasing a memory that kept slipping from his grasp. “He lost his job . . . No. Maybe he left. Left her and her son high and dry. She's good friends with your mother, you know.”