Spinning (22 page)

“Good morning. My name is Dylan Hunter, and I’m with Mason, Brand and Partners, a P.R. firm in New York. I’m looking for, this is going to sound odd, someone who knows Diane Sommers. She used to work for you.”

The operator transferred my call.

A woman answered the phone. “Madelyn Morris.”

I told her who I was and confirmed that she knew Diane.

“How
is
Diane? I’ve been meaning to search for her on Facebook.”

“Madelyn, I hate to be the person to tell you this, but there was an accident a few weeks ago. Diane was killed in a car wreck.”

I waited as the woman on the other end drew in a quick breath and started to cry. I wished I hadn’t broken the news to her so matter-of-factly.

In the picture on my desk, Diane looked so happy a perfect day in her new home with her daughter. It was a picture that would have certainly brought her smiles for years.

I heard a sniffle.

“How is Spring?”

“Spring is fine. That’s why I’m calling, actually. I’m trying to locate any of Diane’s relatives, or Spring’s father…” I let my voice trail off. “I don’t know Spring’s birthday.”

“She was born in April. Let me check.”

I could hear her typing on the other end.

“April 6th. Chicago City Hospital. Diane… oh my God…” She cried again. “She didn’t have any family that I know of. Her parents died before she started working here.”

I drew a line through family on the list I had written down on the pad.
Diane had no family.

She continued. “Diane was a loner.”

“A loner? How could she… what about Spring’s father?” I said.

“She really was. I was her best friend at work. She brought Spring to my place a lot. She helped me organize my apartment with some oriental thing.”

“Feng Shui.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Diane liked to stay in with Spring. We would rent old movies together a lot.”

I was surprised to hear Diane stayed at home and didn’t go out that much. I thought that she had been a partier like me. When I met her, she seemed so sexual, so out there. It became clear in the next few minutes that Diane and Madelyn hadn’t become good friends until after
Diane had become pregnant. Therefore, she was a little sketchy on the details of Diane’s life before then.

Madelyn recalled what Diane had told her about a “weird breakup” — her words, not Diane’s — between Diane and some guy.
Some guy?
“I never met him, this was before I really got to know Diane. It didn’t last long. It sounded pretty intense, though, Dylan. Sounded like for a short time this guy gave Diane the ego-boost she really needed. Could that be him?”

When Madelyn mentioned Diane’s need for an ego-boost, I felt another disconnect. When I had met Diane, she seemed so confident, which was the main reason she turned me on. She was friendly and confident and different. But it was very possible that the relationship with Spring’s father had changed her. I’d heard about things like that happening. I guess I even knew what it felt like at this point. I remembered her saying something about making love and what made it feel right, but that was so long ago.

“Diane had all this pent up emotion,” Madelyn said. I could hear her tapping a pen or something against her desk. “After they broke up, Diane wasn’t ready to recycle her feelings into a new relationship. I guess having Spring made it easier for her to simply not worry about that part of her life.”

“Do you know the guy’s name? Would his initials have been E.S.? Did Diane know anyone with the initials E.S.?”

She didn’t think so.

No family, no real friends, no leads on Dad.
“I’m so sorry you had to hear about it this way, this late. I didn’t know who you were.”

“Dylan, I’m glad I heard it from someone who loved her back. Thank you, and I’m really sorry. What’s going to happen to Spring?”

“I’m still hoping to find a relative.”

“I don’t think you will. I would have known, if there was one.”

I mindlessly doodled on the pad, while I gave this some thought. “Then I don’t know,” I said.

“Spring deserves the best you can give her. There’s something special about that little girl. If my situation wasn’t so dreadful, I’d volunteer to take her myself.”

I didn’t know what Madelyn’s “situation” was, but I was taken with how she talked about Spring. This was someone who had been touched in a very real way by the two of them, and it was impossible for me not to be moved by how the news had affected her.

When I hung up the phone, I had to stretch my hand. At some time during the conversation, I had begun squeezing.

I checked my pad. Diane had given birth to Spring at Chicago City Hospital. There would be some records there. At least I knew Spring’s birthday: April 6. Not much else had come from this latest bit of investigative work except for one other thing. Madelyn was right that Spring deserved a real home where she could grow and learn with the security of knowing that someone was standing behind her. She had the potential to be so many things if given the right environment.

I thought about the botched date with Laurel how much did that matter to me really? I thought about how Billie had shown up when Spring called. I knew that I could count on her to be around at least some of the time regardless of what she’d said to me. I thought about my
situation at Mason Brand. Mason had made it clear in any number of ways that we would find a way to work things out.

I wouldn’t be turning Spring over to the State of New York. For the first time, I truly understood that I didn’t intend to turn her over to anyone.

When I first heard the knocking, I thought it was Jim checking to see if I would be watching the game. But it was a little after 9:00 am on a holiday, Jim didn’t have his kids and he wouldn’t be up for hours. Spring hadn’t come out of her room yet, and I was still in bed. I decided just to lay there. The knocking had to stop eventually.

It didn’t. By the time I grabbed my robe and reached the door, Spring had joined me with her robe on inside out and toting Mr. Jimmy by his furry arm. I could hear a familiar voice through the door.

“Open up, you lazy bums!” It was Billie. “Awake, awake! You lazy bums!”

“What are you doing?” I said. “Do you know what time it is? Because it feels really early to be up on a holiday.”

“Exactly. Little girls should not sleep through the parade on Thanksgiving. Grande hazelnut latte for you, skim latte for me, and a tall white, grape juice for Miss Spring.” She turned on the TV. “I’m embarrassed for you, Mr. Hunter. You should have taken Spring to see the parade.”

“But…”

“No buts, Mr. Hunter.”

The mention of a parade caught Spring’s attention. “The what?”

“Parade!” Billie said, exuberantly. She picked up Spring and carried her like a bag of leaking trash to the couch. “Spring, Mr. Jimmy: the best seat in the house.”

She turned to me. At first, I expected Billie to take away my latte for committing the Macy’s faux pas, but she went easy on me.

“Mr. Hunter, lunch will be served at noon.”

“You cooked?” Although it didn’t come out right, I meant it in a nice way.

“No. Did I cook?” Billie returned to the hall picking up two large brown bags and setting them in the kitchen.

“Did I cook? Ha. I bought.”

On the outside of the bags, it said
Parker’s.
“You went to Parker’s for our lunch? Upper East Side Parker’s?”

“Only the best. Besides, it’s not just for any lunch. It’s for Thanksgiving.”

“What makes you think Spring and I didn’t already have plans?”

“Do you have plans?”

“No, but we might have.”

“Right,” Billie said as she began to unpack.

“I should be the one buying the food after the other night and getting you over here under false pretenses.” I made sure I shouted “false pretenses” toward the living room.

Kermit the Frog floated by on the TV and Spring barely moved.

“No use shouting,” Billie said. “I brought the food because I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“For not telling you that I think you’re doing a wonderful thing for Spring. Look at this place: it’s a regular Guggenheim for kids and you’re like Betty Stewart, Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart all rolled into one.”

She was right. D-Man’s bachelor pad had changed. The shelves were raised and the cool guy stuff had been relocated to my closet. And with paper lining many of the walls, I hoped Stephanie Eckleburg wasn’t planning an impromptu bed check. The old bachelor pad had transformed into a different kind of playhouse: one with paper, crayons, toys, and at least a modicum of patience.

“Wow. That smells good.” I thumbed through the bags. “Smells like turkey? I haven’t had a roast turkey in a long time.”

“What did you have last year for Thanksgiving?”

“Margaritas. I was in Key West.”

“I like mar-ger-eets.” Spring yelled out while a commercial played.

“No you don’t,” I yelled back, smiling. “You have never even had one.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“My mommy let me have one on my birthday.”

“Really?” I said. “What did it taste like?”

“Orange?” Spring cocked her head when she answered. Then the parade came back on and she disappeared to the other side of the couch.

“You got out of that one,” Billie said. “Look in there.”

Opening the container, I saw the puffy white stuff. “Mashed potatoes? I love those things.”

“I remember.”

“Remember?”

“Yeah. You had that look on your face when you tried the ones I brought for Spring.”

The memory of those potatoes even cold came happily back. I was surprised that Billie had noticed.

“It’s just carbs and starch,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s the healthy starch.”

“There is no healthy starch.”

“I’m spinning. Speaking of which, did you get gravy?”

“Eww, but yes.”

“Yum. You don’t like gravy?”

“It’s the fat,” she said.

“You’re so skinny. Can’t you eat fat for one meal?”

“Thanks. No.” She continued unpacking the dessert. “I work hard for this body.” She held up her coffee. “Skim latte.”

Whatever she did to stay in shape, it worked. “You look great, Billie. You always look great.”

She stopped for a moment to smile. “Still spinning?”

Spring hollered, “What’s that?” as a giant balloon passed by on the television.

“That’s Underdog,” I said.

“What?”

“He’s a super dog thing who has this ring… ”

“Spring,” Billie said, “he’s a cartoon.”

“Oh.”

If Billie didn’t feel at ease around children, she seemed to be on Spring’s wavelength. I would be sure not to mention it. She removed a cheesecake from the bag.

I reached out for it. “You didn’t.”

She waved it past me, and then pulled it away.“Cheesecake. Also fattening.”

“More yummy fat grams. All this food could spoil a guy.”

“For once a year, you won’t get too spoiled.” She handed me the cheesecake to set on the table and we were caught between the oven and the countertop, separated by only twelve inches of cream cheese. I tried to back away but couldn’t go anywhere. With a smile, she returned to the food.

It had started to snow sometime during the morning, but I only noticed it now. “Spring, it’s snowing.”

I didn’t need to mention it twice. Spring ran to the window to confirm that I wasn’t kidding. I did the same thing at her age. Still do. “Hey, Billie, did you used to run to the window when you heard it was snowing?”

“Still do.” She followed Spring to the window. Pressing her hand to the glass, she left a temporary imprint of heat. Spring did the same, leaving her small imprint underneath.

Then Harry Connick Jr.’s rendition of “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve” came on during a commercial. I watched the condensation from the hand prints mix and run down the glass. What would I be doing New Year’s Eve? I could see Laurel standing there, champagne flute in hand and one leg over her head pressed into the top of the doorway. And then her image faded. I didn’t want to be with Laurel. I wanted to be with Billie and Spring and a bag of microwave popcorn.

It was during this brief mental break that I decided to put the turkey on a serving plate before we put it in the refrigerator. As a single guy, I didn’t have the most complete set of serving ware, but I had a carving board with a sterling silver head and tail of a turkey on each side. I had received it as a gift from a client a few years ago, but had never used it for obvious reasons: potato chips didn’t require a carving board. I removed the board, dusted the
top and was transferring the turkey to the platter. It turned out to be hotter than I had expected. In my haste, I tried to slide the turkey onto the platter, slipped, and shot it across the table. I fell to the floor.