The front door clicked and opened. My mother’s lipstick was gone, and her hair was a little out of place. Once she closed the screen door, the car parked in front of the house left.
“Oh,” she said, closing the door behind her. “You’re looking at Genny’s box!” She whipped off her bag and sat cross-legged in front of us. She took the picture from her grandson. “Phin, you were the most beautiful baby. Carter, honey, is the wedding album in there?”
I fished around for it. Mom sighed. She’d looked at it more than I had since that day.
The album was covered on the bottom. I couldn’t grab it. I handed Phin the Emmy to get it out of my way.
“Cool.” He checked its weight by gently bouncing it. “Really cool.”
“Your mother was a special woman,” Mom said. “She had more talent in her little finger than the rest of them did, all put together.”
I stopped myself from adding that she was also a disorganized, undisciplined, forgetful pain in the ass.
I got out the album. It was Italian leather, decorated with Japanese ribbons and put together by a Downtown artist. So much work for nothing. I handed it to Phin, who held it closed, frozen in space.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mom asked.
“I just . . .” He pressed his lips together in a rare thoughtful moment. “What if I don’t feel anything?” Putting it on his lap, he ran his fingers over a ribbon. “What if I don’t recognize them?”
“The doctors told me, a long time ago, that you might never remember them.”
“I’ll feel bad though.”
“Do you want to wait? You can digest this stuff a little at a time.”
Looking in the middle distance, he thought about it. He had a lot to take in, and I didn’t know if he could handle it. I wasn’t sure if he could regulate his emotions enough to understand everything that was happening to him. Mom and I exchanged a glance, then I put my focus back on Phin.
“You all right, kid?”
“Yeah.” He snapped out of it. “Hey. Can I keep these in my room?” He held up the picture and the Emmy. “I can look at the rest later.”
“Good idea.”
I closed up the box. Phin faced me with his knees on the couch and held out his arms.
“Incoming!” He landed on me in a hug. We hadn’t played that game in years. I held him tight. “Can I still call you Dad?” he asked into my shoulder.
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, you can.”
He hugged the mementos to his chest and stood up.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Me too.” I stood. “I’m leaving in a few hours for Vegas.”
“The Sexy B-word preshow?” Phin asked, eyes wide. Darlene wasn’t his genre, but apparently excitement over the tour crossed middle school lines.
“How did you find that out?” I snapped. He wasn’t supposed to know who I worked for.
“I don’t know. Common sense?” Phin looked genuinely incredulous. “Whatever. Okay. Just, you’re a security guy, and a bunch of my friends are going to Vegas for it.”
I was going to drill down to details, but he was thirteen and he had a brain. That was how he knew.
“That’s exciting.” Mom leaned on the couch to get up. Her bones cracked.
“Yes. It’s a dream come true,” I said flatly, then pointed to Phin. “Go on. Bed.”
He grabbed the Emmy and the picture and hopped up the stairs, getting distracted by a photo that had been on the stairwell wall for years.
“Is this Mom here?” He pointed to the left side of the picture, where his mother was under the white mat.
“Yes,” I said.
“Not cool.”
He ran up.
“We’re going to have to remount a few of those,” Mom said.
“About time.” I picked up the box and shook it, making the Girl Scout medals and drama awards dance.
“Are you relieved?” she asked.
“Yes and no. I’m still worried he’ll remember.”
“We’ll take care of it if he does. I’m going to bed.”
When the water pipes stopped hissing, I knew Phin’s shower was over. I tried to give him five minutes to get dressed but lasted only three before I went upstairs. I was worried about him. I wanted to know what he was thinking and how he felt.
“Did you get clean?” I asked as I tucked him in. His hair was a spiky wet mess.
“Yes. Sheesh.”
Phin had put the Emmy and the photo next to his bed.
“I won’t be here when you get up, but you call me if you need me, all right?”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes fluttered.
“And Grandma’s staying around, so if you need her, you call her.”
He stuck his hand out from under the covers, reaching for the night table.
“Can I have the thing?” As if he was too sleepy to form the word Emmy, he pointed to it and made a grabby motion, missing by an inch.
I gave him the statue. He put it next to his chest, under the covers.
“Good night,” I said, shutting the light.
He groaned a response and was asleep before I even got out the door.
I tried to rest after that, but I just lay in bed for an hour and a half, waiting to get up.
I gave up, made coffee, packed a few things, and got in the car. I was on the 15 heading north in no time.
CHAPTER 62
EMILY
Darlene and I made it to Vegas by midnight because she had no respect for speed limits. We got to her MGM suite earlier than planned. We had plenty of time to stay up watching movies and laughing like giddy schoolgirls.
I didn’t get to the Bellagio until two a.m.
Vegas really didn’t sleep. The lobby was crowded, and as we walked through the casino to the elevators, I had a feeling of peace and well-being in the middle of a storm of noise and activity.
The suite was on the twenty-fifth floor and had a gorgeous view on two sides, but I was too tired to appreciate it.
My bags sat by the door. Each one had a little envelope tied to it. The room number and a welcome note from the concierge were inside. It was good to stay in a nice hotel. Good to be welcomed. I was high on exhaustion and goodwill.
But wait. I was missing a bag. One of my monogrammed pink leather bags. The smaller one with the makeup. Crap.
I called downstairs. My movements were slow and deliberate, as if my body wasn’t taking anything for granted.
My phone dinged. Darlene.
—Thank you for that. I almost feel normal again— —Wrong. You are always special— —Whatever. Good night. See u tomorrow— —Tomorrow—
The phone lit up again when I finished brushing my teeth. Carter. I smiled but was concerned because of the hour. He should be in bed. Everyone outside the city of Las Vegas should be in bed.
—Are you up?—
I was about to text back when there was a knock at the door. Was he here? My heart jumped. To be so tired and fall asleep in his arms like a rock on a soft, sandy beach would be the perfect end to the day.
We wouldn’t need to apologize to each other.
We wouldn’t need to talk.
We would just obey our bodies and hearts.
I looked in the peephole. Flowers. He’d brought flowers again.
I swung the door open with a big smile on my face that disappeared as soon as I saw the flower-bearer’s face.
I felt the breath leave my lungs and gravity upend itself as I was pushed to the floor.
The door slammed shut.
It was Vince.
CHAPTER 63
CARTER