Family Pieces Page 7

  “I don’t know. He’s funny, amazingly nice and handsome in his own way. What’s not to like?”

  “Seriously, Hanna. This is Brad we’re talking about. My brother Brad.” Karsen still was somewhat taken aback by the thought.

  “Yes. Seriously. Now, hush. I’m missing the best part.” She gazed back at Brad up on the stage.

  Following Brad’s performance, the lights lifted to a soft glow as the intermission began.

  “Stupendous!” Hanna, a bit tipsy, threw her arms around Brad’s neck as he joined them at the table. She certainly goes after what she wants, Karsen thought. Brad looked startled by Hanna’s sudden affection.

  James handed Brad a beer. “Thought you might want this.”

  “Thanks,” Brad said, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s so damn hot up there.” He drew a long swig from the bottle.

  The four of them watched, laughed and applauded the remaining three acts. Hanna flirted relentlessly, touching Brad’s arm, smiling coyly, her approach boldly increasing over her third martini. James became more touchy-feely toward Karsen as well. With several beers down, his hand crept up the length of her thigh. She stopped him mid-leg.

  “Stop it!” she whispered sternly, giving him a perturbed glance. He persisted. “Stop. I mean it.” Her irritation grew by the moment. She never had been a fan of inappropriate displays of affection in public.

  After the show, the crowd poured through the exit like cattle. A tipsy Hanna let out a jestful “Moooo!” Karsen walked in slow, baby steps beside Brad. She nudged him with her elbow. “Hanna needs a ride home. She’s in no shape to drive.”

  Brad nodded. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  “Can you take her?”

  “Sure.”

  They encountered no resistance from Hanna at the idea of Brad driving her home. “I can drive you back here tomorrow to pick up your car,” Karsen promised as they loaded Hanna into Brad’s pick-up. Hanna nodded like a bobble-headed doll as her eyes closed and she drifted immediately to sleep.

  “Nice date,” James joked. Brad replied with a wry smile as he circled around to the driver’s side.

  “Give me the keys,” Karsen demanded, grabbing James’s hand.

  “I’m fine,” he said sternly, holding them out of her reach.

  “I mean it. Give them here. I’ll drive.” He didn’t budge.

  “Unless you want ten days in tent city and a pair of pink boxers, you’d better let her,” Brad shouted, knowing James would be more likely to save face in front of him than give in to Karsen.

  “Whatever. Here.” James forcefully pressed the keys into Karsen’s hand and headed toward the passenger side door. Karsen mouthed the words ‘thank you’ to Brad before easing into the driver’s seat. She took her time adjusting the seat and mirrors to fit her. She looked over at James reclining back in his seat with his eyes closed and felt a mix of disappointment and anxiety. She’d looked forward to their date night all day and the evening hadn’t lived up to her expectations.

  No one got lucky that night. Brad dropped Hanna off to the guardianship of her sorority sisters. He had never thought of her as more than Karsen’s friend before and certainly would not take advantage of her altered state. Yet a flicker of interest stirred inside him. He wondered whether he had misinterpreted her signals all together. Or perhaps, the alcohol simply made her overly friendly. He wasn’t sure if she would still be interested once she sobered up.

  Karsen drove carefully up the Loop 101 to Indian School Road where she signaled to exit. James had moved from Tempe to south Scottsdale to be closer to work. His apartment was older, but clean. It was in walking distance to Oregano’s, Karsen’s favorite pizza joint. Her mouth watered just thinking that a pizza cookie would hit the spot. Unfortunately, James’s inebriated state made him more suited for home than a public venue at the moment.

  Entering his apartment, James lay down on the bed. “Come here, babe.”

  “In a minute.”

  By the time she’d gone to the bathroom, he’d fallen asleep. His arms and legs sprawled out, spanning the width of the bed like the murder victim on a crime show. She removed his shoes and turned him on the bed.

  “Come’re, Nik.” He said groggily.

  “What?” Karsen questioned, but he had already rolled over and was sound asleep.

  She glanced through his closet and pulled out one of his white oxford button down shirts to sleep in. She had seen women in the movies dress this way and rather hoped he’d think she looked sexy when he awoke. After she turned out the light, she crawled under the covers and snuggled in beside him for the night.

  Karsen woke the next morning before James. In the kitchen, she scoured the cupboards. Typical bachelor. There was hardly any edible food. Thank God there was coffee. She loaded the coffee pot and hit brew. The strong aroma of dark roasted coffee beans made her feel refreshed.

  A few leftover holiday cards and miscellaneous mail sprawled across the counter. She picked several pieces up, intending only to help straighten up a bit. A photo crept out of one. Curiosity getting the better of her, she opened the card. Inside, inscribed in notably feminine handwriting, was a note.

  Dear James,

  Thank you for a wonderful weekend. Can’t wait to visit again.

  Love, Nikki

  P.S. I’ve enclosed a reminder for you while I’m away.

  Karsen stood, momentarily shocked. She looked at the photo again. A voluptuous young lady, probably a few years older than herself, posed in a pink-polka dot string bikini.

  Karsen viewed the second card, apparently a Christmas card from his grandparents. There was nothing out of the norm that popped out at her there. The third, also from the holidays, stopped her point blank. Her whole body felt numb as she read the words.

  Dear James,

  Have a splendid holiday. Hope you are well and give our best to Nikki.

  Love, Jackson and Stephanie

  Jackson was James’s brother. Stephanie was his wife. But Nikki? Who the hell was Nikki and why were they asking about her?

  Karsen dropped the cards, scattering them across the table.

  “Come’ re, Nik,” rung in her ears and her stomach wrenched into a knot. No. She ran to the bathroom shutting the door behind her. No. No. No. As she struggled to catch her breath, her mind rambled in thought… if the thank you card was dated in January that meant she visited here. Not only was she here, but she was here while I was burying my mother.

  “Not this weekend,” he had said.

  Karsen lost her senses. She frantically opened drawers in search of something. What she wasn’t sure. Evidence that another woman had been in his apartment. That was it. She opened the first cabinet. Bath towels. Next, wash clothes. Off to the side a zip lock baggie leaned against the wood. She pulled it out. Make-up. She WAS here. As nausea rose in her throat, Karsen dropped the bag and stumbled back against the wall, sinking slowly to the floor. She sat, hands over her face, and wept.

  “Hey, K. Karsen, honey, what are you doing in there?” James called through the door. She didn’t answer. “Come out, K. Come out and let’s play.” He said meaning play in the seductive sense. “You’ve been in there forever.” He seemed oblivious to her sniffles. Her eyes felt like two swollen cotton balls.

  Fury spread through her, making her skin flush as she staggered to her feet.

  “Play?” She threw open the door. “Play? PLAY! Apparently, you’ve been PLAYING enough, ASSHOLE!” she screamed, lunging at him, fists flailing against his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You asshole!”

  James overpowered her. He grabbed her arms and secured them tightly against his chest. She fell into him, sobbing uncontrollably. He froze, perplexed by her actions.

  Realizing she was submitting, she pushed him away.

  “You cheater! I trusted you!”

  “K, what are you talking about?” He tried to corral her in a bear hug. She resisted. “Come on! You’re being crazy! What has gotten into you?”

>   “You cheater! You lying, fucking jerk!”

  “Karsen, stop!” His voice was stern and he tightened his grip on her wrists to keep her from hitting him again. She struggled against him until he finally released her.

  “I found the make-up!”

  “What make-up?” His eyes glanced and he saw the bag on the counter. Shit, he cringed silently.

  “The cards! The make-up! Nikki! Who the hell is Nikki?”

  “Nikki?”

  “Yes, Nikki?” she hissed.

  “An old friend.”

  “We’ve been together for two years. I’ve never heard you mention a Nikki.”

  “Karsen, honey, you’re freaking out over nothing.” Karsen knew he was lying. He continued, “She’s just a friend.”

  “She was here!”

  “No.”

  “She met your brother and sister-in-law. I haven’t even met them!” Had he known Nikki longer than her, maybe longer than they’d been dating? She felt bile churn in her stomach.

  “Karsen, don’t be so immature.”

  “Immature? IMMATURE? You cheat on me and I’m supposed to be mature? How does one react to the crushing news that her boyfriend is sleeping around? Brad was right all along! My mother was right all along! God, I’m so stupid!” she wailed.

  “Enough, Karsen. I didn’t cheat. You know that.”

  “Do you think I’m that naive? That you can sweet talk and rationalize your way out of this? What I know is that this is not my make-up. What I know is that single men don’t keep make-up in their apartments. What I know is that I’ve never eaten at Caffé Boa before last night!”

  “You shouldn’t have been looking through my cabinets,” James countered, his stance and tone becoming defensive.

  “Don’t turn this around on me. This is not my fault! This is your fault and right now this is over!”

  She couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth. She was standing in front of the man she’d dreamed of marrying. She had clipped the photo of her dream dress out of Brides magazine just weeks before, the perfect off-white strapless gown. She gathered her clothes and returned to the bathroom slamming the door. Within minutes, she exited wearing her crumpled dress from the night before. Her tussled hair and make-up made her look like she’d had an unexpected one-night stand.

  James made one last attempt to plead his case as she headed toward the front door.

  “Karsen, please! You’re being ridiculous. Let’s talk about this!” he shouted.

  She slammed the door behind her and ran down to the sidewalk in front of the building. Pulling out her cell phone, she called for a cab and didn’t look back.

  9

  The “chin” debacle with Mr. Montague was settled. Crisis averted. Her mother’s surgery had gone well and next month’s issue was almost complete. Addison should have been relieved. Unfortunately, the stress had not released from her body. Her shoulders felt tense and her back was in knots that had taken up permanent residence. Her next massage wasn’t scheduled until next Friday and her massage therapist booked out weeks in advance, so there was no chance of moving it forward.

  Addison craved a distraction. She needed a release. She wanted someone to talk to and she knew what that meant. She sucked up her pride and called Emily. There was no answer so she left her a voice mail, apologizing for her recent behavior. She still didn’t want to talk about her adoption, but at least she would make the effort to resolve the friendship.

  Unable to reach Emily, her mind then turned to Russell. She hadn’t returned his message yet either and still wasn’t sure if she wanted to. It was late, however, and she figured he wouldn’t be home so she dialed his number. The phone rang three, four times. Expecting voice mail, she flinched when he answered immediately feeling a twinge of regret.

  “Hello?” His masculine voice penetrated the line. He had a slight accent she couldn’t quite place, but it added to his appeal.

  “Helloooo…?” his voice queried again.

  “Russell?” Addison caught him, her momentary pause lingering so long he almost hung up.

  “Yes, this is Russell.”

  “Addison Reynolds. I’m returning your call.”

  “Ah, yes. Hello, Addison.” The background noise drowned out his voice.

  “Perhaps this is a bad time.” Addison apologized, certain she had caught him out.

  “No, no. Hold on a moment.” She could hear shuffling. When he came back, the racket of the background had dissipated. “That better?”

  “Yes, much. I was… I was returning your call.”

  “Yes, you said that,” he teased. “The two-day calling rule, huh?”

  “Guilty.”

  “I was going to invite you to dinner.” He waited for a response. “So?”

  “Soooo?” Addison repeated.

  “What are your dinner plans tonight?”

  Addison looked at the clock. “It’s after seven.”

  “Yes, but you’re calling me now. I’ll bet you haven’t left the office.”

  “Guilty again.”

  He continued, “If I had to guess, you’ll probably pick-up Chinese on the corner and eat at your loft while watching prerecorded episodes of Lost. And, anyway, if not tonight you’ll make me wait another two days.”

  “Actually, Lost is a rerun. The series finale was last month. I planned to stop by the hospital then finish a book I’ve been reading.”

  “Everything okay?” His tone changed at the mention of her hospital visit.

  “Yes. My mother had surgery. She’s doing fine now.”

  “Then you are free for dinner,” he said, as if ‘no’ would be an unacceptable answer.

  “How about I meet you at,” she paused as she calculated the time she needed in her head, “say eight-thirty?”

  “Works for me. Have you been to the new seafood place on Fifth?”

  “No, I haven’t, but it sounds perfect. I’ve wanted to try it anyway.”

  “Shall I pick you up at your place then?”

  “Um, actually, how about I meet you in front of the restaurant? That will give me time to wrap up a few things here and run by the hospital beforehand.”

  “Great. Then it’s a date.”

  “Yes, Russell, I suppose it’s a date.” She hung up the phone trying hard to minimize the smile spanning across her lips.

  After finishing outlining the layout changes for next month’s cover, Addison logged off her computer and headed down the elevator.

  “Good night, Ms. Reynolds,” the security guard said as Addison walked by. Even with the guards, the building at night, with its dim lighting and utter silence, felt uncomfortable.

  “Good night, Ed,” she replied, smiling back while unconsciously quickening her step.

  Her visit at the hospital was brief. Her dad had already returned home for the night and her mother slumbered peacefully. Addison pulled a chair beside the bed and sat in the dark. Her mother looked frail. Not the perfectly manicured, upscale wife and mother she’d always portrayed. Lying in bed, she looked powerless. Her face showed her age without the layers of moisturizer and make-up.

  Addison’s heartstrings had wavered ever since the day she had learned of her adoption. She reached across the bedrail and held her mother’s hand as she slept.

  “I know you love me, Mom.” She paused to see if she would wake. “I just can’t help but wonder if you ever regretted me. You and Dad were always so wrapped up in work and events. I spent more time with Nanny Marie than you sometimes. If my ‘real’ mother could give me away, maybe you wanted to, as well?” There were moments Addison felt her parents adopted her only to complete the family portrait – mother - father – baby – not because they longed to be parents.

  Her mom stirred, but did not open her eyes.

  “I know I should be thankful, and I am. You’ve given me a life most people can only dream of. But, is it wrong that I still wonder how my life could’ve been different?”

  Addison closed her e
yes and thought back for a brief moment to the one time she attempted to reconnect with her biological mother. As a teenager, she had even taken a bus across several states. “I went to find her once, Mom. I never told you and Dad.” The twelve-hour trip proved pointless. On the ride there she kept imagining the reunion in her mind. Her real mother opening her arms to embrace her, tears falling as she admitted her grueling guilt over letting her go. Lucky for Addison, the school was too afraid of a scandal. Since she was already back safe and sound by the time they figured out she was gone, they punished her but didn’t tell her parents.

  “I thought if she could only see me, that she’d take me in. I was so young, so naive.” The loving reunion never occurred. As Addison approached the house number she’d written down on a scrap of pink paper, she witnessed a scene she hadn’t imagined - a mother in her mid-thirties playing lovingly with her two children. With Addison’s limited exposure to young children, she roughly estimated them to be around the ages of two and four. What was clear to her was that her mother – the mother who gave up one child – had moved on. Addison obviously represented the past, a mistake long forgotten.

  “I love you and Dad more than I can express.” Addison held her mother’s hand firmly.

  Her head fell forward and her neck responded by snapping it up with a sharp jerk. Realizing she must have dozed off, Addison looked at the time. She was late. She kissed her mother goodnight and silently promised herself she’d visit again tomorrow.

  Addison hailed a taxi outside the hospital, an easier feat than on Madison Avenue. As the driver attempted small talk, Addison primped. A dab of berry-stained lip color and a fresh pat of powder refreshed her face. A quick spritz of cucumber melon body spray and she felt awake again.

  Her cell phone rang and Emily’s name appeared on the screen. Having initiated the contact, she had to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Addy?”

  “Hi, Emily. You got my message?”

  “Yes. I’m glad you called. I’ve missed you. Adelaide missed you.”