CHAPTER 61
CARTER
They let me go once they saw I was ex-LAPD, I was licensed, and I was working as the occupant’s bodyguard. The worst part about it was that they’d focused so much on the guy holding the gun that they’d lost Vince.
Having heard some of what he said, I put together a plan to get rid of him on the short drive home. She’d avoided singing so he wouldn’t get angry with her. She’d given up ever appearing in front of people. But what if doing exactly that turned him off? What if it disgusted him so much he lost interest?
It wasn’t violent or earth-shattering, but if it turned him off to Emily, that was enough.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, I knew I had to get to Vegas to talk to her.
When I peeked into Phin’s room, he was in bed. He thrust his hand under his pillow as if he were hiding something. I went in.
“Good night, Phinnaeus.”
“Good night.”
I reached under his pillow and found the hard edges of his phone.
“Thanks. I’m done anyway,” he said as I shut it off.
I kissed his cheek and gave his ear a loving tug.
“Can I see my mother’s stuff?” he said just before I got out the door.
“It’s late.”
“I promise I’ll get up tomorrow.”
I didn’t have time for Genny’s box. I had to get to Vegas to talk to Emily and Darlene. I had to make sure Mom was going to be home with Phin, and I had to get in a few hours of sleep before I got in the car for a long drive.
But I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I could skip that and show Phin his mother’s stuff. I hadn’t looked in that box in years, and for the first time in a while, I wanted to.
“Meet me in the living room,” I said.
Phin shot out of bed as if he’d been sleeping on a catapult.
I got the cardboard box out of the back of my closet. It was lighter than I remembered. Or maybe I was stronger.
He met me in the living room in the plaid robe I’d gotten him for his birthday. He’d insisted on a robe with a hood, which was nearly impossible to find.
I sat on the other side of the couch and put the box between us. Phin grabbed at it, ready to rip it open as if it were Christmas morning. I was suddenly afraid he’d dive in and the memory of the night his parents were killed would flood back.
“Hang on.” I put my hands over his. “One thing at a time. Okay?”
“Okay.” He folded his hands together and pressed them between his knees, but he was bouncing on the cushions in the least restrained way possible.
I opened the box.
Jesus. It smelled like my sister. Lavender everywhere. She’d loved lavender.
“First thing.” I took out a picture of Genny and George holding baby Phinnaeus. “I’ve told you this as your father. Now I’m telling you as your uncle. You were the most beautiful baby I ever saw.”
Phin held the frame in both his hands and stared at the picture. It had been taken in Mom’s apartment in Torrance with dozens of paparazzi outside. To the tabloids they had been “Georgevieve” and “G2,” but to me, and in the picture, they were normal, attractive people so happy about their baby.
“I look like my dad.”
“You have his chin.”
“Was he nice?”
“He was all right. Busy.”
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.