Return to Me (Breaking Free Book 2) Page 9

  “Officer Barton, I almost didn’t recognize you out of uniform.”

  It takes me a second to recall the bleary eyed waitress with a high ponytail and too much makeup. It’s only thanks to the tag affixed to her powder blue smock that I’m able to recall her name. I’m a little shocked that she remembers me at all due to the length of time since our last run in, and her state that night. “How’ve you been, Nikki?”

  “Just peachy. Who’s this little princess?”

  “This is Rose.”

  At my prompting, Rose says hi. Nikki ruffles her hair. “You must get this rosey red hair from your mama, huh? You two ready to order, or do you need some time.”

  “We’re ready.”

  I always get the same thing when I come here, and Rose always requests the same thing no matter where we go. Chicken nuggets and french fries, which she’ll probably only pick at. I have no idea where she gets all her energy from. She barely eats enough to sustain a bird.

  Nikki takes our order, goes to put it in, and comes right back with some crayons for Rose. She flips over the paper place mat in front of her to reveal a black and white cartoon depiction of Santa Claus. “You know who this is don’t you?”

  Of course she knows.

  This is the first year Santa’s going to be making two trips on her account. Why in the hell do I feel so guilty about this? I know it’s the right thing. It’s definitely the right thing for me, but what about her? I guess it’s not black and white. Nothing ever is.

  “Hopefully Santa sends a little snow our way before the big day,” Nikki says, staring out the window briefly. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas without snow, but we’ve still got a few weeks yet.” She flashes me a warm smile, and pauses to give Rose’s head a little pat before wandering off towards a group that just settled in a few tables away.

  Nikki seems like a good person, she just has some bad habits. She grew up rough, that’s what Shane said. What kind of rough, I wonder? Did she have a mother who dragged random guys in and out of her life?

  Should I talk to Rose about it? She’s only three and a half. She’ll probably forget all about that guy before long, but who’s to say Leah’s not going to go out and find some new one to take his place?

  This isn’t a position I thought I’d ever find myself in, but that’s being a parent I guess. It’s a learn as you go type job. Sipping on my coffee, I watch Rose eat, but mostly play with her food. She makes a helluva a mess with the ketchup, which I choose not to admonish her for. Leah jumps on her all the time for shit like that, but kids make messes, don’t they? That’s what they do. She’s not even four years old yet.

  Leah and I made a mess of things too, and it’s a damn shame Rose got stuck in the middle of it.

  Chapter 12

  Trin

  I’m sitting out on the back deck in the freezing cold. It’s cold enough for snow, but no snow so far. It really is a shame we can’t get a least a dusting. It’s Christmas after all, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. It feels like any other day.

  I can’t see the house I grew in from up here, even from this vantage point. It’s hidden by a little hillside, and a thick outcropping of pines. I know my sisters and brother are over there right now. My Dad is with his wife, and her kids. He invited me along, but I still feel weird about that whole thing.

  We all had a little get together here last night, my family, minus my mother of course, but it’s not the same. I know plenty of people mark the occasion on the eve before, but it’s not the way I was brought up. It doesn’t feel normal. It doesn’t feel right.

  But today is just another day, and it’s a day I should be trying to come up with somethings suitable for this new album. Brent has finally settled on the title Sinsual. I already told him no more devil horns or fishnets, which I’m sure he’ll be quick to agree with when he catches sight of me.

  I’ve gained twenty five pounds, and my hair is a disaster. Maybe I would have more luck thinking up something fun, flirty, and sexy, which is what Brent wants, if I actually felt Sinsual, which I definitely don’t.

  Tapping my pen on the edge of my notebook, I let out a long plume of frosty air, and stare down at the words that are not fun, flirty, or sexy.

  You were the song that I’d always sing

  You were the light to the darkness in me

  You planted the spark and I torched it all with gasoline

  I’m not sure what beat you could throw behind that to make it a dance track. Maybe Nolan can figure it out. I’ve never been good at that part. I can play music, and I can sing decently, but writing the actual melody eludes me. Writing the words to go with the melody has been eluding me for quite a while too.

  Sucking on the end of my pen, I consider that my biggest obstacle is I haven’t lived much. My childhood was spent locked away at home, and church. The majority of my adult life has been fake, completely staged, surrounded by people who don’t give a shit about the real me.

  No wonder my mind always runs back to that year together with Gabe, but I have leached two albums out of our short time together, and it looks like the well has finally run dry. Or maybe I’m making more of a conscientious effort not to torment myself with memories of him any longer. In either case, it’s not the end of the world. If I can’t come up with something, maybe Nolan can, and if he can’t, Brent will find some other songwriter who will.

  Some people have real problems, and I’m not one of them. I’m lucky beyond lucky. I’m blessed. My cup runneth over. There’s not a single thing in the world I could want for. Maybe a cigarette. I’m kind of in the mood for a smoke, although I haven’t indulged in months.

  My mother, who never smoked a day in her life, is currently dying of lung cancer. You’d think that would be enough of a deterrent, but I guess not. My fingers and toes are numb, and I can’t feel my face, so I go inside. I really want a cigarette, but instead of going to get a pack, I settle in on the couch with my laptop to make some more charitable donations.

  Don’t let me fool you. It’s not all an act of altruism. Now that I can’t take a pill, or have a drink to make myself feel better, I’ve resorted to giving away money. Why the hell not? I have more than I need. I might as well do some good with all that cash I collected pretending to be Sinful.

  It wasn’t all an act though, was it? I didn’t just pretend to be sinful. In some people’s eyes, I was very sinful. In one woman’s eyes, I was an abomination. Who says shit like that to their own child? And she called me that before I even had that abortion. I was an abomination for getting pregnant out of wedlock.

  Why does it bother me so much what she thinks? I’ve come to terms with the rest. I’ve made my peace with it. I can look at myself in the mirror just fine. I can fall asleep at night just fine. Yesterday evening I spent time with my niece Hope, and I wasn’t tormented by thoughts of the cousin she might have today if I’d made a different choice that day.

  It is what it is.

  I make an anonymous donation to the Lung Cancer Society to the tune of one hundred grand. After I only feel marginally better, and I still want a cigarette.

  It is the lesser of two evils, I decide after some silent back and forth in my own mind. There are much worse things I could be indulging in than a few measly cigarettes.

  I’m already dressed in jeans that are almost too snug, and a slouchy sweater. I pull on warm boots, and my coat. The knitted beanie is chosen as much for warmth as it is to disguise my terrible haircut. Some people can pull off short hair, but I’m not one of them. My usually roundish face is even rounder nowadays, and my curls fan out in a way that only adds to the affect.

  Being that it’s Christmas day, nothing is open besides the gas station. I make my way to the nearest one, pleased to see it’s deserted with only a single car parked alongside the main building. I’m greeted with a mechanical beep when I pull open the glass door to go inside.

  The older woman behind the counter looks vaguely familiar. She gives me a smile, and lifts her shou
lders, making a brrr sound as a blast of frigid air I carried in with me hits her. “Is that you, Trinity?”

  No one ever called me Trinity except my mother, and some of those old ladies from the church we used to attend. She has that look about her too, the thick bun of greying hair, the plain, unadorned features. I can’t see behind the counter, but I bet she’s wearing a dress. Even in the dead of winter, or the sticky, hot middle of summer, they all wore dresses or long skirts.

  “You probably don’t remember,” she says with a warm smile. “Kelly Williams. I’m Jenna’s mom, remember? You might not. She’s a few years younger than you.”

  “No, I remember. How’s she doing?”

  “She’s about to get married, and she’s a nurse out at Valley General.”

  Valley General is the hospital in the next town over. Trenton is too tiny to have one of its own. “That’s nice. That’s good to hear.”

  Kelly waved her hand through the air. “I won’t bug ya. I just wanted to say hello.”

  “You’re not buggin’ me,” I say, and she wasn’t. I doubt Kelly is the sort that wants to take pictures with me, or have me sign something.

  I wonder if she saw the footage of me crawling across a smoky stage on my hands and knees, dressed in red leather, as I panted into a bendable mic fixed close to my mouth, “Undress me. Unmake me. You can’t wait to taste me.”

  For a bit Brent considered the title Shameless for my next album. I’ve acted pretty shameless in the past, especially when I toured for Sinful, but maybe I’m not completely without shame. The thought of Kelly Williams, or my dad, or a lot of other people from my past seeing that makes me feel a little ashamed, not that I was feeling much around that time. The launch of Sinful is right about when my occasional indulgences became more of a habit. I rode out most of that tour comfortably numb and mildly oblivious.

  Since I’m here, I might as well get a snack, something sweet to go along with my cancer causing indulgence, and a coffee. I need to get a new coffee maker. That cappuccino machine is really more trouble than it’s worth. As I’m stirring my sugars and creamer into the dark liquid, the door beeps again. I don’t look up to see who’s just wandered in. If I can get out of here without being recognized by anyone else that would be just swell.

  “Whaddya say, Kelly?” A deep, cheerful voice asks.

  “Not a whole lot. Merry Christmas.”

  “Right back at ya. That coffee fresh?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  I’m just about to fix the plastic lid on my styrofoam cup when a tall, lanky man dressed in dark blue sidles up to me. When I look up, I’m confronted with a familiar, freckled face I’d hoped to never encounter again.

  “Well, howdy there, Ms Sinclair.”

  “Howdy…” I lean over to read his name tag. “Officer O’Sullivan. Long time no see.”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “I can’t complain.” My face warms. “Better than last time we saw one another.”

  “I didn’t notice your Veyron parked out there anywhere.”

  “I figured that was a bit more car than a girl like me can handle.”

  The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen as he smiles wide. “From what rookie said, you were handling it just fine at about eighty miles an hour.”

  I laugh. “Rookie?”

  “Your old buddy Gabe. I’m not really supposed to call him that anymore since he’s not low man on the totem pole nowadays, but he’ll always be rookie in my heart.”

  I feel my mouth forming a smile. “I bet he loves that.”

  “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He grins down at me. “You must have all kinds of stories about him. Gimme something good. I love messing with that boy.”

  I shake my head. “Gabe? Nah, he was always nice.”

  “Aw, man. That’s what Kelly up there said. She said he was a little angel.”

  “What did I say?” Kelly asks.

  “You said Gabe… Gabriel was a little angel.”

  Kelly bobs her head. “He really was. He was always a good boy.”

  “A good boy,” he mutters under his breath with a laugh. “I’m startin’ to think it’s the truth. How did you two know each other?”

  “We went to the same church.” I swallow the tiny lump at the back of my throat. “We were friends.”

  “You were more than that,” Kelly interjects. “You were sweethearts, weren’t you? I thought the two of you were supposed to get married?”

  Cackling, O’Sullivan smacks a palm against his thigh. “Hot damn! I knew it. You were the one that got away.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say that.” It was really more the other way around in my mind. After watching me melt down, Gabe is probably thanking his lucky stars that things ended between us when they did. “We were young. We were just kids.”

  “Hell, you’re still just kids, at least to a crusty old fart like me.”

  I roll my eyes. I bet he’s not more than thirty-five. “I’m not sure if you’re old enough to throw an adjective like crusty in front of old fart quite yet.”

  “I’m gettin’ there. I’ll be there before you know it. Well, if you two were gonna get hitched, you’ve gotta have some dirt on him.” He rubs his hands together in anticipation. This guy is a trip. “Something embarrassing I can harass him with tomorrow.”

  “A lady never tells.”

  “Speakin’ of ladies, my old lady loves you. She drove me bonkers with that CD of yours.”

  “I think I drove a lot of people bonkers with that one.” Including myself. Sinful was nothing but silly, smutty love songs set to a tune designed to get stuck in your head. Catchy hooks repeated ad nauseum. “Well, let her know to expect Sinful 2.0 sometime next year.”

  He waves his hand through the air. “Not that one. The other one. The one with all the sad songs. She loved it.”

  “She might be the only one.” I laugh under my breath. “I could barely give that thing away.”

  He shrugs. “None of it’s really my speed. I’m more of a classic rock guy myself. No offense.”

  “None taken. You can’t expect to be everyone’s cup of tea.”

  According to Brent, someone like the guy standing in front of me isn’t my target demographic anyways. I’m supposed to be catering to the 13-23 year old crowd. They might be more likely to pirate music from the web, but they buy concert tickets and merchandise, which is where the real money comes from.

  The problem with Imperfect was, it didn’t target anybody. I wrote every one of those songs for myself. The lyrics are words I would’ve penned even if I never planned to sing them. After my most recent commercial failure, me and everyone else at Arista wishes I had kept those words to myself.

  O’Sullivan opens his mouth to speak again, and got interrupted when the radio clipped near his collar crackles to life. “Dispatch to 251.”

  His demeanor shifts as he presses a button, and angles his mouth towards the radio. “251. Go ahead.”

  “We got a 961 at the corner of Main and Winthrop.”

  “Received. Responding from South Mountain Pass.” He let go of the button, and shook his head in my direction. “It’s Christmas day. There ain’t a single snowflake on the road, and nobody is out there driving, yet somehow one of these yokels manages to rear end another one.” He pauses to top off his coffee, and pops a plastic lid on. “I guess I better stop jabbering, and do a bit of work. It was nice seein’ you again, Ms Sinclair.”

  “You too.”

  He gave Kelly a friendly wave on his way out the door.

  “He’s a nice man,” Kelly says to me as I put my coffee, and cellophane wrapped packets of miniature donuts up on the counter.

  “Yeah, he seems nice.” At the last second I snatch up a candy bar from the nearby stand. I’ll start my diet on New Years like everyone else. I clear my throat quietly. “Can I get a pack of Marlboro lights, please?”

  Kelly gives me a small, stern look as she pivots around to grab the cigarettes. She doesn’t m
ake comment on my purchase, but she asks, “How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s okay. I think she’s doing okay.”

  Kelly nods, and gives me a total. I dig out my wallet to pay for my purchase. “I just saw her a few days ago. Me and Alvina Thompson, do you remember her? We both went up to the hospital to pay her a visit. She seemed to be in good spirits.”

  I’m halfway through sliding my card through the reader, when I freeze. “She’s in the hospital?”

  “It didn’t go through, Trinity. You’re gonna have to swipe it again.”

  My hand is shaking as I give it another go.

  “Yeah. I think she’s been there about a week she said.”

  Brent doesn’t get reports from her regular doctor, just the ones that do those medical trials. Why didn’t someone tell me? But I already know the answer to that question. No one told me because I made it crystal clear that I didn’t want to hear anything about her. My sister didn’t share that tidbit because she’s afraid I’m going to run straight back to a bottle of pills or liquor, or maybe that I’ll crack up again, require another eight week stay in the nut ward.

  “I’ve been busy,” I explain to Kelly in a shaky voice. “I’ve been out of town.” It’s a lie, but I am suddenly wracked with guilt. I’m her daughter. I should at least know if she’s in the hospital, shouldn’t I?

  But she’s my mother, and after the things she said and did, she should be the one to pick up the phone first. Not me.

  As I’m walking back out the door, a man about my age, maybe a few years older stops dead in his tracks to stare at me. Or is he glaring? I hold the door open. He takes it, but doesn’t go inside. He lets it fall back closed.

  God, I’m not in the mood for this right now. Does he want a picture or an autograph? Does he want to loudly admonish me for corrupting the youth of america by behaving so sinfully? I get that sometimes too, but he isn’t saying or doing anything, so I have no idea what he wants, and with the mood I’m in right now, I can’t muster up any concern to care.