Carla thought of the one AA—or was it NA—meeting she’d gone to with her friend, Jan. Jan was clean now. Did the Twelve Steps. But Carla had spoken up at the meeting. “I’m Carla,” she said. “I’m an alcoholic and an addict.” She could still hear the chorus ring out, “Hi, Carla.”
“You just get well,” Uncle Carl said, reaching for Carla’s hand. “Your health, that’s all that matters. Dr. Adair will accompany you. Everything is set up there.”
Carla knew she was being railroaded. Everyone had turned against her. What choice did she have? She had to go. If she didn’t, they’d kick her out of the apartment, and she didn’t have money for another place. She figured she could get her hands on drugs inside. Maybe somebody in there could give her advice on how to face AIDS. After she got back, she and Bunky would still be together. Bunky. She’d have to let him know where she was, but first she had to get her hands on that stash. Where the fuck was it? Sara was right. She didn’t remember shit.
Sara was packing sweaters into her duffel bag when Carla returned to her bedroom. A suitcase was open on the bed, full of shoes, slacks, shirts, nightgowns, bras, panties. Her travel kit lay beside it, already zipped up. Sara looked up as Carla approached, dropping the clothes in her hands and opening her arms.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Carla said. “I was in shock. I still am.”
“Miss Carla, I am so sorry. Mr. Schiller convinced me that I just had to help. You know how much he cares about you. Then Mrs. Parnell told me exactly what I had to do. I worked hard on that list. You know, everything on it is true.”
“I know you meant to help me, Sara,” Carla said, going to the woman, taking her hands and squeezing them, “but I need your help right now.” Sara slipped her hands out of Carla’s grasp and started to pack underwear into the overnight bag. “Please, you have to tell Bunky where I am.” Sara started to shake her head, back and forth. “Tell him I need him and let him stay here, please, Sara.”
“I can’t do that, Miss Carla. I promised Mrs. Parnell. Besides that doctor said that you can’t have contact with people who still use drugs.”
“Come on, Sara, you’ve got to do this for me.”
“I’m not going to lie to you. Dr. Adair says that I’ve been an ‘enabler,’ that by protecting you, I’ve allowed things to get worse. I’m not going to lie to anyone anymore. No more drugs. You can’t get back with those users.”
“I won’t. Just Bunky.”
“No,” Sara said, this time looking directly at Carla. “I’ve packed his things. And I’m changing the locks. He’s trouble, Miss Carla, real trouble.”
Carla figured she could get word to Bunky somehow. Sara would get over this high moral ground, and become her supporter again. If only her mother were here, she’d make them all go away. Or Rory, who’d always rescued her.
“Sara, one more thing” Carla said. “And this is important. It’ll take hours to get to this place upstate. I need my stuff. Just to get by. I need it real bad. I thought I had some, but I can’t find it. Did you see it? Please Sara. After today, I’ll be in treatment. This will all stop, but I’m desperate, just for tonight.”
Sara shook her head.
“Please, Sara. I’m begging you.”
“Nothing’s left, Miss Carla. I flushed it all down the toilet.”
“No.” Carla reached out to strike her, but when Sara lifted her thin arm to shield her face, Carla dropped her hand. “You flushed my fucking life.”
CHAPTER NINE
APRIL 2001
Dan Parnell set down the twenty-pound bag of dog food and punched the blinking message button.
“Hi Dan, this is Gina.” Her voice in his kitchen? He must be delirious from a day pruning royal palms in the unseasonable heat.
“I’d like to invite you to my house for Easter dinner. I know it’s last minute, but Monica is going to be there too. Of course, if you have plans, I’d surely understand. But it would be great if you can make it. Three o’clock.” She went on to provide directions, but Dan knew exactly where she lived. In a Spanish stucco, cream-colored, one-story house with a red-tiled roof. In Fort Myers, not far from Lee Memorial Hospital where she worked.
Taking only enough time to fill the dogs’ water bowl, he reached for the wall-mounted phone. His hand trembled as he dialed the call-back number. He needed to react before he lost his nerve.
“Hello.” He recognized the male voice.
“Terry? It’s . . .” Dan hesitated, not knowing what he should say, “It’s your dad?” Too presumptuous. He decided on, “It’s Dan Parnell. Is your mother there?”
“Nope. She and Carrie are out shopping. So are you coming tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Dan said. “Will you let her know?”
“Sure thing. That’s cool ’cause I’ve got a couple things to talk to you about.”
As Dan drove across Alligator Alley on Easter morning, he could still see it in his mind’s eye, their tiny two-room apartment in Miami. How he and Gina had to rearrange the cheap living room furniture to allow for the two cribs. How the walls were so thin, and how worried they were that the babies would keep their neighbors awake. How it had all come to an end. The air conditioner in his Tundra was blasting, but Dan started to sweat. Would Gina give him a second chance? He reached up to loosen his tie. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn one, but he wanted to look respectful. He cranked the air-conditioning up even more. He calculated carefully when to take his last smoke, so that Gina wouldn’t smell stale tobacco on him.
Dan had returned to Lantana in January after his father’s funeral, mortified by the scene he’d made. For days, he’d simply roamed his property, talking to no one. His foreman stepped in and took over all the decisions about the trees. His only company was Lucy, his yellow lab, and Lucky, his black one. In the end, he decided to write to Gina. In that first letter, he groped to find the right words to express all the pent-up guilt, all the years of loneliness. He apologized for his embarrassing tears in Pennsylvania. He wrote of his pride, totally undeserved, in the children. About what a magnificent job she had done. He’d never been much of a writer, but the words that he’d never been able to speak poured out.
He had not expected a reply, but within a week, a thank-you note arrived. That opened the door. He wrote to Gina again, and she wrote back. And now he was on his way to her house for Easter dinner.
As Dan parked the truck outside Gina’s house, he checked the mirror on the visor, combed his floppy hair, stuck a cinnamon-flavored Eclipse into his mouth, and straightened his tie. In his anxiety, he didn’t notice the white stretch limo parked across the street. He grabbed the pot of Easter lilies off the floor of the truck and almost dropped it as he stumbled on a crack in the sidewalk.
Dan rang the bell, hearing chimes from within. The jasmine growing among the gardenias and azalea beds on both sides of the entrance sent out a powerful fragrance. He felt profound fright and intense serenity. Both at once. Both overpowering. Then Gina appeared, held the door open for him, and he stepped into a space loaded with flowers and plants. He couldn’t help but gasp. Gina looked beautiful in a lavender dress with matching sandals, her hair pulled back and held by a clip.
“Dan,” she said, “it’s good to see you.”
He pushed the oversized pot of lilies toward her and felt relieved that she took them.
“How thoughtful. Why don’t we put them in the living room? I know just the spot.”
He followed her across polished oak floors.
“Terry, Carrie, your father’s here.” Said so naturally, as if it were part of a routine.
Both of his kids appeared. Both had a curious expression. Dan wondered if they expected him to release a dam of tears.
“Hello.” Dan said, sticking close to Gina as she placed the lilies on a small round table.
“Welcome.” Carrie gave him a friendly grin. “How was the drive from Lantana?”
“Uh, fine,” Dan said, at a loss as to how to strike up a conversation.
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“And,” Gina said, “our guests are in the kitchen.”
“Oh,” was all Dan could think to say. He’d forgotten about his celebrity half sister, Monica Monroe.
“Monica’s in the kitchen.” Gina took his arm. “Can you believe it? She had a concert last night in Miami and invited Terry and Carrie as her guests, as well as her niece who lives in Tampa. So I asked them all to Easter dinner, and they flew in from Miami on her private plane.”
Gina stood so close that Dan could smell her hair. Her touch on his arm made his heart hammer. Could she hear it?
“And Monica brought her fiancé. Somebody a sports nut like you will recognize. They gave me the most beautiful bouquet.”
“Oh?” Again, this was all Dan could think of to say. He was a jazz fan, but didn’t have a clue about Monica’s kind of music.
“Dan,” Monica had been arranging flowers in a crystal vase, “I’m so happy you’re here.” She wiped her hands on a towel, and stepped forward for one of those social hugs. Dan forced himself not to pull back and to be gracious when she put her arms around him and leaned in to peck his cheek. “This family is still a mystery to me. I do want to get to know everybody.”
“Of course, you recognize this guy?” Gina announced.
“Uh, nice to meet you,” Dan said to the stranger who stepped up to shake his hand. Only he wasn’t a stranger. Dan knew him. But from where? Good-looking, casual clothes, hazel eyes, brown hair in a crew cut. Tall, with an athletic build. Why was Gina saying that he’d recognize him? Dan wasn’t into movie stars or popular singers.
Gina must have noticed Dan’s puzzled look and came to his rescue. “Or maybe you don’t? ESPN Sports?” She tossed out one more prompt. “Thursday nights?”
“Every guy’s not a sports fan,” Monica said with a wink to her guy.
“Pat Nelson?” Dan finally sputtered. “Geez, man, I’ll be damned. Yeah, I just didn’t expect I’d be meeting the modern-day Jim McKay.”
“Glad to meet you,” the sports announcer grabbed Dan’s hand. “Caught out of context, huh?”
“Right,” Dan said, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Pat Nelson, Sports in Review. Just last week, you interviewed Tiger Woods—the ‘Tiger Slam.’ Geez, I’m sorry.”
“And my niece, Jenna,” Monica interrupted. “She’s hanging out with me and Patrick this weekend.”
Dan held out his hand to a young woman with large hazel eyes and shoulder-length dark hair. He figured her to be about the same age as his twins.
“She’s a real sports fan,” Nelson said. “Ask her anything. Any sports trivia.”
Monica chuckled. “Jenna, meet Dan Parnell, Terry and Carrie’s father.”
Indeed Jenna was a sports fanatic and Dan detected a spark of mutual interest between her and Terry. But what would he know about kids that young and romance?
The meal provided both a leg of lamb with all the trimmings and a thorough analysis of professional sports, thankfully playing to one of Dan’s limited conversational strengths. It wasn’t until Monica and her retinue had left that Dan, for the first time since Gina had walked out on him, was alone with her and the twins. As Boney James played in the background, Dan sat on the sofa next to Gina, their bodies close, but not touching. Terry paced back and forth between the kitchen and living room, and Carrie sat comfortably by her mom.
“What’s with all the pacing?” Gina asked. “Trying to work off the dinner?”
“It was great, Mom,” Terry said.
“Couldn’t have done it without you two. Dan, did you know that the kids are fine cooks? Chefs, I should say, as in gourmet.”
“Mom, you exaggerate.” Carrie patted Gina’s knee.
“We learned to fend for ourselves while Mom worked.” Terry’s tone made Dan squirm. The kid had a chip on his shoulder. Who could blame him?
“Well, Terr, what do you think?” Carrie asked with a wide grin.
“About what?” Terry turned to give her a withering look.
“The gorgeous Jenna? Don’t forget that I’m your twin. I can read your mind.”
“What’s the deal? Are we related or not? Monica is my biological aunt.” He stopped and faced Dan. “But Jenna is the daughter of her adoptive brother. So there’s not blood relationship. Right?”
“I guess, but remember she doesn’t know about the Parnell-Monroe relationship,” Gina said. “So keep it hush-hush. Dan, when do you think the news that she’s a Parnell will become public?”
“Don’t know,” Dan said. “I don’t deal in family politics.”
Terry shrugged, then he and Carrie chatted about Monica’s concert and Nelson’s television show until Carrie finally excused herself. Dan took that as his cue to say good night and stood up to leave. Immediately, he felt the void as the warmth from Gina’s body next to his dissipated. But he couldn’t change his mind and sit back down, so he thanked her again and headed out into the light drizzle toward his truck. Terry was waiting for him there, half hidden by a clump of palmettos.
“Can I talk to you a minute?” Terry asked.
“Uh—Sure.” Dan shoved a pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. “Hop in.” He went around to open the passenger door for Terry.
“Let me get the air cranked up.” Dan turned on the ignition, adjusted the fan, and turned off the Kenny G CD.
“What did you want to talk about?” Dan was the first to break a long silence between them.
Dan hadn’t realized it, but Terry had two cans of beer in his hands—Coors.
“I don’t know much about you,” Terry said, flipping off the lid of one can and handing the other to Dan. “You didn’t say much in there.”
“I’m not much good at social stuff.” Dan shrugged, accepting the cold beer. “I pretty much stick to myself on my palm farm.”
“That’s what you do?”
“Yup. Started the business in Lantana nine years ago. I grow the trees from seedlings, harvest them, sell them, plant them, the works.”
“I never knew. Mom never told us much about you. Just that she left—or you left—she was never clear.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it was tough. Carrie and I were okay. Never knew you. Never missed you. But it was hard on Mom, raising two kids on her own.”
“How is she doing?” Dan knew this sounded stupid, but he had no idea how to communicate with his own son. What did Terry want to know about his past? About the Parnells? How much did he resent him for what happened twenty-two years ago?
“She’s the reason I need to talk to you,” Terry said. “She’s been through too much. You hurt her again—”
“Terry, I won’t. I swear it.”
“Hey man, calm down. It’s cool.” Terry took a slug of beer. “I just want to know what you’re going to do?”
“What do you mean?” What was Terry talking about?
“I mean, about my mother. Why do you think she invited you here today?”
“I guess because of—” Dan had asked himself this a million times. Curiosity? Did she pity him? Did she want the kids to get to know their old man? Or, could it be that she actually wanted to see him? After all these years? “I don’t know.” Dan lowered his head and began shifting the unopened Coors from hand to hand.
“Mom wants to see you,” Terry said. “Though I don’t know why. You never gave her one iota of support. You come from one of the wealthiest families in the world, and you offered her nothing. Us, nothing. Obviously you never gave a damn about us.”
“That’s not true. She wouldn’t accept anything.”
“Sounds like Mom,” Terry interrupted. “But what about Carrie and me? Never a word. Nothing. Sure, our last name. But never a hint that our biological father was one of those Parnells.”
What was Dan’s excuse? The truth: he hadn’t wanted to screw up their lives.
“Then mom gets a call,” Terry went on. “That attorney of yours, Schiller. Wants us all up north for the will. She says, no way.
Then Schiller calls again. Sends down a goddamn private jet.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Then we finally get a look at you and the grand Parnell family. The family that was too good for us. Too good for my mother. Isn’t that it? Isn’t that what happened?”
“All my fault.” Dan began to squirm. Of course, Terry must hate him. But what could he do to make amends? “What do you want me to do? How can I ever make it up to you and Carrie? Your mother?”
“You can never make it up.” Terry said, jiggling the empty Coors can. “Mom’s forty-five years old. No way you can give her back those years. No way Carrie and I can ever have a real father. You know what? Mom never even had a boyfriend. You know what I mean?”
Dan nodded, all at once feeling elated—and guilty.
“And now she can’t wait to hear from you. I know about those letters you’ve been sending her. What’s that all about?”
Dan felt like a child being scolded by an adult. “Look, Terry, the truth is I don’t know what to do. Yes, I want to see her and you and Carrie.”
“I have some ideas,” Terry said, reaching over, taking Dan’s unopened beer can, flipping off the tab, and handing it back.
“What are you thinking?” Dan asked.
“About your old man’s estate,” Terry said. “What’s going on?”
“When Dad died, he left most of his money to a trust. You heard that when the will was read,” Dan answered.
“I caught that much. Can you get that money?”
“Truth is, I don’t want it,” Dan said, uneasily, turning to face Terry. “I live very simply.”
“How about us?”
Where was his son going with this? “Uh, your mother—I mean, she never wanted anything. You heard what she said.”
“How about us?” Terry leaned in toward Dan and waved his hand in front of him. “Carrie and me?”
Dan gasped at the appalling truth: he had never even once thought about passing his inheritance to his children. He felt a sudden sense of horror. Why had he assumed that they would feel the same as Gina? Why hadn’t he reached out to them? They’re twenty-three years old now, he realized.
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