Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus

by Dusti Bowling

  Dad drove me home after soccer tryouts. He had shown up when they ended like he’d never had any doubt I would go try out.

  What a know-it-all.

  He beamed and asked a million questions as I described every detail of the tryouts to him in the car. When we got to Stagecoach Pass, he opened the center console and pulled out an envelope. “I found this in a drawer in the steakhouse,” he said. He turned the envelope over, and I saw that one word was written on it: desk.

  “They don’t fit the desk in the office.” He opened the flap on my book bag and slipped the envelope inside. “Let me know what you find in there, Sheebs.”

  I ran as fast as I could to the storage shed, before I lost the last bit of light creeping in through the filmy windows. I slipped a foot out of my flat and opened my book bag. I removed the envelope and slid my toes inside. I pulled out a ring with two small keys hanging off it. I felt like I was playing one of those impossible carnival games as I attempted to slip one of the keys, held between my toes, into the hole in the desk.

  It finally fit and I pushed it all the way in with the bottom of my foot. It took all my strength to turn it, and it hurt the skin on my toes. But the key turned in the lock. I pulled the bottom drawer out and looked inside—another stack of papers. I pulled those out, barely able to read any of them in the failing light. But underneath the stack, lying on the bottom of the drawer, was a framed picture. I carefully lifted it out with my feet and laid it on the floor in front of me.

  It was of two red-haired women. They stood in front of the steakhouse, and they had their arms around each other. The older one I clearly recognized, the other I didn’t. But I could see my face in hers. She wore the necklace. And she was pregnant.

  I slipped the picture into my book bag and carried it home. Mom was already putting dinner on the table when she turned and gave me a huge smile. “So? How did it go?”

  For a moment I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Oh, soccer?”

  “Of course, soccer.” She laughed. Then her face fell. “Did it not go well?”

  “No, it went great.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I opened the desk,” I told her. She stared at me silently. “I found a picture in there. It’s in my bag.”

  Mom immediately lifted my bag off me and carried it to the table. She opened it and pulled the picture out. She studied it intensely.

  “I know where it goes,” I told her.

  We walked to the museum together, and Mom pressed the picture against the empty space in the wall: The Cavanaughs, 2004.

  The year I was born.

  Mom let out a big sigh. “After you showed Dad and me the picture of that girl, we worried maybe it was something like this. But we weren’t sure. And we didn’t know who would have . . . We even tried contacting the adoption agency we used, but your old birth certificate and any identifying records were sealed. They couldn’t tell us anything. We hadn’t decided what else to do about it, yet.”

  “I don’t know what to do about it either,” I said. “Do you think she knows?”

  Mom turned to me and ran a hand down my hair. “How could she not?” She put her hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “Do you want to go talk to her?”

  I looked at the older lady in the picture. I needed to know. And my parents needed to know. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I whispered.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  I looked up at her. “I think maybe I should go alone.”

  Mom nodded. “I understand.”

  I made my way to the steakhouse, the photo in my bag. I watched as Josephine took an order from a table and then followed her back to the kitchen.

  She noticed me as she placed a couple of burgers on her tray. “Whatchya doin’ back here, Aven?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’m awfully busy.” She pushed through the swinging doors back to the dining room. I followed her out to her table.

  I waited while she placed the burgers in front of her customers. “I need to talk to you,” I told her again as I followed her back into the kitchen. I could have easily walked away, but I wouldn’t let her, or my nerves, scare me off.

  She stopped and folded her arms. “Now what could be so important that you would interrupt dinner like this?”

  I stared at her, my heart racing. “I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

  She made a big frustrated sigh and led me to the restaurant’s little office. “Better make it quick,” she said. “I’ve got tables out there waiting.”

  I placed my bag on the desk, opened the flap, and pulled out the framed picture with my foot. It was heavy. My toes trembled, and it started to slip. Josephine reached out and grabbed it before it could drop. She slowly turned the picture over in her shaking hands.

  “I know you know her,” I said. “Please tell me the truth.”

  “Yes.” Her eyes filled with tears as she stared down at the photograph. “I do.”

  “This was taken the year I was born. And I found another picture. When she was my age. She looked just like me. She’s my mother, isn’t she?”

  Josephine nodded.

  “And you’re both Cavanaughs,” I said.

  She nodded again. “Yes,” she whispered. “She was my daughter.”

  “That means . . . you’re my grandmother.”

  She looked up at me from the picture. “I am.”

  “Is that why I’m here now? Are you the one who brought us here?”

  “You’re here because I just wanted to see you. To meet you.”

  I shook my head. “What for? Were you ever going to tell me?”

  “No.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m so confused. So where is she anyway? Is she somewhere around here?”

  “She’s gone,” Josephine said. “Died a few weeks after you were born.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. I had always assumed my parents had given me up because of my disability. I had never considered that my mother had died.

  “I told her it was too soon to do a show, but she wouldn’t listen to anyone. No one ever told her she couldn’t do something.” She wiped at her eyes. “No, sir,” she added in a whisper. “We think she had a dizzy spell because it was so unlike her to fall off a horse like that.”

  I bit my lip. “I’m sorry.”

  Josephine shook her head and waved a hand in the air.

  “What about my father?” I asked.

  Josephine shrugged. “Don’t know. Aven never told me who it was. You see, she always wanted a baby but never did find anyone she wanted to marry. She was getting older, and I guess she decided to take things into her own hands. She said I did it all on my own and she could, too. She was always like that—take charge, do everything on her own, no one tell her otherwise. She’s the one who named you Aven.” Josephine laughed. “She said men do it all the time. Why shouldn’t her daughter be Aven, too? She was a firecracker.

  “When she died, I didn’t know what to do. I was gettin’ on in years already and had this park to look after. I didn’t think I could provide the attention and care a baby like you needed. So I thought it would be best to let a nice family adopt you.”

  “So you just let me go,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “Into the foster care system for two years.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t think that would happen. All I thought was that a nice, loving family would want to adopt a baby like you.”

  “A baby like me,” I repeated.

  She shook her head. “Oh, I’m saying everything all wrong.”

  I sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. You were right— a nice, loving family did adopt me, and that’s all that matters. So how’d you find us anyway?”

  “Well, I never could stop thinking about you, wondering how you was doing.” She looked down at the desk, her cheeks turning pink. “So I, uh, hired someone to find you some years back.” She looked up a
t me like she was checking on my reaction and then looked away again. “He’s been, uh, giving me regular reports about what’s been going on with you.”

  “So you’ve been stalking us?” I cried.

  “No, no, no, no, no. Not stalking. Just checking to make sure y’all was okay. That’s how I found out your daddy had been out of work for a while and y’all was about to lose your house.”

  “We were?” I asked, surprised at the information.

  “Of course they didn’t tell you. They’re good parents.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, they are.”

  “So I got this plan forming in my head to ask your daddy to apply for this job. I hadn’t been managing the park for years. I just couldn’t do it after . . . ” She looked down at the picture. “Anyway, I prefer to be in the restaurant just working, keeping an eye on things. Sort of secret-like. My old park manager didn’t have anything under his hat but hair, so I was relieved to see your daddy had worked as a restaurant manager. I thought it was worth a shot. I didn’t know if he’d apply. I’m glad he did.”

  “How come he doesn’t know you’re the owner?”

  “Oh, I go by Joe Cavanaugh for all my business dealings, but around here I’m Josephine Oakley. Gives me an air of mystery, don’t you think?”

  I stared at her, not exactly sure what to think.

  “If they all knew who I was, they’d be bothering me about every little thing like they used to. I just couldn’t handle that anymore. Only my accountant, Gary, knows the truth. I prefer it that way.” She ran a hand through her dyed red hair. “And Henry, but his mind’s goin’. No one else around here worked back when Aven was here, and I thought I did a good job of making sure no one would ever know who I was.” She smiled at me. “I should’ve known you’d figure it out, smart as you are. Just like her.”

  I took a deep breath. “So what now? Do you expect me to call you grandma or something?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no. I never even planned on telling you who I was. I’m leaving Stagecoach Pass. It’s time for me to retire. Over eighty years old and still working like a dog. Stick a fork in me; I’m done.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “The Golden Sunset Retirement Community about five miles from here.” She nodded. “Yeah, they have a swimmin’ pool and mediocre cafeteria food. I guess it’ll do.” She stared at me. “I don’t expect you to want me in your life. I’m just glad to know y’all are doing okay now.”

  “What are you going to do with Stagecoach Pass?” I asked, worried my parents would be left without jobs again.

  “Well, it’s yours.”

  I stood up straight. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you own it. Right now it’s under your parents’ control, but when you turn eighteen, it’s all yours to do with as you please.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “You’re my only family. It’s all I can do for you.”

  “This land is worth a lot of money.” I stuck my chin out. “Maybe I should just sell it and leave.”

  “You can do that if it’s what you want.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “No. No, I don’t think I will. I kind of like it here.”

  “Aven liked it here, too. You know she used to play the guitar and sing? She used to do shows here for people.”

  “I play the guitar, too.”

  She smiled. “I’m not surprised.”

  “So, Aven—she was a performer?”

  “Oh, yeah. She didn’t just sing with her guitar. She rode horses in the rodeos. She loved being the center of attention.”

  “Tell me something else about her.”

  Josephine grinned. “She loved tarantulas.”

  It was a lovely, perfect evening as I kicked the row of soccer balls into the net one by one. I really was starting to like Arizona—the constant sunshine, the smell of orange blossoms in the air, the soft green grass I walked on barefoot whenever I could. And the beautiful sunsets. I gazed up at the evening sky after I kicked the last ball into the net. It looked like it had been painted with watercolors of pink, orange, and purple. I sighed.

  “Nice work, Green,” Coach Fuller called. I ran over to Jessica, and we worked on moving the ball back and forth between us as the other girls took their turns at the net.

  “We’re going to have a team kick-off party at my house this weekend,” Jessica said breathlessly as we worked. “Wanna come?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Should I bring anything?”

  “Mmmm . . . ” Jessica paused with her foot on the ball. “How about some soda?”

  “Okay. And do you think you might come to the festival?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m pretty sure most of the team is planning on it.”

  “Good job today, girls,” Coach Fuller said.

  I checked the watch around my ankle. “Wow. That flew by. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jessica looked past me and didn’t answer. I turned around when I heard a bark and spotted Connor standing at the edge of the field. “Is he your friend?” she asked.

  Connor raised his hand in a wave, and I smiled. “Yeah,” I said. “He’s my best friend.”

  She kicked the ball to me as she grinned and raised her eyebrows. “He’s cute,” she said and ran off to join the other girls headed to the locker room.

  I let out a breathy laugh and walked over to Connor. I stopped about three feet from him. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He looked down at his feet then back up at me. “You made the soccer team.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “And you made a new friend.” He gestured toward Jessica, still walking back to the locker room with everyone else.

  I glanced at her then turned my attention back to Connor. “Yeah.” I studied the painful look on his face. “But I miss my old friend.”

  Connor smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “Just home. I decided I was never coming back to school.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “You,” he said. “And my mom. She told me to get my butt out of bed yesterday. I thought she was going to drive me to school, but instead she called into work and we spent the day together.”

  “You did?”

  Connor nodded. “Yeah, we even went out for dinner.”

  “Seriously? At a real restaurant?”

  “Yeah. Well, sort of. We got take-out and ate it in a park. But still.”

  “But still,” I said. “It’s a good start.” We stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Josephine, the lady who works in the steakhouse—she’s my grandmother.”

  His mouth hung open. “What?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. She’s Joe Cavanaugh. She’s the one who hired my parents.”

  “Why?”

  “She said she wanted to meet me and make sure I was okay.”

  “So who was the girl in the picture?”

  “My birth mother.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died,” I said, surprised to feel the knot in my throat. Surprised at how much I wished I could have known her.

  “I’m sorry, Aven.”

  “Josephine gave me up because she didn’t think she could care for me. I guess she thought she was doing the best thing for me.”

  “I’m sure that’s what she thought at the time,” Connor said. “But obviously she regretted it to have brought you out here.”

  “Well, if she thinks she can just have a relationship with me after all this time, she’s mistaken.” I dug my cleat into the ground.

  “Of course,” Connor agreed. “She must be a terrible person.”

  “Well, uh, um, I don’t . . . ” Connor grinned at me, and I narrowed my eyes at him. “I see what you’re trying to do here. I don’t think I’m ready to forgive her for abandoning me.”

  “She didn’t exactly leave you in a cave in the desert. How old
is she?”

  “Eighty-three.”

  “So she was seventy when you were born. I bet she was thinking, ‘Holy cow pie. I’m gonna be near ninety by the time this here baby graduates high school. She’ll hafta push me in my wheelchair to the ceremony. That’s gonna be hard to do with her feet.’”

  “Your Texas accent is awful.”

  “You get my point,” he said.

  “Maybe I do; maybe I don’t.” I smiled at the ground, kicking at the dirt with my cleat. “Everything is really coming together for the festival. I think it’s going to be a big success.”

  “Anything you do would be a big success, Aven.”

  My cheeks flushed at the compliment. “I’m just sorry you’re not going to be there.” I looked up at him. “It won’t be the same without you.”

  “I’ll think about it, okay?” he said. “That’s the best I can do.”

  “I guess I’ll have to accept it then.”

  We stood there quietly for a minute. “My mom’s going with me to the next meeting,” Connor said.

  “That’s so great.”

  “Do you want to come with us?” He frowned. “I’m sure Dexter would love for you to be there.”

  “I’d love to be there for you. Not for Dexter.”

  “Are you sure? Because I know he’s so funny and all that.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “And he’s really not that funny.”

  Connor smiled. “I was also thinking maybe you could teach me a little bit on the guitar. See how it goes.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “My mom and I watched this video online about people with Tourette’s and how music can be almost like a therapy for them. It can even make them stop ticcing while they’re doing it. When I told her about you and the guitar, she thought it would be a great idea for us to work together on it. She really likes you.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “I mean, about the music, but also your mom. She’s getting involved.”

  “Yeah. Because I’m letting her. You were right.”

  “It’s because I’m so smart.” I tossed my hair back over my shoulders.

  “Yes, you are,” Connor said. “Even smart enough to be an astronaut.”