Building a Family

by M. K. Stelmack

  “You mean photos, or things I have to tell you?”

  “Whichever.”

  Connie breathed in and out.

  “I can hear you breathing, Connie. Am I really that hard to deal with?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I—I...could help you with the vows.”

  Seth hesitated, then said, “I can ask Mel.”

  She pressed on. “Really? Let’s face it, Mel has a bigger heart than both of ours put together, but which one of us knows what a woman wants to hear on her wedding day?”

  A longer silence. “You’re not going to feed me a bunch of lines and embarrass Alexi on her wedding day, are you? Because I swear—”

  “Seth,” she said. “I promise I won’t. I promise that you will only say what you want Alexi to hear, and I swear that Alexi will want to hear it.”

  “You’ve broken your promises before.”

  Connie pulled the phone away so she could draw a steadying breath and he’d not think it had anything to do with him, then returned it to her ear. “No, Seth. I’ve never broken a single promise in my life. It’s just that I don’t make them. But today, I am making you one. I promise to do everything in my power to make your wedding day one you and Alexi can cherish for the rest of your lives.”

  Silence. “Okay.” He added, “Not that I’ll hold you to it.”

  “Because you don’t think I will make good on this promise.”

  “Because,” he said tiredly, “I don’t think you can.”

  He was probably right. Still if he was willing to give her a shot, then she would try. “I’ll bring out the photos when I’m there next Thursday, and I’ll text you some suggestions for the vows later today.”

  * * *

  AT THE EXACT moment Connie was about to purchase online her maid-of-honor dress, she realized her shift at Smooth Sailing had begun thirty minutes ago. She launched off her bed and raced for the bathroom.

  How was she going to explain this to Dizzy? Showing up a half hour late was such a regular occurrence that it had almost become her new shift. She made it up to Dizzy by staying late and raking in the tips. But today, another half hour would pass before she’d get there, even if she dressed down and even if Ben for once broke the speed limit. Speaking of which, where was he? His presence usually got her fast-forwarding through her routine.

  Where was her phone?

  A bun. She’d twist her hair in a bun.

  Right, her phone was charging in the kitchen.

  She made it to her bedroom door before she turned back to the bathroom. Better plug in her hair straightener first. She raced to the kitchen to find the charger plug-in had separated from the phone. She swore she’d plugged it in. Okay, no phone. And she didn’t have a landline. No way to contact Dizzy or Ben. Or a taxi. She’d have to walk, which would take twenty minutes if she hoofed it.

  She’d plug the phone in now and maybe she’d get enough charge to make one call by the time she was ready to go. She hurried back to her bedroom.

  Pants tonight, otherwise she’d freeze. Her black stretch pants. No, her galaxy-print leggings! With her black boots. And didn’t she have that oversize shirt with black stars somewhere? A sort of starry-night theme. She shed her pajamas and yanked open her underwear drawer.

  The doorbell rang. Ben. Yay! She snatched up a pair of panties. No, a thong because of the leggings.

  The doorbell rang again. Ben knew the door was always open. What was his problem?

  “Come in!” she screamed like a banshee, hoping against hope that he’d hear. She heard the door open as she wriggled into panties and rummaged for a black cami. No wait, it was in her closet. Maybe.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she called. “I was searching for a dress for the wedding for hours, and then I checked the time, and yeah, Dizzy is going to kill me. I might not even have a job for you to drive me to.”

  There was a pause and then a very girlish, very non-Ben “Hello?”

  What? Connie thumb-snapped the built-in bra of her cami into place and slipped on Ben’s flannel shirt before peeking out the door. At the far end of the hallway was—no, it couldn’t be.

  “Miranda?”

  The girl shook her head. “She’s dead. I’m her daughter. Ariel. Remember?”

  Connie gripped the door frame, trying to process. Miranda, dead. Ariel, nearly grown, very much alive and ten feet away.

  “Of course. Ariel.” Connie choked on the ridiculous name. She had spent Miranda’s final trimester trying to talk her out of the name of the Disney mermaid. As usual, Miranda hadn’t taken her advice.

  Connie’s point was proven now. Never was there a name more unsuitable for the girl before her. No fish tail, yeah, but no singing, sweet-faced young woman, either. The human Ariel was full Goth. Black lipstick, black eyeliner, black hair shaved to within an inch on the left side and hanging in daggerlike sections on the other. She wore black jeans, a black T-shirt, a black jacket—real leather—and the traditional Goth black boots. Black on black with accents of black. Chunks of silver hung from her ears, neck and fingers.

  Connie blurted, “What are you doing here?”

  Ariel’s painted face was a mask. “Nice to see you, too.” She took in the stripped floors and half-painted walls. “You live here now?”

  “Yes.”

  She drifted into the kitchen and opened the one excellent piece in the entire house—a stainless-steel fridge with an ice maker and a drawer freezer. All the parts worked. Connie had bought it before her breakup with Trevor on a credit card she now battled each month to make the minimum payment on. Ariel popped open a can of Coke. “Okay.”

  Okay? Okay to what?

  “I’m staying here now, too.” She crossed to the kitchen island, where there was a bulging backpack. She picked it up and looked down the hallway. “Which one is my room?”

  Connie blinked. “Uh, don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

  Ariel’s mouth twisted. She reached into her backpack and took out a bright yellow file folder. Yellow was Ariel’s favorite color. At least, it had been five years ago. She flipped the folder open and handed over a couple of stapled sheets to Connie.

  “It’s Mom’s will. She says you’re to be my guardian.”

  Connie scanned the pages. It read nothing like the tidy will that her mother had prepared at a lawyer’s office. This was typed with weird fonts and riddled with spelling mistakes. It looked like something that a kid would pretend was official. Connie was ready to hand it back, except on the last page was Miranda’s signature and one line: “Your turn now, C.”

  This couldn’t be. It wouldn’t hold up in court. Would it?

  Okay, she needed to sit down for maybe a year. She eased herself onto the couch, the fabric rough against the back of her bare thighs. She patted the seat beside her in invitation but Ariel didn’t move. “So what happened?”

  “The long or short version?”

  “Whichever you want to tell.”

  “The short version is that she died last month from hepatitis because she used a dirty needle.”

  Connie’s chest felt as if it were in a vise. Crap. Miranda had become a druggie. “I’m so sorry, Ariel.”

  The front door opened. “Hello? Sorry I’m late. Big accident on the highway. I tried texting.”

  Ben, picking her up for work, which she was now—she glanced at her phone—fifty-seven minutes late for. Dizzy was going to grind her into cheesecake. She shot to the top of the stairs. He stood in a toque and snowmobile boots, the only man other than maybe her brother who could pull off the rough, outdoorsman look. The fact that he was not smiling, his focus clear on Ariel, added to the effect.

  “Ben! Something came up...” Ariel slurped her can of Coke beside Connie. “Uh, this is Ariel. Miranda’s daughter. Remember Miranda?”

 
; Ben, with his elephantine memory, nodded. “How is she doing?” he asked Ariel before Connie could signal anything.

  “Dead.” Ariel turned to Connie. “My room?”

  That was twice the grieving daughter had announced her mother’s death as if her own flesh and blood was no more than roadkill. It was on the tip of Connie’s tongue to give Ariel real grief but she resisted. A tough front hid a hurt heart. “I don’t really have another room set up, Ariel. There is the couch.”

  Ariel looked at the lumpy love seat as if it were a garbage heap. She regarded Ben with equal disgust. “Do you live here, too?”

  “No,” said Connie. “He’s giving me a ride to work, which I am really late for. I’m going to have to call Dizzy but my phone is dead.” She mentally kicked herself for her poor choice of words.

  “Don’t,” said Ben. “I’ll call Dizzy.”

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth.”

  “No, don’t. That will not work. Anything but the truth.” Great, she was making Ben into a liar. “Let me call her.”

  “That’ll take time you don’t have. Go get ready.” He paused. “Even though I like seeing you in my shirt.”

  Oh, no. “This old thing? I keep forgetting to give it back.” She tugged on a thread to prove her point.

  Ben gave her a look she’d only ever seen aimed at her. The kind that made her squirmy and warm all over. “No point after all these years,” he said. “I’d wondered where it went.” A slow smile curved his mouth. “I should have guessed.”

  Connie scratched her neck, the spot between her breasts, her upper arm. She caught Ariel’s expression. It was cold and...resentful.

  Of course. When Ariel had left five years ago, Connie and Ben had been together. No doubt Miranda had told Ariel that Connie had chosen Ben over them, and now they were no longer together. It must seem all rather pointless to Ariel.

  “Ariel. I—” Connie glanced at Ben. His special look had hardened until it matched Ariel’s. What was that all about? She focused on Ariel. “I have to go to work. Will you be all right on your own?”

  The motherless Goth pivoted on her boots back to the kitchen. “Been all right for five years now. Nothing’ll change.”

  The implication was clear. It wouldn’t change unless Connie did something about it.

  * * *

  CONNIE THUNKED MARLENE’S favorite beer in front of her. “It’s on me.”

  Marlene didn’t look away from the hockey game. “Go, go, go, c’mon, c’mon! Shoot! For crying out loud, don’t just skate around! Shoot!” Customers at the other tables joined her coaching with similar calls followed seconds later by collective groans as once again the professionals failed to take their advice.

  Marlene started on her free beer, her attention still on the game.

  “You’re welcome,” Connie said.

  “Thought I’d soothe my throat before you fire questions at me.”

  While Marlene was absolutely right, Connie was curious. “What makes you think I’m going to do that?”

  Marlene lowered the level of her pint a good inch before answering. “Because you always do. Remember the kid upstairs when you lived in that apartment? You wanted to know if your testimony would be admissible in court. Or the other kid you thought was homeless and you wanted to bring inside like he was a stray cat? Or the kid who came by in January with a Halloween bag looking for candy or packs of crackers and cheese? Each time, a beer. So, go ahead. Tell me something I come to a bar to get away from.”

  Said that way, maybe she did lean on Marlene’s position at child protection services, but always for a good cause. Like today.

  “This teenager—the kid of someone I knew from years ago—turned up on my doorstep not three hours ago, just before my shift started.”

  “So that was why you were so late. Dizzy was foaming at the mouth when she took my order. Surprised you’re still working here.”

  Connie was, too. When she’d skidded into the kitchen, Dizzy was working the fryer and only had time to deliver Connie a thin-lipped glare. Connie had beetled back out to the front and got busy, and she’d made sure she’d stayed that way ever since. “I’ve got a job for a few more hours. Anyway. This kid, she plans to move in with me, and as you know, I’m not exactly equipped for the job. I don’t want to throw her out, either, because she’s going through a rough time.”

  She glanced over at the customers moving into the booth across from Marlene. Derek and Luke. She tossed them a smile and a quick “I’ll be right with you.”

  Marlene dragged fries through the slough of ketchup on her plate. “Have you called her parents?”

  “The mom is—” How had Ariel stated it as if it was a newspaper headline? “The mom passed. A month ago. She was a high school buddy.” Buddy. It hardly covered how the two of them had once been joined at the hip. “The dad was never in the picture.”

  “Who’s taking care of her now?”

  “I don’t know. She literally showed up as I was getting ready for work.”

  Marlene gave Connie a quick head-to-toe scan. “You are a little underdone.” She pointed at Connie’s pink, flouncy top. “That doesn’t go with the leggings.”

  Connie waved at Marlene’s hockey jersey and unlaced snow boots. “You’re one to talk. Look, could you just tell me what my options are? With the girl?”

  “You’re dealing with a minor, right? How old is she?”

  Connie did some fast math. Her last contact with Miranda and Ariel had been five years ago, when she’d started dating Ben. Ariel had turned eleven that April.

  “She’ll be sixteen in April.”

  “Sixteen? That means—”

  “Hey, Connie.” It was Derek. “Do you mind getting us a couple of drinks here?”

  She did mind, but she pasted on her best tip-raking smile and strolled over. “The usual, then?”

  Derek nodded but Luke didn’t even glance up, his shoulders hunched. Uh-oh. Connie had worked long enough in a bar to know the look of woman-trouble. “How are you doing?”

  “Been better,” Luke said. “The wife wants a divorce.”

  Connie glared at Derek. He was shredding the napkin.

  “I’ll get your beer,” she told Luke, and because she knew he’d need something to sop up the inevitable pitchers of drink, she added, “And bread sticks.”

  Connie placed the order with the kitchen and was waylaid at three other tables before she could get back to Marlene, who had downed the beer and was coaching the Leafs through a power play. Connie prayed the Leafs would put one in the net so Marlene would be happy and talkative.

  When Marlene erupted in cheers, Connie came back to her with a second beer. As she passed Derek, she saw his phone light up with an incoming message. S, she read. Shari. What a jerk, texting with the woman whose husband he was buying condolence beer for.

  She set down Marlene’s beer so hard it sloshed over the top. “I’m not paying for spilled beer,” Marlene said.

  Connie mopped up the puddle. “Never mind. I’ll pay for this one, too.” Before one more thing could interrupt her, she rushed on. “The girl shows up with this bogus will that says I’m her guardian but it has the mother’s signature. Does that make it legal?”

  “Am I a lawyer? No, I’m just someone who’s trying to drink in peace.” Marlene swung her beer to her mouth and took a long pull.

  Connie dug her fists into her sides. “You never drink in peace. You are always shouting or talking or slapping the table or punching or something. Could you just answer my question?”

  “I did! I have no idea.” She gestured for Connie to come closer. “I think Luke is crying,” she muttered. “Do something.”

  “First tell me what I do with Ariel.”

  Marlene blinked.

  Oh, for the love of—“The kid. Do I hav
e to keep her?”

  “You don’t have to do anything. You of all people should know that. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be consequences, either. Another thing you know about.” Marlene locked on the screen. “I’m okay for now.” She chin-pointed at Luke.

  Connie picked up the bread sticks from the kitchen and walked to Luke’s table. She squeezed in beside him and rubbed his back between his shoulder blades. He was on the verge of tears. Derek looked as if he was sitting on nails, which Connie wished he was. “I’m sorry, Luke. She tell you why?”

  Luke blew out a shaky breath. “She said she’s tired of going through the motions. Found someone else. I didn’t even know. How could I not know? She’s my wife.”

  Connie’d completely blindsided Ben, too. Of course, he had had no reason to be suspicious. The only time he’d had reason to believe she’d been with another man was the night he’d “discovered” them together. A scene she’d engineered to drive Ben away. Which had worked better than any of the previous arguments she’d tried to make. “Because you love her and you trust her and because she is your wife. Nothing wrong there, Luke.”

  “Nothing wrong there,” Derek parroted.

  Luke picked up a bread stick, then set it back down. Chugged his beer. “The thing is,” Luke said, after coming up for air, “the thing is, at some point, I should’ve noticed what was happening. You can’t be that close to someone and miss all the signals. Can you?”

  Ben would’ve wondered the same thing. Not that he’d told her that. Since their friendship had restarted, they’d not said a single word about what had broken them up. In fact, Ben seemed determined to bury the whole incident, which wasn’t what Connie wanted. She needed him not to forgive her or else she might drag him down again.

  Just like Shari was doing to Luke. He drained the rest of his beer and Connie pushed the bread sticks in front of him. Instead of taking one, Luke answered his own question. “’Cause if I had known, I could’ve done something about it.” His wet, glazed eyes settled on Derek. “At least I got you. At least you’re here for me.”

  To his credit, Derek actually looked a little guilty. “No worries, Luke. Glad to...to help out.”