How to Bake a Perfect Life (45 page)

He nods.

“I worry that she thinks she’s savvier than she is, though. I mean, all it takes is one wrong move, and there you are with some bad man somewhere.”

His finger moves on my arm. I move it away.

He says, “You or her?”

I glance at him. “I know, it’s all mixed up together. The exile, the drama. But my parents, for all the mistakes they made, were always behind me. In my corner. What must it be like to have your parents really abandon you?”

“She’s a strong kid. I’ve watched her. She’s smart and astute and really good at getting her needs met. We’ll find her, bring her back. She’s going to be okay.”

“It was a dozen little missteps, you know? She felt betrayed by my mother going to San Antonio, then I let her down over the
flower show, and then I didn’t tell her the truth when I should have.” I look at him. “You know, no matter how hard you try, it’s hard to be a good parent. You always drop the ball somewhere.”

His eyes cloud. “Ethan was always so sick.”

“I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”

“No, it wasn’t. I hate when people tiptoe around it. It was hard to be a good parent to him, too. Hard to discipline him, and Claire, my ex, wouldn’t.”

“That is hard.”

After a minute he says, “You know I’m not the enemy, right?”

I look at him. “Yes. That doesn’t mean I think this is a good idea or that it’s working out or—”

His chuckle surprises me. “It doesn’t have to be decided today.”

My phone rings. “Answer that, will you?”

“Hello,” he says, “this is Ramona’s phone. She’s driving. Can I help you?” He listens for a minute, but I hear Sofia’s voice, anxious and loud. Signaling, I head for the side of the road. “Hold on,” Jonah says. “She’s pulling over.”

When I’m stopped, he hands me the phone. “Hi, Sofia. What’s going on?”

“Where the hell is Katie? I had the weirdest email from her, and it sounds dire. I thought you weren’t going to tell her about Oscar?”

“Her mother told her.”

“How did her mother find out?”

“Through the grapevine somehow. I don’t know. And because I didn’t tell her, she has taken off, probably to go see her loser mother.”

“She ran
away
, Mom? How could you let that happen?”

“I didn’t
let
it happen. She’s thirteen. Her mother is a crackhead and her dad is grievously injured and she feels betrayed on about a thousand fronts.”

“But you were in charge of her!”

“Sofia! I’ll thank you to lose that tone. I’m in the car, I’m on my way to El Paso, and I’m doing the best I can with a lousy situation.”

“Sorry, but I am nine months pregnant and my life isn’t the greatest, either, okay?”

“I don’t want to have a fight.”

“No, I know. Sorry.” She sounds exhausted. “Why do you think she’s going to El Paso?”

“I found some emails from her mom, trying to get her to go down there. I need addresses, phone numbers, anything you can give me. Do you know where her mom is in rehab?”

“I can get all of that. Damn it, I’m so mad at Oscar for this!”

The car is running under my feet. I turn it off to save gas. Lifting my hand to the back of my neck, I move my head back and forth to loosen it. “Me, too. But that won’t help, either. I have to find her, and that means I can’t be on the phone with you.”

“Wait. Who’s with you?”

I look at him flipping through a heavy CD case. “My friend Jonah.”

“The sweater guy?”

He looks up and I realize he can hear her. “Yes,” I say, meeting his eyes. “The sweater guy.”

He smiles, and it hits me in the solar plexus. I want to cry and make love and hit him and scream and about a hundred other things. I bow my head, breaking away from his gaze. “Sofia, I have to go now. Get all those addresses and numbers together and then call me back.”

“I will.”

When I hang up, Jonah says, “The sweater guy?”

“I kept your sweater. It was with a bunch of stuff she used to like to go through.”

“I don’t remember a sweater.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He takes my hand. “Tell me.”

“I wasn’t planning to go to the shop, but I got stuck in a rainstorm. I was soaked when I came in, and you loaned me your sweater.” I bend my head, feeling shy and silly. “It was—”

“I remember.”

From here, those days seem so innocent. So much easier than this. I don’t laugh. I can’t look at him.

“Maybe I should drive for a while.”

“Done. Merlin probably wants a potty break, too.” I get out of the car and leash him, then walk him into the wide field beneath the bowl of New Mexico sky. Happy and sad, lost and found.

Let me find her
, I think.
Keep her safe until I do
.

Katie

  W
hen the bus pulls into El Paso, the sun is overhead and it’s hot outside. Katie washes her face, changes into a pair of shorts, and heads for the city bus terminal.

She’s tired in a way she’d forgotten about. Her shoulders ache, her eyes are grainy and dry from so much crying yesterday, and she’s really hungry but not for junk food. Looking around, she sees a sandwich shop, which isn’t open, and a diner and a convenience store. She ducks into the store and finds an apple and a banana and some pretzels. Later she’ll eat with her mom, maybe. At a Village Inn or someplace like that, where they can have eggs and pancakes for lunch, the way they used to.

The bus maps here are familiar to her, and she’s visited her mom at this rehab before, so she finds the right bus, pays the fare, and sits down. The city looks worn out, something she never noticed before. It’s dusty and colorless and crowded, and it makes her feel lonely.

Why did she do this? What was she thinking? She doesn’t want to see her mother. She doesn’t want to live in El Paso anymore. She’s mad, sure, but not mad enough that she wants to get swept into the foster-care system and lose everything she had.

Merlin! Her stomach sinks as she thinks of him. Her own special dog. Her
dog
. How could she have left him?

Tears choke her as a picture of his face moves over her imagination. She presses her fist really hard against the bottom of her jaw to keep from crying.

And then there is the bus stop. The one she remembers from before. She sits there for a minute, but when the bus starts to move again, she leaps up. “Wait! This is my stop! Sorry.”

She’s come this far. She might as well see it through.

Sofia’s Journal

J
ULY
14, 20—

It’s hot. My back is killing me. I’m thinking about Katie, wondering where the heck she might be. My grandmother went to the hospital chapel and lit a bunch of candles
.

I marched into Oscar’s room and told him that Katie had run away, that she found out that he had tried to kill himself. He looked shocked. “She ran away? Where is she?”

“They don’t know.” I had to sit down, because my belly makes my back sway so much it’s hard to stand straight. “Probably to see her crazy mother.”

“Jesus,” he said, and it was the first time I’ve heard anything real out of him since he woke up. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah.” I was sitting there, rubbing my lower back with a fist, trying to get the knots out, and the baby was making a slow, hard turn that felt like a giant drum moving inside me
.

“Sofia,” he said, “I can’t see you when you’re sitting down.”

“Yeah, well, my back hurts. You have to talk without seeing me.”

“Baby.” He held up one arm. “Please.”

So I stood up, because that’s me, Ms. Nice Guy, and Oscar, my big strong husband, had tears in his eyes. I put my hand in his and he said, finally, “I’m sorry.” He brought my hand to his mouth. “I’m so, so sorry.
”

I kissed his fingers back. “We’ll get through all of it, Oscar. Together. Okay?”

He nodded, and then I had to sit back down because my back was killing me. And now I’ve got to go find somebody, because it’s hurting in a way I don’t think I can handle for very much longer. Maybe there’s some drug they can give me
.

Ow!

Katie

  T
here’s some paperwork to get through, but Katie doesn’t care. She’s really sick to her stomach and knows this was the stupidest idea she’s ever had, but her mom is right on the other side of that door and she has to see her now, doesn’t she?

So she leans against her backpack, watching some Spanish soap opera. The door buzzes and then the room fills up with her mom. “Katie! Baby!” she yells, running forward.

Her voice is as loud as ever, but when Katie sees how much better her mom looks, her heart flips over and over, and she jumps up. “Mom!”

They hug, hard, hard, hard, right in the middle of the waiting room. Lacey smells like cigarettes and shampoo and a sweet, airy soapy smell that must be from the care package they sent her. Her arms are strong, and she’s gained enough weight that she has a little bit of chest back. Katie is, however, a lot taller.

“Jeez, kid!” Lacey says, pulling back to look at her. “You’ve grown a half a foot since I saw you last!”

“Three and a half inches,” Katie says, and laughs. “Can you believe it?”

“You look so beautiful! Look at your hair and your figure.”
She steps back to look Katie up and down, holding on to her hand.

“So do you, Mom.” And it’s true. All the wounds and scabs are gone, and her hair is cut neatly at her shoulders. Katie can’t remember the last time she saw it this short.

“You ready to go? We only have an hour. But we can go to the park up the way.”

“Can we go get something to eat? I’m really hungry. I saw a Denny’s up the street a few blocks.”

“Oh, sweets, I’m sorry, but I can’t be gone that long. Do you want to skip it, come back tomorrow?”

“No, it’s all right. I can eat later.”

“Good. Come on. There’s a picnic table right by the river and it’s real nice. You’ll like it.”

They walk across the street. Her mom has an ankle bracelet on, which is why they let her go, Katie guesses. The street is busy, but they cross at the light and walk six blocks up to a skanky-looking park with hardly any grass and a picnic table covered with gang graffiti. “This is it?” Katie asks.

“Oh, have you gone soft on me?” Lacey says. She takes a cigarette out and lights it, blowing smoke away from Katie but looking at her hard. “It looks worse than it is. I like to be by the river.”

“Okay.”

When they sit there, it isn’t so bad. There’s shade and the water sounds nice slushing by, though Katie suddenly remembers there are probably snakes in that water, not like in Colorado. Her mom asks, “How is your dad doing?”

Katie’s heart goes hard. “I don’t know. I’m not talking to him again.”

“It’ll be all right, kiddo.” She smokes restlessly, her eyes moving all around them as if she’s looking for someone. Katie feels a little uneasy and looks over her shoulder. No one is there.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be in?”

“Damn, girl, forever. They want to keep me on this damned bracelet for two years, you believe that?” She puts out one cigarette after lighting another from the end of it. When she sees Katie watching, she says, “I know, I am working on it. There’s just not much else to do but smoke in there.”