Chapter Twenty-Two
Not many vehicles were on the road from the Tumbleweed to Sierra Blanca on Wednesday afternoon. Since I could set the cruise control and let my mind wander all over the place, my thoughts jumped around like a sugared-up six-year-old kid.
What Rosie had said about giving me and Scarlett both the weekends off in the future was the first thing that surfaced. “Making babies?” I muttered. “Jackson has teased about a committed relationship, but I need to wrap my mind around that before I think about making babies.”
A vision of a little dark-haired boy holding my hand as we crossed the road flashed through my mind. I wondered how Julia would handle a commoner like me being the mother of her grandchild.
That picture faded and my mind went to how well Tressa had settled in just three days. She was meticulous in her cleaning, quick to follow directions, and as proud of her split of the tips as I had been in those first days. She had spent most of her afternoons in her bedroom—but then, she might have been so worried that she couldn’t sleep before she came to the Tumbleweed. A few times I heard her crying, but I figured she would tell us her story when she was ready, or maybe never. Whichever would be her decision. She seemed very excited to be included in the trip we’d planned to shop for a wedding dress.
Thinking of Tressa made my thoughts go to Rosie’s and Scarlett’s pasts. They had done very well in putting that behind them, but Tressa’swas still raw enough to make her cry. I had to put up with Paula, but never any physical abuse. However, if the Tumbleweed could cure my poker addiction, it could save Tressa’s heart and soul.
I had been driving along without paying much attention to the songs on my playlist, but when Ashley McBryde started singing “Light On in the Kitchen,” I listened closely. She sang words that came from a mother to a daughter about trusting herself and loving herself first and foremost. And she would leave the light on in the kitchen in case her child needed her. I’d never thought of that before, but vowed that if I ever had children, I would do the same.
“I promise to treat Tressa like you would,” I said out loud.
The song had just ended when my phone rang. Hoping that it was Jackson, I touched the screen to accept the call without even looking to see who was calling and answered, “Hello? The roads are clear. It didn’t snow as much down here as it did up where we are.”
“Carla?” a vaguely familiar voice asked.
“Yes, this is Carla,” I answered.
“This is Paula. I’m calling to tell you that Frank died,” she blurted out.
“Do you mean my dad or Frankie?” I was so shocked my voice came out in a high-pitched squeak.
“Frankie and Christian are alive and well, and mourning the loss of their father, as much as I am. That was very rude of you to ask which one—but then, I wouldn’t expect much from someone who chose poker over a stable home.”
“When is the funeral?” I asked, not knowing whether I should go or not.
“He passed away on the first day of January after a two-year battle with cancer. He wanted to be cremated, and his ashes scattered at the family reunion site. We had a lovely memorial with all his family, and we sang hymns while the boys and I took care of the ashes. I could feel him smiling from heaven. His sweet relatives told stories afterwards and provided a big meal for everyone.”
I braked and made a left turn into Sierra Blanca. “Why didn’t you call me before now?”
“I didn’t want you to be here for his sickness or his memorial, but Frankie thought we should at least let you know that he was gone. After all, you were his daughter,” she said.
I slapped the steering wheel out of a mixture of hot anger and sheer confusion. “Yes, I was, and—”
“I’ve told you,” she butted in. “Now you know. Goodbye, Carla.”
I was heading east out of town when I realized that I had passed the bank. I made a U-turn and went back, still in a state of numbness. Granted, I hadn’t visited him or called except on his birthday.
“If he was sick for two years, why didn’t he tell me? And for that matter, why would Paula wait three whole weeks to even let me know that he was dead?” I yelled so loudly that my voice echoed all through the SUV.
After making my deposits, I didn’t go to the little café or stop at the convenience store for a cup of hot chocolate. I did not listen to music on the drive back to the Tumbleweed. I tried to sort out my feelings, but it was impossible. Frank had loved my mother enough to give up gambling, and he didn’t put me in the system. The mere fact that I was his daughter should have at least warranted a phone call.
He didn’t treat you like a daughter, and he didn’t try to stop you from leaving when you were only sixteen,I reminded myself.
I still wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel when I parked my SUV in the space between the café and trailer. Scarlett had driven back to Dell City right after work, and Rosie had something that she took care of at the church on Wednesday afternoons, so my vehicle was the only one there. I stormed into the house to find Tressa sitting on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
“You look like you could either cry or kill someone,” she said and held out the bowl to share with me.
I took out one kernel and popped it into my mouth. “I’m dealing with both emotions, and I don’t know which one is worse.”
“I found a stash of movies in the drawer in my bedroom, so I’m watchingShooter. It’s only five minutes into the story. I can start it all over if you want to see it with me. It could take your mind off whatever is stressing you out.”
“Sure,” I agreed, then removed my coat and sat down beside her. I dipped into the popcorn and put several kernels in my mouth. “I haven’t ever seen this one. Have you?”
“Nope, but I researched it and it’s a kick-ass movie. That’s what I need today,” she said with more conviction in her voice than I’d heard since she arrived.
