Family Pieces (15 page)

“You did.” Addison’s shoulders and upper body hunched forward in dismay. “You’re supposed to tell me when you have to go potty, Adie.”

Addison finished paying for their purchases then fumbled to quickly cram the numerous bags beneath the already over-packed stroller. “Where’s the ladies’ room?” She asked the sales associate.

“Take the escalator,” she paused noting the stroller, “Actually, take the elevator behind men’s coats down to the first floor, then take a left. Look right and you’ll see it from there.”

“Thanks.” Addison hurried, trying not to inhale. “Lord, Adie, what did your mother feed you this morning?” Thumb planted firmly back in her mouth, Adie simply stared up at her.

They arrived at the bathroom and Addison surveyed her options. The stroller wouldn’t fit in a stall. The lounge area was immaculately furnished, but a lady sat there nursing her baby. She didn’t want to change a stinky diaper in front of her. “Ah-ha. The changing table!” Addison said, not realizing she was thinking aloud. She unbuckled Adie and lifted her out of the stroller. Addison locked her elbows, keeping her arms straight out in front of her as if to keep the smell as far away as possible. She laid Adie on the marble slab, hitting the back of her head slightly.

“Whhaaa!” Adelaide cried.

“Sorry, honey,” Addison said, rubbing the back of the little girl’s head. Adie fussed and wiggled her body uncomfortably. “It’ll just take a moment, sweetheart. Now where are the wipes?” Adie squirmed restlessly as Addison dug through to the bottom of the stroller. “Voila!” she exclaimed holding up the diaper wipes that were buried behind the mass of shopping bags.

“All done.” Addison lifted Adie off the rock-hard table and secured her back into the stroller. Adie seemed relieved. She waved both hands, repeating the sign language symbol for all done after Addison.

“You’re happy about that, huh? Let’s get out of here, shall we?” They rolled past the nursing mom whose look suggested that Addison had no mothering skills whatsoever.

11

A
fter class, Karsen returned to her apartment. Now that James wasn’t making his nightly visits, the apartment felt deserted. She felt alone, more alone than ever. The ceiling fan hummed against the silence as it circled on high. She made a cup of tea and turned on the television. Other than a rerun of “Oprah,” nothing interested her. The episode was about a recent book on the law of attraction. Karsen speculated about what she could have possibly done to attract the recent events of her life. In two months, her picket-fence existence had been kicked in, trampled over and all but destroyed.

She was desperate for something to do – anything that would distract her. Karsen remembered from her psychology class that there were stages to grief. She made her way to the couch, opened her laptop and Googled the word. Several links appeared. She clicked on the one detailing each stage. It showed five. She had sailed past the first – denial. Her mom was gone. James had cheated. There was no denying either. Anger. Yes, she was undoubtedly angry. God, was she angry. Bargaining, depression and acceptance. Acceptance seemed distant, she couldn’t fathom accepting the amount of loss she’d experienced in such a short time.

She sipped her tea. The hot liquid burned her tongue, leaving a rough, coated feeling. She set the mug back on its coaster and closed her eyes. In the midst of the weekend’s commotion, she’d neglected to call her father. Sunday calls home had become routine. So routine that she realized she should have known the mid-week call meant tragedy the instant her dad had called about her mom. She contemplated calling him now, but with the time difference she assumed he was probably already asleep for the night.

She refocused her eyes on the computer screen. The television still played in the background and she could overhear the dialogue. “You bring about what you thank about.” Karsen found it hard to feel gratitude. She felt shell-shocked and unsure about the future. She longed to rewind the past two months and erase them altogether. The only feeling she felt in her heart was bitterness.

Her screensaver flashed on and she circled her finger across the touch pad to clear it. She wanted to keep her mind occupied but had limited ability to focus nor the ambition to tackle any schoolwork. As she continued to surf, a “Create Your Family Tree” link appeared in a box above her open window. Pop-up ads – she hated them. Those annoying boxes continually wasted her time and bogged down her processing speed. Out of habit, she moved her mouse to click the corner X to close the ad. Her hand paused.
Family Tree
. She thought about it. There were only three immediate family members left. Dad, Brad and herself. Her grandparents had all passed away and her family never developed a close connection to any of their aunts, uncles or cousins.

Instead of closing the box, she clicked on the hyperlink. Within seconds, she was launched into
ancestry.com
, a homepage for a genealogy website. There were several links spanning across the top. Create your family tree, name search, blog, about us. She clicked on the name search and typed “Woods” into the open box and 5,190 records appeared. “Wow, I didn’t realize we had such a popular name,” she said aloud. She narrowed the search “Katherine Woods,” reducing the hits to less than 800, but she didn’t have the patience to ruffle through that many records.

She clicked the blog site and marveled at the number of posts. There were suggestions about how to research ancestors, links to other recommended sites, and stories and interesting family discoveries. One family linked their ancestors back to the Lincoln family. Karsen was intrigued. There were also stories about finding missing family members.

Karsen returned to the family tree link. Maybe it would be fun to learn more about her extended family. At least it would provide temporary entertainment and the service was free so it fit her budget.

Karsen called her dad the next afternoon.

“Hey, Daddy.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Is it Sunday already?” he teased, knowing she missed the weekend’s call. Her mother would have tried to call her, but he just figured he’d talk with her later.

“Funny. How are you? I just thought I’d check in since I was a bad daughter and didn’t call you yesterday.”

“Too busy for your old man. I get it,” he laughed.

“No, of course not. I had a really bad day. Did Brad tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That James and I broke up over the weekend.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, honey. Are you doing okay?”

“I suppose.” She knew her dad didn’t know how to handle emotional situations, so she held back the details. She also knew he’d fly out with a shotgun if she told him why they broke up.

“What are you up to?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, the usual. Work, eat and sleep. I’ve been taking the dog for a walk every night. It’s been good for us both to get out.”

“That’s good. Say, Dad, did you ever realize that your necklace charm and Mom’s didn’t match up?”

He paused, contemplating his reply. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to the charms than there already had been. He knew if Brad gave Karsen Katherine’s charm, she’d try to fit them together. He wasn’t surprised the topic had resurfaced again, but rather hoped after their argument Karsen would have let it go already. “Oh, I never paid much attention to those things, sweetheart. It was your mom’s family tradition. I told you before, I just went along with it.”

“So, you never tried to fit them together? Mom always said all the pieces fit. That was the purpose of them being puzzle pieces,” Karsen pressed. “I can’t believe I never tried to put them together before. I just believed her, I guess.”

“Hun, your mom loved Grandpa’s idea. You know she was a sentimental junkie. That woman never missed a chick flick. But, I don’t know the logistics of it all. Grandpa made the first three pieces. Maybe the pieces were too hard to match up. All the rest were made by a jeweler.” He didn’t elaborate further. “Well, I should get back to work, I suppose. Good to hear your voice, honey,” he said, anxious to end the conversation.

“Ok, Dad. Talk to you Sunday.”

Karsen hung up the phone. Her frustration grew. She didn’t know if she was frustrated not knowing the truth, or with herself for not letting it go.

“You did what?” Emily’s eyes ballooned open as she looked at the shopping bags sitting on Addison’s floor. She couldn’t even guess the amount of money it took to fill them.

“I said I bought a few things for Adie.”

“Mommy, look at me!” Adelaide waddled out in a pair of Addison’s high heels. She giggled at herself as she tottered around the living room.

“Good job, Peanut.” Emily smiled down at her daughter then turned to address Addison. “Seriously. Barneys? We can’t accept this. You’ll have to return it - all of it. Her clothes are from Target, maybe Carters, but not BARNEYS!”

“They’re gifts, Em. It’s okay.”

“It is not okay. Do you realize that kid’s clothes get pooped on, peed on, and puked on? Or if not one of the three P’s, they outgrow them before you get the tags off. You can’t pay that for baby clothes.”

“Yes I can. I did and I will again.” Addison wouldn’t budge. “Adie loves them. Anyway, if she’s going to model for my next edition, she’s going to need something to wear. I mean other than her ‘Tax Deduction’ t-shirt. It’s cute and all, but not exactly classy.”

Emily looked perplexed. “You’re joking, right?”

“About what?”

“You don’t really plan to use her for a shoot?”

“Well, yes. I mean, with your permission, of course. She’s adorable. I was thinking about an article on working moms – you know, the complexities of juggling both a high-powered career and a family. Adie would be perfect, and we’ll compensate her appropriately.”