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On Sunday, I pulled into the Venetian hotel and casino self-park garage twenty minutes before Carly’s vigil began. I found the Grand Lux Cafe within minutes.
The restaurant bustled with a surprising amount of activity. The hostess led me to the back of the dining area, where several tables had been pushed together to make a square. Three people had already arrived.
I waved to Yasmine, amazed by how young she looked without heavy makeup coating her face. An unfamiliar girl around her age occupied the seat next to her, gesturing as they talked.
My eyes moved toward the older woman sitting alone on the opposite side of the table. The mobile device in her hand, which she tapped at now and then, commanded all her attention. I wasn’t sure whether she was actually busy with something or just trying to appear as if she belonged here.
She had to be Carly’s mother. And although I still didn’t know what she’d done to alienate Carly, in light of her arranging this whole event I felt obligated to at least introduce myself.
I studied her as I neared. Her black blouse looked so silky I wanted to reach out and caress the fabric. It had probably cost more than my entire outfit and led me to believe she hailed from Manhattan rather than a smaller New York suburb. She would fit right in on the streets of that fashion capital.
As I inched closer, I spotted certain details that betrayed her age. Her skin wrinkled near her eyes and lips, and handfuls of gray strands streaked through her hair. She hadn’t tried to hide most of her flaws, perhaps sporting them as badges for making it this far in life. Or maybe she was just too tired to bother. Buying a good blouse and tossing it on took minimal effort, but applying makeup and touching up roots required an almost daily commitment.
I pegged her as mid-sixties, older than I would have expected from the mother of a twenty-six-year-old. She was also less imposing than I’d envisioned. Instead of resembling the tyrannical witch of my imagination, this woman just looked beaten, weathered by all her life’s experiences.
I still hadn’t decided whether to like her or not when she glanced up from her mobile device. “I’m Megan,” I told her. “Carly’s roommate.”
She placed her mobile next to her empty bread plate, stood up, and extended a hand. “Megan, yes. I’m Jan Fisher.”
I accepted her hand. From her firm grip, I gathered she shook hands often.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” she continued. “I want to thank you for calling me the other day and helping with everything. Caroline was truly blessed to have such an amazingly helpful friend.”
Her praise combined with the hopeful look on her face made my stomach tense. She evidently thought Carly and I had shared a closer bond than we actually had, and likely wanted me to now reveal all her daughter’s secrets to her.
She sighed. “I don’t know what Caroline told you about me, but we didn’t have the best relationship.”
Obviously, I thought.
“She was such an exuberant child. She wanted to see and do everything. Just preparing her for a simple grocery-store outing was exhausting.” Her eyes misted. “I had some other problems in my life back then that had nothing to do with Caroline, and I didn’t have the energy to really encourage her the way I should have.”
My heart softened. She clearly cared about her daughter and regretted the way their relationship had ended. No matter how badly she’d hurt Carly years ago, I couldn’t help but pity her somewhat now.
“I’m just heartbroken that I missed out on the last nine years of her life,” Jan said, clasping my hands in hers and closing her eyes.
I wiggled my fingers out of her grasp and took a tiny step backward. “I actually have some things of Carly’s you might like,” I told her, running my fingers through my hair. I had been struggling with whether or not to give Jan some of the items I’d found. Although Carly might have balked at her mother studying pictures of her smiling and laughing as if she’d never suffered through a bad childhood, my heart ached whenever I thought about throwing them away.
Jan’s face rotated toward me like a flower exposed to sunlight after a long, harsh winter. “Oh? I would love that. That would mean so much to me.”
“They’re at our apartment,” I said, mentally chiding myself. I should have thought to load Carly’s things in the car.
“I’ll stop by after the vigil,” Jan said, pouncing on the opening with all the force of a hungry cougar. “I would love to see where Caroline lived.”
I bit my lip, a knot developing in my stomach.
“I rented a car.” She glanced around as if mapping out an escape route. “I’ll follow you when you’re ready to leave.”
I nodded. At least I wouldn’t need to make idle conversation during the drive.
Jan took her seat and patted the chair on her right. “Please, why don’t you sit down, and we can talk about Caroline some more.”
I eyed the exit. I didn’t want to spend the vigil next to Carly’s estranged mother, each of us reminiscing about a girl the other never knew. But, unfortunately, not enough people had arrived yet to justify an excuse about wanting to sit next to someone else. I’d either have to cluster next to Yasmine and her neighbor, or plunk myself down in a sea of empty chairs and look antisocial until the others started showing up.
Deciding I had no choice, I perched in the indicated seat. I left my chair pushed out, as if failing to slide it back in would grant me some leniency if Carly’s spirit floated overhead to witness this betrayal.
Contrary to her invitation though, Jan didn’t attempt to engage me in any Carly stories. She merely folded her hands in her lap and threaded her fingers together. She probably felt as awkward as I did, I realized, feeling a bit sorry for her.
“So, tell me about your own parents,” Jan finally said.
I fiddled with the spoon included with my place setting. Somehow, she’d managed to find the one subject I felt even less inclined to discuss than Carly. “My mother died almost ten years ago from breast cancer,” I told her.
Jan cocked her head to one side. “I’m so sorry.”
“And my father left when I was six. I haven’t heard from him since.” I dropped my spoon back on the table and dared her to ask for more details with a glare.
She must have gotten the hint. She grabbed her menu and murmured, “Such a large selection here.”
A few more people gathered around our group of tables. Adelaine eased herself into the chair on my other side, an unfamiliar girl securing the seat on her right.
Adelaine touched her neighbor on the arm. “This is Keisha,” she told me.
The elfin miniature who’d taken root in my head during our phone conversation yesterday vanished. The real Keisha was cute, but looked nothing like the tiny sprite I’d imagined. She stood maybe five feet eight inches tall and sported an extra thirty pounds, not all of which could be blamed on the baby.
She also looked unbelievably young, although I was getting used to all these girls over a decade younger than me having babies.
I extended my hand across Adelaine. “I’m Megan. We spoke on the phone yesterday.”
Keisha smiled at me, but left her hands in her lap. “I remember. Sorry for not shaking your hand, but I’m trying not to move much. My cramps are really acting up today.”
“Cramps?” I felt a pinch of apprehension. Cramps were standard fare for non-pregnant women, but certainly couldn’t be a good sign for someone with child. “Maybe I should drive you to a hospital.”
She shook her head, her brown ringlets bouncing around her shoulders. “It’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Patrick checked me out Thursday and prescribed lots of rest. But I just couldn’t miss the chance to get out and meet some new people. I hardly know anybody in Vegas. I’d love to have so many friends that I never know who’s going to stop by my apartment, like on the Friends TV show.” She grinned at Adelaine. “I don’t know what I would do without my coworkers. It’s been very lonely for me here.”
Adelaine patted her companion on the arm. “That will change.”
“It hasn’t helped that I spend most of my time resting,” Keisha said, slumping into her seat. “This whole pregnancy thing has been tough for me. And to think I have four more months to go.”
I hoped she couldn’t tell how horrified the thought of having constant cramps for four nonstop months made me.
She jammed her hand into her purse. “Which reminds me, I need to take my pill.” She pulled out an orange bottle.
Adelaine swayed closer. “What are those?”
“Something Dr. Patrick prescribed.”
Adelaine grabbed the bottle. “What pharmacy did you use? There’s no label.”
“Dr. Patrick gave them to me himself,” Keisha said, snatching the bottle back.
“Dr. Cal always writes me a prescription.”
“Maybe I’m special.” Keisha’s forehead furrowed. “Have you noticed that Dr. Cal looks like an anteater?”
“An anteater?” Adelaine repeated, shaking her head. “He does not.”
“Sure he does. He has that long, pointy nose. And his eyes are so beady and black.”
“You’re crazy. At least he tells me what type of medicine I’m getting.” She narrowed her eyes at Keisha’s mystery pill bottle.
“Oh, it’s not medicine. These are prenatal vitamins. I’m supposed to take one twice daily.” She shook out a tiny white pill and popped it into her mouth before Adelaine could protest further.
“My prenatal vitamins are green and a lot bigger than that,” Adelaine complained. “I can barely swallow them without choking to death.”
“That’s because Dr. Cal is an old anteater who’s still stuck on recommending pills that were hip in the seventies. Dr. Patrick keeps up with the latest nutritional advances.”
“Or maybe your precious Dr. Patrick gave you the wrong pills,” Adelaine retorted. “That’s why you need a bottle with a label.”
Keisha waved her off.
Norma Rae rounded the corner and plunked herself in the chair opposite Adelaine. “Yo, Megan. Where’s the food?” she shouted across the table. “It’s two o’clock, ain’t it?”
I opened my mouth to tell her to unknot her britches, but before I could speak Jan’s eyes darted toward Norma Rae, and she said, “Oh, dear. I thought we could all order what we want.” She sounded almost apologetic.
“That works for me.” Norma Rae craned her neck and peered past us. “Ain’t they got servants in this place?”
Jan fiddled with her napkin, looking around as if the absence of servers standing at attention was her fault.
I leaned toward her, feeling responsible for Norma Rae’s boorish behavior since I had been the one to add her to the guest list. “That’s Norma Rae. Don’t worry, she wasn’t really Carly’s friend.”
Jan’s arched eyebrow asked, Then why is she here? I considered telling her we all worked together, but her natural next question would be where we worked. I didn’t want to get into a discussion about stripping with Carly’s mother. I didn’t think she even knew about Carly’s profession, and I had no intention of mentioning it.
I spotted Mike taking a seat on the other side of the table, feeling a twinge of disappointment that there weren’t any available chairs next to me. I glared at Jan for a moment, irritated by her role in this predicament. Then I felt mean for being so annoyed.
Jan smiled past me. “And how do you know Caroline?”
I turned around, noting that she had Keisha in her line of vision.
Keisha coiled her napkin between her fingers. “Actually, I didn’t. Megan invited me so I could meet some new friends.”
Great, I thought, sinking a little lower in my seat. Between my confession that Norma Rae wasn’t Carly’s friend and Keisha admitting she hadn’t known Carly at all, Jan was going to think I’d hijacked her daughter’s vigil and turned it into my own personal party.
“Keisha and Carly both went to Options for prenatal care,” I explained, feeling the need to initiate some damage control.
Jan spun toward me, one hand fluttering toward her heart. “Caroline has a baby? I’m a grandmother?”
“Uh,” I stammered, averting my gaze.
With the baby so integral to Carly’s day-to-day life, it hadn’t occurred to me that Jan didn’t know about it. Maybe I had neglected to mention it to her, I realized, feeling a bit sheepish. But then I immediately rallied. Shouldn’t Officer Sparks have informed her of the autopsy results when she’d made arrangements to have Carly’s body shipped across the country? Did he think her abortion wouldn’t be of interest to her own mother? And why wasn’t he opening an investigation into her death? What kind of operation were they running over there anyway?
Just as I was starting to build up some real indignation toward the police department’s incompetence and my wasted tax dollars, Adelaine said, “She was pregnant, but never had the baby. Carly hadn’t been full-term when she died.”
Thankfully, Adelaine didn’t mention her recent abortion. Burdening Jan with that disturbing detail while she was still struggling to cope with losing a grandchild seemed cruel.
I glanced around the table as the rest of the guests arrived, dreading to find out what else I’d neglected to tell Jan about Carly. I didn’t count her profession as an exotic dancer; that I’d deliberately kept secret.
A herd of servers dressed identically in white tops, black pants, and waist aprons approached in a stampede of determined unison, dispersing like dandelion seeds around the table. Each one clutched a notepad and pen, armed and ready to secure the most tips possible.
The closest waitress stopped near Keisha. “Would you like a beverage, miss?” Keisha ordered orange juice, and the server took a giant step to her left. “Would you like a beverage, miss?”
“Skim milk, please,” Adelaine said.
The waitress smiled at me. “Would you like a beverage, ma’am?”
My heart stopped beating for a second. Ma’am? Hadn’t everyone else been miss? I had been prepared to order a chardonnay until she’d asked, the sting of her inquiry leaving me to question my own choice of drink.
“I’ll have a martini,” I decided suddenly.
She jotted down my choice and moved on. “Would you like a beverage, ma’am?”
I felt momentarily better that I wasn’t the only ma’am until I saw she was now talking to Jan.
To stop myself from questioning when I had morphed from a miss to a ma’am, I turned to Adelaine to initiate polite, distracting conversation. “You mentioned you work in an office, right? What is it you do?”
“I’m an administrative assistant at an architecture firm,” she said. “Keisha too. We’re part of a pool of five girls.”
“Do you like it?” I imagined what it must be like to work while seated at a desk all day. The only jobs I’d ever had—from the person who waved advertisement signs on street corners, to grocery-store cashier, to exotic dancer—involved being on my feet. I wasn’t sure if the immobility would be enjoyable or inspire restlessness.
Adelaine shrugged then nodded, as if she wasn’t sure how she felt. “It’s okay. Most of the time I just type up letters and memos and stuff. I’d really like to go back to school and get a degree, but with my daughter and this one on the way, I don’t have any time.”
Having never aspired to earn a degree myself, Adelaine’s ambition impressed me. Unlike her though, I didn’t have any justification for my lack of academic pursuit.
“If you’re thinking about a career change, we’re looking to hire temps down at the office,” Adelaine continued. “With my maternity leave coming up and Keisha expected to deliver a few months after that, they’re going to be short on girls. I can let you know how to apply.”
“Yes, I’d like that,” I heard myself say.
I started to feel disembodied by the unexpected turn in conversation. I’d never even thought about giving up stripping, yet here I was asking someone I’d just met yesterday how to become an administrative assistant. I didn’t know the first thing about computers. In grade school, touch-typing courses were mandatory, but I hadn’t practiced much over the years and doubted the knowledge returned as easily as riding a bike. I didn’t even have a résumé, the best qualification I could note being how I was becoming quite proficient with Carly’s iPhone.
I wondered if John’s insistence that I change my act had sparked my sudden interest in an office job. What had he told me? You’re no longer believable as a college girl. The fact that I had never thought I’d been believable even four years ago seemed irrelevant now. Or maybe being lumped in with Jan’s generation under the category of “ma’am” made me realize I should be old enough to have a job that didn’t limit my choice of underwear. Or perhaps sitting here in honor of Carly, it dawned on me that I wanted to accomplish more with my life than dancing topless in front of drunk men.
“There aren’t any benefits though,” Adelaine warned. “And the pay is pretty low.”
“But I could keep my clothes on?” I asked, thinking she might have overlooked this perk.
She laughed. “Yes, you can keep your clothes on.”
The servers came back carrying trays crammed full of drinks. They circled around the table, depositing a beverage in front of everyone they passed. The only exception was Norma Rae, who one server had to pause near in order to unload half his tray.
A flash of irritation shot through me. Did she have to take advantage of Jan’s generosity? After my confession that she wasn’t really a friend of Carly’s, Jan was going to think I’d invited my alcoholic friend to the vigil for free drinks.
Once the servers departed again, Jan stood up and tapped a fork against her glass. When I saw she’d also ordered a martini, I sank lower in my seat and hoped nobody mistook us for twins.
“I want to thank you all for coming here today,” she said as soon as the individual conversations around the table ceased. “I’m Jan Fisher, Caroline’s mother. Many of you may be aware we were estranged.” Her focus alighted briefly on me, as if silently questioning exactly how many of the guests would know this versus how many were only in attendance because they were personal friends of mine. “However, that does not diminish my love or admiration for my daughter in any way. Caroline was a beautiful child, and I’m sure she maintained that beauty throughout the short period of her life as a young woman.” She paused and looked around the table. “We’re here to honor that life. Call this a vigil, or a memorial service, or whatever you’d like, but please, enjoy yourselves and treasure what you remember of my amazing daughter. Caroline cherished life and would want us all to laugh at her memories, not cry. As she only knows too well, life ends too quickly to dwell on the bad.”
Tears stung my eyes as Jan raised her glass and shouted, “To Caroline!”
Everyone lifted their own beverage in response—Norma Rae holding two occupied hands in the air—and chimed, “To Carly!”
The servers, who had returned at some point and been waiting from the sidelines, stepped forward to take food orders. After I relayed my pasta selection I thought about asking the waitress if she liked her job, but she was starting to look a bit harried and probably wouldn’t appreciate the impromptu delay from a ma’am experiencing a midlife crisis.
Conversation resumed as the servers made their way around, everyone becoming more animated in anticipation of eating. Some of the drink glasses were already empty, which likely contributed to the jovial atmosphere. Several servers retreated long enough to bring another round. I spotted Mike across the table downing beer number two before his waiter could even depart.
“Carly was an awesome dancer,” someone said.
My heart lurched. I twisted around, spying Georgia occupying the seat on Jan’s other side. I shook my head pointedly, but she was oblivious.
“She was?” Jan said, a hint of pride in her voice.
Georgia nodded in time with my violent headshakes. “She always came up with the best moves. She tried to teach me her signature shimmy once, but I could never get it right.”
Jan’s forehead creased. “Signature shimmy?”
“It went something like this.” Georgia stood up and bent sideways, lifting her right knee up to execute a kick parallel to the floor. When her foot returned to the ground, she started wiggling her hips, boobs swinging everywhere. For the finale, she hunched over to amplify her cleavage and stuck out her derrière. “But it looked much sexier coming from Carly,” she assured Jan, sitting back down.
“Oh.” Jan’s jaw had slipped open, but she quickly clamped it shut. “That’s . . . nice.”
“She worked fewer hours than I did at the club, but made just as much in tips. Can you believe that?”
Georgia obviously intended for this to be a compliment, but Jan scratched her head, clueless.
“Georgia,” I interrupted, “what did you order to eat?”
“Shrimp with spaghetti.” She snapped her fingers in my direction. “Hey, Megan, show Jan Carly’s signature shimmy.” She turned to Jan. “Megan’s much better at it than I am. She can do it justice.”
“I’d really rather not,” I said, flashing Jan an apologetic look.
Jan responded by grabbing her martini glass. I didn’t think she’d pieced everything together yet, but she knew something peculiar had just been divulged about her daughter. I sighed. At this point, it was only a matter of time before she learned about Barely There.
“Aw, come on,” Georgia persisted. She peered around the table then yelled, “Hey! Anybody here who knows Carly’s signature shimmy stand up and do it!” She leapt out of her own chair and held up her beer. “In honor of Carly!”
To my horror, Yasmine and Norma Rae pushed themselves out of their seats along with a few other girls, all shouting, “To Carly!” Some others chimed in with the toast, but everyone else looked either amused or confused—except Mike, who had practically crawled onto the table for a better view.
The girls began moving in tandem, their motions too similar to Georgia’s for me to convince anyone it must be a spur-of-the-moment joke.
I sat frozen while the girls finished their gyrations and returned to their seats. The entire restaurant broke out into applause. Jan downed the rest of her martini, pouring it straight down her throat. Mike’s eyes goggled out of his head.
By the time I pulled myself out of my stupor, all conversations had shifted to the Barely There gentlemen’s club. The whole table had joined in one big discussion about Carly’s profession as a stripper, how we’d all worked together for years, and, of course, her signature shimmy, which Adelaine insisted I teach her as soon as she got her pre-pregnancy body back.
Before I could respond to Adelaine, Jan turned toward me. I couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but she didn’t look pleased. “Caroline worked at a gentlemen’s club?” she asked.
I managed a nod. “She was a dishwasher,” I told her.
Jan’s eyebrows crept up her forehead. I could see all my credibility with this woman evaporating.
“You sure you’re okay?” I heard Adelaine ask someone.
Desperate for any chance to escape Jan’s unnerving gaze, I faced Adelaine. With any luck, I could worm my way into her conversation while talk of Barely There died down.
“I’m fine,” Keisha said, but her voice had noticeably weakened. “I just need to eat something.”
Adelaine glanced around, as if the servers might materialize with our meals at any moment. “Are you supposed to take those pills Dr. Patrick gave you with food?”
“Yes. Don’t you take every pill with food?”
“How would I know?” Adelaine said. “That’s the point of the label.”
A twenty-something couple walked into the dining area with their arms linked. The girl broke away from her male partner and sashayed in front of him for a moment before clutching his arm again.
Brittany loves ballroom dancing, I thought, silently replaying the table’s group shimmy.
I mentally thumbed through the Options patient files again. Adelaine, Amy . . . I didn’t remember seeing a file for Keisha.
Adelaine had mentioned being cared for by Cal, the other Options doctor. Perhaps Patrick and Cal maintained separate file locations, and I’d stumbled across Cal’s. In that case, where were Patrick’s files?
I glanced at Keisha, curious whether she knew where Options kept her paperwork. Maybe she’d noticed Patrick accessing her file during one of her visits.
“Keisha,” I said, “have you ever seen your medical file?”
She shook her head. “Do I have one?”
That’s what I’d like to know, I thought. “Options must keep a client file on you. They’d have to record every checkup, the baby’s progress”—I pictured her unmarked pill bottle—“and prescription or suggested vitamin somewhere.”
“I never thought of that,” she said.
She sounded so naïve I had to question how old she really was. I guessed eighteen. It struck me that I might be twice as old as Keisha. Technically, I could be someone’s grandmother. In fact, the longer I looked at these girls gathered to honor twenty-six-year-old Carly, the younger they appeared and the older I felt.
“You should ask your doctor if you can see your file,” I said, sipping my drink.
She stared at me with wide brown eyes. “Can I do that?”
“Of course,” I said, a spark of indignation blooming in my chest. “It’s your right as the patient to know your own medical history. This is America.”
“Yes, my right.” Keisha nodded, her momentum building until her head bobbed up and down as far as her neck could stretch. She might start belting out the national anthem at any moment.
I snapped my fingers and opened my mouth in an O, hoping the gesture looked spontaneous. It was one of my stage moves at the club, but I’d never really cared how convincing the patrons found it, figuring they visited Barely There for reasons other than to be treated to an Oscar-winning performance.
“It’s just too bad Carly doesn’t have the same chance to look at her own file,” I said, lowering my voice so Jan couldn’t overhear. I shook my head at the tragedy. “I bet her medical file could explain why she had to have an abortion.”
“If you want me to look at Carly’s file, I can ask Dr. Patrick,” Keisha said.
“Oh, no, don’t do that,” I admonished. A caricature of Patrick’s angry face loomed in my head, half doctor and half weasel. “That would violate doctor-patient confidentiality.” I paused. “But if you happen to notice where Patrick keeps your file, that information might come in handy.”
She shrugged, as if doctor-patient confidentiality didn’t concern her at all. It was just the type of apathy I’d been praying to see from someone associated with the clinic. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see tomorrow during my Monday checkup. I’m not sure how that will help, though.”
“I’m not sure either,” I lied. I couldn’t possibly tell her the information would enable me to zero in on one area of the clinic during my next unauthorized search for Carly’s file. “But Carly spent so much of her time at Options, and I feel like I lack a clear understanding of that part of her life.”
From Keisha’s screwed-up mouth, I didn’t think she believed me.
The urge to confide in Adelaine and Keisha surged through me, but I tamped it down. If I really was as off my rocker as Officer Sparks believed, there was no sense in unnecessarily alarming them about the place providing their prenatal care.
The servers reappeared, this time laden down with huge plates of food. Every portion was massive. Leaves reached so high in salad plates that the vegetables piled on top threatened to topple off. Georgia’s shrimp selection spread across a platter large enough to hold a Thanksgiving turkey. My own pasta dish completely filled the giant bowl it occupied.
The smell of marinara sauce highlighted the emptiness of my stomach. I scooped up my fork and tore into my food. Except for Jan, everyone else around the table did the same, all of us shoveling forkfuls of food into our mouths like savages. Jan only stared at us, leaving her own meal untouched.
“Your salad looks delicious,” Georgia told her around a mouthful of shrimp. “Aren’t you going to eat it?”
Jan’s face crumpled. “We never ate dinner as a family when Caroline was younger.”
“Oh.” The corners of Georgia’s mouth dipped down before she snapped them back into place. “We always ate dinner together in my family, and, let me tell you, it was no picnic. Whenever we had something good like homemade mashed potatoes, my brothers would dish it all out to themselves, hogging it so my sister and I never got any. Pigs, the both of them.”
Jan picked up her fork and poked at her salad. “I should have cooked a pig for Caroline and had us eat it together as a family.” She plucked a carrot shred out of the bowl and watched it hang limply off the tines of her fork. “Perhaps then she wouldn’t have left.”
Georgia leaned past Jan and looked at me down the bridge of her nose, her raised eyebrows questioning whether this woman was a complete wacko.
An avocado slice toppled off the top of Jan’s salad mountain, landing with a splat on the table. Jan started, dropping her fork into a globule of dressing.
Her eyes darted around, and she reached up to straighten her hair. Catching my stare, she said, “You likely know more about Caroline than I ever did.” Her tone sounded accusatory, as if I’d encouraged Carly to abandon her biological family all those years ago.
“I doubt that,” I told her, although secretly I agreed. I at least knew the little details about Carly that combined to make her a unique person, such as how she liked half a sugar in her coffee and bit the edge of her lip when she found something amusing.
Jan grabbed the sides of her head. “I wish I had known about my grandbaby earlier. I could have shared with Caroline my own pregnancy experience when I carried her. Of course, back then we simply gave birth when the time came. We didn’t have all the technology you girls use nowadays. The world has modernized even something as primitive as having a baby. When did everything become so complicated?”
Georgia pierced her entrée with a fork and held up a wad of spaghetti. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I sure am glad for today’s culinary wonders. Can you imagine having to eat raw mastodon every night? I don’t know how those cavewomen did it.”
Jan stared at Georgia as if trying to figure out what planet she hailed from.
“Anyway, you were talking about when you were pregnant with Carly,” Georgia prompted before stuffing the spaghetti into her mouth. I suspected she was using the food as a muzzle to prevent herself from contributing anything more that might prolong this excruciating conversation.
Jan didn’t need any more encouragement. She seemed to have absolutely no interest in eating her salad. “Caroline was such an easy pregnancy. I only had a scare once. But I had the strongest cravings when I carried her. Most of the time I’d desire something sweet. My doctor had told me not to overdo the salt consumption, and usually I didn’t, but that night I wanted something salty in the worst way. Anyway, I must have eaten too many potato chips because pretty soon Caroline was kicking like there was no tomorrow. That was likely her way of telling me to switch back to my cakes and candies.” She implored me with her eyes. “What about Caroline? Did she have any odd pregnancy cravings?”
“She sometimes had me run down to the store to get her hot dogs,” I offered. “Once she ate half a ten-count package in one sitting.”
Jan’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped open, as if I’d confessed to hiding in the bathroom cabinets so I could snap naked pregnancy photos while Carly showered. “Hot dogs? Do you know what they put in those things?”
“Um,” I hedged. Of course I knew what went into hot dogs: discarded animal byproducts not suitable for sale as meat or pet food. Everyone knew how disgusting hot dogs were, but Carly had craved them with a shocking fierceness. What was a good roommate to do? Sauté her a nutritious tofu dish instead?
“Haven’t you ever heard of listeria?” Jan continued, picking up her fork and squeezing it so hard her knuckles turned white.
I didn’t know what listeria was, but from the color flushing Jan’s cheeks I presumed it wasn’t desirable. I leaned away a bit, hoping she didn’t stab me with her fork.
I flashed Georgia a helpless look. This time she noticed my silent message.
She threw her napkin on the table. “Jan, enough talk about mouthwash. We’re supposed to be having fun.” She pushed her chair back and tugged on Jan’s hand. “Let me show you how to do the signature shimmy.”
