Chapter 11

Mandy’s turn:

I think I’ve entered an alternate universe. Dunno where to begin. Started at CPS in Robertsdale, wound up acquiring a Dad and a sister. I was beginning to believe I was an orphan, destined to wind up pole-dancing, or something. I know all the stories. I know the stereotypes. When Grandma went into the nursing home, I thought all hope of real life had ended.

While I was at the foster home, being cared for by really good people, my case worker called me and started asking me questions about a ‘packet’ and Mom’s ‘wishes’ and things about which I had no clue.

“Mandy,” she said, “there’s a letter here from your mom that says she knows who your father is.”

I broke into tears. “Mizz Watkins, I don’t HAVE a dad. Grandma was my last hope...” sobs.

The lady knows how to be comforting. I’ve heard about government employees being mindless and uncaring. Not Mizz Watkins.

“Mandy, if you want, we’ll pursue this. I have avenues that can search for this man.”

“Some loser who was hanging with my mom...” I sobbed.

“Perhaps not. Your mom was doing good for a while...”

Mizz Watkins did MORE than her job. Came and picked me up one day. “This guy’s real, Mandy. I think he sounds like, much better than we dared to dream.”

“And we’re gonna dump a kid in ‘is lap and he’s okay with that?” I asked.

“Let’s go with ‘yes’.”

“You found a saint?”

“I found a real man.”

And I met Bill Carmody, big ol’ guy. Actually, that ‘old’ part? He’s old enough to be grandpa instead of dad. But I’m not in a position to be picky.

I met Tina, whom Bill, uh, Dad, introduced as his pilot and chauffeur and friend.

Things didn’t go off track. The track changed from a country railroad to a ride through Wonderland.

I got installed in the front of a plane, where Tina started showing me exactly how each gauge worked, and telling me why. Complex radio calls, using some odd abbreviations -- it’s in English, but just barely.

The last was odd, when she keyed the button: “3Sigma traffic, Cessna 6-5-6-7 Golf, two miles out, for North landing.” The response was, “6-7 Golf, 3Sigma field, no known traffic.” A GIRL’S voice.

Then: “6-7-Golf, Pilatus 0-6 Tango Sierra, six miles out. We’ll follow you in, Tina.” Another girl’s voice. Odd.

Tina said, “Mandy, that’s Cindy in the BIG bird, with a bunch of people coming to the wedding. Now, pay attention -- I’m descending to land, and just as we cross the end of the runway, I’m going to chop the throttle entirely so that we stop flying. Now remember, main wheels first, THEN the nose wheel.”

Now, a big bump, a little hop, then another, and we’re down and rolling.

Tina said, “Looks like a big crowd, Mandy. Get ready, because you’re going to get a LOT of hugs in the next few minutes. We have to roll over to the pump island, because this bird needs a refuel before we put her away.”

“Mandy,” new dad said, “this is family.”

And she taxied to some obvious fuel pumps, slowed, then stopped the engine.

And now, a very much larger, shinier airplane landing, turning, and taxiing toward us. I stepped out, followed by Dad (!), and got mobbed! That went on for a couple of minutes, then everyone started moving away to make room for the other (much larger) plane, which rolled up beside “ours” and shut down.

A lot of people got off. More hugs, more introductions (Can’t remember all the names. Maybe in a week or two.) Finally, came (obviously) Cindy. I recognized her from Dad’s and Tina’s photos.

Cindy, who walked up to me and stopped, with an odd look. She held out her right hand, and when I held out mine, she said, “Other hand, please.” So, my left hand, and she clasped it tightly, and SHOCK! I jumped to pull it away, and she said, “Nope. Other hand, now.” And she grabbed it with her left hand. Double SHOCK!

She smiled, dropped the hands, hugged me tightly, and said, “Did somebody say you’re Mandy? I don’t understand it either. We’re not quite twins, but we’re sisters, for sure. And you’re about to have more fun than you ever imagined.”

Dad – Mister Bill – stepped between me and the crowd. “Folks,” he said, “Mandy’s brand new here. Let me take ‘er home. She’ll be around as long as she wants, but I wanna get ‘er settled in.”

Cindy sidled up next to my Dad and me. “Mandy, seriously, your stepmom is MY mom. Your dad is MY stepdad. We’re sisters.”

I looked at her. Could be me in a few years, except I’ll never have THOSE green eyes. “It’s a good thing, Cindy. I’ll call you later...”

Donna’s turn:

Las Vegas is peculiar in some ways, but probably not in other ways. It’s entirely about entertainment. Casinos, restaurants, celebrity shows, bars, and prostitution. Yup, I know prostitution is illegal there, which means very little in reality. But all of this is entertainment, when you think about it. And I tried it out there, for a while.

No, I was never an actual prostitute, but I was effectively doing the same thing, one man after another -- trading my body for short-term pleasures and money. Nothing new there, because I’d been doing it since I was old enough to get away with it. Gave up my daughter to pursue it, which was probably the best thing I ever did for her. I was probably the worst example of “how to be a woman” that she could ever see. And I gave her away to pursue my misguided dreams.

Not many people get a second chance at life, but I did, somehow. The “somehow” began when I got a letter from Cindy, proclaiming that she had graduated from Auburn, as an engineer. At age sixteen! Made me look at my own idiotic life, and realize what I had pissed away.

For a while it didn’t make much difference to me. I can do ‘stupid’. ‘Friends’ will happily lead you along in their particular varieties of misery. For some of mine, that was the edges of a druggie lifestyle. Got into that. Got dragged down bad.

Coming out of it – rehab – the second time, I re-read Cindy’s letters. How did she get where she’s at while I, her mom, am as close to rock bottom you can be and still have a pulse?

So I decided to change my stupid ways. Got rid of the “bleached blonde” hair, the troweled-on makeup, the cigarettes (REALLY hard!), stopped drinking, bought some respectable clothing, and made the most difficult decision ever: started the long trip back to Alabama, to apologize to my daughter. And my second life began.

And just now, standing here at the door of our apartment, waiting for Bill to get back from the 3Sigma airfield, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, I’ve got my arms wrapped around another second chance.

I hear the truck drive up. I open the door. There’s my Bill and another second chance. Her name is Mandy. And she’s beautiful! And I can’t stop the tears.

My big ol’ bear of a Bill walked up with this young teen girl, and heaven help me, when I saw the red hair and the white skin and the freckles, I thought I was flashing back.

The difference was the eyes, bright, curious, hopeful. And blue.

“Mandy, this is Donna. She’s Cindy’s mom. My wife. Your step-mom, I guess is the term.”

“Hi, Mizz Donna,” Mandy said.

“Come inside, y’all. We need family space.”

‘Family space’ in our case now includes another redhead, this one a bit over five-two, blue-eyed. This is Elise’s territory as well, and she’s on her way into the room and, “Who YOU?”

“Baby,” I said, “this is your sister Mandy ... Mandy, this is Elise. Little Will’s napping right now.”

“NEW SISSER!” Elise squealed. “MY new sisser. Wike Cindy!”

“Yes, like Cindy, punkin,” Bill said. He turned to Mandy. “Too much all at once?”

Mandy sat down. “Dad ... Mizz Donna ... this is all soooo much...” her head swivelled.

The new Donna is a pretty decent housekeeper, although with TWO little ones and a part-time job, Bill forced me to accept a lady coming in three days a week to help out with housework. What Mandy was seeing, that’s something I’d never offered Cindy when I was younger and stupid.

“This is a very nice place, Mizz Donna,” she said.

“Thank you, sweetie. Wanna see YOUR room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Woom,” Elise said, heading up the hall. “Manny woom.”

She beat us there. I’d spent some time today moving things around, boxing up a few things, getting the room somewhere near presentable. Bare. But presentable.

“This is mine?” Mandy asked, Bill hovering over her shoulder.

“Manny woom,” Elise repeated.

“Your kid sister says so,” Bill answered.

Mandy looked down. Elise looked up at her. Mandy extended a hand towards Elise. Elise took it.

“Big sisser,” she announced. “Manny MY big sisser.”

“You have a fan, Mandy,” Bill said.

Now I remember being a kid that age myself, and I remember some of the feelings that might go along with having a toddler attach herself to me. I wondered what Mandy’s reaction might be. This could be...

Mandy turned to me, her face aglow with a smile. “I’ve always wanted a little sister, Mizz Donna.”

“Leese Manny liddle sisser,” Elise grinned.

Come on, Donna, you PRAY for things to be like this, so why do you get all misty-eyed when you get an answer?

Mandy bent over, spreading her hands, motioning. Elise took the hint. Mandy picked her up. “We’ll be GOOD sisters, huh?”

Mandy and Elise. Will, making stirring sounds in his crib, right now in OUR bedroom. Okay, Donna, this is the BIG family you said you were never gonna have.

“That’ll be your little brother, Mandy.”

“Leese’s good with me, Mizz D...” she looked at me shyly. “Is it too soon to call you ‘Mom’?”

I had tears in my eyes when I picked up the baby. Went back into the living room. Bill was in his end of a double recliner. Mandy was on the sofa, Elise plastered against her, establishing possession.

“Is it too much, too soon, Mandy?” Bill asked.

“It’s a LOT. But no, sir. I thought when Grandma was out of the picture, I was gonna be one of those kids who wandered from one foster home to the next. This ... is it for real? All of it?”

“Baby,” I said. “You haven’t seen it all yet.”

“Like what?” Mandy asked.

“Well, like tomorrow, two members of the group are marrying each other. They met here. They’re getting married. If you wanna go. If you don’t, that’s okay. Today’s been a lot...”

“I’d go, but I don’t have good clothes. Not a nice enough dress for a wedding.”