Work Text:
Oh, California, I'm coming home
Oh, make me feel good rock 'n roll band
I'm your biggest fan
California, I'm coming home
July, 1987
It isn’t the worst day of her life, not by a long shot — but by the time her boyfriend breaks up with her ten minutes into dinner, Holly March decides, maybe, it’s up there.
It all starts with Carol. Holly gets up to make breakfast and realizes her roommate is already awake and sitting in the living room, pretending to read. Which is weird. In the three years they’ve lived together, Carol has never gotten up on a Saturday before ten AM, and she has definitely never gotten up to start reading one of Holly’s books, so Holly sets the skillet aside and says, “What’s wrong?”
Carol winces. “How do you always know?” she asks, and Holly just shrugs one shoulder, folding her arms over her chest and fixing Carol with one of the Looks. It’s a March thing. A series of Looks with different purposes. She learned all of them from her father who, while being physically incapable of remaining on two feet for most of the day, is a very good detective and had been for many years. He and Jackson Healy were still running The Nice Guys Detective Agency, despite Holland’s insistence the LAPD wanted to run them out of business. Jack could never confirm or deny this, so Holly had to take it at face value.
Anyway. She gives Carol a Look, and Carol folds.
“Sooooo, Robbie’s moving back to New York.”
“What? I thought he was staying in Nova Scotia until next summer.”
“Yeah, something happened with his papers, they’re not letting him go back to Canada until he gets it sorted out.”
Holly was willing to bet Robbie, notoriously lazy trust fund baby, had fucked something up or flunked out. Carol deserved better, but she kept taking him back and they were probably going to get engaged.
“Carol, it’s almost August. The semester starts first week of September.” Carol gives her a weak shrug and Holly sighs. “Okay, well, he has to do the dishes. It can’t be like it was last time he was staying here.” She turns to go back to cooking her breakfast.
Carol sighs. “Yeah, so, about that.”
Holly stops. “…What’s up?”
“Holly.” Carol follows her into the kitchen. “You know I love you to bits.”
Holly turns to her. “Are you kicking me out?”
“Your name’s not on the lease, and Robbie wants to have the place to ourselves.”
“Once again, it is almost August, Carol. Where the hell am I supposed to go?”
Carol shrugs. “Honestly, I figured you and David were gonna move in together.”
Holly turns back to the stove. She’s cooking eggs, no matter what comes out of Carol’s mouth next.
“He hasn’t asked,” she says.
“That’s not like you, to wait.” Carol sighs. “I am sorry, Holly.”
“It’s fine. Had to happen some time.”
“Well, you just let me know what I can do, okay? I could help you pack and stuff.”
Holly breathes through her nose. “Yeah. And stuff.”
Carol leaves a little while later, probably uncomfortable since that’s how Holly’s trying to make her feel. It’s not nice, but honestly Carol kicking her out a month before her L1 starts isn’t nice either, so she’s not going to feel too bad about it. She thinks about calling her dad, but it’s eight AM in California, and the only person up will be Jack, who will start trying to strategize with her when what she really needs is to complain. Holland is better for that.
There’s no chance she’s going to be able to talk Carol out of this one, unless Robbie’s plane blows up or he decides to move back to Connecticut, so she starts deciding what to leave and take. Clothes and books can fit in her suitcases. All the stupid things she bought for her walls and shelves might have to stay here until she figures out what’s next. She grabs the framed photo on her dresser of her on graduation day, standing between Holland and Jack, and puts it in the suitcase with everything else, then lays down.
Sometimes, when she’s really getting her assk kicked, she misses her mom.
She has no context for what Emma March might have said or done in a scenario like this. Holly’s assumptions of her mother are based entirely on her childhood. She used to come home with skinned knees and friend troubles that never needed much more than a sweet treat and a kiss on the forehead. As much as she thinks a brownie would make her feel better right now, none of that is going to find her a place to live, or give her the courage to ask David.
Her dad’s going to hate this.
Not the living with a boy part. Holland’s never been precious about that. He was appropriately nauseous when Holly started dating boys, supportive when she was talking about girls, and happy when she decided to take a break because relationships were stupid, after her boyfriend dumped her while they were on a spring break trip together in ‘85.
She met David right after that. Holland disliked him immediately.
“Seems like a flake,” he’d said, and Jack scowled at him until he said something nice. “Great head of hair, how’s that?”
Holland thought David was boring, but he had so many things Holly had quietly craved her whole life. When she went home with him for Thanksgiving last year, she’d admired the family photos lining the walls — mom and dad, the brother and sister, all of them with broad, winning smiles. He brought her to his sister’s wedding in the spring that year, even took her on a family vacation. He’d bought her three beautiful necklaces and tonight they were going to her favorite cocktail bar.
It can’t, she reasons, get any worse than it already has.
“You’re going to France?”
David has the good sense to look sheepish. “Listen, I know it’s last minute—”
“Does no one know what month it is?” Holly asks. “I feel like I’m the only person in New York with a fucking calendar.”
“Keep your voice down,” he says, and Holly laughs.
“Oh, fuck off.”
David frowns. “Holly, I know this is sudden, but you knew I’d applied—”
“You told me it was too late to accept.”
He shrugs. “I thought it was.”
“I just told you I need a new place to live. Jesus Christ, David.”
“Hey, that’s not my fault.”
“I don’t really care! It still fucking sucks!” She grabs her water and takes a drink. “You know, my dad was right about you.”
David twitches. As much as Holland doesn’t like him — the feeling is mutual.
“Your dad? Your dad was right about me? Holly, there isn’t a conclusion in this universe your father could draw about me that would even come close to being right.”
She shrugs. “He got this one.”
“Oh yeah? What did he say?”
“That you’re a flake.”
David laughs. “Your father thinks I’m a flake?” He shakes his head. “Your father is a clown, Holly. So when I need advice about how to juggle and get into clown school, I’ll be sure to ask him.”
The air between them sparks. David knows he’s fucked up the second the words come out of his mouth. He starts to apologize, but Holly is already up, the glass is in her hand. She throws water and ice into his face, grabs her purse, and walks out the door.
When she gets home, Carol asks, “Hey, how was dinner?” and Holly walks right past her, goes to the bathroom, and throws up.
She’s been a little nauseous all night. David ordered the lobster bisque and Holly had taken a sniff and been utterly repulsed, which was a first for her, honestly. She hugs the toilet for a minute and breathes through it, ignoring Carol’s little taps on the door.
“Carol, I need you to leave me the fuck alone.”
“Okay, Hol. Just, um. Let me know if you need something.”
Holly gets up and puts her mouth under the sink, washing out the taste before she looks at herself in the mirror. She really doesn’t look like she’s having a terrible day, but it feels like she just got run over by a truck. A wave of nausea hits her again, and she barely gets to the toilet.
After, she goes out to the living room and lets her roommate fret a little. She’s less mad at Carol now that she knows David is leaving.
“How was dinner?”
“He dumped me. He’s moving to France.”
“Oh, Jesus, Holly. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. And now I have food poisoning, I guess.”
Carol nods. “Yeah. Or you’re pregnant.”
Holly whips her head around. “I am not pregnant. That’s not possible.”
“I mean…you could be. Nothing works perfect. When was your last period.”
“I don’t—it was last month. I think.” But Holly realizes that’s not right at all. Still. “No. I’m on the pill, we always use condoms.” She shakes her head. “I’m not pregnant. It would be impossible.”
“Okay, this the second one, Hol. If this one’s positive, too…”
“Then I’ll take a third one.”
Carol sighs. “Buyin’ out the drug store isn’t gonna make you not pregnant and we don’t have that kind of money.” She turns the box over in her hand. “‘The truth in twenty minutes’ my ass, it’s been twenty-five.”
Holly sits on the couch and puts her face in her hands. “This cannot be happening.”
Carol sits beside her, putting a careful hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”
“About what?” Holly snaps. “Kicking me out so you can live with your shit for brains boyfriend? Or this?”
Carol shrugs. “Both?”
“Good.”
“Look, I’ll talk to Robbie.”
“No. Don’t. Just—don’t.” She grabs the pregnancy test off the coffee table. “Same as the last one.” She leans back. “Shit. Shit.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“Take care of it. I can’t have a baby, Carol. Like I can’t.”
“Well, sure, but are you gonna tell David?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“You can stay, you know. Until you get that figured out. Robbie’s not back for a couple more weeks. You know I’ll go with you, you don’t gotta be alone.”
Holly looks at her. Carol is sweet. And she’s smart about a lot of things — like school and coupons and shortcuts that don’t get them mugged — but she’s just kind of a dummy about love. Holly hopes it all turns out okay for her, because she’s a good friend.
But she knows what she has to do.
She flies home on a red eye Monday night and gets in Tuesday morning. It’s already sweltering by nine AM, and the cab driver is definitely overcharging her, but she hands him the money he asks for and grabs her suitcases out of the trunk without his help before turning to get a good look at the house.
They bought the place in ‘81. It was always a child’s dream to build the old house. Holly only hung onto it because she thought her father was, too. As always, it helped when they actually spoke to one another. But it was a good house, one that Jack had helped fix and paint and fill with furniture and things. She’d always miss the first home she grew up in, but didn’t mind growing up the rest of the way in this one. There’s no car in the driveway, so they must be out. She fishes her key out of her purse and lets herself in.
The first thing she sees is the empty pool in the backyard. The second is Jack Healy with a baseball bat.
Holly shrieks. “Jesus Christ!”
“Holly!”
“What the hell? Were you going to swing at me?”
“I thought you were a burglar, kiddo. You didn’t exactly call ahead.” He sets the bat against the wall and laughs. “C’mere,” he says, and pulls her in for a hug.
Holly melts into it. Jack’s always been soft, especially around her. When he pulls back he looks her up and down and asks quietly, “You’re a long ways form New York. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just…been a crazy week. I missed you guys.”
“Well, your dad’ll be happy to see you. He’s been talking about going back to the city all summer. You want a beer?”
“Uh, no. Guess you guys aren’t keeping Yoohoo’s in the fridge.”
“Best I can do is some lemonade.”
She nods. “I’ll take it.”
They sit and chat for a while. Jack’s car is in the shop, and Holland’s at the bank, arguing over a client check that bounced and screwed up a bunch of things.
“You guys are good on money?”
“Oh, more than good.”
She points outside. “So what the hell is that?”
Jack sighs. “Your dad got that check from the city and decided we should build a pool.”
Holly fixes him with a Look. “You let him spend the check on a pool.”
He raises his hands. “Only some of it. I let my finance guy handle the rest. It was a pretty hefty check.”
Last year, Holland March had been hit by a bus on Abbot Kinney Boulevard, surviving with nothing worse than a broken shoulder and a fucked up knee. After an appropriate amount of threatening various lawsuits, the city of Los Angeles had apparently written him a fat check. Holly never asked how much and was always told Jack’s handling it. Turns out that part was true.
“It’s almost done,” Jack says.
“Just in time for fall.”
“Eh, not in LA.” He refills her glass. Outside, Holland’s car pulls up in the driveway and the radio cuts off. They listen to him sing as he comes up the walk. The door opens and he gets quiet, maybe for a little too long, before he shouts, “Holly?”
“We’re in here!” she shouts back, and he comes barrelling around the corner.
“Holy shit.”
“Hey, dad.” She gets up and lets him pull her close, still short enough to be able to tuck her head under his chin as he squeezes her tight.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “Jesus, what time did you get here?”
“I’m fine, I took a red eye.”
Holland keeps his hands on her shoulders, his brow furrowed as he gives her a Look. She knows this Look. It’s the we’ll talk about this later Look.
“Maybe you oughta lay down then, hm?”
“No, I—” She cuts herself off with a yawn and Holland laughs.
“Alright, come on.”
She starts to argue, but he’s already walking back to her old bedroom and Jack is picking up her bags.
“I need to tell you something,” she says, but Holland just kisses her forehead and sits her on the bed.
“Later. You need to sleep, I got things to do. We’ll talk at dinner, yeah?”
Holly lays down and yawns again. “Sure,” she mutters, and closes her eyes.
Holly wakes up, and remembers she’s home. She can hear music in the living room, one of Jack’s old records he brought with him when he moved in. The smell of whatever they’re cooking makes her a little sick, but she keeps it down and stays in bed for a little while longer.
Eventually she gets out of bed and steps into the hall, listening for a while to the gentle back and forth between her father and Jack. It’s the sound that marked her teen years, a sound she wishes she could have recorded for herself to listen to on her worst days in New York.
“Should watch the game tonight,” Holland says, “if she’s up for it.”
“Could get tickets to the one on Friday. Might be nice.”
“We’ll see.”
“You know what's buggin’ her?”
“What’s bugging her? Jack, she flew a red eye to LA a month and a half before she starts law school. I think we're past something buggin’ her.”
“I’m just asking questions.” Silence. “You know, don’t you?”
“I’ve got my suspicions. Better to let her tell me first, you know? Don't wanna scare her off.”
“Jesus, Holland, she’s your daughter, not a witness.”
“It’s all detective work, Jack. And you’re burning those onions.”
“Shit!”
Holly decides to come out now, making a big show of yawning and stretching her arms. Jack is at the stove and Holland is looking through photos at the kitchen table, dutifully sucking on one of the Dum-Dums he'd replaced most of his cigarettes with six years ago.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He grins at her. “Sleep okay?”
“Yeah, it was good.” She sits down at the table. “Smells good.”
“Chicken marsala,” Jack says, decked out in his floral apron.
“Yeah, he’s a real Julia Childs. Listen, Holly—”
“David dumped me,” she blurts out, “and Carol asked me to move out.”
Holland is mid-sip on a glass of wine and nearly spits it on her. “What?”
“What happened with David?” Jack asks. “He seemed nice enough.”
“Nice enough? Jack, he’s a fucking—”
“He’s moving to France for his masters.”
Holland rolls his eyes. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No. And Robbie’s moving back to New York and they want to apartment to themselves.”
Holland frowns. “So you…came here.”
“I'm having kind of a shitty week, dad. Excuse me if I wanted to see my family.”
“No, no, I’m not complaining, just trying to understand the timeline. You can’t find a new apartment while you’re in LA, Holly.”
“Yes, dad, I know that.” She looks down, toying with the hem of her shirt the avoid her father’s gaze. “I was thinking…I was thinking maybe about taking a year off. Or going to UCLA.”
Now Jack turns around, nearly knocking the skillet off the stove. “You’re not serious.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Holly.”
“I got into UCLA.”
“NYU is better.”
“UCLA is here,” she argues.
Jack gives her a Look of his own. “That’s a bad idea, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my life, right? Maybe I don't even want to go to law school anymore.”
Jack turns back to the stove. “Yes, you do.”
Holly opens her mouth to argue, but Holland waves his hands between them.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He crunches the Dum-Dum and looks at her. “A year off, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Sure, sure.” Holland takes another sucker from the jar on the table. “Let me ask you something.” He points with the end of a grape one. “Are you pregnant?”
Holly hadn’t realized the record had stopped. The house is so quiet and still.
Jack says, “Holland, be fucking serious,” just as Holly chokes out, “How did you know?” Everything from the whole stupid week suddenly swells up inside her, a tidal wave that crashes down and before she knows it, she’s crying into her hands.
“Shit,” Holland mutters, and goes to sit beside her. “Shit. Holly.”
“I didn’t—” She inhales, wet and snotty, “I didn't know where else to go.”
“It’s okay. Sweetheart, look at me.” Holly looks. “It's okay.”
Jack sits down at the table. “How did this happen?”
“Don’t ask her that, Jack. You know how this happened, I don’t want details.”
“I meant generally speaking, Holland, Christ.”
“I know it’s been a while for you, but you should know, generally speaking, how a woman gets pregnant.” He takes her face in his hands. “How far along are you? Do you know?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Okay, well, first thing’s first, we’ll figure that out. And then, uh. We’ll—you know.” He sniffs. “Do you, um. Do you…want to keep it?”
Holly swallows. She shakes her head.
“Okay. Okay, good. You know already then. So we can figure that out, too.”
“Why the year off?” Jack asks.
“I, uh. I thought, maybe, if I changed my mind—”
“It’s a big decision. You don't have to make it right now. Obviously, you know, we’ll support you no matter what. I feel like maybe you need should take the week to rest?” Holland asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe. I've had kind of a shitty couple of days.”
His expression softens. “Yeah, I know. Alright, let’s feed you, then we’ll watch baseball and go to bed, hm?” Holly nods and he grins. “Great! Love a plan.” He gets up to get plates. Jack stands and puts a hand on her cheek.
“You’ll tell me how much that plane ticket was.”
She sighs. “Yes, Jack.”
He nods, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “I’m glad you came to us.”
Holly closes her eyes. She wants to keep this, too. “Me, too.”
After dinner, they sit in their old spots like they used to — Jack and her dad on the couch with Holland’s legs in his lap, Holly curled up in the armchair. She and her dad have always cared about baseball more than Jack, who was a long suffering Mets fan when they met and continues to be one to this day.
It's nice enough that it makes Holly think about not going back. Like maybe they could stay like this forever.
She sleeps a lot.
For three days, Holly doesn't leave her room except to eat, have coffee, and watch baseball if it’s on. For three days, Holland and Jack let her have her quiet, leave dinner wrapped up if she sleeps through it, and sometimes one of them carries her to bed.
On day four, Holland knocks on her door and says, “You decent?”
“Sleeping,” she says back, and he comes inside. “Dad.”
“I asked you a question.”
She groans. “Yes, I am wearing clothes.”
“Great.” He yanks the blanket and sheet off her bed, then opens the curtains.
“Dad, what the fuck?”
“You’re being recruited,” he says. “Welcome back to the Nice Guys, Detective Holly.”
“I’m retired,” she says, reaching for the blanket. Holland yanks it out of her hands. “Dad.”
“I need your help, and you need to get out of bed. You’ve had seventy-two hours of allotted moping, now it’s time to do some work.”
She sits up. “What's the job?”
“Jack pissed off a client—”
“Don’t believe you.”
Holland raises his hands. “Look, believe me, I know. But he pissed her off by virtue of being a lapsed Catholic and her nurse said she wasn’t going to talk to us anyway. I asked if she’d talk to a woman and she said maybe, so, you’re up.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Sweetheart, please. For your dad?”
“No.” She tries to grab the blanket again.
Holland pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Okay, fine. I’ll cut you in. An even three-way split.”
Now she's listening. “Really?”
“Yes, now would you please just get dressed and help me?”
“Okay, yeah.”
“Young people,” he mutters, and leaves the room.
Jack is in the kitchen giving Holland grief over recruiting Holly to come help with the case, pouring coffee and gesturing between the two of them.
“She’s not here to work cases for you, March. She came here to rest.”
“She’s rested enough, she needs some enrichment.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “And that means traipsing around LA after you in the middle of the summer?”
Holland shrugs. “She used to do it all the time. It’ll be just like the old days. Come on, Hol.”
“Breakfast!” Jack shouts at their retreating backs.
“We’ll get it on the way!” Holland shouts back, and closes the door.
Sitting in the car with her dad should make her feel better, but all it does is tighten the growing knot in her chest, and it must be obvious, because Holland leans over and touches her shoulder and says, “You want something to eat?”
“What about the case?”
“It can wait a while, she’s old. She’s probably still asleep.” He pulls out of the driveway. “Come on, we’ll go to the diner.”
Jack haunted the back booth in Maureen’s for years before he ever met the Marches. It wasn’t the diner that made him famous, but it was the one he brought them to, as they started burrowing deeper into his life. Nora the waitress knows their orders by heart and she’s giddy to see Holly.
“No Jackie?” she asks, the only woman in LA who’s allowed to call him that.
“Not today. Just us.”
Nora grins and takes down their orders and comes back with coffee and a slice of pie for them to split.
“You think she knows about you guys?”
Holland shrugs. “Dunno. Probably. There’s people who do, they’re just nice enough not to say anything. Jessica’s mom always had us figured out. One of your teachers, senior year. Your English teacher. He saw me and Jack at—” He stops, goes a little red. “Anyway. People know. You should eat that.”
Holly takes her fork and cuts off a chunk of pie. “So tell me about this case?”
Holland sighs. “This old lady, Mrs. Bernardi, sold a necklace about thirty years ago. Says it’s a family heirloom and she’s been trying to hunt it down. The issue is the guy she sold it to got involved in a lot of shady stuff and got himself arrested. His entire shop was sold at auction. Me and Jack tracked down a few of the lots, so we’re gonna try and see what we can find.”
“Sounds boring.”
“It is, actually. Jack’s lucky they’re coming to finish the pool today.”
Holly points with her fork. “The pool was a really stupid idea.”
“The pool was not a stupid idea, it’s a great idea. And it barely made a dent in that check.”
She rolls her eyes. “That bus barely made a dent in your head. I can’t believe you won that.”
“I was in severe physical distress for several months, I’ll have you know. Look, it’s stupid to argue about the check. It exists, we have it, and Jack’s very smart finance guy invested most of it. So, you know, if you do have this kid, or any other down the line—” He waves his hand around. “All set.”
“What does that mean?”
“Like…for college. Whatever you need.”
Holly leans back in the booth. “You…set up a college fund? For a kid I don’t have?”
Holland shakes his head. “Just—hear me out. I had the guy set up an account that would accrue interest over time with a series of appropriate investments that I didn’t make with the intention that someone could take that money out and use it for specific purposes. One of those being college.”
“Anything else?”
“A house, maybe. A car. Look, if you really wanted you could take out all the money and spend it on hookers and blow, alright? It’s not—oh, thank you, Nora, you’re a doll.”
“Anything for you, Holl.” She winks at him and sets down their food before disappearing again.
Holly leans forward. “This is kind of pertinent to my current situation, dad.”
He leans forward with her. “Well I didn’t know you were gonna show up and tell me you were pregnant, Holly. I did this months ago, it’s got nothing to do with—” He motions around. “This. Eat your eggs.”
The sight and smell of her breakfast immediately turns Holly’s stomach, and it’s only by the grace of a very flexible busboy who dodges out of the way that she manages to make it to the bathroom. When she comes back out, Holland is talking to Nora and getting a second cup of coffee. Her eggs are gone.
“I told her you needed some toast.”
“Great.”
They sit in silence until Nora brings by another plate and drops off the check.
Holland clears his throat. “I was going to tell you all about it next time we saw you. There’s money set aside for a lot of things, you know. It’s not just for a kid. It’s your future, Holly. I don’t give a shit if there’s a baby in it, but some things are inevitable. Jack’s getting older. I’m getting older. I don’t want you suffering because of it.”
The idea hits her like a slap in the face. She has not, really ever, perceived her father or Jack as much different than they were when she was young. Jack was going a little grey when they met, but he was fifty, that made sense. She realizes know she can see the smile lines in her father’s face and the specks of silver dotting his hair. He’s by no means old — he turned forty-four this year, and Jack isn’t even sixty.
But she understands, maybe, the pressure of it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop. We’re not doing that. Just—I’ll show you everything later, alright? Eat your toast.”
Holly finds the necklace, an old heavy locket, in the third lot of the day and Holland beams with pride. “My good luck charm,” he says, and they head Mrs. Bernardi’s house. Her daughter answers the door and lets them in, clearly surprised to see Holly.
“Another associate of mine,” Holland says. “Well, she’s my daughter, but she’s a heck of a detective.”
“Oh, I think that'll make ma pretty happy.” She leads them to the sitting room where Mrs. Bernardi is sitting with a blanket in her lap, finishing her tea.
“I thought I told you not to come back here, Mr. March.”
“You said not to come back here with my partner and without the necklace. This is my daughter, and I believe this belongs to you.” He pulls the locket from his pocket and hands it to her.
She takes a trembling breath and sighs. “Oh, my.” The locket looks enormous in her ancient hands. Holly watches as she turns it over, then hands it to her daughter. “Open this?”
“Sure, ma.” The necklace is old, hasn’t been opened in a long time probably. It does so with a snap that makes Holly worry it’s broken, but the locket falls open and her daughter says quietly, “Who is this?”
“That is your sister.”
“Ma, I don’t have a sister.”
“You do,” she says. “But I was young, and unmarried. I was twenty, and your grandfather had her placed for adoption. I had very little say in the matter.”
Holland gets a little stiff beside her, throwing a quick glance her way before he says, “I’m just glad we could get it back to you.”
“Yes, I agree Mr. March. Rita, get the checkbook.”
“I—” Rita keeps staring at the locket. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was the point? I never saw her again, after she was born. I only have this photo because her parents were kind enough to send it to me when I asked. Anyway, the checkbook.”
“Jesus Christ, ma.”
“Don't speak like that in my home.” Her daughter shakes her head and goes to get the checkbook. Mrs. Bernardi turns to them. “I appreciate your help.”
“Of course,” Holland says. “And if anyone you know might be in need of our services—”
“Yes, you were very efficient. I will keep you in mind.” Her daughter comes back. “Thank you.” She takes the pen into her arthritic hands, writing a wobbly check and handing it over. “Please leave,” she says, and they do.
In the car, Holland looks at her and says, “I didn’t know.”
“I believe you.”
“I called an old client of ours. She gave me a couple places to call so you could make an appointment.”
Holly leans her head against the headrest and closes her eyes. “Can we go home? I’m tired.”
“Yeah, of course.” He puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the driveway.
Jack’s car comes back from the shop the next morning, and he and Holland spend the day chasing a lead on a case they’re both convinced is a dead end, but Holland wants to give it one more day. Holly spends the morning watching television and napping, then gets up to shower and take a walk.
There’s a house, build on top of their old property. It happened years ago, when no one was looking. One day there was nothing, the next — a foundation. Holly wonders if anyone told them. If they know this is where her mother died or where she took her first steps. The place where her parents were young and beautiful and in love.
Emma was twenty-one, when she had Holly. Holland was twenty-three. She’s never asked if they wanted her then, she always thought she knew the answer, but her own trepidation makes her think that, maybe, Emma was a little like her. Young and afraid, unsure of what to do next.
She tries to imagine herself in a year, a child on her hip while she watches her friends toil away at the things she worked so hard for. She thinks about Mrs. Bernardi, twenty and without choices. About her father telling her he set aside money for a future she isn’t even sure she wants. A list of phone numbers for her to call when she can.
She bought a one-way ticket here. Maybe it’s a sign.
They let her stay quiet. Jack cooks dinner and her father dutifully chops what he’s told and they bicker about a client and if he’s lying or not. The soft rumble of Jack’s laughter slots warmly against her father’s voice. They’re happy. She’s always known this, but in the wake of her own melancholy, it is both nice and incredibly irritating to remember.
Maybe she’ll never be happy again.
After dinner, she goes to bed and they go outside to stand by the pool and admire it. It’s hot, so Holly cracks the window and listens.
“What did I tell you?” Holland says. “It’s a nice pool, right?”
“It’s a nice pool, Holland.”
“We’ll go swimming tomorrow, huh?”
“It’ll be fucking freezing, but sure, knock yourself out.” She hears the creak of the plastic chairs and imagines them, back to the house, looking up at the stars. “I guess Holly’s made up her mind?”
“I think she made it up before she got here, but I can’t imagine it’s easy.” Holland sighs. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“I was kind of excited. You know, just for a minute.”
“About…about a baby? Holland—”
“Hey, look. I know. I know it’s a bad idea and I’m glad she knows what she wants. I’m not gonna tell her, I just…I thought about it for a second, alright? Sue me.”
They get quiet. Holly realizes she’s holding her breath.
“I’m glad she came to us,” Jack says.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
She wakes up nauseous and miserable.
The house is quiet. Holland is standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading the paper. He looks up when she comes out of her room and grins.
“Hey, you wanna go shake down an art curator with me today?”
“I don’t. Where’s Jack?”
“At the bank meeting with the finance guy. Taking care of a few things.”
“More college funds for kids I don’t have?”
Holland sighs. “Look, I said I was sorry, but I told you, it’s not—”
“Why didn't you and mom have more kids?” she asks. The question makes her father flinch, and he sets down his coffee and folds the newspaper.
“You’re upset. I should leave you alone—”
“Why didn't you? Why was it just me?”
“Don't you think it was hard enough, Holly? We weren’t growing money on trees, alright? We had you and—” Holland breathes hard through his nose and closes his eyes. “We tried. It didn’t—it just didn’t work.” He looks at her. “What's the matter? Why are you upset about this?”
“Is that why you want me to keep it?”
“Holly—”
“Or is it because you need to make up for being such a fuck up for so many years—”
“Holly!” He slams his hand on the counter. She jumps. “Jesus fucking Christ, I never said—”
“You did. To Jack last night. I heard you.”
He points. “That was private and you were asleep.”
“Yeah? Well next time you wanna tell Jack your secrets make sure you don’t do it outside my fucking window.”
He looks down, gives a curt nod. “Right. No, I get it. I, uh. I’ll leave you alone, I think.”
“You think.”
Holland sighs. “Jesus, Holly, what do you want me to say? I’m sorry you heard what I said to Jack, but that’s all it was, alright? It was just talk, I was just—” The phone rings, startling them both. They watch it for few seconds before Holland grabs it. “Nice Guys, this is—hey. Yeah. No, I’m leaving now.” He turns away from her and Holly takes the chance to leave the room, slamming the bedroom door behind her for good measure.
Holly wasn't home when her mother died. No one was. She was at school and it was almost the end of the day when the principal came to bring her to the office. Her dad was there, sitting forward in his chair. One of the women who worked at the front was talking to him softly, motioning to the door when Holly walked through. He got up, and he hugged her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
It always felt like she couldn’t breathe for a long time after that. Like they were both holding it in, waiting for the other to exhale first.
She sleeps and wakes, sleeps and wakes. She lays in bed and thinks about how her father will never speak to her again and maybe that’s for the best. Maybe this is how they breathe.
It's dark when he opens the door to her room, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Holly? You awake?”
She keeps her eyes closed. She's not sure she can look at him without crying. She wants to cry all the time. “Yeah.”
“I’m getting Lin’s for dinner. You want fried rice?”
“Okay.”
“Alright.” He leans down to kiss her temple, and in the moment, she grabs him, throwing her arms around his neck. Between one breath and the next, something comes loose, and she’s crying into his shirt.
He pulls her into his arms. “I know.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it—”
“You did. We both did. You gotta own the mean shit you say, Hol. It’s okay, I’m not mad.”
“Me either.”
He laughs. “Okay! Then we're alright.”
“I don’t want to have a baby. I'm scared, I can’t—”
“You’re not going to. It’s gonna be okay. Everything is going to be okay, I promise.”
She sniffs, snotty and wet. “I wish she were here.”
“Jesus, me, too.” He holds her tighter, kissing the top of her head. “We can deal with all this tomorrow, okay?”
She nods. “Okay.”
He pulls back and gets to his feet. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s here.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
He leans down and kisses her forehead, then leaves her be.
By the time she goes to the clinic, she’s nine weeks. Holland and Jack go with her, sitting close together in the waiting room while she fills out forms at the desk. She glances over her shoulder to see her dad’s arm slung across the back of Jack’s chair, a hand resting on his shoulder. Jack had tried to stay home, but Holland just handed him the keys and walked outside.
When Holly finishes, she goes and sits beside Holland, trying to relax herself. He takes her hand.
“It’s okay.”
“You’ll stay out here?”
“The whole time.”
She nods. “Okay. Okay, good.” Her stomach is twisted up in knots. She thinks she has a fever. “Maybe we should do it tomorrow. Maybe today’s no good.”
He squeezes her hand. “Holly—”
“Holly?” A woman steps into the waiting room, holding a clipboard.
Holland gives her a nudge. “It’s alright.”
Jack nods. “We won't move.”
She takes a shaky breath and nods before getting to her feet. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
She hugs them both, startling Jack who has tears in his eyes when she looks away, quickly turning around before she panics and runs.
The woman smiles and steps aside. “Come on back,” she says. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”
She’s never slept this much in her life. Not even in the days after her mother died. It honestly feels like she’s slept this whole week away, but when she gets home, Holland puts her to bed, and no one bothers her.
The pain medicine wears off, and it’s uncomfortable but not so bad she can’t sleep. She takes some Tylenol and lays down again. At some point she’s offered a meal, but she’s nauseous and tired, so they leave her alone. Eventually, Holly wakes up and it’s almost dark out. No one’s home and both the cars are gone. She picks around the fridge and makes something to eat before taking it outside and sitting by the edge of the pool.
Jack was right. The water's cold, but the air is so hot, blanketing and weighing her down. Holly finishes her sandwich. She goes inside and finds an old swim suit.
The cold shocks her when she gets in up to her chest, knocking the wind out of her before she treads deeper, until she’s up to her chin.
“Jesus.” She dunks her head under before she can talk herself out of it, coming up with a gasp and swimming to the edge, gripping it for dear life.
They never used the rental pool. Dad always talked about, always promised and it never happened. She steadies herself, feeling her body either adjusting to the temperature or maybe going into shock, who knows, but it's finally feeling good. She kicks off the edge and swims to the other side, does a flip underwater and comes up laughing.
She hasn’t gone swimming in a few years, even when she’s visited home in the summer. They used to haunt the old public pool that got filled in a couple years ago and now it just sits there.
It’s so dark, even the moon is hidden behind a cloud tonight. Holly rolls to her back and stares up at sky, listening to her own breath, remembering the sound of the machine and the pull and cramp as they removed everything.
You’re doing so good, the nurse said, and she held her hand. It's almost done. Everything is almost over.
She feels her chest tighten, like she's going to cry again, and she hates it. She's so tired of crying. She’s so tired of being tired. But she is. She’s so tired.
“Holly?”
Her dad’s voice cuts through. She rolls over and turns toward him.
“Um. Hi.”
“Is it cold?”
“It’s not bad.”
He kneels by the edge and looks at her. “You’re crying. Why are you crying?”
“I, um.” She sniffs. “I don’t know.”
He nods. “Alright.” He shucks off his suit jacket and tosses it over a chair before toeing off his shoes. “I’m comin’ in.”
“Dad!”
He wades abruptly into the water, his voice hitting registers she's pretty certain only dogs can hear. “Jesus Christ—” He takes a breath and goes under, coming up sputtering for air. “You said it was fine!”
“I didn’t know you were going to get in!”
“Holy shit. Shit, that’s cold.” He grabs the edge of the pool and turns around, breathing heavy. “Fucking fuck.”
Holly laughs at him. It catches her so completely off guard, his sopping wet hair and shirt, the tie floating miserably in the water. He yanks it off, tossing it onto the side and running his hands over the top of his head.
She rolls her eyes. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“I've been told. Tell me what’s up.”
Holly presses the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I don’t know. I got what I wanted. Why am I still—sad?”
Holland shrugs. “Welcome to life.”
“That can’t be it.”
“It's part of it. Plus, you know. Hormones out of whack.”
“I really hate it.”
“Oh, your mom did, too. She was always crying about something, then she'd bite my head off, then she—” He clears his throat. “Anyway. Point is, it's a lot. You made a big decision today.”
“I was always going to make it.”
“I know.”
“So why am I still upset?”
Holland sighs. “Well, I’m just spitballing here, but you've still had a pretty shitty week. You’ve got nowhere to live, your boyfriend dumped you—”
“Okay, I get it.” She sighs. “I just—I thought fixing all of that would make be feel better, but I’m not even sad about that. I didn’t want it. And I don’t regret it.”
Holland nods. “I’m very glad.”
She huffs. “I guess I forgot how shitty rock bottom feels.”
“Well, that’s why you came home, right? For my expert rock bottom advice?”
She laughs. “Yeah, maybe.”
Holly lets him hold her for a while. Her teeth are starting to chatter, but she has one more thing to ask, even if she already knows the answer.
“Dad?”
“Hm?”
“You and mom…you wanted me, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. We really did.”
She pulls back. It always feels like there's more to say about her. Like they never got a chance to miss her the right way, or say goodbye. She left them. She still with them, sometimes. Holland still wears a ring around his neck.
She thinks about saying something more, but the sliding door opens and Jack steps out.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Holland whips around. “I am comforting my daughter, Jack.”
“You’re wearing a suit.”
“Yes, I know that. There wasn’t time to change, fatherly duties needed to be attended to.”
Jack shakes his head and looks at Holly. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
He gives her a wink. “Alright, both of you come inside and dry off. I’m makin’ pasta.”
“He shoulda been Italian,” Holland mutters. He gets out of the pool and holds out his hand.
Holly takes it — and leaves her troubles behind.
Holly stays through August. On the first, Carol calls her and tells her that Robbie is moving back to Connecticut and they’re taking a break. She sounds like she’s been crying a lot, but she also sounds like she needs to talk, so Holly takes the phone and talks to her for an hour, while Holland complains she’s tying up the phone line.
“It’s like I’m living with a sixteen year old again. Someone hide my keys. Fool me once, shame on me, or however that goes.”
It’s a good rest of the summer. Holly spends it floating in the new pool and tagging along on cases — just like the old days.
And then suddenly she’s standing in LAX, two weeks before her classes start.
Holland takes his eleventh deep breath in as many seconds. “Just, you know. Call. When you get in.”
“And we’ll be out there for Christmas,” Jack promises.
“Right, yeah. We’ll come see the big tree.”
Holly hugs Jack. “Thank you.”
“This is home, sweetheart. You can come back whenever you want.”
She nods, then turns to Holland. “Dad—”
“Holly, I am one sincerity away from cracking like an egg. Just—c’mere.” He pulls her in tight. “Please be safe,” he says. “And happy. Please be happy. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” He pulls back. “Okay. They’re boarding. You gotta—” He gestures. “Go on. We’re good.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans against Jack’s shoulder.
Holly takes a breath and nods, turning to hand over her ticket and get on the plane. She looks back one last time.
Holland waves, and Holly waves back.
She gets home late, but Carol’s waiting up for her in her pretty silk robe, looking like she’s been crying while listening to a record.
Holly sighs. “Are you listening to Joni Mitchell? Jesus, Carol, don’t do this to yourself.”
“I’m fine,” she says, and throws her arms around Holly. “I’m so glad you’re back, everyone kept saying you were gonna stay out there, but I told them you promised to come back and you promised keep living with me. You do promise, don’t you, Hol?”
She takes a good look at Carol — and she nods.
Please be happy. Promise me.
“I promise,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.”