Paradise by the Dashboard Light

  Paradise by the Dashboard Light

  By

  Kathryn R. Biel

  PARADISE BY THE DASHBOARD LIGHT

  Copyright © 2018 by Kathryn R. Biel

  ISBN-13: 978-1-949424-01-0

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excepts in a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover design by Becky Monson.

  Cover images via depositphotos.com by konradbak.

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Double Trouble!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  To Dan:

  Hey, come quick. Your favorite song is on.

  Double Trouble!

  August 10, 1989: Cedarwood, Ohio

  The nursery staff at Cedarwood General Hospital was in for double trouble yesterday as they welcomed not one, but two sets of twins! Mr. and Mrs. David McCallister welcomed identical twin boys while Ms. Sierra Hernandez and Mr. Paul Pascucci welcomed fraternal girls. The new bundles of joy made their arrival within two hours of each other, with the McCallister twins arriving first. The Pascucci girls were delivered via scheduled C-section, while the McCallister boys were a surprise, arriving nine weeks early. Dr. Thomas Loren, head of neonatal services, states he can't remember a day when multiple sets of multiples were born. He did point out that both sets will share not only a birthplace, but a unique birthday as well: 8/9/89.

  Chapter One

  Rio

  Dammit, I'm out of Tums.

  Slamming my desk drawer shut, I mentally kick myself for letting this happen. It's not like I'm new at this. From the age of about eight, household shopping was my responsibility. Partially because I was good at math and could figure out how to make the money stretch the most effectively, but mostly because I was so anally retentive that I never let us run out of anything, let alone anything important. If Mom or my twin sister Rainne went shopping, we'd likely have Ben and Jerry's and wine coolers but run out of tampons before all three of us finished our cycles. That was always fun, as was the three of us PMSing at the same time. Female hormones are a beautiful thing, aren't they? But that's neither here nor there, and it doesn't help me out of my current predicament. And neither does the fact that my phone is blowing up.

  "Rio, your phone is buzzing." Cailynn casually pushes her rolling chair back into my cubicle. She thinks she is being helpful by pointing out the obvious. She isn’t, as I am desperately and willfully ignoring the incessant vibration from my phone. It's not working, hence the need for another round of antacids. As if my stomach needs more reminders that this has to work if I'm going to land the account.

  "I'm aware," I answer, my voice cracking a bit. Stress does wonderfully attractive things to me. Commence skin break out in three ... two ... one.

  I yank the rubber band out from my hair, furiously finger-comb it back, and tie it up into a topknot. Thanks to that habit, there's also a fairly decent chance I'll be bald by the time I finish this project.

  An ulcer, acne, and baldness. All in all, it's not shaping up to be the best week.

  "I'm trying to focus. Trying being the operative word. I simply cannot get this right, and I'm not sure what it needs. Do you mind taking a look?"

  I know asking my assistant, Cailynn, for her opinion will make her feel like a valued part of the team. At least it did for me when I was in her position. I started off here at Menley Brothers as an assistant as well and was always excited when someone wanted to hear my thoughts on their work. I hope it does the same for her, as well as make her forget that my phone has been blowing up.

  "Oh my God, Rio, just answer the damn thing. Respond to a text. Do something, or I'm throwing it out the window."

  No such luck.

  Of course, my phone is safe as Cailynn will never follow through on that threat. Her phone is her lifeline, whereas I often wish they'd never been invented. My life would be so much easier if I wasn't reachable. I could truly be on my own with nothing tying me down and nothing holding me back.

  And don't get me started on the whole social media thing. There was that brief time in high school where I thought it was the coolest thing ever. But once I left home, I didn't want people knowing what I was up to.

  Comparing me to Rainne.

  Wanting the gory details from that night.

  Asking me to come back.

  Nope, that couldn't ever happen, and it turns out, I'm much happier without every meal posted for the world to see and approve of.

  Cailynn would probably go into withdrawal if she weren't constantly checking her Instagram and Twitter and Facebook and Snapchat and God knows what else. I don't bother to keep up anymore, since I'm not looking to keep my focus—not to mention my world—in such a fishbowl. Plus, I'm still mourning the death of the only social media platform I actually liked.

  RIP MySpace.

  The only people I'm even in contact with are the people that I’ve handpicked to be in my life. In other words, practically no one since my roommate had the audacity to get married and move to Arizona four months ago. I don't want to bother her newlywed bliss, plus the time difference is just enough to make it challenging to have actual conversations. But she's happy there, so that's enough for me.

  Well, I try to make it enough.

  And then there's my mother. It's not like I have a choice with her. I wish I could cut ties—all the way—but I can't bring myself to do it. She's my mom. Even though she was more of a Peg Bundy mom than a June Cleaver mom, all I ever wanted was for her to love me.

  She loves to hear from me, if only to have some place to lay the guilt trip.

  And if I'm in contact with Mom, it means staying in contact, sort of, with my twin as well. Which is, undoubtedly the reason for the flurry of text messages. I don't even have to look to know this. Not much else newsworthy comes out of Cedarwood. A quick glance at my phone confirms my suspicions, so I replace it on the desk without responding. As much as I love my mother, I am infuriated time and time again by the fact that she doesn't get it. She wants me to be like them and stay home, content to let someone else take care of me.

  That's not who I am.

  It's not like I left Ohio because I want to be bothered on an almost daily basis by th
e train wreck that is my twin sister's life. I jumped off that wild ride ten years ago. Nineteen years—twenty if you count time spent in the womb—was more than enough with Rainne.

  "Who's texting you? Got a hot date?" Cailynn elbows me while doing an exaggerated wink. I look at the sleeve of my floral blouse where her arm made contact with mine. It's been a while since anyone's touched me, save the occasional jostle on the T. If I had the time or the energy, that might be something worth thinking about.

  "No, I wish. It's my mom, about my sister. Again." Before my mind gets totally derailed, I pull myself back in. I'm not going to get this right if I don't focus. I peer intently, making a few more clicks of my mouse, shifting the text a millimeter.

  "Okay, Cailynn, look at this. Is it any better?" I frown at my computer screen, almost instantly putting my mother and sister out of my head. The graphic isn't popping, and I need it to bring it. Something about the coloring's not right. I try another filter.

  This account could make or break my career. The more I think about what this campaign means, the more the words and colors swirl and swim before my eyes, muddling my already overwhelmed brain. Five years of hard work have brought me here. At this point, the computer would follow my phone if I were tossing electronics out the window.

  "I can't figure out what's not right about it. What jumps out to you?" Cailynn's green but her fresh perspective might be exactly what this campaign needs. What I need to pull me out of the haze.

  Cailynn tips her head, smacking on her gum. "Hmmm, I don't know. I think it looks good."

  "Yes, it looks good. It needs to look amazing to land the Caparazzos. And I don't need to tell you that we need to land the Caparazzos. Think about what it will do for both of us here."

  "Maybe you should sleep on it. Or, better yet, I'm going out for a drink with friends. Come with us for once. Find that hot date. You should cut loose a little. You're too intense." She elbows me again.

  Intense. Ha. If Cailynn only knew how long I've been working to be this intense. To not be the laid-back, pushover, easy mark, good girl. It was never fun being the "good" twin. I can't afford to let loose now, lest I lose everything. Now, if I want something, I work hard for it. And that's just what I'm doing here.

  "Thanks for the invite. I'm going to work a bit longer. I know I won't be able to relax until this is perfect." The need to make this exactly right makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

  "I don't think you even know how to relax," Cailynn mutters as she walks out of my office.

  I pretend to ignore the comment, like I ignored my phone. I’m good at ignoring. And pretending. And forgetting. At least pretending to forget.

  Three hours later, rubbing the tension out of my neck, I am finally satisfied with the last graphic for the Caparazzo pitch. It's killer.

  I thought getting it right would make that unsettled feeling go away, but there it is, still gnawing and biting. As I stand and stretch, packing up my bag for the night, it dawns on me. This pit in my stomach has nothing to do with my work, and there's only one way to get it to go away.

  With a resigned sigh, I pick up the phone and call my mother.

  

  Ian

  "This is for the best, Ian. You know it is."

  My hands ache from clenching them so hard. I’m surprised my phone hasn’t cracked. "Mom, we've talked about this. I have a plan. Just give me more time."

  "Yes, Ian, and you never listened. We cannot do it anymore. End of story."

  If she says, "It's for the best" one more time, I know I will hit something. Hard. I can't really do that. At least not in the staff lounge at work. While it wouldn't do much to make the physician break room in this sad, old hospital any more depressing or run down, they frown upon violence and destruction here. We get enough of that from the patients and their families.

  "I can't believe you're moving Evan to a home."

  She doesn't respond.

  "It's not fair." I pull back, not whining even though it's what I want to do. I can practically hear my adolescent self, and it disgusts me. I half-expect to look in the mirror and see that scrawny kid with pimples and braces. If I could punch myself in the face, I would.

  "Evan will be very happy there." Mom thinks her tone is assuring me.

  "What if he hates it?"

  "Of course there will be an adjustment period. For all of us. He'll be fine. He's doing great so far. "

  "When are you thinking of moving him?"

  "Moved, Ian. It's a done deal. Besides, Evan loved it when we visited it. We have no reason to think he won't thrive there." She pauses. "You know your father and I are having trouble with caring for him. Don't make this harder than it has to be. We've been talking about it since the day you were born. We always knew it would most likely come to this."

  "I can take care of him. I should take care of him. After all, it's ..."

  Mom knows where I'm going and interrupts me before I can get it all out. "You had no control over what happened in the womb. It is not your fault that I went into labor early. It is not your fault Evan is impaired. And you're not going to spend the rest of your life held down by your brother. Not when he can be with people like him."

  "Like him? Mom, he's my identical twin. There's no one more like him than me!" My voice breaks, betraying the tears I've been fighting. We've failed Evan.

  I've failed Evan.

  "Ian, trust me. You're finally ready to start your life. You've worked so hard, and we're all so proud of you. It's time for you to focus on establishing your career. You can't do that and take care of Evan too. And you know it's not what he wants. He doesn't want you to be his babysitter. He wants you to be his brother. The only person who doesn't seem to understand this is you."

  "But Mom—" My voice rises again.

  "Ian, calm down." I can hear her getting testy over the phone. This is practically the only thing we fight about. I'm not sure most families have the relationship we have, and for that, I consider Evan and myself very lucky. I look forward to the time, in the not so distant future, when I can join my parents for Sunday breakfast and then play a rousing game of dominoes after, all four of us together.

  "You know what I mean," Mom continues. "He has friends who like to do the same things. They go to the mall and to movies, and he has his job that he goes to every day. But now, he'll have people to look out for him every night. You can still see him as much as you want, when you're in town. And no matter how much you want to take care of him, you're not here to do it."

  She has me there.

  "I'm only away for a few years. In fact, I'm almost done in Boston." I can delude myself that June is right around the corner. Never mind that it's the beginning of November.

  "And then you'll be busy with your fellowship and long hours at the hospital. You don't have the time to care for your brother."

  I know she's right, but I'm not going to admit it. Because if I admit it, I'm failing him again. "But if you could just hold out a little while longer, I'll come home. I'll get a job at Children's in Columbus. They'll be lucky to have me. Evan can live with me."

  "And what's he supposed to do while you're at work? And what about a family?"

  "Any wife of mine will have to accept that Evan and I are a package deal. We've always been a two-for-one special. Nothing's changed. If she can't accept that, then she's not the right person for me."

  There's silence on the line for a minute. "It's not fair to ask your wife to take care of your brother. Speaking of which, are you even seeing anyone? I thought you didn't have time for that sort of thing."

  I think about Trisha and shudder a bit. Probably not the reaction you should have when thinking about a prospective mate. Truth be told, she's not a prospective mate. I'd say she's a friend with benefits but she's not even that. She's just the benefit. Not that I can tell my mom I'm hooking up with my co-worker.

  "Trust me, Ian. Your father and I did not come to this decision lightly. This group home is a great fi
t for Evan. He knows one of the other residents, and the staff is great. He's happy. We can see him every day if we want. We can still take him home and all that. Sunday dominoes is still on. But we'll have a bit more time for us. You know we're planning on downsizing soon, and we need time to do that."

  I know she's not wrong about that. The house had been too large for the three of them since I went to college and then med school. Dad spends all of his free time taking care of the lawn and endless project after endless project. And whether I want to admit it or not, my parents are getting old. Older at least. Taking care of Evan all this time has aged them more rapidly than the passage of time has.

  "You don't have to like it, Ian, but it's happening."

  There was no arguing with that tone. I learned that a long time ago. The hard way.

  "Fine. Let me know when he moves in, and I'll email him."

  "When are you coming home for a visit?" The hope in her voice eats at me. It's not that I don’t want to go home and visit. I do.

  "You know residents don't get tons of vacation time." Any vacation time, really. Sometimes I could cobble together as much as thirty-six to forty-eight hours in a row off, but it came at a cost. Almost all of my free time is spent either working out or studying. My neonatology fellowship starts in a few months, and I need to be prepared for it, on top of my lectures and rounds, not to mention studying for the boards. It's not as if I can afford a plane ticket home on my salary, if you even want to call it that, and the twelve hour drive makes it impossible in the time constraints. "Maybe I can swing something before I start the fellowship." In my head and heart, I know it probably isn't going to happen in between moving to Baltimore, but I'm not man enough to tell her that.