No Longer the Clown novel · Chapter 1 of 16
Chapter 1: Phoebe's Guardian Squad
Dexter's mother clings to Addie as he leaves for the amusement park, and Addie finds the group chat that has kept her busy for two years, ending on a plan for her birthday.
Dexter's mother had Alzheimer's, and whenever it flared up, I was the only person she knew.
She had my hand again that Sunday morning.
Both of her hands, actually, wrapped around my fingers so tight my knuckles ached.
"Don't go," Susan whispered. "Addie, don't let them take me anywhere."
"Nobody's taking you anywhere, Mom."
Dexter stood in the doorway of her living room with his jacket already on.
Two paper tickets stuck out of his shirt pocket.
He looked at her hands on mine and sighed.
"Addie, I already bought the tickets for Wildwater Park."
"I know."
"She's not going to let you leave." He pulled the tickets out and tapped them against his palm. "Looks like I'll have to take my buddy instead this time."
I looked down at the hand clutching mine.
It was the third date this month.
Every time Dexter and I planned something, his mother had an episode.
And every time, somebody we loved stepped in so the day wouldn't go to waste.
My best friend Brooke went with him to watch the sunrise from Mount Si.
My little brother Kevin went with him to Disneyland.
Dexter's buddy went camping with him out past Leavenworth.
I stayed in Ballard, in this blue house, holding his mother's hand.
"Have fun," I said.
Dexter kissed the top of my head.
"You're a saint, you know that?"
The front door closed behind him.
Susan's grip went soft almost at once.
Her eyes drifted toward the window, where his car was pulling away.
"Addie," she said, in a small, lost voice. "Are the osmanthus cakes ready yet?"
"Not yet, Mom. I'll start them now."
"Good girl."
That was how her episodes went.
She forgot her own sister's name.
She forgot what year it was.
But she always remembered a snack that took three hours to make.
Green rice cakes in spring. Chilled mung bean pastries in summer.
Osmanthus cakes in the fall, layered and steamed, one tray at a time.
None of them were hard.
They just ate the whole day.
I went to the kitchen and pulled out her steamer.
Susan dozed off in her armchair with her phone on the cushion beside her.
An hour later, the phone buzzed.
Then it buzzed again.
Then it didn't stop.
I went to turn it face down so it wouldn't wake her.
The screen was lit.
She never locked it. She said she couldn't remember the code.
The message on top was from a group chat.
The group was named "Phoebe's Guardian Squad."
Phoebe Fenton.
Dexter's girlfriend from college.
The one who left him for London and broke his heart so hard he didn't date for a year.
I knew I should put the phone down.
I tapped the chat instead.
The newest message was from Dexter.
"Phoebe's been doing so much better lately."
Then another one.
"Mom, thanks for all the hard work keeping Adeline occupied."
Nobody called me Adeline.
Only my bank and my dentist.
His mother had replied five minutes ago, while she was supposedly asleep in the chair behind me.
"Don't worry about anything here. Just focus on spending time with Phoebe. I've got it covered."
Then she'd tagged everyone.
"Everybody be careful not to slip up!"
I watched the little profile pictures answer one by one.
Brooke's golden retriever.
Kevin's gaming avatar.
The buddy's boat.
"Got it."
"Got it."
"Got it."
My hands shook so hard I had to set the phone on the counter.
A tear hit the screen.
It blurred my own face in the glass.
Five years.
Every date that should have been mine had gone to another woman.
And the best part was that everyone knew.
Everyone except me.
The phone buzzed again under my hand.
Dexter's buddy had sent a photo.
It was Wildwater Park, the big Ferris wheel lit up gold behind them.
Dexter was in the front of the car.
He had his arm around a woman with long honey-blonde hair.
He was kissing her.
The buddy had typed underneath it.
"Coast clear? Is the pastry chef still steaming?"
Susan answered him from the armchair four feet away.
"Three more trays at least. She's a good little worker."
I turned around.
Her eyes were closed.
Her thumbs were still resting on the edge of her cardigan pocket.
Her phone lay on the counter by my hand.
How was she typing?
Then I saw the tablet.
It was wedged beside her hip under the blanket, glowing faintly through the wool.
I scrolled up on her phone, fast, past two years of messages.
I stopped on one pinned at the top.
Susan had pinned it herself on Friday.
"Saturday is Adeline's birthday. Phoebe wants the table at Maison Rue that Adeline booked. I'll have an episode at 6."
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