by Rowan Massey
Mom was standing in the open doorway, her usual exhausted and resigned expression on her face. She was looking around for the keys. They weren’t in the tub. I looked around too, and spotted them right under my leg. I hadn’t tossed them, but the pillows were on the floor in the hallway. I’d thrown the pillows instead of the keys. Embarrassed, I kept my head down and started unlocking the padlocks. She sighed and went away.
I stood on wobbly legs and closed the bathroom door. My skin was starting to feel like mine again, and it was drenched in flop sweat. I stripped down and got in the shower. The water knob had to be fiddled with to get it just right. When I needed to think, I liked it just warm enough to not be cold.
I covered myself in cheap three-in-one body wash. The familiar scent helped me to get centered. Once I was more or less calm, standing in the endless flow of water, I easily took down the walls in my mind to take a good hard look at myself. Yes, I’d seduced and fucked my father. Yes, a million trillion times yes, I regretted it. I hated my plan and wanted to go back and rewrite it. My mind wandered into a perfect world of sanity and smiles where I contacted Clay, introduced myself, learned his tragic story, forgave him, met my sister, and lived happily ever after with my spanking new, all-American family. There were plenty of versions to run through on repeat while I wasted water, but eventually, I had to get out, fingers wrinkled, and think about my response to what Clay had told me about the PI. Planning mode had become a habit, or maybe, an addiction. I grabbed a towel that was still damp from my last shower and rubbed it roughly over my wet hair. I quickly found myself in the zone, focused like a laser on plotting. It was beautiful to be focused and clear after being buried in confusion.
By the time I got back to my bedroom, I knew what I had to do next. I sat cross legged on the mattress and picked up my phone.
Zander: That’s awesome :) How did you come up with the money?
Clay: A close friend offered to give me a loan. I’m meeting up with the PI in half an hour.
Christ, things were happening so fucking fast. My hand shook, but only for a couple seconds, then I steadied and kept texting.
Zander: What PI did you pick?
Clay: Nick Nugent. He was the cheapest option but seems ok so far.
Zander: Let me know what happens.
Clay: I will
Clay: How are you?
He never failed to ask me how I was, almost especially when he was busy. It seemed like he wanted to be sure he didn’t forget. It was endearing and a big relief after being worried he’d lost interest. A cheesy smile grew over my face. I rubbed a hand over my cheek, remembering the shakiness and loss of control. I gave myself a little slap. I had to focus on Clay.
Zander: Doing fine :) Good luck.
I left it at that. I had the information I’d wanted. Half an hour later, I was out the door with a reckless drive in my chest. Keeping Clay in my life was the only thing left worth living for.
Since I was heading to the same place as Clay, I was nervous about the chances of being spotted, even though I could safely assume we would be coming from opposite directions. The paint on the road seemed to be morphing through shades of yellow, but I was otherwise as steady as could be expected. I was proud of myself for the quick recovery, especially since my fit had been unpredictable and more intense than usual.
I had to stop and study the map on my phone at one point because the investigator’s office was a little off the beaten path. It was in a shitty little strip mall in a patch of middle class houses that were built in the nineties. Just as I spotted it, I lost my nerve and remembered that Clay might still be there. I kept driving. There was a chain diner down the street, and I stopped there. The parking lot was full enough that I felt hidden. Families with bouncing toddlers, and old couples who had probably been stingy with the tip, made for boring people watching.
Waiting always made me nervous, so I plugged my phone into the dash and played a dinky game on it. The mindless distraction was always a good way to make time pass more quickly. I let half an hour go by with the musical sounds and colorful shapes—nevermind that those shapes morphed into other things now and then—then headed back to the strip mall. Clay was nowhere in sight. I wished I’d seen his car the other night because I didn’t remember what kind it was.
Rain water had, over time, left dirty streaks down the sides of the drab, tan walls. The office window read, “Nugent & Stanley Investigations”. I pulled all the way around the side of the building and parked in the one of three spaces there beside the dumpsters. Before I’d left, I’d grabbed a baseball hat. It was uncharacteristic of me to wear a hat since I thought pretty much all hats were ugly and felt weird on my head, but I was on a covert operation. I pulled the uncomfortable rim down low to my eyes and got out of the car. The stench of garbage seeped through the air to my nose. I hurried around the corner to escape it, then caught myself and backtracked. God, how had I turned the corner without looking around first? I had to get my shit together. I was becoming way too excited. I did some slow breathing and flexed my shoulders, making myself relax. Sneaking around looking suspicious would be a mistake.
First, I listened out for voices, footsteps, music, and the like. Nothing. I peeked around the corner and saw no one. I was in the clear. Walking at an easy pace, I made my way past two store fronts—a shitty vape shop and a payday loan dealer—until I got to the PI’s office. The big windows were half-covered in vertical blinds. I had to squint out of the corner of my eyes to see that the place had the standard front desk with a lady behind it, chairs, a plant, and a water cooler, and beyond that, two doors. No sign of Clay. One of the doors was partially open, but I could see nothing beyond it. I’d planned on passing by as if planning on going to the Chinese takeout joint nearby, but something made me slow down. I caught the lady’s eye. I halted without thinking, paused, realized that the opportunity to look nonchalant had passed, and reached for the glass door. Pushing didn’t do the job, and I had one of those ridiculous moments where you know you really should have learned at some point how to spot a Pull or Push sign and follow directions. I walked inside and was immediately greeted by the smiling lady, who had a complicated looking, bleach blonde updo that seemed like a little much for a weekday.
“How can I help you?” she asked.
“Um…” What had I planned to say? Fuck it. “Are there any customers here right now?”
Her expression immediately changed and the smile became fake.
“Well…why do you need to know?”
“Uh, nevermind. I don’t have an appointment, but do you think I can talk to somebody?”
“What’s your name?” She picked up a pen and held it over a note pad, ready to take down information. The doors behind her were flimsy, and I couldn’t hear any conversation, but couldn’t be sure Clay wasn’t there. It made me nervous enough to start sweating and fluttering my hands around.
I stepped closer to her desk, trying to decide quickly if I wanted a piece of paper with my information on it floating around their craptastic office. They probably weren’t especially good at their jobs. I waved a dismissive hand towards her pen.
“Just let me talk to whoever’s here for like, two minutes. It’s about one of your cases. Won’t take long, I promise.” I knew I sounded rushed and anxious.
“Do you need Nugent or Stanley?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.”
She bunched her lipsticked lips to the side, considering, then nodded and got to her feet. Her heels thumped sharply on the thin carpet as she opened the door on the left, went in, and closed it behind her. Low, muffled voices exchanged words for just a few seconds before she came back out.
“Go ahead, sir,” she told me, and waved me in.
For some reason, I took my hat off as if I were an old-timey dude who’d just entered a church, holding it in front of my belly with two hands. The silver-haired, pale man behind the grimy desk stood and came around to shake my hand.
“I’m Nick Nugent. And w
ho might you be?”
His handshake was firm, but impatient. He looked me in the eye expectantly. I glanced down at the desk, which had boxes and papers stacked all around it, the usual collection of desk accessories cluttered the edges, and an unusual amount of dust could be seen behind the computer monitor.
“I’m Zander. Sorry to bother you. Uh…”
I stood there stupidly and rung my hat in my hands. He didn’t sit back down or offer me the chairs in front of the desk. I was getting the hint to be quick about it loud and clear. Going in, the plan had been to just plain ask the guy not to investigate. Wouldn’t it be ethical to respect my wishes? But if he cared more about money than ethics, I could use the only handy tool available to me: sex. That was clearly out of the question though. The guy wasn’t clean, wasn’t handsome, and probably wasn’t into men. I’d gotten desperate and was making a fool of myself.
“I think…did you meet a guy today named Clay Corden?”
“I can’t tell you who I’ve met or haven’t met, son.” He pulled his wide belt up around his ass and kept waiting for me to say something useful.
“Well, I think he’s looking for me, and I really don’t wanna be found, you know?”
His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You got any ID on you?” he asked.
“Uh, yes,” I fished my wallet out of my back pocket. The real ID was right in front of my fake ID. I handed it over. “Zander is a nickname,” I explained.
“Ah, got it.” He nodded and tested the edges of the ID for telltale shoddiness. I waited while he poked around for his glasses, found them right in front of him in the outbox, and held them up to his eyes without putting them on. He glanced from my face to the photo and back.
“Okay, Zander. Can I let him know you don’t want to be contacted?”
“Really? Yes. Yes, please.” That had been effortless. I gave him a grateful smile.
“Out of curiosity, what are the reasons?”
“Uh…well, if you don’t mind, just tell him I’m not interested. Thanks.”
“No problem. Come back if you change your mind. I have a soft spot for family matters. I won’t mind. Must be the fastest case I’ve ever solved,” he chuckled.
“I know where he is,” I told him. “ So I’m good.”
“Well then, have a good day.”
He moved to sit back down and get back to work. I went out the door, nodded at the lady, who smiled and told me to have a good evening. They were polite. Say what you will about their surroundings.
The open sky drew my attention once I was outside. I stood for a second looking up at the burst of pink light at the horizon. I was grateful there weren’t any weird movements up there. I put my hat on and strolled back to my car feeling lighter and much more confident about pulling everything off.
It wasn’t until I reached the car and got in that I thought about how hard Clay would take the news. He’d be crushed. I remembered the shy, but hopeful way he’d talked about deciding to find me and his worries about what I might be like. One arm resting on the steering wheel, I spaced out thinking about how I might console him. When I came back to myself, I happened to spot the fact that my gas was running low. I’d been driving around too much. There was barely enough in the tank to get home, and I had no money at all. Dealing with the PI had been so easy. I wished I had just called them. If I wanted to meet up with Clay later that week, I’d have to come up with some cash in any case.
I mulled over the options for a long time, window rolled down for air, but the stench of garbage made me feel rushed to leave. No rash decisions, I told myself.
Having solidly formed the habit of writing my thoughts down, I took out my phone, opened the note taking app, and started typing on the little screen. I wrote down things like “tell him it’s not his fault” and “make sure I’m there for him even if he isn’t the one to text me first”. What resulted felt like a letter. If I wanted to give him a letter of reassurances from Lysander, how would I give it to him?
I got out of the car and walked quickly back towards the office, broke into a jog, then slowed again just before reaching the door. I startled to see Mr. Nugent heading out the door. I stepped aside to let him by.
“Change your mind?” he asked.
“No, I just thought, what if I could send him an email? Could you help me do that? I mean, do you have his email?”
He twisted his mouth thoughtfully, then nodded.
“Here, take my card.” He fished one out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. It was plain white with a black font and no logo. “My email is on there. Just send me a message, then I’ll drop him a line. I’ll set it up. How about that? Good?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.”
I kept nodding and shuffling my feet. I really had to teach myself not to show nervousness under any situation. It was just another failing of mine.
“Take care,” he said, and walked to his car.
“Thanks,” I said again, and speed-walked back to my car.
I was excited to start composing a letter. I could take my time. It didn’t seem like a daunting job. I would just make sure that I never sent him any clues to the truth.
Chapter Twenty-One
Clay Age 38
GETTING A CALL from Nick the very next day after I’d gone to hire him had a been a big surprise, almost a shock.
“I didn’t even have to look for the kid. Hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” he’d said. “He showed up after you left, and he was a little indecisive, but he asked me to help him send you an email.”
“Oh. Oh, wow. That’s wonderful. I can’t thank you enough,” I’d said. Standing in my bedroom with nothing but briefs on, I angled towards the high window, trying to make sure I kept a good signal.
“Actually, I didn’t do any work at all. I’m refunding you the full amount. Wouldn’t feel right taking it.”
I almost told him he didn’t have to do that, but I remembered how difficult it had been to take the money from Catherine. She’d been told no over and over, but next thing I knew, there was a notification on my phone telling me I’d been wired every cent I needed. Torn between meeting my son a little sooner and keeping my pride, I’d given in and called her to say thank you repeatedly until she’d dryly told me to shut up because she had a deadline. Laughing, I’d hung up crying tears of gratitude. I was lucky to have such people in my life.
“That’s generous of you,” I’d told Nick on the phone. “Thank you. But I don’t understand something.”
“What’s that?”
“How did he know to go to you? He just showed up?”
“That’s right. Not half an hour later. I was just about to go home for the day. I’m sorry but I got the strong impression he didn’t want his privacy compromised. You understand. I didn’t ask questions. He showed me his driver’s license and it was definitely him. That’s all I can say.”
“Well…” I desperately wanted to know more. “How did he look? What does he look like?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” His voice suddenly turned official and firm. “I really can’t answer any more questions. Best of luck to your family. Let me know if I can do anything else, but I don’t think I can. Let me give you this email, alright?”
“Right,” I sighed. “Thanks. Let me find a pen.”
I hurried to the next room and found a pen in a junk drawer. I wrote the address on the inside of my arm, thanked him again, and said goodbye.
Several long hours later, I’d written something to send him. Starting out, I’d basically started writing him a book to read, so I started whittling it down to the most necessary information until I grew frustrated and scrapped everything in favor of a much simpler message. It took two beers before I could hit send.
To: Lysander Mason
From: Clay Corden
Subject: Hello
I was surprised and very happy that you contacted Nick Nugent wanting to communicate with me. It’s impossible to express how much I r
egret not being there to see you grow up. I have thought about you every day of your life. Maybe it’s strange to hear this from someone you’ve never met or heard from, but I do love you very much. I wanted to be there, and I can’t fix the fact that I wasn’t. There are no excuses good enough. But even though it’s late in the game, I’d like to get to know you. Please let me tell you about some things that happened when you were a baby. I don’t know what your family has told you, but I wanted to raise you and be your dad. Understandably, you’re hesitant, but it seems you know that I’m looking for you. Hopefully we can meet. It’s entirely up to you. I wanted you to at least know that I want to see you and get to know you.
