The Boy Most Likely To

by Huntley Fitzpatrick

  I start toward the door and her voice stops me. “I’m not even able to come up with Samantha’s semester fee for Hodges.” She stands up. “We can see the main school building from here. How will Samantha feel if she can look at it but not attend anymore? It’s her senior year. She stands a solid chance at any one of the Ivies she chooses. That’s her future. Is your brother planning to go to college? Or straight into the workforce?”

  Being outright rude to this woman will only make her think she’s more right and I’m more wrong. But—

  “Jase has been in the ‘workforce’ since he was fourteen—working at my dad’s store. Like my brother Joel and me. And yes, he’ll go to college. If he gets a scholarship. Or some loans. If we come through this without going bankrupt. My parents went to college. My brother Joel went to college. I’m at nursing school at Middlesex College in White Bay.”

  “I had a fund-raiser there. Lovely campus. So rural. Is that a community college? I can’t remember.”

  As if community colleges and public schools are some inferior species—unless, of course, you need votes.

  “Yes, it is. And—and—I applied to transfer to Nightingale Nursing School—in Manhattan—for this fall. I got in. Off the waiting list, at the end of the summer. But because of what happened to Dad, I deferred. I’m not sure I’ll ever get there now.”

  I haven’t told anyone but Joel about those two things. Not even my parents. They would have argued. Another thing to add into Grace Reed’s tally. Turning us into a family of secret-keepers. Something we’ve never been. Something that makes me a little sick.

  “That is truly unfortunate,” Grace Reed says, her voice sincere. “That’s a wonderful school. I’m a huge believer in the value of a good education.”

  Yes, I’m sure you’ve made a speech about it.

  She looks me directly in the eye now, her voice going quieter. “You’re protective of your family. I’m the same about mine. I’m a single mom, Alison, and I’ve had to fill the role of both parents since before Samantha was born. Hodges is the only school she’s ever known—it’s been stability for her, an extended family.”

  “Not my problem, Senator Reed.”

  “That’s a pretty cold comment, Alison. How would your brother—”

  The two-tone sound of the doorbell. She startles, and for a moment her eyes flick around the room, almost frantic, as though she’s making sure no evidence—her fingerprints on the bills, a shattered headlight from her car—is in sight. But the only evidence is me, my red face, the angry tears building in my throat.

  “Samantha must have forgotten her key. Again. Why don’t you come with me and I can let you out when I let her in?”

  There I am, trailing after her clacking heels down the long hallway. I haven’t fixed a thing. The only thing that’s changed is that I hate her more.

  “Samantha, I’ve told you and told you to remember that I—”

  “Yo, Gracie,” Tim says cheerfully. “You’re looking lovely as ever. Already whipping the house into shape.”

  Grace looks like she’s trying to smile and frown at the same time, which even she can’t pull off—she looks like someone’s just goosed her. “Ah—um—”

  “Tim,” he says helpfully.

  She laughs. “I wasn’t expecting you, Timothy.”

  “You know me, I get around.”

  I’m glaring at him from behind Samantha’s mom. He takes off a pair of sunglasses I’ve never seen him wear and polishes them on his shirttail, still smiling. “I’m still welcome, aren’t I, Gracie?”

  “Well . . . yes, though Samantha’s not home yet, but—I thought you were her, actually, but—my guest was just—”

  “Yes, I came for Alice. I’m her chauffeur today. One of my many jobs. I’m working for the Garretts now. In all kinds of ways.”

  Grace, like other women in Tim’s life, obviously has no idea what to do with him. She settles for a faint “That’s . . . enterprising.”

  “Isn’t it? I try not to pass up any opportunity. Hey, speaking of that, Brendan, your campaign manager? I guess I should say ‘former campaign manager’—he called me this week. On your behalf. Another volunteer opportunity.”

  She does that tilt of her chin, mildly interested thing.

  Tim raises his eyebrows at her, smile broadening. “Thinking of throwing your hat in for treasurer?”

  “Just a thought,” Grace says. “Not a lot of opposition and—it’s late in the game, so it’s probably not likely, but—”

  “But you like to gamble. Besides, it’s been a couple of months since you retired. Practically a lifetime in politics.”

  Politics are not my thing. But I get the definite sense that more is being said here than has been spoken out loud.

  “Yes, well . . .” Grace’s gaze flits from Tim to me. All the discomfort I wanted for her? I see it on her face now.

  “Ready, Alice?” He slips an arm around my shoulder, herds me out the door. “Sorry to cut things short. I know Alice will continue your conversation another time soon. And hey, thanks for giving Brendan the heads-up to call me. I’m glad all the stuff from your last campaign is behind you. Ancient history, right?”

  She’s still standing in the doorway as Tim the chauffeur ushers me across the well-tended lawn to his car.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  ALICE

  “Classic Grace,” Tim says in the car, after I finish my description of the hellish visit. “Could have scripted it all.”

  “Why’d you tell me to talk to her if it wouldn’t do any good? If you knew she was going to do all that—cry poor, and act like I was a big meanie and not budge an inch? And what were you doing, anyway? What was with the ‘Yo, Gracie,’ smooth campaign talk?”

  “Trust me, Alice. It did some good. She’s sweating right now. Count on it. Or perspiring, because sweating would be tacky. If nobody calls her on shit, Grace thinks no one sees it. Now she knows different. Me? I was just using what I knew and fucking with her.”

  All the anger that got lost under the white rug in the Reeds’ hygienic little bubble buzzes around me now.

  “It’s not a game, Tim!”

  He turns to me, face hard suddenly. For an instant, I can see how he’ll look when he’s older, when the sharp lines of his bones and the smoothness of his cheeks all come together to make a man’s face. “I thought we’d been through this. I am taking it seriously, Alice. I’m taking everything seriously. But, hey, thanks for the reminder that ultimately I’m a loser. Almost slipped my mind.”

  “No.” I grab his sleeve as he reaches for the gearshift. “I don’t look at you that way. At all. I—I—”

  He puts a hand on my leg. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe. Don’t worry about it. But also, stop saying that shit to me. I don’t care about Pop’s naughty list, but hell if I’ll be on yours. If this is going to work with us, I can’t be auto-fuckup all the time.”

  His eyes widen, as though the words startle him as much as me. But then he adds, “I mean it.”

  This.

  There’s a “this” and an “us.” And he’s just laid that on the table.

  “Unless it’s just a hookup, Alice. Or not even that.” His eyes search mine. When I don’t say anything, his voice falters, drops lower. “Can you please talk?”

  “No, it’s not. And you’re—”

  My hands are around the back of his neck now, and I’m kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. His shoulders are vibrating because he’s laughing now as I’m practically climbing into his lap.

  “Whoa. We’re in the Hodges school zone. If we get hauled in on public indecency charges, Joel will show no humanity this time.”

  He slides me off, carefully moving me almost to the far side of the seat as though I’m magnetic or flammable, flashes a wink at me and turns around, elbow on armrest, to back up and pull out of the cramped parking space. I study him, sleeves rolled back, shoulders surprisingly broad beneath the rumpled striped shirt.

  “Whe
n did you develop all this self-control?”

  “You kidding? I have no self-control whatsoever. None.” He sounds as though I’ve accused him of something shameful. “None.”

  “Every time we’ve kissed, you’ve stopped us.”

  He ticks things off on his fingers. “That night at the garage apartment when you agreed to let me stay there—”

  “We didn’t kiss then.”

  “I would have gone for it—you were the one who backed away. Also you were with Brad. The beach—too public. Also—other insane stuff going on. The Ferris wheel—that was the long arm of the law, also known as your big brother.”

  “And the house was empty.”

  “Sure. We could have used Jase’s room. That would have been awesome.” He punches in the cigarette lighter, blasts on the air-conditioning, readjusts the rearview mirror, concentrates hard on pulling out into traffic.

  “Your apartment was empty too.”

  “Yeah, well. Man, this traffic better lighten up. I’m s’posed to pick up Nano before I get Cal, and Hester always freaks out if I’m late. God, that guy just went right through the stoplight. You see that?”

  “Tim, are you blushing?”

  “No. I don’t blush. Guys don’t blush.”

  “I think you are.”

  “It’s hot in here, Alice. Can you crack open your window?”

  It is not, in fact, hot in here. It’s actually sort of a chilly, cloudy fall afternoon. Plus, he has the air-conditioning cranked, which is completely unnecessary. I open my window anyway.

  He rolls his down too, and sticks his head out when we get to a stoplight, cooling his face. Which is not blushing. Because guys don’t blush.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  TIM

  No matter where we do it—the store, Waldo’s house, the garage, whatever, the Cal exchange has this weird, sketchy vibe. First off, Hester and I are so frickin’ polite that you’d think we’d have to be speaking in code, because there are no conversations on earth so dull as this except the ones in introductory language courses. Instead of, “Where is the pen of my aunt?” we say, “They were all out of Huggies, so I bought blah blah blah,” or, “He only slept four hours this morning, but he had a nap in the car.” Plus which, you’d think that Hester was one badass spy because each time I get a different girl—sloppy sweats, jeans and T-shirt, dress. Cleavage, no cleavage, turtleneck. Sometimes she’s all flustered and nervous, sometimes she’s poised and composed. Sometimes she’s got notes written out about when Cal did what, sometimes she looks startled when I ask and says, “He did all the usual things.”

  This afternoon is awkward times eight hundred billion because Nan’s along for the ride. So she’s running into both my one-night-stand and its byproduct at the same time.

  We’re at the damn park again, which Nan just cannot get over. “It’s weird. Who does that?”

  “Dunno, sis. All the other mothers of my bastard children meet me at the courthouse. Who cares?”

  Now Hester (Model 2.0: jeans and a sweater, both clean-looking) holds out a hand, and Nan takes it, scanning her face. Hester just looks back like she’s expected close scrutiny. Nan’s eyes run from the tip of Hester’s head to the toe of her Keds. Then she drops down on her knees to look at Cal.

  “He’s beautiful,” she tells Hester, who stays impassive. “When did you say his birthday was?”

  “July twenty-ninth. Tim, I’m almost out of formula. You’ll have to pick up some to get him through the day. Sorry.” She hands me a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.

  I shove it back at her. What the fuck? She’s never done that before. And indeed, Nan’s looking at me with you deadbeat dad written all over her face.

  I squat down to Cal’s eye level, unbuckle him, remove his latest stupid hat, which has mouse ears, and ruffle his flyaway hair.

  “Hey kid.”

  Hester says something about having to run because it’s her day to do whatever at the place where she works. Once again I’m smacked by how little I know this girl. Do I owe her that, the way I owe it to Cal, before they’re both gone? I’m having a harder time than usual listening because I’m so focused on Nan’s reactions. Also, Cal’s grabbed my hair and is trying to stuff some in his mouth. And part of me is with Alice, wondering if she’s okay, if she’s worrying about Grace, starting to panic—

  Squeal from the kid, another sharp tug on my hair, pulling me back.

  “Yow, Cal.” I disentangle his hand and he immediately grabs my ear and tries the same maneuver.

  “Remember, adoption agency, you signing the birth certificate, next Thursday at three o’clock,” Hester calls as we walk away. “Wear a tie.”

  Christ. “Right, sure,” I call back curtly over Cal’s slurping on my ear.

  Nan says nothing as she watches me strap him in, let him gnaw on the knuckle of my index finger while I rummage in my pocket for car keys. When I finally locate them, Nan’s still looking.

  “Sooo . . . whad’you think?” I wipe drool off on the side of my jeans.

  “Hunhn,” Nan says, unhelpfully.

  “Hunhn, what? Don’t you think he looks like me?”

  But Nan just cocks her head at me, then Cal. “Sort of . . . maybe.”

  “Nans, look at him.” I reach under his first chin to indicate the cleft, wave my hand at his leggy little body. “Come on.”

  “I thought maybe it would just be obvious. He’d have a completely identical birthmark or something. I guess, the thing is, Tim, I can’t figure out what she’s up to. Why keep quiet so long and then show up—ta-da!—with a baby. Why not put him up for adoption right from the delivery room?”

  It’s not like I don’t get what Nan’s saying. I’ve had that thought. If Hester had just, say, written me a letter with the facts and some papers to sign off on, if Cal had been abstract, would I have left it at that? So much easier than these uncomfortable swaps, and weird-ass waiting-for-Hester-to-get-the-kid-together conversations with Waldo. Last time, I asked where the bathroom was and he said, “The body tries to tell the truth.” Not exactly directions to the john.

  “Raaaaah. Rah. Rrraaaaaaaah!” Cal contributes at this point.

  I locate the set of plastic keys Mrs. Garrett gave me and hand them to him.

  “What, you think she’s one of those crazy people who steals babies, and she decided to bring me into her little scam so she can get access to my millions?”

  “Don’t yell at me,” Nan says, her calm voice cutting through my increasingly loud one. “Maybe she wants you . . . back?”

  “That would imply that she had me, that we had a thing going, which we didn’t. So in this scenario of yours, she wants me, she decides to present me with a baby, because hell knows nothing turns on a seventeen-year-old guy like a child.”

  Cal hits himself in the eye with the keys, drops them, and starts screaming, pissed as hell. I grin, unbuckle him again, pick him up. He nudges his face into my biceps, stops screaming, and gives a long, shuddery sigh.

  Nan closes her eyes, tips her head back against the car. “I’m tired of worrying about you, Tim.”

  “We could always swing by Troy Rhodes’s house so you could get something to calm your nerves.”

  Nan repeats, as she has every single time I’ve brought this up, “It’s not how it looks.”

  “Just so ya know, that’s one of the least convincing of all bullshit lines. That one never even worked for me. What gives, Nan?”

  “As if it’s that easy,” she says. “I’m finally not terrified you’ll die of alcohol poisoning or in a car crash.”

  “Strange, I thought we were talking about you. Quit worrying then. Back to—”

  “You’re finally turning your life around, and now you have to get into this situation.”

  “You know what? You sound exactly like Pop. Situation. Circumstance. Issue. Try ‘baby.’ He’s your . . . your nephew.” The word tastes strange in my mouth. My sister’s an aunt. Pop and Ma are grandparents. Why those should be so
much harder to wrap my head around than the fact that I’m a father, I don’t know.

  She’s giving me that same old Not Again, Tim face. Anger swamps in like a hot red tide. I hate to even touch Cal when I’m like this. But he’s chomping away on my shoulder, oblivious to whatever it is pulsing in my veins.

  Nan, however, must sense it. She slides her back along the car, away from me, wary.

  “See, here’s what I don’t get, sis. Maybe you can explain it to me. All the mistakes I’ve made, and you and Pop are still on my ass when I’m trying to do the right thing. Temporarily.”

  “That’s just it, Tim. Temporarily.” She indicates Cal, my hand on his back, his cheek against my shirt. “And here you are. Acting like a dad.”

  “I’m not really acting like a dad,” I point out. “Just babysitting. What do you want from me, anyway, Nan? You want me to say I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing? Consider it said.”

  “I’m not worried you don’t know what you’re doing, Tim. I’m worried you do. Look at you.” She waves her hand at me and Cal. “That’s what worries me.”

  Nan’s phone and mine vibrate simultaneously as I pull onto the curb in front of our house, and I snatch hers before she can get to it. WHAT WE TALKED ABOUT STILL A GO? GOT ALL THE SUPPLIES, SO YOU *ARE* SET! —T.

  “I don’t even get how you can come down on me, Nano, when you’re the one getting ‘supplies’ from the candy man.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nan says, all heated.

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about. No one knows better. So don’t even—”

  I’m so busy arguing with my twin that I don’t notice the car parked behind us. Don’t take in a thing until I hear Nan say, “Uh-oh.” And look back to see Ma’s figure bent over the trunk of her car, hauling bags and bags onto the driveway.

  “She can’t be worse than Pop about this.”

  “You didn’t hear him when he first found out,” Nan offers grimly.

  Ma turns around as I get out and wipes her forehead, squinting at the car. “Timothy?”

  “Uh, yo, Ma.” Nan’s sunk down in her seat and put her head in her hands.