Mountain Daddy

by Layla Valentine

  “Why not just take a test? To rule it out?” Monica said, shrugging slightly. “I can even run out and get it for you, if you want?”

  “No. No, no,” I murmured, reaching upward and gripping my hair. I yanked at it, feeling the strands tug too tight, then reconsidered.

  “I’ll do it.”

  The walk to the local convenience store felt like a walk along the plank. Wrapping a cardigan around my shoulders, I watched, like a puppy at a pet store, as Monica joined the others in the break room, taking a piece of cake. She stabbed a fork into her slice, giggling along to something Steve said. I felt resigned to a different fate, standing in the shade while the others felt the glittering sun.

  The convenience store was more or less abandoned, with entire aisles cleared out for Christmas. The candy section had been ransacked, with just a single package of a generic peanut butter and chocolate hidden along the far edge.

  Just as there had always been, each time I’d walked alongside them on my way to something else, there were several different brands of pregnancy tests: each with a woman curling her neck downward like a crane and staring at her round, blissful belly.

  As I traced my finger over the edge of the cardboard box, a question circled my mind. Was this something I wanted to be true?

  I didn’t know. The question bounced from ear to ear before bounding back into the echoes of my brain. I paid for the test at the counter, making momentary eye contact with the clerk. She was brimming, her cheeks bright. True: I was very much old enough to have a child. I wasn’t some eighteen-year-old, frightened and scrubbing together pennies to pay for the test. I yearned to be a mother, in some respects.

  But was this the right way?

  “Good luck, and Merry Christmas!” the clerk called as I left, jangling the door as I opened it. It was covered with Christmas bells, lending an air of festive cheer to the foggy streets outside.

  Good luck. What an odd thing to tell someone buying a pregnancy test on Christmas Eve.

  I circled the block three times, aware that the longer I waited before taking the test, the longer I could live in this in-between world. I wasn’t pregnant, but I wasn’t not pregnant. I felt like a probability question on a high school math exam. I felt like a statistic, right before it’s written down.

  I was grateful that Monica didn’t eye me when I entered the office. She was leaning heavily against Steve’s desk, next to a plate coated in cake crumbs.

  Ducking into the bathroom, I opened the packaging, my nostrils flared. In the back of my mind, I yearned, for the first time in months and months, for a drink. Yet alcohol was the last thing in the world I should have, for this potential baby’s sake.

  “If I’m not pregnant, I’ll call everything off the rest of the day, and drink myself into a stupor with Monica,” I whispered. “Here goes nothing.”

  After peeing on the stick, I tucked the lid back on the end and slipped it back into the packaging, hopeful that no one would catch me. As Christmas celebrators fell into the bathroom, giggling, I slipped past them and returned to my desk, my heart hammering. I knew that in two minutes, the stick would reveal my future.

  In the far end of the office, they’d turned up the Christmas music a bit too loud. It blared through the hallway, forcing me to close the glass door and bring the blinds down. I was blocking out all Christmas cheer for the moment.

  In the next minutes, I waited, my heart feeling squeezed. Perching on my desk, I reached for my purse and drew out the now-worn polaroid from that gorgeous day with Gracie and Ethan. The way I peered up at him, with such love and adoration, seemed to breathe magic. His face was easy, bright, handsome—with a bit of gruffness to it, hinting at the life he’d led before.

  God, I wanted my children to look like him.

  With this sudden jolt of emotion, I reached for the cardboard box and drew out the stick.

  It read back a bright pink plus sign, sure and true, alerting me, once and for all: I was pregnant. I was pregnant with Ethan’s baby.

  The love we’d grown in the mountains, during that fateful week, had found a lasting place in my belly.

  “I’ll be damned,” I whispered, glancing down at the photo on my desk, at the way it shimmered beneath the light. In the far room, I heard the pop of a champagne cork. In a strange way, alone, I felt more celebratory than I could comprehend.

  But confusion, like a fog, filled my brain almost instantly. My phone chimed, alerting me that it was nearly time to meet with Shane Merkley, the alleged former mob boss. With a flourish, I slipped the polaroid into my folders, put the pregnancy test into a small zip-pocket of my purse, and fled the office, feeling as if I could run like the wind, faster and stronger than ever before.

  As I walked, I forced myself to run through my mental notes about this ex-mob boss. Meeting with the polite and handsome thirty-something had been something of a pleasure the past few weeks. We’d met three times to discuss his charges, and each time, he’d made a point to open the door for me, laugh at my jokes, flash his dimples. In a strange way, he was the only man in my life, currently. A person I was trying to “fix,” filling the hole of my loneliness.

  Far in the back of my mind, I imagined telling Shane about the pregnancy.

  “The father is a man I don’t know all that well,” I’d tell him, conspiratorially. “I’ll raise the baby on my own if he’s not interested. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “You’re like my mother,” Shane would say, his accent lilting and jovial, hinting at his Irish roots. “She worked her entire life to ensure us kids were happy and warm and well fed. You’ve been doing that for your clients for years. Now it’s your turn to build something for yourself.”

  His voice, gravelly and dark, was always accompanied by a smile, making me trust him, despite his charges.

  I knew Shane would be difficult to defend, but I’d make sure the judge would fall for his charms. And I’d be up for a promotion within the year.

  The baby and I would need that money. This thought rang out in the back of my mind, causing a smile to slip across my cheeks.

  Shane stood up to greet me. He shook my hand, squeezing it tight. “Merry Christmas Eve to you.”

  “And to you,” I told him, giving him a genuine smile. “Let’s get started on this so we can get home.”

  “Any plans for you this evening?” he asked, tilting his head. He’d ordered two waters for us, and a whiskey for himself. He sipped it, his nostrils flaring. “Your parents live close by?”

  “They do,” I said. “I’m planning on spending tomorrow with them. Taking tonight to catch up on work and relax.”

  “Ah, Serena. You should be with the people you love tonight.”

  After a brief pause, and a stab of realization that he was right—mob boss or not—we dove into the meeting. I took quick notes, asking him questions about his alleged crime.

  “And that was the night of November 22nd?” I asked, my eyebrows lowering. “The cops have you at the scene.”

  “That was my brother’s doing,” Shane said, sounding almost hesitant. “He asked me to swing by and help him move out of his ex-lady’s house. All these boxes. I strained a few muscles trying to help him, to be honest. The doctor at the jail can probably tell you that. I asked him for an ice pack.”

  “And you never heard any shots fired or anything, while there?” I asked him, my brain a million miles away from our conversation, from this world. “It’s just good if I get as much information as I can.”

  “It all happened so fast,” Shane said quietly. “If only because I was only there a second. Grabbed my brother’s boxes and drove them down the road. Had nothing else going beyond that. Then we all met up at my mama’s for Thanksgiving dinner. You can ask her yourself.”

  “She’ll be a good witness. And anyone else you saw that evening?”

  “I’ve got loads of friends who came to Thanksgiving,” Shane said, slipping his fingers through his curly hair. “I think you’ll find this on
e easy to wrap up.”

  “That’s my hope,” I sighed, slapping the folder closed and making one last note.

  I flashed a final smile, feeling my heart yanking me out the door. I needed to retreat, regroup. I needed to lay on my back in my bedroom and slide my fingers over and over my stomach, daydreaming about the future. Figuring out a way to make it so.

  “Come on, Serena,” Shane said, his voice cool and smooth. “Why not stay and have a drink? Because of you, I’ll be free for good. Because of you, I can kiss my mama goodnight every day of the week, if I want to. I want to thank you for that.”

  “Maybe after Christmas, Shane,” I told him, giving him a slight shrug. “Right now, I’m off the clock.”

  I stood up from the bar chair, wrapping my arm around a manila folder and sliding my hand toward his to shake it. As he took it, a few slips of paper glided out from the bottom of the folder, falling to the floor at Shane’s feet.

  “Shoot,” I said, my eyebrows rising. The light shimmered off the items, including the polaroid, which was face-up. I stared into Ethan’s eyes, gazing up at me. Time ticked along, making my shoulders sag forward. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Not a problem,” Shane said, diving beneath the table to retrieve them. After a slight hesitation, he gripped the polaroid, his face breaking into a slight smile. My heart hammered with embarrassment.

  Placing the photo on the table between us, he slipped it across, giving it back, along with the few other pieces of paper. He chuckled, saying, “I feel like I just saw something private about you, sorry. I know it’s important for you types to keep your private life separate.”

  My cheeks grew bright red. I returned his laugh, slipping the polaroid into the folder. “Oh, don’t worry about it. My mistake, having it floating around.”

  “He’s got such unique good looks,” Shane continued, making my eyes grow wide with discomfort. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask, but…are the two of you an item?”

  I flushed again, shrugging. Was Shane hitting on me?

  “I’m, um… I mean…” My brain felt off-kilter. We were far away from the bounds of professionalism. “I really should be going, Mr. Merkley. I do appreciate you meeting with me today. We’ll catch up again after the holidays, yes?”

  Shane’s eyes were steady, dark. He nodded primly, pressing his lips together. “Merry Christmas, Serena. Take care of yourself out there, won’t you?”

  Feeling like I was floating, I darted back into the fog. The sun bled through the thickness, but the air was cool, causing me to pull my sweater tighter around my shoulders. I felt the weight of that conversation crash against my chest. For the first time, Shane’s words had felt creepy, off. I imagined him as a mob boss, using his words to terrorize his minions.

  For the first time, I doubted his innocence, could almost hear him ordering his minions to commit unspeakable crimes. I could visualize him doing all of that, and then returning to his mother’s house for Thanksgiving dinner without even batting an eye.

  I whisked back toward my office, gathering supplies for the next few days, and then fled without saying goodbye. Monica waved her hand as I left, tossing her red hair back. It glittered in the Christmas tree lights. “Happy holidays!” she cried, just as the elevator door closed between us.

  There was so much I wanted to say to her. So much I couldn’t describe. I was feeling completely and totally off, carrying Ethan’s baby in my belly and fear in my heart.

  I ducked into my car in the parking garage, rested my head against the steering wheel, and felt the tears descend. The baby in my womb knew nothing of this outside world. I would protect him or her as long as I could.

  Chapter 14

  Serena

  I began the slow creep back home, crawling through traffic and hearing enraged honks around me. It was Christmas Eve, which seemed to make people even less hospitable.

  My fingers twitched, yearning to pick up the phone and call Ethan. Hovering at another red light, I thought back to our near-forgotten summer beneath the trees. How we’d made love at the waterfall, gazing into one another’s eyes, our hearts beating roughly in our chests.

  Sliding my hand over my stomach, my eyes flashed with images of Gracie. A gorgeous, bright light of a child. I wondered if my baby would have a life anything like Gracie’s; if my child would dance and sing and create art. If my child would find the magic in the birds and trees of that California mountain the way Gracie did.

  “I can’t believe I wasn’t told about the pregnancy,” Ethan had told me, more than once. “I would have been there for her immediately. It wasn’t her right to keep Gracie from me. I know I was unstable, in many ways…”

  “A bounty hunter doesn’t sound exactly like father material,” I’d replied, sliding my fingers through his. “But I agree. You missed out on those beautiful years with her.”

  “And I’ve been trying my damnedest to make them up,” Ethan had whispered, his eyes dark. “She doesn’t remember what we missed together, but I do. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  I had to tell him.

  My heart ramped up, swallowing this truth whole. If I didn’t tell Ethan about his second child, he would miss out on those important moments all over again. The pregnancy. The birth. The first giggle, the first step. I could see all the images so clearly, as if they were laid out before me like a glittering tapestry. And I knew that Ethan had to be involved.

  My phone began to buzz. With a flourish, I swiped the screen to take the call, speaking in a clear, lawyer-like voice. “Mom. Hi. Merry Christmas Eve.”

  My mother echoed the words back to me, sounding chipper. She was probably a few glasses of wine deep, her head swimming with excitement about the next day’s events. “When are you getting here tomorrow?” she asked. “I really wish you’d come tonight. Your father and I…”

  As she spoke, the realization hit me. I wouldn’t be able to come to the party. I wanted Ethan to be the first to know the news.

  With this fresh thought spinning in my head, I knew I couldn’t sit alongside my mother and watch Christmas movie re-runs until we drifted into a food-induced slumber. I couldn’t lie about why I wasn’t drinking.

  I exhaled slowly, preparing. “Mom, I can’t make it tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

  My mother didn’t speak for a moment. The silence at the other end was deafening, only cut off by my father hollering from somewhere beyond. “Is that her, Marie?”

  “I’m sorry,” I sighed, as I switched lanes, easing up toward the highway. Already, I was leaving my apartment far behind. “I have so much work to catch up on, and I think I’m coming down with a cold. I’ll call you tomorrow morning, okay? Merry Christmas.”

  After my mother gave me her begrudging grace, I hung up and turned up the radio, racing toward the mountains. My head spun with excitement, knowing I would soon see Ethan before me, body and soul. I would soon hold his hands in mine and explain to him that I was having his child.

  I tried to imagine the way his dark eyes would change. The way they would take in the information, turn it over, digest it. The way he would learn that we were united for good.

  But of course, I knew nothing about Ethan’s previous few months. In between his brief texts—unrevealing at best, and cryptic at worst—he might have met another woman. He might have brought her into his home, shown her the glittering lights. They might have brought a pine in from the forest, cheerfully decorating it together.

  Their memories might have eclipsed ours already.

  Gripping the steering wheel even harder, I revved the engine, bolting further down the highway. No matter what had happened since Ethan and I had parted, I still felt exactly the way I had before. Even just imagining him saying my name, I felt passionate, complete.

  “Merry Christmas to all you lovers out there,” the radio DJ boomed from the car speakers. “Here’s hoping you have all the wonders of family and food and holiday fun. Let us help you the rest of the way home with this next track.”<
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  I had several more hours to go, and the open road stretched before me, feeling like a horrible metaphor. But I chugged along, keeping my eyes stretched wide. Christmas tunes continued to jangle from the radio. They kept me awake.

  Chapter 15

  Ethan

  Gracie seemed happy at my parents’ place. That’s what I kept telling myself as I brooded alone in the cabin on Christmas Eve. The sun had begun its descent over the lake, casting its warm glow across the water. I poured myself a second whiskey, wanting my brain to grow fuzzy. I didn’t want to focus on the loneliness brewing in my brain.

  As I lifted the glass to the counter, a noise outside caused me to drop it. The glass shattered across the floor, the shards catching the light. My eyes were alert, already staring through the front window.

  Sure enough, somewhere beyond the trees, someone was driving toward my cabin. The cabin I’d built from nothing, knowing I needed to create a safe haven. A place where all the men I’d “wronged” couldn’t hunt after me.

  I took a step toward the door, peering through the trees. Beneath my boots, the glass crackled.

  My heart hammered as I realized the car’s lights were on bright, as if they were unafraid of being found. Maybe this was a tourist, en route to a cabin up the mountain. Since Serena had left, the cabin hadn’t been rented out by anyone; it had been dormant and dusty, preserving old memories. I had to continually tell myself they were old memories. That they were nothing I should cling to with any kind of hope.

  The lights stopped flashing out front. With a jolt, I walked toward the side closet and silently drew out my gun, knowing I couldn’t make whoever was out there aware that I knew of their presence.

  Standing behind the door, I listened closely as someone made their way through the forest, creeping through the trees. Their boots fell clumsily, but they made their way evenly—as if they already knew the route, as if they’d followed me down the hidden path before. I felt my heart sputter with anger. How long had someone been following me? Had it been months? Years?