The Sinclair Heir

by Scott, Eliot

  Jojo and I—on the night we gave each other everything—on the night that broke us both—created a symbol of what we truly were to each other. Because we were so very much in love, that’s what Emily is to me now, surprising, but pure, and so beautiful. She’s innocence and happiness—and absolute love. Our love.

  The force of the realization drops me to my knees, and I push away my thoughts of the past and keep them nestled in my growing joy. It’s easy to dial into the waterfall of sound that is Emily’s perfect, giggling laughter. She’s filling up my house with wonder and light, and God, but this past week with Jojo in my house, and in my bed, had me wondering if I could approach her about being really and truly together again. Emily has me solidified. This child has me believing in a power much bigger than any of us.

  Her laughter has me believing that our future might be what Jojo has always said it would be despite everything trying to tear us apart. Together, we get to be good, and redeemable, and sane, even after everything. Looking at this lovely sweet child who has her entire future ahead of her, with me and Jojo to raise her…hell. I wonder, how could Jojo not be right? How could we not be all of those things if we made this little human together? If God let us have her, we cannot be bad.

  When Emily finally turns to face me, I’m blown away, because I’m looking into my own, large, almond-shaped, bright brown eyes. Eyes that are nestled inside of Jojo’s delicate, heart shaped face. Emily’s long, gangly limbs hint that one day she’ll be tall. She’s got her arms confidently and possessively draped around Jojo’s neck, her fingers are tangled into her mother’s hair, and she’s leaning her slight weight onto her smiling mom.

  I’m so tongue-tied, I can only utter a lame and half-choked-out “Why, hello there…Emily.”

  “Hello.”

  She’s blinking as though she’s a little bit shy all of a sudden, but she holds my gaze. I love how her expression is calm, assured, and that she seems so happy, not just to see her mother, but to see me!

  “Do you know who I am?” she asks me, head tilting to the side. She’s waiting.

  I nod. “You’re my daughter,” I answer, afraid to move or startle her, or say the wrong things.

  “Yes.” She nods back, as though satisfied with my answer. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Daddy. Do you know that?”

  She looks me over, up and down, and then locks back onto my face, studying me sharply and missing nothing.

  “I—I—I’m—I—” I stutter at first as I share a quick glance with Jojo, who looks like she’s working hard not to hold her breath, and I smile at her, sending what I hope is the message that I’m all in.

  Dying, but all in.

  I’m sure Jojo’s intuitive enough to know that Emily’s just imploded and simultaneously claimed my heart forever by simply calling me “Daddy” like it’s the most normal thing in the world for her to say.

  “I’m very sorry you had to wait, Emily.” I manage to get my thoughts together. “Sorry that it took way too long for us to meet.”

  “Me too.”

  “Can you—” My voice trips, and catches. I feel tears surge at the edges of my eyes, because I’ve only just met this girl, and I’m suddenly broken and desolate over all of the years I missed. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  The numbers play fast, over and over inside my head—one, two, three, four…five. Nearly six.

  “Yes. I will. If you come to my birthday party and if you stay with us now.” Emily commands, immediately forgiving me. My heart twists even more recognizing the no-nonsense voice that comes out of her mouth. It’s exactly like Jojo’s. And from the look on the child’s face, her love is completely the same too.

  Open. Trusting. Generous.

  Unconditional.

  True.

  “I will.” I answer, honestly, because even the end of the world or an instant ice-age couldn’t keep me away from my daughter’s birthday party or her from this day forward.

  “Mommy said we had the same eyes.” Emily leans closer to me. “And…” she points at my face, scrunching up her face hard. “I’ve seen so many pictures of you, but I didn’t really believe her.”

  She pauses, blinking while she studies me. “But I think it’s true. We both do have the same kind of brown color. Did you know that I had brown eyes like yours?”

  I don’t answer that. It makes me too sad that I didn’t know, and I’m not going to lie to her and pretend.

  “Brown mixed with real, live gold, and so-so beautiful.” Jojo fills in the words I can’t say with her own words. “Emily, your eyes and your daddy’s eyes are my favorite eyes. The best eyes. On the best two people. Father-daughter eyes.”

  “You always say that.” Emily laughs then, and parrots, “The famous father-daughter eyes. I used to want green ones like Uncle Jeff’s eyes because they’re so pretty.” Emily points at Jeff, who is a tall, slender man. I’ve finally been able to acknowledge his presence with a nod and a smile. He’s been openly crying and wiping away his tears this whole time. He does have very pretty green eyes, and to me, he appears to be kind, as well as concerned about Jojo and Emily. And I think, maybe also...gay? Please be gay.

  Emily continues. “Jeff also told me my eyes are special because they make mommy happy. These eyes.” She points at her own face, grinning. “These make her think of you, and Mommy loves thinking about you, Daddy. Jeff and I, we wear matching necklaces now.” She pulls out the gold chain she’s wearing around her neck and shows me the tiny rose pendant hanging there. “See? It’s a rose. Because Uncle Jeff says I’m his little rose. All the time he calls me that. It’s my best thing, and he says his necklace is his best thing. That he’s never, ever going to take it off of his neck. Right, Uncle Jeff.”

  “Right. Especially now that I’m going to miss you, moppet. Who shall help me choose my outfits every day?” Jeff pulls out his own pendant and waves it at her, nodding and dabbing at his eyes more.

  “Don’t cry, Uncle Jeff. Remember? We talked about this. I will FaceTime you every single day. And I will visit you soon, and you will visit me soon.”

  “I know.” Jeff sighs out heavily. “Good that you reminded me.”

  Emily laughs as though delighted to be the one who’s teaching me about her world and tosses me a very knowing look. “My Uncle Jeff cries about everything. Even at TV commercials and all of the Disney movies. And he always needs reminders about things.”

  “Don’t out me too much, Emily.” Jeff laughs and then dissolves into more tears as Emily runs to fling herself at him.

  Jojo laughs and joins Emily in a three-way hug. “Better that Alex knows this about you sooner than later.”

  Jeff and I exchange a long look, and I can tell the guy is relaxing, trusting me. Trusting the expressions on Jojo’s face. Trusting that I’m not going to hurt his little family.

  Emily skips out of the hug and over to me, beaming. “That way our new, bigger family will be ready and always have tissues ready for you when you come visit. Right, Daddy?”

  “Right,” I say, gazing down into Emily’s face, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by all of this. I’m freaking out again at my similarities to this child. As much Emily at first appeared to be Jojo’s twin—heart-shaped face, fly-away curls and hair color, laughter, smile, freckles, openness, boldness—the eyes are mine. The longer, more stubborn line of her chin, that’s mine, too.

  Maybe—the stupid impulse to trust in your father—to trust that he loves you—maybe that is also mine…

  Staring at her upturned face, I get this sensation that I’m looking into a mirror, and I start to panic.

  I suddenly see too much of myself in her eyes. I see my mother, too. And that is something I don’t want to see. I don’t want this child to have to claim any of that.

  My father always made fun of my brown eyes, and for years, I used to hate them. Mother once told me to never bring attention to them. It was like she wanted me to never mention how she and I were the same. Father used to call the eyes o
ut whenever I cried, saying that they made me weak. He would tell me not to look at him. And of course, he’d say the eyes were more proof that I was not of true Sinclair stock. Grady once told me that Father had beaten Mother for passing my ugly, shit-colored eyes on to me instead of the ice-blue ones he and Father shared.

  Back then, I didn’t believe Grady. Back then, Grady was the source of all stupidity and lies. He was an unbelievable jealous idiot who wanted Father to like him more than me. I didn’t know I was the stupid one. But, by the end of high school, I believed Grady. I believed him about everything, and after Father beat me and broke Grady’s throwing shoulder…after he killed Mr. Wallace…I believed it all even more.

  Suddenly, it’s difficult not to hear voices in my head—my father, my mother, and even my brother. It’s even more difficult to not feel completely terrified. Not because I’m an instant-parent, which is terrifying enough all on it’s own, but because of my family, and mostly because this poor child has me fucked-up. She has forever ruined me.

  I know if my father was alive to see this little girl, he would have hated her. He would have harmed her as quickly as possible. Emily would be Father’s worst nightmare. This massive surge of protectiveness slams into me like the fists to my gut my father used to lay on me whenever he caught me off guard.

  I take all of it—the pain, the white-hot fear, and the overwhelming love—hard and fast. It’s so intense that my shaking legs give out completely. I drop to my knees in front of Jojo and Emily. And far behind my smile that I’m holding in place for Emily, I pray.

  I pray that Jojo’s love for all of us is enough to heal this madness that licks at my soul. I pray for strength, and that I’m able to be the kind of father this little girl deserves. I pray that I can make every bit of the time we’ve lost as a family up to Jojo and Emily, somehow.

  Most of all, I pray that I can keep my past—my father and his voice—out of my head.

  Looking at Jojo’s patient smile while the seconds tick by makes it seem easier. Looking into Emily’s curious expression—one that is just for me, and just as sweet as Jojo’s—I’m able to push back my father’s darkness. Already, I’m formulating a plan of what I’m going to do next.

  I seek solace and peace in the images of me standing in the Tacoma Cemetery. I replay over and over again how I was the first to shovel the wet earth onto my father’s grave, and how Grady was the second.

  It’s over…this feud, it’s over. All I have to do is reconcile with my brother. I’ll give him what he wants. The business…fuck, I’ll even give him my penthouse and the building that goes with it.

  Father’s dead. I have no reason to stay here, and every reason to get my family the fuck out of this damn town. We can close up this house. And of course, she and I will keep the lake. But until Emily’s all grown up, and the sickness of the feud washes away, we will walk away together, the three of us. I glance at Aunt Shelly and Jeff and change my number to the five of us, and we’ll never look back.

  10.

  Jojo, Present Day.

  I think I’ve gained seven pounds on cookies so far.

  It started a week ago, when I drove Jeff to the airport and came back home to find Alex, Aunt Shelly and Emily cooking in the kitchen together. Emily was pouring chocolate chips in slowly while Alex stirred, and as soon as I walked in, they insisted I help them test the dough.

  We ate nearly half the bowl before baking the rest of the cookies. We took them out to where the flat rock juts over the lake, and we ate the remainder of the entire pan out there.

  It’s become a routine, every day, right after lunch.

  Alex insists on it, and there’s something in the way he sits back and watches sometimes, stares as Emily and I sing our songs while we bake, just as we’ve always done, that sits warm in my soul.

  I didn’t understand until yesterday, when he made the cookies for us early and invited us all out to eat them on the rock. These cookies are a symbol of time for him. Time lost—like the times Alex and I sat on this rock eating the warm baked cookies from his bag long ago. He says it’s healing him, making him whole again. So, fine. I will grow fat and happy on these cookies, eating them every day, if it will keep Alex smiling like he’s been smiling since we moved Emily and Shelly into this house.

  He whistles now, something he’s never done. I caught him whistling while he showed Emily how to tie a lure on her line. Our daughter tried to whistle just like her father, but a missing front tooth made it impossible for her. The very next day, he went into town and bought her a small whistle that he said she could use until her tooth came in.

  I knew he would love her this much.

  Alex was restless last night. I think it’s the worry that comes along with being a father. He told me this is what’s the hardest for him. It’s the hardest part for every parent. I’ve had nearly six years to get used to that feeling. It’s one that is very much tangled up into how I love Emily, and one I think will be part of me forever. I tell him he’ll get used to the feeling, that it will fade into this dull ache that defines him now as a parent, but I suppose when you’re a Sinclair, your instincts are heightened.

  Last night, he shook me awake and took off his tough-guy mask. He shared his worries with me, and let me be a part of them and the solution, finally.

  “I want to give Grady everything. The business. My building in town. Hell, even this house, if that’s what it takes to end this feud. Grady’s been MIA since I beat him into the dirt. He’s going to be so fucking pissed off, and I’m worried he’s working on some retaliation scheme. That’s his way. It’s all he knows. I’m going to have to give it all away, Jojo. Whatever he wants. I want my brother to feel like I’ve lost and he’s won. Are you going to be okay with that?” His words came out desperate.

  I protested at first, because Alex is the one who deserves everything. His father thought so too, though for different reasons. It’s Alex’s name was on the will. He’s the only one who will turn the Sinclair name into something people no longer fear or look at with disgust.

  “Under Grady’s control, this company and everything that’s ever been a Sinclair will just become uglier, darker, and, if possible, more corrupt,” I said.

  “I don’t care, Jojo. I want to walk away from here. We’ll be nearly destitute, but we can start over. Will you—can you imagine doing that with me, and with Emily?”

  I kissed him. “It was never about the wealth for me, Alex. You know that. I just loved the boy.”

  I kissed him again. “And now I love the man, as does Emily. It’s a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea. God…how I love you, Jojo. I can’t believe I get to have this second chance with you. This family. We could end up living in a tent, you know.”

  “We won’t, Alex. I’ve got a good job. I’ll take care of you.”

  He’d blinked down at me, shaking his head while I ran a finger up and over his beautiful smile, before going on. “Besides, we’re going to need a two-bedroom tent…so we can…”

  Alex didn’t let me finish that line.

  He kissed me back, hard, his hands already pushing up my white camisole and stripping it off so my breasts were bare for his eyes to see. My body squirmed under him, my hands worked to push down and kick off my panties, then helped him out of his boxers.

  We went with zero foreplay this time. The way his eyes looked—the way he looked at me, so open and bare—I wanted him inside of me. I guided him there, both of us urgent and pulsing and pushing and pounding.

  My legs locked tightly around his waist, my body arched up and into him and we were like waves crashing on a beach, over and over again. Our breathing was in sync, matching as we grew faster, and faster, until we came at the same time, both of us surprised and panting. We lay there whisper-laughing against each other’s necks until Alex’s body relaxed into my arms. Seconds later, he fell into a deep sleep.

  I suppose our lovemaking momentarily took the worries away from him and transferred them into me
, adding to my own guilt over what Alex had done to defend me by nearly killing Grady, and by what he now had promised to give away to make it right. He was promising it all to make me and Emily—his family—safe.

  I barely slept, and when I woke up after finally getting to sleep as the sun rose, that sense of responsibility was still there. It wasn’t just about Alex though, it was a guilt about social responsibility. We can’t trade our own peace of mind for something that will give Grady permission to continue to destroy the place we’ve both called home for years. Grady is going to drain the water out of these lands, and then go for the oil, destroying of every bit of the environment here so he can gain more of what he does not need. Money.

  Unfortunately, I think Alex is right. Leaving here is the only way to stop the bitter feud, but maybe Alex and I can come up with a way for us to hang on to something—something that we can use later as leverage. But we can’t do that until we’re all safe and thinking clearly.

  Alex left early this morning to get Emily an “important thing.” He said it while rolling out of bed just as I was finally finding slumber. He’s been gone for hours now, and that uneasy feeling is starting to chip away at my nerves—my imagination. Did he already try to approach Grady…or is he with his attorneys, trying to come up with the paperwork he’s going to need to hand it all over to his brother? Or is he really out “getting something for Emily?”

  Aunt Shelly isn’t helping, either. She won’t come out and ask me where he is; probably because she knows I don’t know. She also won’t directly voice her suspicions—that Alex is being played, or worse, playing us.

  Is he with May, his mother? That would make the most sense considering how she’s been lurking around.

  Is this is a trap and we’re just sitting here, like open targets.

  Shelly won’t say it with her voice, but her expression is enough. She’s been pretending to read on the sofa for an hour, bending the newspaper forward every few minutes and sliding her glasses down her nose to glance at me with a raised brow. I, in turn, pretend I don’t see it every time, but the second she raises the paper again, I stare at her with a force that might just burn through that front page soon.