by S. L. Scott
I stop sorting through the drawer and look down. Is that what I’m doing? It might be. Am I doing it for Alfie? Or for me? When I turn around, I reply, “No, I’m doing what the judge ordered, sharing custody.”
“Are you sure?” Her eyes narrow on me. “The tension between us lately feels a lot like you’re going to betray me.”
Looking away, I say, “I’m doing what’s best for Alfie.”
“Where were you the past few nights? I called around looking for you, and no one knew.”
What? “Who did you call?”
“Your father. Your friends—”
“You don’t know any of my friends.”
Her hand waves me off like a bothersome gnat. “Friend, boyfriend. Whatever he is.”
My heart starts pounding in my chest, the irregular beat causing discomfort. “Hunter?”
“Yeah, that loser.”
“He’s not my friend. He’s not my boyfriend. You know that. Why would you call him?”
Shrugging like she doesn’t even care about me, she crushes the letter from the judge in her hands. “I had to make sure you weren’t involving my grandson in anything that could lead to trouble.”
Trouble.
The word reverberates around my head.
Trouble.
Hit.
Trouble.
Slap.
Trouble.
Slam.
Trouble.
Trouble.
Trouble.
My hands are shaking, and my breathing is shallow. She watches me in rapt fascination as I’m unable to hide my reaction to the abuse I once suffered. Coming closer, she brings me to her and hugs me. While rubbing my back, she says, “It’s a pity that you’re so weak.”
I push away from her, my back hitting the dresser, my shoulder blades banging into the open drawer. “You’re despicable.”
“You know what I also am, little girl? Dangerous. You’ll return in three weeks or I’ll come after him. We were in this together. Remember? It was going to be the three of us.”
“I now see that Cassie wanted otherwise, or else she wouldn’t have named me in the will.”
There’s a plea to her tone when she says, “She was not in her right mind at the end. You know that.”
“I know that her dying wish was for me to care for her son.”
“You can’t even care for yourself!”
The sting remains long after the words were spewed. I’m so tempted to say something just as harsh in return, but I hold my tongue. I can smell the red wine on her breath, and her teeth are a grayish purple shade of drunk. I’m hoping she’ll leave me alone.
I knew I wouldn’t be that lucky. And she’s off . . . “No judge will deny me my flesh and blood. Neither will you or that man Alfie calls his father.”
She turns around to leave. Makes it as far as the door when I ask, “Why are you so mean?”
I see the way her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, her anger visible through her body language. She turns back to me. “Your mother was never good enough for my brother.” She gets reminiscent when she drinks and that never ends well for me. She says, “He could have had anyone. I still don’t know why he chose her, and you’re so much like her. You look like her, and you’re weak like her.”
Her hand twitches at her side, and I cringe, though I know she’s too far to hit me. I level my eyes on hers. Jet’s new nickname embodies me. I’m a wildflower, a weed sturdy enough to endure the harshest conditions. I’m a survivor. “You may think you won because you ran her off, but who is the real winner? My bets are on her.”
“Your father is going to be very unhappy to hear about all of this.”
“He can go to hell right along with you. And before you tell me to get out. Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” I’m not done packing, but I’ve got enough to survive. I grab my backpack and swing it over my shoulders. The suitcase is zippered closed before I tug it onto the floor from the bed. I take my purse, putting the strap over my head, and walk to the door where she still stands with her arms crossed.
She steps to the side, and I wheel by, but stop just on the other side of her. “I used to love you. I used to love my father. But you’re both too bitter to see that I was all you had left, and now you have nobody but each other.”
“I have Alfie. I thought you would have a better chance of winning against that monster of a man, Jet Crow. I was mistaken, but it won’t cost me my grandson. Your father will help me win custody.”
“Just make sure you’re fighting for Alfie’s best interest and not out of revenge.” I drag my suitcase down the hall and pick the small one I packed for Alfie up in the other hand. As I work the cases out the front door, I add, “Per the letter, I’ll keep you updated on Alfie’s well-being, and he’ll be able to call you whenever he would like. The fate of your relationship now rests in his hands.”
The door slams behind me, but that’s okay. I’m good. I’m so good. Another mountain is behind me. One more battle won. I’m not just saving myself from this horrible way of life, but I’m also saving Alfie.
Walking away from the house, I felt strong, but driving away, I let the doubt creep in. My aunt is one thing. She needed me, not just physically to be there to help with Alfie, but financially to help her because of Cassie. Eileen lost her job for missing too many days of work. She’s working again, but she’s still in the hole because of medical and legal fees.
If she asks him, my father will bail her out and then help her fight for Alfie. There’s only one way to save him. I need to make sure that Jet wins full custody.
I parallel park on the street and walk to the front of the school. I’m so ridiculous, but that dark-haired man makes me smile uncontrollably. Jet stands out in a crowd, but really stands out at school pickup among all the moms in their yoga gear. I sidle up behind him, slipping my hand around his.
Eyeing me up and then down, he tightens his hand around mine. “Aren’t we supposed to be a secret?” he asks with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a roguish smile on his face.
“I suck at keeping secrets.” I shrug.
Two women without wedding rings move along. Good thing because I didn’t want to stake my claim on him. Our hands. Oops. Guess I already have.
He says, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Leaning down, he kisses me, and I let him linger loving every second of it. “But I’m happy to see you.”
Glancing toward the door, I see the classes start to come out. Our hands part, and I say, “I need to talk to you about a few things, but in private later tonight.”
“Does that mean you’re coming over?”
“I packed a suitcase, so I hope it’s okay if I stay overnight since we leave for LA tomorrow.”
We try not to touch in front of Alfie, not quite ready to break the news of what we are to each other when we barely know what this is. When my foot is tapped twice, my heart flutters because he still touches any way he can.
“You can stay as long as you like. Are you okay?”
Always worried about me. He’s the hero of my story. “I’m fine. Better than fine actually. I’m good.”
“I’m going for great.”
“It turns me on when you go—”
“Jet! Hannah!” Alfie comes running with wide-open arms for both of us.
His little arms don’t reach around us, but ours do, and I close my eyes, enjoying the little family we’ve become. When our arms part, I spy Alfie’s teacher staring at us. She quickly looks away when she’s busted. “Is this what it’s like with you?”
“What?”
“Women always staring at you.”
Looking at us, Alfie asks, “Who stares? You told me it was rude to stare, Hannah.”
I rest my hand on his shoulder. “It is. That’s what I mean.”
Jet chuckles. “C’mon, let’s go.”
We each take one of Alfie’s hands, and he tries to swing between us. He’s getting tall. When he’s not successful swinging, Jet an
d I help out. Soon we’re crossing the street while swinging him between us. I love seeing Alfie so happy and hearing his laughter. He may not have dealt with the death of his mother the way he needs to, but I’m happy he can still be innocent and find joy in such a simple thing.
We reach the corner, and Jet says, “I’m over here.”
“I’m down there.” I signal over my shoulder.
A low whistle is heard when I turn to leave, but I turn back to catch Jet call, “Hey?”
Floating on cloud nine, I ask, “What’s up, Crow?”
“I’ll see you at home?”
Home. Home. He’s welcomed me into his home, but I’m starting to think it’s not a location, but a person. Two people when I look back and see a man and his son bonding. Jet didn’t just hang the moon and the stars for Alfie. He created the universe, every star another note played on his guitar.
Does cloud ten exist? I hope so because I’m walking on air, or maybe it’s love. Love? Who would have thought when I least expected it, a musician would be the one to sweep me off my feet? For as handsome and tall as that man is, I truly never saw him coming. “See you guys at home.”
23
Hannah
Jet is always calm. He’s the voice of reason when I struggle to hear my own voice, much less express my emotions out loud. Unless he hides his worries in other ways. Does he keep them locked down tight in a place he visits when he’s alone?
I’d understand.
I’d become adept at that myself until I met him. I’m not sure how long I can hold onto the darker memories when he’s so insistent on me being free from them.
What about him?
The eldest brother.
The kid who stepped in as a dad to his younger siblings when his father left.
The man who had to bury his mother because his family looked at him to handle the arrangements.
Nineteen.
He was a kid himself.
We’ve not talked about that time too much. He’s a master at glossing over the details of the dark parts of life he doesn’t like to think about. But there are stress lines carved into his forehead. He’s too young so they won’t stay for long.
Jet is punishing his poor knuckles—pulling and popping—one by one. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I ask, “What did your hands do to you to make you so mad?” I’m teasing, but curious what’s going on with him.
His dark eyes do a onceover on me before he appears to catch himself from getting too deep. But I caught it. A look. A feeling. Anguish. It was only a flicker, but it was there for one split second. “Nothing.” He reaches for the remote. Such a guy move. I thought he knew better than to try to tune women out when they wanted answers.
I sit down next to him, click off the TV, and take his hand between mine. Wanting to relieve his stress, his worries, and him, I start massaging it. “I feel like nothing means everything is on your mind right now.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to. We can just sit here in awkward silence with me staring at you if you prefer.”
My joke is rewarded with a smile. “That feels good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Sometimes my hands hurt. A bad side effect of playing so much.”
“Are you still going to play tonight?”
Leaning back into the cushions, he starts to relax. “The show must go on.”
“You have a kid relying on you. Don’t do too much damage to yourself.”
“Is the kid the only one . . .?” He leaves the question hanging out there, letting the words fade off as he closes his eyes.
I take his other hand, and he looks at me briefly before closing them again. His breath evens, and the lines of his forehead soften. I run my thumb up the main vein on his hand and then turn it over and rub his wrist until he falls asleep. No. The kid isn’t the only one. But he should know that by now.
Tonight is the last show before the band flies out tomorrow morning at dawn. Alfie and I fly out tomorrow after school. The packing is basically done except the few items we’ll need before we leave, but I still wonder if we’re doing the right thing. Our relationship went from zero to sixty as if the cops were going to catch us if we didn’t speed ahead.
I set his hand down gently on his leg and cuddle against him. His arm comes around me and he plants a kiss on my head. But soon enough, he’s asleep again. We’ve all been through a lot, all in different ways.
The broken pieces of me fit together so nicely with his that I sometimes wonder if this is the way it was always supposed to be. I’m learning that out of tragedy can come joy. Months ago, I felt trapped, in agony that I was going to lose my cousin, and fearful for the future. Yet somehow, here I am. With Alfie, who is the sugar to our tea, the sweetest boy. And with Jet, a man who’s carried an anvil on his shoulders for years yet is still ready and willing to carry even more in Alfie and in me. How did I get so lucky?
A hand squeezes my shoulder, and Jet asks with a raspy voice, “What are you thinking about?”
I haven’t told Jet about some of the things he missed because I don’t want to upset him, but I’ve started to realize that if I share my memories, he can live them through me. “Jet, I know you’re tired, but do you want to hear about the day Alfie was born? I was there. I saw him kicking and screaming into the world.”
“Yes. I’m so pissed I didn’t get to see him, Hannah. I still don’t understand why Cassie didn’t let me know.”
I can see he really is hurt about that. Will I ever really know why? “I held him just an hour after he was born.” And he was so adorable.
“Did he have a lot of hair or was he born bald like Tulsa?” He chuckles, but the question is sincere.
“He had a head of dark hair, just like yours, and the bluest eyes that turned green like Cassie’s.”
“Why did she name him Alfred?”
“Cassie hated the name Alfred, but she loved Alfie. Eileen told her that he needed a proper name, a lawyer or a doctor name. When the nurse asked what name, Eileen told her Alfred. But Cassie sat up and added Jet. She said, ‘I want Jet to be his middle name,’ so Alfred Jet it was, much to Eileen’s chagrin.”
“I’m surprised she let that slide.”
“Cassie could be as stubborn as Eileen when she chose to be.” Angling so I can see his face, I ask, “I once asked what happened to you, to Alfie’s father. I remember it so clearly. Cassie glanced toward the door and then started to whisper, but Eileen came in with her lunch, and we never seemed to get back to a moment of freedom to talk candidly.”
“Does it make sense to you that a woman who supposedly hated me named her son after me?”
“No. It never did, but if I’d bring it up, hellfire would be the price to pay.” I lift just enough to kiss his cheek. When I pull back, I say, “Do you want to know what I always thought deep down?”
Rubbing my arm, he says, “Of course, I do. I always want to know what you think.”
“I think Cassie was scared of her mom. Don’t get me wrong. They were super close, and I don’t discount the fact that she had to care for her dying daughter. I can’t imagine the pain she’s endured.”
“That’s something no parent should ever have to experience.”
“I still always had a weird feeling in my gut. Sometimes, I felt like Cassie was trying to reach out to me, but then Eileen would come in. It was odd. I could sit in her room and talk for hours about nothing, but if Alfie’s father came up, whether I was asking his name or about their relationship, anything to do with you, Eileen was suddenly there. A busybody with food or medicine, drinks or wanting to sit with us. She wasn’t so bad then. She got worse as Cassie got sicker. The thing is, Cassie would shut down and talk would turn to nothing important—the house hunting show or a recipe or somewhere Cassie wished she could be instead of in that bed.”
“She liked live music.”
“She liked corny jokes and P. Terry’s burgers with jalapenos and o
nions.”
“She liked prairie dogs and candy canes.” We both turn to the sound of Alfie’s voice.
I sit up and put space between Jet and me. “She did. She loved those peppermints you get at restaurants. All things peppermint.”
Alfie says, “I gave her a candy cane I saved from my Christmas stocking for Valentines.”
Patting the couch next to me, I call him over. When he does, he snuggles into my side.
We both look at Jet when he says, “She loved Trident original gum. When I’d run into the store, I’d buy spearmint for me and Trident for her.”
I think I’m supposed to be jealous hearing about him and someone who was important enough to remember the gum he bought for her, but I’m not. We all lost when she lost her life too young to really live it fully.
Alfie starts crying, and I pull him closer, wrapping myself over him as he leans down, looking smaller than his usual small form. We lift when Jet shifts, and he opens himself for us sit on his lap. With his arms wrapped around us, the weight of her loss bears down, my tears falling with Alfie’s.
This sweet little guy cries for the mother he’ll never see again except in pictures. “I want my mommy.” His arms fly out as he pushes off us and runs to the bookcase. Grabbing a frame from the middle shelf, he stares down at the photo.
I look at Jet, looking for answers. He says, “It’s a photo of him and Cassie.”
How had I never noticed? Just when I thought he couldn’t amaze me more, he does. The bookcase next to the TV is full, but I never saw the photo in the slim silver frame. Jet adds, “Alfie picked that frame out.”
I cross in front of the TV and peer over Alfie’s shoulder to look at the photo. Amazement morphs into shock. Why would he have this one in a frame? Why would he display a photo of her at her weakest, near death, at her worst?
Trying to calm down, I take a breath before I speak, knowing if I don’t only anger will come out. “Why this photo?” I ask, looking back at Jet.
I’m about to tell him that this isn’t how she should be remembered, but Alfie answers, “What’s wrong with this pitcher?”
