by Tina Reber
I found myself nodding and agreeing with him, even though I’d never seen a picture of the woman who gave birth to me.
“I wish she was here to see you all grown but I’m sure she’s smiling down on us from heaven today.”
Joe tried to wipe the tear from my cheek, which made me automatically wipe my own face. “It’s nice to finally know where I got my eyes from.”
He smiled wider, making me wonder what else we had in common.
While I gave his wife, Jill, a hug, Ryan and Joe shook hands and exchanged greetings.
After a nice lunch, Ryan extended an invitation for them to come back to our suite.
Marie was doing a wonderful job keeping the two young girls entertained while Ryan and I sat with Joe and his wife to have a private conversation.
Joe appeared sincere but cautious. “I can only imagine how hard this must be on you, finding out like that. I was under the impression that your dad destroyed all the records. I never thought he’d keep them.”
I took a sip of my coffee, trying to disconnect myself a bit from the emotional overload. “He had it all together in a safe-deposit box.”
Joe nodded. “My letters and everything?”
I set my cup down. “There was about two thousand dollars as well.”
He scratched his head, mashing his lips together for a moment. “I’d always wondered if you got the money I’d sent. Figures your dad wouldn’t spend a dime of it. Probably thought it was drug money or something.”
Drug money?
His hand rubbed over his mouth. “I had some problems before I went into the army. Let’s just say Uncle Sam kicked that shit out of my system quickly.”
I had no doubt about that. “I have savings bonds for both your girls. I want them to have the two thousand dollars.”
Joe held out a hand, ready to rebuke me, but I spoke over him. “Joe, it’s for their future. I appreciate your generosity, but it’s not necessary.”
Joe’s wife, Jill, overrode his disapproval. “Thank you, Taryn. That is very thoughtful of you. The girls will be going off to college before we know it so we’ll make sure it goes to good use.” Jill looked over at Ryan. “Although meeting you is going to be priceless to them. They haven’t shut up about it since we told them. Our oldest thought we were playing a practical joke on her up until the moment you walked into that dining room. I can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve given my family today.”
Ryan smiled but waved it off as no big deal. “I’ll make sure they get some pictures of us together to take back with them.”
Both Joe and his wife seemed exceptionally pleased by that. Then Joe turned his attention back to me, studying me as if I were made of glass. “You probably have so many questions now.”
That was an understatement. “I have so many questions, I don’t know where to even begin.”
Joe rested his elbows on his knees. “Ask me anything. Jill has a right to know, as well. I know I shocked the hell out of her, too”—he reached over and took his wife’s hand—“but like I told her, I never thought I’d see you again, so what would be the point of upsetting her.”
Jill gave him a reassuring smile, rubbing the back of his hand. “I’m not upset. You were a teenager, Joe.”
Joe shrugged, seeming to want to atone for his sins. “A kid that got his teen girlfriend pregnant.”
Ryan crossed his foot up on his knee and reached for my hand. “And for that, I thank you,” he said, pulling my hand up to his mouth to grace me with a kiss. “You created the woman I love. There is no better gift than that.”
Something silent seemed to pass between the two men, a mutual understanding of sorts.
Joe seemed relieved. “At least I did something right. I’m glad to know she’s in such good hands.”
I felt a blush warm my cheeks. I was in the best of hands. How vastly different my life could have turned out had my parents not given me up. Bits and pieces of the army letters Joe had written to me came swirling back. All of them hinted at the fact that Joe was a bit of a hellion when he was a teenager.
I squeezed Ryan’s hand. “You dated Kelcie in high school?”
Joe glanced at his wife, silently seeking her approval to talk about this. She gave him a thoughtful smile in return. “Yeah. She sat by me in math class. I used to cheat off her paper. We were fifteen when we started going steady.”
I could see he was recalling fond memories.
“We were like kindred spirits; both of us were hell-raisers who hated our parents. When I got Kelcie pregnant, I honestly thought my life was starting over. I’d hoped that her mom would at least be understanding, but instead she kicked her own daughter out onto the street. And Kelcie’s dad . . . that bastard ruled with an iron fist. To this day, I still think he used to beat her mom, but I could never prove it. Both of them were not good people.”
Thoughts of having “not good people” as a set of grandparents I’d never meet crossed my mind.
“Anyway, I tried to get her out of there. We even thought that if she’d get pregnant my parents would take sympathy on her and let her move in.” He laughed. “Yeah, that wasn’t one of our brightest ideas.”
Ryan sat forward. Something had unsettled him.
“Don’t get me wrong, we both wanted you,” Joe said, backpedaling. “It’s just, well, my dad got laid off and my mom wasn’t making all that much at her job. Kelcie tried to get on welfare to help feed you. We were just kids, barely able to wipe our own noses.”
“I always dream about you having black hair,” I said, unconsciously touching my hair.
Joe appeared taken aback. “You do? Huh. I actually used to dye it. I wanted to be a punk rocker. My mom almost cried when I traded in piano lessons for a guitar with an anarchy sticker on it.”
Ryan glanced over at me. “Well, now we know where your musical talents come from.”
I smiled. My mom couldn’t even tune the car stereo.
Joe’s eyes widened. “You play?”
I nodded. “Started on piano and taught myself acoustic guitar.”
Ryan brushed my arm, smiling. “And she’s got a beautiful voice, too.”
Joe seemed impressed. “Wow! That’s excellent!”
After a few moments of silence, I went for the question that burned the most in my mind. “I dream about you quite often, Joe. Whenever I do, my dad, Dan, is always there, too. And you two are fighting. I mean, physically fighting. And then there’s blood. Lots of blood. Your teeth, your mouth.”
Joe winced, shaking his head. “Taryn . . .”
“No, I need to know. It’s always the same dream and after all of these years, I need answers. I have nightmares—scary, horrible nightmares.”
Ryan’s mouth opened, realization dawning on him. I nodded at his silent conclusion, knowing I’d never fully explained why I sometimes woke up terrified. Now he understood. I squeezed his hand harder.
Joe stared across the short distance between his seat and mine, his lips mashed into a hard line.
“And they always end the same way. You say ‘I’d never hurt you, baby girl’ and then your teeth turn red with blood.” I knew I was goading him, but I didn’t care. It was time to find out just how fucked-up this situation really was.
Ryan’s face fell, coated with pitiful sorrow. This was news I’d never shared before. I thought he might be miffed about finding out this way, but I’d just have to deal with him later.
“Taryn,” Joe started, using a tone that was obviously a warning.
“No, I need to know. Why? Why do I have the same dream over and over again?”
He hesitated, holding his breath, but I was tired of waiting. My dream was always the same, and now I knew it wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. I’d been recalling a memory over and over again.
“Just tell me. Please.”
Joe huffed, then rolled his gaze back to me. “It was the Fourth of July, right before I shipped off to boot camp. You know your birth mom got killed in a car
crash, right?”
I nodded. “Your mom told me.”
Joe frowned, pained by this walk down memory lane. “It was right after Christmas when it had happened. You weren’t even two yet. Your mom—Jennifer—and Uncle Dan, well, they were both doing well financially. He’d just gotten that big promotion at Corning and my parents were just about to lose the house.”
I swallowed hard as answers started to fill the empty spaces.
“Aunt Jennifer wanted you real bad. And I did something really stupid. I . . . I was up to no good, and I got tangled up with the wrong sort of people.”
I held up a hand, not wanting to know I was used as barter. “Is this the reason why our mothers stopped talking to each other?”
Joe’s face blanked, and then he gave me one nod of confirmation.
“Taryn,” Ryan groaned. I knew he was telling me not to feel guilty about that.
I gave Ryan my own pleading warning. I still had unanswered questions. “So then what happened on the Fourth?”
Joe hesitated, gazing at the ornate rug beneath his feet instead of answering.
“Joe, both of my parents are gone. I have a right to know the truth. What happened?”
“Nothing, really. It was a family picnic, no big deal.”
Somehow I highly doubted that.
I could see him caving a bit more, his broad shoulders slumping. “I may have been a bit surly, considering the circumstances. Part of the agreement was that you were never to know that they weren’t your natural parents. I had to swear I’d never reveal the truth. It”—he gasped, choking up—“it killed me to do that, Taryn. You were my baby girl. Mine. I held you from the moment you came out of your momma’s belly and I promised you . . . I promised that I’d never stop taking care of you. I rocked you and fed you and read stories when you had colic and wouldn’t sleep. And then when that asshole drove too fast on the icy road and smashed into us, I was all you had left. I knew we shouldn’t have taken you out, but all we had to do was put you in that car seat and drive around a bit and you’d be out like a light. I couldn’t just let them take that from me!”
Jill rested her hand on Joe’s thigh to comfort him, her hand trembling slightly.
My own hand started to tremble as well. In the dream, I know I’m alone with him and I can feel him touching my hair, talking to me as if he’s sorry. And then my father pounces, ready to kill him. Maybe my intimacy and fear-of-abandonment issues have atrocious origins?
I felt my chest tighten even more, fearing the answer to my next question. “Did you hurt me?”
Joe winced. “What? Oh, Lord, no. No.”
“Then why did my dad hit you? He beat the crap out of you until you bled. He was a levelheaded guy.
Why would he attack you so brutally?”
Joe was glowering at me, his breathing labored with his frustration. “Because I told you the truth! I told you about your real mom and I told you that I was your real dad and no matter what they did, they would never take you from my heart. You are my daughter. That’s why!”
Chapter 22
Fiasco
I could feel our plane descending on its approach to Providence. I’d been watching the arrival time on the screen, counting from one to sixty to help take my mind off the change in pressure squeezing my ears. I was all out of chewing gum, slightly in pain, and flat-out exhausted.
A huge part of me, though, felt relieved. Meeting Joe and his family, being able to reconcile that part of my life, was emotionally taxing but very necessary.
I departed Lake Tahoe hoping that my disrupted soul could finally find peace.
Joe had shown me a picture of Kelcie, and after the shock wore off at how much I really did look like my birth mother, he told me I could keep it. I squeezed my carry-on bag, hugging the picture that I’d placed inside my wallet. Kelcie Tremont was two months away from her eighteenth birthday when she died on that icy winter night.
The last thing she did before leaving this earth was tend to my needs, even though it was obvious from this meeting that Joe had been harboring the guilt since he was the one that suggested taking me out in the car. I held his hand for a long time while he and I had a private moment to talk about forgiveness.
Ryan reached over the armrest and patted my leg, rubbing his palm over my denim-clad thigh. I met his gaze, understanding his thoughtful look. Right after that, I had a revelation. Somewhere along the line, Ryan and I had developed the ability to say a hundred words to each other with just one look. I could read him just as easily as he could read me, and what he wanted to know right now was what I was dwelling on.
“I have to talk to Pete,” I answered. With all of the other revelations we’d been dealing with over the last three days, speaking with Pete had been put on hold.
Ryan nodded but I could tell he was concerned. I knew he had a lot to do; the third Seaside movie was scheduled to start filming in three weeks and he’d be on location in New Orleans for three and a half months. “We’ll talk to him together. I’ve got to tell you, Taryn, I’m not happy about Tammy having an attitude. You’ve allowed her to run her business out of that kitchen for pennies. Pete’s got an income now because of you, and I know you’ve been friends with him for a long time, but if she wants to keep playing bitchy bride, she can do it on someone else’s dime.”
My mouth popped open to speak, only to be shut by him continuing with his small rant.
“I’ve got no tolerance for nonsense anymore. And if planning a wedding makes a girl that crazy, we’re keeping ours small and simple.”
Is that so? “No opinionated aunts then, huh?”
He laughed. “Definitely not.”
I wanted to say “Pete’s my friend and I own the bar,” but that reminded me of how Thomas used to draw lines between what was mine and what was his, and that was not the way I wanted my relationship with Ryan to be. Ryan was entitled to give me his opinion and I knew he was protecting me the only way he knew how. After so many years of having his own experiences dealing with users and takers, he was leery of everyone.
By the time we landed and drove back to my apartment, I was wiped out and ready for bed. The last thing I needed to see were more boxes blocking my hallway.
“What the hell’s all this?” Ryan groaned.
Mike opened up one box while Ryan opened another. “Looks like more fan mail,” Mike muttered.
Ryan shoved the box flaps back together and grabbed his bags.
I didn’t need sharp hearing to pick up on Ryan telling Mike that he wanted to toss it all before I saw any more threat letters or hate mail. Surely with the volume sitting in boxes, there had to be a few unkind letters in the mix.
Ryan’s phone chimed. He’d been avoiding someone and I was pretty sure I knew who that was. “You can’t keep ignoring him.”
He tossed his suitcase on the bed. “Yes, I can.”
“He’s your manager.”
Ryan groaned. “He had no right doing what he did.”
“Then tell him that.”
“I’m still too mad not to fire him.”
I shrugged. “Then fire him.”
He toed his sneakers off. “I can’t.”
“You’re ready to kick Tammy and her business out of the kitchen downstairs but your manager took it upon himself to order a prenuptial agreement and you don’t think that requires a bitch-slap?”
His hands rested on his hips while he stared at me. “You want me to fire him.”
I made a pile of dirty laundry, noticing the similarities between the task at hand and this conversation.
“Is that a question or a statement?” I was hoping we weren’t headed for an impasse.
Ryan shrugged. “Both.”
Drat.
“He’s not my manager. I don’t have to deal with him as much as you do so it’s not my call to make.”
Ryan set his bag on the bed. “You don’t like him.”
I met his gaze. “Another question or a statement?”
“Statement.”
I resumed sorting laundry. “No, I don’t like him, but you already know this. He’s been underhanded too many times, which makes him untrustworthy in my book. He has a difference of opinion with you of how you should lead your life, what roles you should consider pursuing, and he’s made it blatantly clear that he views me as an intrusion. Then again, I know nothing about hiring a talent manager. I do know that you have to have a certain level of trust in the people you employ. So the question goes back to you.
Do you trust him?”
He took a deep breath, his shoulders falling in disappointment. I knew this had to be weighing heavily on his mind for awhile and I was glad he was finally addressing it. “I used to.”
Being diplomatic and not wanting his decision to be swayed by my opinion, I asked, “And why don’t you anymore?”
“Len Bainbridge is my lawyer. David had no right speaking to him on my behalf about a prenuptial agreement, regardless of inquiries for photo exclusives.”
I couldn’t agree more. I was glad he drew that conclusion on his own.
The next day I faced another possible impasse.
“Your friend Amy posted about him being at your wedding on Twitter, Tammy.” I tried to be sympathetic and compassionate but direct and to the point as well. I knew she wasn’t the one who leaked the information, but she’d have to deal with the aftermath.
Big, brown eyes that just weren’t getting it gazed blankly back across the table at me. “So?”
Either I wasn’t explaining myself properly or she was missing the point. I folded my fingers together, trying to keep calm. “So, what that means is on the day you two get married, there is a high probability that your church will be surrounded by a swarm of photographers, press, and fans. Most of the gossip sites have already posted that our wedding date has been leaked, Tammy. They don’t care if it’s your wedding or not. They see a tweet about Ryan and a confirmed wedding and the news channels explode with it. CV magazine’s website even has a fake wedding invitation posted with the date.”
Pete groaned and sat back in his chair, turning an angry glare on his fiancée. I hated seeing them like this, torn up about things they had no control over.
