“I’m on my way,” Tori responded. She sprang from her desk and shouted, “Family emergency,” as she ran out of the door.
The fifteen-minute drive home condensed into ten. Stop signs, to a worried parent, became merely places to pump the brakes and pray that no one dashed in front of a moving car. She arrived home, and her eyes zeroed in on the black picture frame Antoine clutched. As she came closer, the words “Daddy” appeared down the side, and the connection became clear. Her father, Richard, had given her a similar frame when she laid eyes on him for the first and last time. She froze. Her mind raced back nineteen years, when her father slithered into her life and shattered all sense of peace, like a bowling ball through a plate-glass window.
At the end of the next block, a tall shadow emerged, pausing her in her tracks. “You know who I am?”
The March sun obscured her view a bit, but squinting she could make out light brown eyes, light brown complexion, and sandy brown hair that matched her own. She saw that face in a frame on her bedside table every night before she closed her eyes to sleep. “You’re my dad Richard. Mom said you died.”
He leaned back into a hearty laugh.
“Wishful thinking on her part.” Richard held out his hand. “Let me drive you home, and I’ll tell you all about me.”
Curiosity overwhelmed her common sense. Like a fool, she went with him, anxious to finally meet the man in the photo. She soon realized some humans aren’t worth the ink it takes to print their image on a sheet of paper.
Christian called for her, snatching her out of the nightmare that resurrected itself more often than she dared to admit. He slammed into her, apologizing, “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have left him. I shouldn’t have left him.” Christian had no idea what was going on other than his beloved older brother never made it home from school, and his mother collapsed on the concrete.
The sound of neighborhood children playing some game that involved counting seemed so normal. Parents driving down the tree-lined street to make it home for dinner—normal. For Tori, today was about as close to normal as the Earth is to Mars.
Antoine ushered her into the house with Christian on their heels. The muscles on Antoine’s chest bunched as he held her up. Tori ached to lean into him, close her eyes, and share her load.
Antoine, the man who owned every stitch of the damaged fabric of her heart. Last week, he’d told her that he wished he could fall in love with someone else. He’d tried every dating site, every bar, and every club in the area. But every year, against his own wishes, he gave a bit more of his heart to Tori. He didn’t have enough to love someone else.
She’d almost given in then—almost. When they traded jokes, or she watched him interact with her kids, she wanted nothing more than to claim that slot in his life. She wanted it so much that when he dated other women, she made sure she fell into the shadows, lest she claw that heifer’s eyeballs out.
But before they were lovers, they were friends. Ultimately, she wanted him to be happy. Her friend deserved a woman with less baggage than an airplane’s cargo hold.
Tori inhaled and stood on her own power. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floors that ran through her house. She had to find the strength to get through this like her mother had—alone. “Where are the girls?”
“They’re upstairs in their room,” Antoine calmly replied. “Take a breath.”
Tori slid into the nearest chair as she yanked her fingers through her curly hair, trying for some semblance of order. Though there were five of them living in the house, the small table only sat four people. Each child had his or her own seat.
“Run up and check on your sisters,” Tori commanded.
Christian nodded.
“And stay up there until we call you down.”
He paused at the threshold, which showed a distinct difference in behavior from his brother. Luke stayed so immersed in his own world that if she didn’t say his name loudly, he wouldn’t hear a word. Christian paid attention to everything around him. Right now, he’d rather be privy to the conversation about Luke that was bound to start the minute he was out of listening range. Tori glared at him. With a deep sigh, he trudged up the stairs.
She closed her eyes. “Okay. Talk to me.”
Antoine rubbed his bald head. “I don’t know much more than I already told you,” he admitted. “Luke told Christian to go home without him. He had something to do. I’ve called their friends. Nothing.”
His eyes closed momentarily as he articulated the same thoughts that brought her to her knees moments before. “Isn’t this the age when you disappeared?”
Chapter 2
Tori had spent a frightening twenty-four hours with her father. Enough time to know that all kin weren’t kind. Gratefully, she’d never seen or heard from him again. Now she’d give up every day of that peace to know where the hell he was.
“Where’s the frame—the one you were holding when I came up?” Tori concentrated on her breathing. It wouldn’t do to pass out, not when that man had Luke in his clutches.
Antoine’s chest swelled as it did whenever he fancied himself protecting her. “You saw it, and next thing I know, you’re kissing the ground.”
The television blasted the twins’ favorite cartoon. Christian must have turned up the volume to tune out any remnants of the discussion happening downstairs. Smart kid.
Antoine’s protective instincts rankled her nerves.
“Just grab it!” she screamed.
He pointed at the trash can next to the refrigerator.
Lord. She had to keep it together. She nodded and added “please” to the request.
At 1,000 square feet, the two-story guest house didn’t have much space. It included two bedrooms for the children, plus a den where Tori slept on a Murphy bed. Nevertheless, her children attended the best schools in the state.
This home in Naperville offered the kind of neighborhood and property, down to the rental in the back, that she and Antoine dreamed of owning years ago when they snuggled together at night in a cramped, two-bedroom apartment in the South Shore Chicago neighborhood. That was before Tori lost the right to share in his dreams.
Antoine dropped the frame on the wooden table, bringing her attention back to him. “My mom’s on her way. She’s going to take the kids to her place tonight.”
Tori opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. “Argue with her. I haven’t been able to change that lady’s mind since she gave birth to me.”
Tori reached out for the frame, hesitating mere centimeters from the wood as if it would singe her fingers.
Monique Aubert-Keith slammed through the front door, distracting Tori from the piece of wood that represented an unspoken evil tying Richard to her, and now Luke. The petite five-foot woman possessed the kind of strength that could turn the earth in the opposite direction and dare it to defy her.
Her personality drew people—especially men—like metal to magnets.
After Monique’s first husband left to start a life with the neighborhood slut in a vain attempt to turn a ho into a housewife, and her second husband died, she proclaimed she was good without any more hyphens added to her name.
Monique enveloped Tori in a hug so deep and tight that Tori didn’t know if she should hold on to it like a life preserver in turbulent waters or run the other way. Monique had been her mother’s best friend all the way up until a fatal one-car accident last year.
Whether her mother had a heart attack before or after the crash, the doctors couldn’t determine for sure. However, injuries from the crash itself were the cause of death. Everyone still reeled from that loss.
Honey had trusted Monique so completely that she became the only person besides Tori who knew the truth about Richard. At times, Tori doubted that Honey had told Monique everything. Some realities were too horrifying to live, much less repeat, and could leave a sane person rocking in a corner somewhere, thumb in their mouth and crying for a bottle.
After Monique release
d her, Tori fingered the offending picture frame. She didn’t know how Richard had found an exact replica of the one he’d given Tori to pass to her mother when he’d unceremoniously dumped Tori onto her back porch twenty-four hours after she got into his car. Honey had taken a hammer to that frame while screaming words that Tori didn’t realize existed.
Tori choked out the name of the man whose very existence shadowed her life with darkness. “Richard. It’s Richard. He has my son.”
Chapter 3
“Hey, kid. Take my bag with you.” Luke rushed down the steps of the school and threw his book bag at his brother.
Christian balked at manual labor. “Take your own bag. And stop calling me kid. We’re a year apart.”
Luke smiled. “Yes, but it was an important year that you missed.”
Christian glared.
“Come on, Christian,” Luke pleaded. “I’d do it for you.”
“So, what am I supposed to tell Dad?” Christian implored. “He expects us to come home together.”
“Tell him I’m right behind you—scout’s honor.” Luke held up his fingers, knowing full well he’d never been any type of scout.
Christian grabbed the bag. “So how are you getting home? You might as well tell me.”
“Later, little brother. Promise.” Luke ruffled his brother’s hair.
“Whatever.” Christian ducked away from his touch and walked to the school bus. “But when you don’t get off that bus, it’ll be your funeral.”
Luke merely waved him off. He was way too excited to care that he might be in trouble. They might hail him a hero. A lot could happen in the next hour.
He had anticipated this day ever since inheriting Gran’s Bible. Any minute now he’d meet the man in the photo, pressed inside the Gospel of John; the man whose very existence was uttered in their house. How could his mother never mention that her father was alive? Why was this the only photo, and why had his Gran hidden it? Why was Richard a secret?
It took Luke fifteen minutes to reach the store where they agreed to meet. Five minutes into the walk, he realized that he’d forgotten the picture frame Richard told him to buy for his mom. Maybe Richard would come in for a moment to see the frame, and he could introduce him to Uncle Ant.
A tall man stood in the shadows. Although his hair had grayed, his skin had wrinkled with time, and his stomach had gained a slight pouch, Richard still resembled the photo.
Luke held out his hand, “Richard.”
Richard laughed. “Since when do you call adults by their first name? I swear Honey couldn’t teach respect if someone gave her a primer. If you add a sir on the end of that, you’d be alright with me.”
Luke didn’t respond. If he didn’t call Uncle Ant, sir, he surely wasn’t calling Photo Grandpa sir. Where had this man been all their lives? The only reason he was here now was that Luke found him online. They’d been Snapchatting for a month.
Richard claimed he had baby photos of his mother. According to their photos, his mother came into the world as a toddler. He’d never seen baby photos of her. Even Christian, who now had every photo Gran owned, didn’t have baby photos.
After Christian asked for the family photos, Luke kicked himself for claiming Gran’s Bible. Gran wasn’t a huge church lady, but she prayed over that Bible every night as if her life depended on it. It was more curiosity than sentiment that led Luke to ask for it. But asking for the Bible led to Richard, his grandpa—his blood grandpa.
His mother promised to tell him the story of his biological father when he was thirteen. She couldn’t be bribed, cajoled, or begged to tell him any sooner. True, his Uncle Ant was better than a lot of the fathers he knew. Uncle Ant didn’t even mind when he asked about his biological father, but he told him it was a story that his mother needed to tell. However, his mother looked as if she’d prefer to jump clear out the nearest window. Hopefully Richard could fill in that gap, but when he tried to ask Richard personal questions about him and Gran, he said they’d talk one day in person. Today was that day.
“So, Luke,” Richard began, “What time do you need to be home?”
Looking at his phone, Luke replied, “In less than a half hour.”
He went into his phone settings and turned the location feature off. “We’d better get a move on.”
Richard smiled. Those eyes mirrored Luke’s mother’s in color, but something was missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he’d figure it out later.
“Okay. Hop in.”
“So,” Luke began, “Did you and Gran have a fight? Did you leave her? Why haven’t you been around? Where’s the picture of my mom as a baby?”
“Slow down, kid. Where’s the rush?” Richard laughed. “Here, I got you something to drink. You said you liked Dr. Pepper, right?”
His grandpa remembered his favorite drink. Score one, Grandpa.
“Yeah.” He grabbed the cold can and examined it. “Is this open?”
“Just a bit. I was about to drink it before I remembered it was my grandson’s favorite.” Richard smiled. “Something we have in common.”
“So, what happened?” Luke asked again before taking a couple of gulps of pop.
“Honey happened.” Richard’s tone cooled considerably.
“What?” Luke couldn’t believe his ears. Gran was so sweet; she even apologized when someone bumped into her.
“Your grandmother stole your mom away from me. That’s why I wasn’t there. But now that we’ve connected, maybe we can be friends.”
Richard patted Luke’s leg.
“Gran wouldn’t do that,” Luke said before taking another drink. Suddenly he felt warm. “Can you turn up the air-conditioning?”
Richard’s smile returned. “Of course. Have some more pop. I’m sure it will make you feel better.”
Luke took another gulp and leaned toward the window. He felt the Dr. Pepper being lifted from his hand and his cell phone being removed from his pocket.
Darkness drew from the edges of Luke’s vision. His mind couldn’t form words. His hands couldn’t reach for the door. His mind registered that they weren’t heading for the house when Richard proclaimed, “Honey left me, your mother left, but now I have you.” Suddenly darkness overtook Luke altogether, and his mind was cloaked with nothingness.
Chapter 4
“Your mother should’ve let me shoot that bastard years ago,” Monique growled. She hailed from the Louisiana bayou and prided herself on her ability to shoot an alligator’s eyeball. Her ballsy stance seemed contrary to her job as a social worker. She explained once, “There is nothing that keeps folks in line like the potential for a bullet in the ass.”
Tori gripped the edge of the kitchen table before collapsing into Luke’s chair, reclaiming that space as though holding at ground zero could make him appear. She mentally reviewed previous days, wondering what, if anything, she had missed. Wondering how Richard knew about her children. “Where the hell did he come from?”
Monique sat in what was normally Christian’s seat at the table before crossing her ankles. “Sweetie, what you don’t know about your father will fill a football stadium.”
“But I haven’t seen him since that day. What more was there to know?” Tori demanded, eyeing her with guarded interest.
Monique exhaled and stared out the sheer curtain covering the kitchen window at the neighbor’s car rolling up to their rear garage. “Your father never bothered you again, but he reached out to your mother, demanding money or joint custody.”
Tori tried to shake the pieces of this conversation into place. Thinking back to the night Tori had begged her mother, “Please, let’s move. Let’s leave tonight.”
Honey gathered Tori on her lap and rocked her. “Don’t worry, Tori,” she promised. “He’ll never come within ten feet of you again.”
Tori buried her head in her palms before sharing thoughts with Monique. “I begged Mom, begged her to leave. She had done it before. She could do it again.”
Antoine came o
ver and massaged Tori’s shoulders. She covered his hand and gave it a squeeze of thanks.
Monique explained, “Richard is a bounty hunter with resources at his disposal, and legal and illegal methods of getting information that law enforcement only wish they had.”
Understanding rained on Tori, illuminating the sacrifices her mother made to protect them—to protect her.
“He bled her dry for years, forcing her to pay for leaving him. Why did you think your mother didn’t have any money—no pension, no 401k, no nothing?”
“And because we didn’t run, she sacrificed every penny she had. She would’ve told me.”
Tori and her mother shared a history, having survived the devil whose velvety voice caressed an ear with its deep timbre, but its words … its words branched through the quadrants of the brain before wrapping it in a vice grip of terror.
“No, she wouldn’t share something like that,” Monique contradicted. “She said he gave her you, so she didn’t regret that part of things. She did whatever was necessary to keep you safe. That meant writing checks.”
A piece of the puzzle clicked into place: revenge, money.
“Oh, my God,” Tori exclaimed. “Now, she can’t pay him anymore. Luke is Teddy’s son. Could he know that?”
Tori met Teddy Wieland III during her freshman year at Carlington University. They attended a fundraiser at the Engineering department, where she worked as an office assistant. In addition to being one fine specimen of a man, he had finesse, polish; and before she knew it, he’d finessed his way into her life and polished off her virginity.
The Disney fairytale she’d been spoon-fed since birth didn’t apply to this situation. When she excitedly told Teddy the news of her unexpected pregnancy, he smiled, embraced her, went out for the proverbial gallon of milk, and kept it moving. Enter the wife. The one he neglected to inform that Tori existed; the wife, who wrote a check and told Tori she’d hand it over the minute their family physician confirmed the termination of her pregnancy.
That day, those same curse words that once spilled out of her mother’s mouth came into play.
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