by Aria Ford
“Dad?” I called as I walked into the kitchen. He was asleep in the sitting room—he opened one bleary eye as I came in, then grinned.
“Ah! There you are, sweetie. And my grandchild! How is she today?”
I smiled as he lifted her out of the carry cot and looked down at her with complete awe.
“She’s fine,” I said. My heart still felt sore, but the sight of my dad, his strong, veined hands holding the tiny baby, never failed to move me. “Dad?”
He noticed immediately that something was up. I loved him for that. He squinted at me. “What is it, baby?”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I started sobbing. I told him what had happened. Not the exact story—if Dad knew who the father of my child was, he’d probably track him down and “fix him”—his words, not mine—and I didn’t want Dad fixing him.
After I’d told him he sat back and looked at me. “What an asshole.”
I sniffed, laughing. Dad looked so mad. It made me feel better having told someone.
“Yeah,” I said with some feeling. “He is an asshole.”
“Well, baby, what do you want to do?”
I sighed. Dad had put Stella back in her cot—she was starting to wake up now, the noise of me crying had disturbed her—and he held my hand. I squeezed those strong, sinewy fingers and was so grateful to have him in my life.
“I don’t know. Dad, I think I want to move town.”
“Oh.” He looked horrified. He didn’t say anything, but his big blue eyes scanned my face brokenly. I was moved.
“Oh, Daddy. I don’t want to leave you. I want to take you with me.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well. That changes things.”
I smiled. “Daddy, did I remember to tell you I love you?”
His eyes met mine and the look in them was so soft it moved me to tears again. “Baby. I love you too.”
We embraced and I breathed in the scent of him—musk, dust, engine oil. Comfort. I sighed. There was no alcohol to be smelled; a fact that I noticed with a faint spark of joy. He had been teetotal for the last three months. I knew how hard he was trying. I squeezed him back.
“Would you think about it?” I asked after a long while. “About moving with me?”
“Well.” He looked about the cottage, where he had lived for a decade now. It was in better repair than it had been. He had found the energy to fix all the little things that had been broken for so long, since he’d sobered. I felt so bad for thinking of dragging him away just when things were settling down. His home looked comfortable for the first time in years. Why should he leave it to stay in two rooms with me?
“I don’t want to drag you away, Daddy,” I said softly.
He looked at me with a sad, knowing smile. “Baby, you’re not dragging me away. I want to be where you are. Where both my beautiful women are,” he added, looking fondly at the baby. I sniffed.
“Daddy, you’re wonderful.”
He beamed. I had never seen him glow like that, as if someone had switched a switch on inside him. He straightened up, tried to hide the little smile of pride. “Humph,” he said. “Well, we’ll have to see about finding houses. Where do you want to go?”
I sighed. I knew Barbara had a sister who practiced as a psychologist in Boulder. It sounded like a great place to live. Not cheap, though. But if I could find a job—maybe Barbara’s sister could help me find one—then that would be less of a worry. And it seemed so healthy there, with the countryside nearby, the lifestyle more measured and less hectic than here. And far away from Scott. That was another attractive feature.
“Boulder?” I said.
His eyes widened. “That would be amazing.”
I smiled. “I’m glad you think so, Daddy.”
“Yeah!” He looked into the room, eyes unfocused as if he was already envisioning the house there, his new life. “I could go walking in the countryside, and we could show little Stella the trees, and…it could be amazing, sweetheart.”
I sniffed. “You know, you make me wonder why I didn’t do this years ago!”
He laughed and soon we were both laughing. The sound disturbed Stella, and she looked at us owlishly.
“Would you like that?” I asked as I picked her up, crooning to her gently. “What do you think about Boulder, mm? Would it be nice?”
My dad laughed, the slow, wheezy laugh I loved so much. “You have to tell her about it properly. What would you think of hills, and forests, and green, open countryside?”
His voice was lilting and lyrical. Stella turned to face him, beguiled by the tone if not the meaning of the words.
“Wuuh,” she said. I laughed.
“I think she likes the sound of that. What do you think?”
My dad smiled. I passed her to him. He held her in his arms, crooning to her, weaving stories of green leaves and big sunsets. I watched them, my heart still sore, but peaceful now.
I might have lost Scott, I thought miserably. But Dad seems happy. And maybe he’s right. Maybe it would be better for my daughter after all. I stayed to talk to Dad for a long while after that. We discussed the plans and possibilities. I promised to call Barbara and find out if her sister could help me find a place. Then I left.
As I drove home, I found myself feeling as if I had shrunk. I was making my plans, looking ahead. But it wasn’t really me doing it. I was somewhere else. It was dissociation, almost: my body was here, driving the car, talking to Stella, mechanically carrying out daily tasks. But I wasn’t here. It’s the shock, I told myself distantly. You’ll come around soon. Just keep going.
I fed Stella, made my dinner. Sought comfort in my daily routines. But the strange deadness in my chest was getting worse, not better. It was weird. Everyone else seemed to be so happy about the move to Colorado—even Stella, if my father’s interpretation of her sounds was reliable. Why do I feel as if there’s no point to life anymore?
I sighed. I knew it was the shock. That was, until I was setting my alarm on my phone. I hadn’t switched my phone on that day, I realized with a shock. What if Ainsley had needed to contact me? Almost as soon as I switched on, a message came through on my phone. I opened it. It was from Scott. Several messages, actually.
Hey, sweetie. Answer me, please? Then, Jackie? We need to talk. Please? And: Please, reply?
I deleted all the messages, rage and hurt and pain threatening to burst my heart in two. Then I blocked him on Whatsapp, Google, my number and everywhere else I thought he might find me. That made me feel better. It was as if I had cut all possibility of a future with him out of my life myself. Instead of letting him hurt me, I’d done it first. I could be resigned to Boulder and a gray, numb life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Scott
When I woke the next morning, the first thing I did was check my phone. As soon as I found that Jackie hadn’t replied, my heart sank. I was getting worried. What had happened?
My mind played tricks on me. What if she had found out the news? I knew it was on some gossip sites—she might have seen it by accident. If she had, would she have done something drastic? Surely not.
I showered and dressed, my heart beating frantically. Then I called her.
I got the phone company, with a flat, terse voice telling me the number was unreachable. I swore.
“Jackie! You madwoman. Are you okay?”
I tried to quell my morbid imagination. Look, Scott. Jackie isn’t that ungrounded. She wouldn’t take her own life because of a rumor.
I couldn’t stop my worries, though. Okay, maybe she was too grounded to actually take her own life. But what if something had happened to her? What if she’d fallen? Collapsed again, like she did that night I met her? What if the gang she told me about had attacked her outside work?
“I need to see them.”
I called her again. Got the same message. Now I was really frantic.
I had to drive there. But I couldn’t miss the meeting today, could I? I drew a deep breath. There was only o
ne thing for it. I called Dad.
“Dad?”
“Scott!” he sounded happy, which was a blessing. “What’s up?”
“Dad, I can’t come in to work this morning.”
“What?” he sounded horrified. Then frost formed around his voice. “You do know that’s unacceptable, right?”
I cleared my throat. I hadn’t told him about Jackie, or my daughter, or any of it. I never told Dad anything until it was already settled. I’d decided to wait until I’d actually gotten married before I even mentioned it. But then the media mill had ground out its stories and taken that chance from me.
“Dad, I know. But this is life or death. Please?”
“Go and do what you have to do,” he said frostily. “I’ll tell Mrs. Rice to file the necessary absences. But be here after lunch for the meeting. Or I will fire you. Understood?”
“Yes, Dad.” I sighed. If he had been anyone other than my dad, I would have explained the situation. Any other boss would have understood I needed to be absent because my wife was in danger! But explaining anything like that to Dad would have taken longer than I had right now. I needed time. “I’ll be there. Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
I grabbed my suitcase and ran to the car. Put my foot on the gas and shot out into the street. I decided to slow down a bit—the last thing I needed was the police stopping me—and arrived at Jackie’s apartment building a moment later.
I ran up to the door. This time I knew the code, and I knew which number to ring—I had taken special note. Forty-nine. I rang. No answer.
“Don’t be stupid, Scott. She’s at work. She works at the reformatory. Go there. Or call them.”
I pulled out my phone. I was shivering in the mid-autumn morning in my blazer and suit pants, my fingers struggling to type the letters. I found the school and the number. Rang them.
“St. Luke Reformatory. Good morning. How can we help?”
“Hi!” I said frantically. “Does Ms. Jefferson work there?”
A pause. “Sorry, who is this?”
I sighed. “I’m a friend of Jackie’s. I need to speak to her. Or at least know if she is at work today?”
“I can confirm that.” Her voice was guarded.
Whew! I felt like crying with the relief of that. “Thank you,” I said fervently.
“Sir, are you okay?” the woman asked. Her voice had softened and the sympathetic tone warmed my heart.
“I guess so,” I said, with a chuckle. I was so relieved! “Would it be possible to speak to Jackie?”
“She’s consulting right now. Could you call back at lunchtime? That’s one pm.”
My heart sank. If I called then, I’d probably interfere with the start of the meeting, which was at one thirty. “Okay,” I said, feeling rebellious. If that was the one way I could get hold of Jackie, I was going to. I had to talk to her, explain what had happened.
“Okay. Will that be all, sir?”
“It will. Thanks a lot.”
“Have a nice day.”
I sighed. I wasn’t sure if I’d have a nice day or not, but the prospects had just brightened a little, since I might get to speak to Jackie after all!
I went back to my car, blowing on my hands to warm my fingers. Then I drove to work. I jogged in and took the last two flights of stairs up to the office: I was so wired I needed to burn some energy. I raced past the secretary and sat down at my desk.
My colleagues—I shared the elegant glass cubicle of office with the other two senior executives—looked up with mild interest.
“Josh, Paige…sorry. I had an appointment.” I made a wavering gesture with my hand, indicating that I didn’t mean to disturb their concentration.
“No problem.” Josh said, not looking up.
“Scott, are you okay?” Paige asked kindly. “You look stressed.”
“I’m fine,” I said, at once touched by her concern and wishing she would be meaner so I wouldn’t be tempted to pour my heart out right here.
I couldn’t concentrate anyway, so there seemed little point in my being at work. I kept on thinking about Jackie and the fact that she was clearly furious with me.
She must have found out about these rumors. She must have been so, so hurt.
As I thought it, an idea came to me. After the meeting I would have to confront my dad about this. It was his fault, in a funny kind of way. He was the one who had been pushing me into this relationship with Alexa. If there were photos of us it was because he had managed the two of us like a director for a movie.
Scene one: Alexa and Scott together on a rooftop, dining.
I wanted to explode. The longer I sat there, the hotter my rage became. When lunch break came around I was primed like a pistol, ready to let rip at my dad. I decided to cool off.
“Coming to lunch?” Josh asked, making me jump.
“No, thanks. I’m going to head down to the gym.”
“Scott, you are okay, aren’t you?” Paige asked. She was shrugging on her blazer, lifting her bag from the rack.
I laughed. It came out a bit hysterical, which probably didn’t help to create the impression I wanted. “I’m fine, Paige. It isn’t so unusual for me to work out.”
She laughed. “No, I guess not.”
“Thanks,” I said. When they were gone, I heaved a sigh. Took out my phone and dialed the school.
“Hello?” I said. It was the same voice from this morning who answered me, the secretary.
“St. Luke school. How can we…oh. Hi! It’s you.”
I laughed despite the gravity of the situation. “Yeah, it is. Is Jackie there?”
“She’s gone out to lunch. I’m sorry. Try later?”
I wanted to cry. I couldn’t try later—the meeting would end whenever it ended. I had just lost my chance to speak to her.
“Okay,” I said glumly. “If you see her, tell her Scott called. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I hung up, feeling wretched.
I now had about half an hour to calm down, make sure I was prepared for the meeting, rehearse the things I wanted to say to my dad in a calm, rational manner. I went to the gym downstairs and used the treadmill for ten minutes, my speech running through my head as I did so. I felt calmer after that. In the shower I felt my tension melting away. I wasn’t enraged anymore. I was calmly angry. Which was infinitely more dangerous.
At twenty-five minutes past one, I lifted my laptop, shrugged into my blazer and headed to the boardroom. Set up the laptop for the presentation and then waited, pacing, for the rest to arrive from the business lunch.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Let’s get to it.” My father. He was leading three men with him, all in expensive suits with that glossed look that speaks of wealth. He gave me a glance—cold and approving at once. I bit my lip.
He really does still see me as an irresponsible boy, doesn’t he? The thought made me angry. I looked away.
“Good afternoon,” I said, greeting the other three men who all came over to shake my hand. They seemed more pleased about seeing me than he was, I thought resentfully.
We all sat down to business. I presented the results I needed to present. They all seemed pleased. While I relaxed, my part over, my dad himself presented his plans for the future. These were our most important investors—all close friends of my father’s—which was the only reason he did it himself.
At half past four, we adjourned. I waited until everyone had gone and then went over to my father.
“Dad?” I said quietly. “Do you have ten minutes?”
He almost rolled his eyes at me. I caught a look of exasperation creeping across his face and glared at him. He sighed.
“Yes, son. What is it? I wouldn’t mind an explanation for your absence this morning either. It was embarrassing to have to reschedule things around you.”
I felt my anger spark and swallowed it down. “I was about to explain, Father,” I said firmly. “But first, I think we should go somewhere more private.”
&n
bsp; He shrugged. “If you insist.”
We went to his office.
“See that no one disturbs me for—you said ten minutes, yes? Ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” his secretary nodded, looking nervously from my dad to me as I followed him in.
He shut the door and stood behind his desk. He looked the way he did when I was five and trying to explain to him why Reggie and I had broken the window when playing football. I pushed down the terror he had inspired in me then and still did, for the greatest part.
“Dad, I’m not marrying Alexa. I need your permission to make an announcement about that. The rumor’s got out and we need to finish it.”
“On no account will you do that,” he said stiffly. “Imagine the scandal! And imagine how Howard would react? If we insult his daughter? No way, Scott.”
I felt as if he’d slapped me. “Father, this is important…” I began. Then I had another thought. I didn’t need to argue with him on this. Didn’t need an announcement. Why not tell the truth? “Actually, forget it.”
“Good,” he said thinly. “Have you changed your mind?”
