Triple Love Score

by Brandi Megan Granett

  “Lying?” Miranda asked. “Lying that he is the father?”

  “Don’t you contradict me. I lied that he wasn’t! I said what I said. To keep him on his toes and keep him sending the money. I saw how he looked at the child. If he thought for a minute he could just have her without me, poof, there goes my chances. The hospital helped me right good without even knowing it. Telling him the child was early. Pennies from heaven that was.” Cassadee made a fist and started tapping it against the steering wheel. “But, yes, it’s your fault. I get no money, and you stole the child. You steal her, and you don’t pay; that’s not right. I need that money. They don’t give me all I need. There’s things I need, you see. Things.” She exhaled the last word so sharply that her spittle splattered all over the windshield. “Without my things, my brain doesn’t work right. I shake more. They don’t understand the power of alternative medicines. They are so close-minded. It’s not like it’s going to kill me now. I’m already dead.”

  “But she was premature, she couldn’t have been his. The dates don’t line up. He said so.”

  “That baby was not premature. I remember every damn month of that shit. I had morning sickness that July. August, too. So sick I couldn’t even party. Nothing would stay down. Then in September I got fat. Could barely score looking like that. Forced me to fuck some junkie to get some and got the HIV, too. That child ruined everything for me before she even took her first breath.”

  “He’s her father. Like really her father?”

  “The computer said you were some kind of professor, but you sure are acting stupid. I just said he was. I wasn’t some kinda slut just running around sleeping with everybody. I like me a good time. But my good time is chasing the dragon. I just hooked up with him because he was where the party was. Mr. Dollar Bills.”

  Miranda sat there, unable to speak. All these years, Scott lived in fear of Cassadee testing Lynn’s paternity for no reason.

  “Don’t just sit there like that. You should feel more responsible, don’t you think? If not for you, maybe he would have taken more of an interest? Even back then we all knew he had a thing for a girl back home.” Cassadee’s nostrils flared on either side of the oxygen tube. She pounded the steering wheel to emphasize each word.

  Miranda knew Cassadee didn’t have the strength to physically harm her, but she also didn’t need to listen anymore.

  “Oh, you’d leave me like this. You’re just like him. That’s how they must make you all back East. You think money keeps you clean, keeps you safe. Why don’t you share some of that with me? Why don’t you tell your precious Scott that the mother of his child has needs, too? That he can’t just push past and forget the little people behind him. I’ve got to have my medicine. Not that shit the doctors give but my own. You hear me. My own.”

  Miranda stood quickly, dizzy from the motion and the sunlight. The aide appeared from the shadow of the bookstore. “Ma’am,” she said, rushing forward. “You go on and get out of here, ma’am. Dee ain’t in her right mind any more. I can’t settle her down if you are here.”

  Miranda nodded at the woman before striding headlong down the street. She didn’t look back, wouldn’t look back; she didn’t want that angry darkness to follow her any more. She knew then everything Scott had said about Lynn being better off was right. She dialed Scott’s number, praying he would answer.

  “Cassadee lied,” she said instead of hello.

  “What are you even talking about?”

  “Cassadee, Scott. I just saw her.”

  “Miranda, I don’t understand what you’re saying. I asked you for a few days to think about things, and you go find Cassadee. What were you thinking? I don’t even want to know.”

  “Scott, please, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry. Nice. How sorry can you be? Why would you sneak off behind my back like that? Yeah, we’re having a problem right now, but that’s low. What were you even thinking?

  “I didn’t find her. She found me. I need you to listen to me for a second.”

  “I need to listen, so that you can just go and do whatever you want without thinking of how it impacts me? Us. If you even want there to be an us. I don’t get you, Miranda. Didn’t you listen to me—she could take Lynn away from me!”

  “That’s just it. She can’t. She says you are the father. She lied about the other guy to keep you paying.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t even ask about that. She just confessed it. She said she lied about it so you would pay her money. She says she was pregnant in July.”

  “But she’s a liar, Miranda.”

  “Scott, she was the worst person I have ever met in my whole life, but I swear to God, I don’t think she lied to me about this. She was boasting about how she used it to make you pay up. She got mad at me when I challenged her. And frankly, she is so sick that I don’t think she would live long enough to make it through a court case.”

  “She’s that sick.”

  “She’s in hospice, Scott. Oxygen tank. Nursing care.”

  “Hospice? As in dying?”

  “Yes. I don’t think we have to worry about her anymore.”

  “You said, we.”

  “I’m sorry. You. You don’t have to worry about her. She said Lynn’s yours. I believed her, Scott.” Words tumbled out of her mouth like an avalanche. Nothing could stop them.

  “Don’t be sorry. Unless, you don’t mean it. I want you to mean we. I thought no one would want to be my partner and help raise her. I never imagined there could be a we when it came to Lynn. When you said you didn’t want to be a mother, that all came back for me. I thought all my fears were confirmed.”

  “But it has to be a we. I didn’t just say yes to you. I said yes to both of you. To all of it. I just didn’t think it meant giving up my job; I thought we could talk about it—make some kind of plan. I want it to be us together—the three of us. But I wanted to do it right.”

  “I want that,” he said. “And you. And everything that comes with it. But I need us to be on the same page. Or figure out how to at least listen to each other better. We can’t keep arguing like this. And we need to be upfront about things. I can’t believe you talked to Cassadee.”

  “I just wanted what Avery had. My mother made an entire book for whoever my father married. I wanted to be able to tell Lynn where she came from, to show her that she was loved.”

  “But, Miranda, what if that’s our job and not Cassadee’s?

  “But it’s not like that. I don’t want to replace her mother, Scott. Avery didn’t replace my mom.”

  “That’s because your mom loved you.”

  His words hit her. While she would have given anything to have her own mother back, the woman in the car wasn’t Lynn’s mother and wasn’t capable of even thinking about anyone but herself or the drugs she wanted. Maybe she wouldn’t have all the information Avery had to guide her as a stepmother, but she was going to have the same kind of love Avery always offered. And that would have to be enough.

  C H A P T E R

  CHECKING IN,” she said, as she approached the Platinum Member’s desk at the hotel in Los Angeles.

  “Name,” the clerk, a blonde girl with features so perfect you would put her in the dictionary under model working a day job until she makes it big.

  Miranda gave her name, slipping the credit card across the desk.

  Perfect painted pink nails glided over the keyboard. She smiled, revealing straight teeth, which glinted in the pinpoint halogen lighting that was supposed to be illuminating the portrait of the hotel’s founders. She processed the keys and slipped them into a powder blue envelop embossed with the word RELAX! as if the exclamation point could force you to unwind. Miranda turned to find the elevators; she knew exactly where to find them without directions at this point, when the model said, “Wait, we have something for you.”

  The model bent down low and then emerged with the largest vase of roses Miranda had ever seen. They blocked the girl’s entire tor
so from view. The model heaved them up and over the tall desk. “There’s a card,” she announced as Miranda turned to find the elevator again.

  “Thanks,” Miranda said.

  “But there’s a card,” the model repeated.

  “I know,” Miranda said, “It’s right here.” The creamy beige envelope stood out obviously against the deep red of the roses.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” the co-ed asked.

  Miranda dropped the handle of her suitcase and spun around. “You want me to open it here?”

  “Well, we were just curious is all. Who sends roses like that?”

  “Probably my fiancé,” Miranda said. “We just got engaged. We had a bit of an argument. This might be his reply.”

  “Awww,” she said. “So old fashioned!”

  “I know, right,” Miranda said. “Okay. I’ll open it.” She walked back across the lobby and set the vase back down on the counter. She opened the card. Took one look at it and put it back in the envelope. “You know,” she said. “Why don’t we leave the flowers out here so everyone can enjoy them?”

  “You can’t. They’re yours. They’ll make your room special.”

  “No, the rooms are too small. And air tight. I might get allergies.”

  “Are you allergic to flowers?”

  “Nnnnn … yes, I am. Can you keep them here?”

  The model looked from Miranda to the flowers and back again. Then she shrugged.

  “Great. Thank you.” Miranda squinted to read the girl’s name badge. “Thank you, Kaylee.”

  “Thank you. I just might pretend to my boyfriend when he comes that someone left these for me. A secret admirer maybe. He never does anything special like this. You are lucky to have your fiancé.”

  Only the card in her hand read, “Good Luck on Ellen,Yours, Ronan.”

  “Yes, lucky,” Miranda said, finally making her way to the elevator.

  She sat on the bed of her airless hotel room, her stomach rolling. It wasn’t like she thought Ronan would disappear off the face of the earth entirely; she just thought he would disappear off the face of her earth. Her mind vacillated from being upset about the flowers to being upset with herself for being upset. She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t owe Ronan anything. Not a phone call or an explanation. Their relationship wasn’t meant to be anything of consequence no matter how many grand speeches he gave about wanting to leave his mark on America. He had a plane ticket before they even spoke outside of class. Yet some part of her felt guilty for how quickly she left off with him and took up with Scott. She knew what it looked like to Ronan. But she didn’t want that hanging over her head anymore. He had done enough damage already.

  She left a message for Scott. He couldn’t call back for at least an hour when school let out. Instead of pacing around her hotel room, she pulled on the yoga clothes she optimistically bought in the Atlanta airport of all places, and soon found herself walking along a nondescript road where sidewalks led from office park to office park with the occasional strip mall featuring a nail salon or karate studio to break up the monotony.

  Just past the second strip mall, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Without looking at the screen, she answered, “Scott.”

  “Sorry, dear. Not him am I,” Ronan said. “I see I failed miserably and still fail anew.”

  “Ronan,” she said.

  “One in the flesh. And how are you my fine lass? Or should I say Scott’s fine piece of ass?” He drew out the s on each word in a long slur.

  She gasped, unable to reply.

  “The email says you got the bouquet. Don’t you have any thanks for dear old Ronan? Or are you too far beyond that? A book. A new man. Television shows.”

  “Why are you calling? Haven’t you done enough? Emails to the university? Almost getting me fired? Why would you do that?”

  “Why?” he said. Then he repeated, it again. “Why, why, why, why?” Until he dissolved into a guffaw, then a choking cough.

  Part of her wished for a brief second that he was really choking, but then he didn’t stop coughing. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Ay, a question even better than the last. Why would I be all right? I am stuck in this God forsaken village and the woman I thought could save me from all this tossed me over like yesterday’s rubbish.”

  “Save you from what?”

  “From being sent away. From this place. You were supposed to love me, Miranda. You were supposed to beg me to stay. Instead, you walked away. No wait, you flew away. With him.”

  “I don’t understand what you are saying, Ronan.”

  “I speak plain enough. Think on it. You could have prevented this.”

  “But you already had your ticket. You were leaving.”

  “Tickets cost money. Exile costs time. Wasted, wasted time.”

  “Exile. What are you talking about, Ronan? I really don’t understand. You aren’t stuck in Ireland. It’s a free country.”

  “Ay, I am without a Green Card, dear Miranda. You couldn’t have just fallen for me a little. Just a little and let me slip in. I would have been good to you. We would have had some good years. How hard could it have been to give me just that? I gave you enough, didn’t I? You enjoyed it all well enough, parting your legs with ease.”

  “I won’t listen to this. It wasn’t like that. It was just a thing.”

  “Oh, a thing was it. God bless your intended. May he keep you forever from other things. Faithless woman. Enjoy your time on the television. I’m sure it will be memorable.” And then the line went dead.

  She dropped her phone as if it were hot. It sputtered across the sidewalk and landed on the grassy median between the sidewalk and the street. She stared it, imagining the wild tangle of invisible networks that linked that tiny rectangle to the rest of the world; this web of connections both cradled her world and shook it like an earthquake.

  But then her phone binged. Lynn sent her a photo of her day’s artwork from Scott’s phone. Three figures stood on top of a blue crayon mountain with jagged lines drawn on the top to show snow. Each figure wore a scarf and goggles. The character’s names were penned in green crayon: Daddy, Lynn, Randa. They each wore skis as well.

  “I don’t know how to ski,” Miranda texted back.

  “I will teach you,” Lynn said. “Daddy says I’m a good teacher.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Miranda said.

  Miranda scrolled through the options that she didn’t ever use on her phone and found the emoticons. She found a penguin and entered it three times followed by a heart.

  “Can you hand Daddy the phone?” she asked.

  “Soccer practice. No phone rule,” Lynn texted back.

  The dots indicating another incoming message came up quickly.

  “I forgot. No phone! Love you, Randa.”

  “Love you, too,” Miranda texted back.

  Scott wouldn’t be available for at least an hour. She thought about calling Danielle. But neither one of them could tell her how much damage Ronan had done this time.

  C H A P T E R

  K, HERE,” Kristen said, answering her phone.

  “Miranda, here,” Miranda replied. “I think I have a problem.”

  “I’m here to serve,” Kristen said. “Shoot.”

  “There might be a problem with the Ellen Show. I think Ronan, you know the one—”

  “The one from the university? The student?”

  “Yes,” Miranda said, swallowing hard. She didn’t want to argue the point. She was in no position to argue anything right now.

  “Oh, that, so you got the email, too?”

  “The email?”

  “Yes, the one to the producers at Ellen; they sent it over yesterday for confirmation.”

  “What did you say?”

  “We have a policy of always staying in front of these things. Admit, Accept, and Move on.”

  “You told them?”

  “No, he told them. I confirmed. Admit, Accept, and Move on.�
��

  “Does Ambrose know about this?” Miranda asked.

  “Of course, it’s his policy.”

  “What did the Ellen people say? Is she going to ask me about this?”

  “They said thank you. We never get to approve the questions before hand. Some of these producers still feel they are journalists.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “I sent you the itinerary, right? Just be ready when the car comes, Miranda. This is huge. Be sure you have a dance prepared.”

  Twenty minutes later, after she finally made her way back to the hotel, Ambrose texted her. “Scandal drives sales. Whatever it is, roll with it. And don’t forget to dance.”

  Instead of going up to her room, she took a seat at the lobby bar for the first time on this entire trip. She ordered a bottle of Shiraz and tried to figure out the best way to prepare Scott for what he might see on the television the next day. The wine did little to improve her problem-solving abilities. With the bottle empty, she had even fewer ideas than before. She thought about ordering a shot of Tequila or maybe Jack Daniels or something Technicolor from the mirrored-shelf behind the bar. Instead, she decided to do what she promised to do: share her life with him.

  He listened carefully, saying uh hum, and okay at all of the right places. “Dancing?” he finally asked.

  “It’s a thing on Ellen,” she said. “The guests dance in.”

  “How bad could it be?” he asked. “If they have you dancing, it’s not a hard-hitting news show. What time is it on?”

  “The afternoon. Like three or four.”

  “So not prime time?”

  “Nope.”

  “So they aren’t going to ask about sex, Randa. There might be children watching. You’ll be fine.”

  “But soap operas are on in the afternoon. That’s all sex.”

  “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “Helpful. Okay,” she said. “I’ll go along with you. But what if they cancel?”

  “That’s your last stop, right?”

  “Yes. Just the show and then I am done.”

  “Then you come home early. I see no problem there. I will move heaven and earth to meet your plane. Even if it’s early.”