My son smiles, then looks ahead out of the front window and says, “I spy something yellow . . .”
As they start to play the game, I think back to college. I think about all the times that Gavin said I had nothing to worry about with Karen. How them going to Brazil together was purely platonic. I think about our horrible fight after he took her to the concert I cancelled on.
Apparently, I had every right to be jealous. I guess even if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, their time together in Brazil would have torn us apart.
He married her?
I guess I simply don’t get it. She stood for everything he despised. I sigh and try to wipe all thoughts of Gavin and Karen McBride from my brain.
“A submarine!” I shout out.
“Come on, Mom,” Maddox says, rolling his eyes. “You gotta guess good guesses, not stupid ones.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” I ask him with a laugh. “I could have seen a submarine on a billboard, you know.”
“No, Mommy, you’re not stupid,” he says, with the slightest hint of a lisp. “You are the smartest Mommy I know.” He leans over to give me a hug. I squeeze him a little harder and little longer than normal, because I’ve never been more unsure of what the future may hold.
chapter twenty-five
Callie keeps Maddox busy playing games on our flight while I’m trying, rather unsuccessfully, to stop thinking about what Gavin said to me last night. Why on earth would he think that I owe him an explanation? An explanation for what, getting pregnant? For quitting school to go have his baby? For not getting an abortion?
I don’t get why he seemed genuinely mad at me when he was the one who left—who ended us. And accusing me of putting things on Facebook? I’ve never had a Facebook account in my life. He said I broke his heart, his fucking heart, if I remember correctly. He showed me the keychain, the same keychain that he kept for eight years. My keychain. It just happened to be in his pocket with keys on it the very day we randomly run into each other? None of this makes any sense.
He was drunk. That’s for sure. Maybe he was on drugs, too. Wikipedia listed his business as being in L.A.—they do drugs in L.A. He’s in the film industry—they do drugs there, too. That’s got to be it. It’s the only logical explanation.
I attempt to nap, since I only managed a few fleeting hours of sleep after I collapsed from exhaustion somewhere around dawn. But every time I close my eyes I see him. Gavin Maddox McBride. The man I hate. The man who may come after my kid and expose him to that bitch of a wife he married. The man who has single-handedly destroyed me for all other men.
The man who I’ll probably always love.
In my car, on the ride back to our house, Callie once again pulls out her phone. I know she’s Googling him again. “What are you doing now?” I ask.
“I’m looking him up on Facebook,” she says.
“Good Lord, why?”
“Because anybody who’s anybody is on Facebook,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “Except you”—she taps the screen a few more times—“and apparently, him.”
I snap my eyes to her. “Really?” I ask. Even though I don’t use it, I’m well aware of how popular it is. And now that I think of it, it would have been a good way for me to get more personal information about him, ammunition even for a possible custody battle.
“Really,” Callie says. “And as far as I can tell, he’s not on any other social media either. Just like you.” She looks over at me with a blank stare. “Huh, imagine that.”
I quickly glance back at Maddox to make sure he isn’t paying attention to us. “Can you pull up his Wikipedia page again to see if he has any kids?”
She gives me a sad look. “Baylor, are you sure you want to know that?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know. But I have to find out. Maybe if he has other kids, he’ll leave my kid alone,” I whisper.
“Yeah, and maybe if he doesn’t have any, he doesn’t want any,” she adds, sharing my momentary optimism.
“That, too,” I say, nodding my head at her phone which she hesitantly picks up to do the search.
“It doesn’t say anything about kids here,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean anything either way.”
“Does it say how long they’ve been married?”
“Looks like around six years,” she says. “Holy sh—uh, shnails.” She briefly glances back at Maddox. “She comes from a boatload of money. Do you think that’s why he married her?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s not like that. He comes from money, too. Well, not that much, but enough.” Callie raises a brow at me and I know exactly what she’s thinking. I’m defending him. I shouldn’t be doing that. They probably deserve each other, those two. “They must have gotten married right after graduation. They sure didn’t waste any time.”
Callie puts a supportive hand on mine.
“Did you know that his dad probably would have run for president if he hadn’t died?” I say.
“No kidding?” she muses, while scrolling through her phone. “Oh yeah, it says here his dad was a senator when he died at age—”
“What’s a senator?” Maddox chimes in from the back seat.
I shake my head at Callie. We should be more careful when we talk about Gavin. Sometimes I forget that kids pick up on so many things. “A senator is someone who helps make decisions about the country we live in,” I explain to him.
“Oh,” he says. “What’s Facebook?”
Callie and I share a look. She says, “It’s something grown-ups use on the computer to keep in touch with their friends.”
“Like e-mail?” he asks.
“Yes, like e-mail,” I say.
“Can I do Facebook?” he asks.
“No!” Callie and I say together.
“Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way home?” he asks.
“Yes, we can stop at McDonald’s, buddy,” I tell him. And suddenly, all thoughts of senators and Facebook are forgotten as he tries to figure out if he’s going to get a Big Mac or a McChicken sandwich, going over the pros and cons of each with Callie.
When we get home, Maddox runs off to eat his dinner and I go in my office to call my lawyer. I don’t care if it is a Sunday. He’s a friend of the family and his firm handles all of the restaurant issues as well as my books.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Dillon, it’s Baylor Mitchell. I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I have a potential legal issue that I’d like your advice on.”
“Baylor, it’s always a pleasure to talk to you. I’m at your service whenever you need me. You should know that by now. What can I do for you?”
“I know family law isn’t your specialty, but I thought maybe you could ask around your office.”
“Of course,” he says. “What’s the issue?”
“I ran into Maddox’s dad last night.”
The other end of the phone remains silent. Dillon is a good enough friend that he knows Maddox’s dad isn’t in the picture. He comes over for barbeques and has a daughter in Maddox’s class at school. We talk and he’s pieced things together over the years.
“And what happened when you saw him?” he asks.
“Well, we didn’t talk as much as yell at each other. Everything happened so quickly, but I got the idea that Gavin was surprised to find out he has a son.” I sigh. “Dillon, what do I have to do to make sure he can’t touch Maddox?”
“Baylor, I know you don’t want to hear this, and I’ll set up a meeting with Jerry Chutney who’s our family law partner, but from what I know, unless you can prove him unfit, he has every right to file for joint custody. Or at the very least, generous visitation.”
I close my eyes as my heart sinks into my stomach. “But he wanted me to get an abortion. He gave me money to do it. I even have the letter he wrote to me that proves it. Didn’t he give up any rights to Maddox when he did that?”
“Not really, I’m afraid,” he says. “People do and say things they don’t mean all the time, espe
cially when they are young like he was. He could argue that if he knew you had the child, he would have wanted it. He could claim that you purposefully kept Maddox from him all these years.”
“Oh, God,” I cry.
“Listen, Baylor,” he consoles me. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. But people change as they get older. Just because he didn’t want a kid in college, doesn’t mean he won’t want to know him now. My advice to you is to save any correspondence between the two of you. Take notes on any conversations that you have.” He sighs before a pregnant pause. “Do you think he could become violent?”
“Violent? No, I don’t think so,” I say. “He was always very protective of me back then.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s the case. I’ll get with Jerry and you call me if and when Gavin contacts you again.”
I hang up the phone and head straight to the kitchen, where Callie is waiting for me holding a bottle of my favorite Merlot in one hand and the DVD ‘Dumb and Dumber’ in the other hand. We always drink and watch stupid comedies when one of us is feeling down.
“I love you, Cal,” I say, walking over to retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet. “I hope that’s not our last bottle. After my talk with Dillon, I have the feeling we may need another.”
“You’ll get through this, Baylor.” She puts down the bottle to wrap her arm around me. “You always do.”
chapter twenty-six
For two weeks now, I’ve lived on eggshells. Every ring of the doorbell, every phone call that comes through, every mail delivery—they all have me wondering when I might get served with a summons.
I’ve got Callie driving Maddox to and from school, even though he loves riding the bus, just in case Gavin tries to contact him directly.
I don’t know Gavin anymore. Maybe I never did, considering I would have bet my life on his support back then. Who knows what he is capable of now, but whatever it is, he’s got the money to do it.
I haven’t tortured myself with more web searches, and I’ve asked Callie to keep hers to herself. Dillon said he’d do a background check on Gavin and let me know if there’s anything to worry about. Thankfully, I haven’t heard that there is. I told Chris and my family what happened. I needed them to be on alert in case a situation arises. They have all agreed to be vigilant when Maddox is with them.
The doorbell rings and my stomach flips over. I walk to the window in my home office and peek through the curtains. I let out my breath and smile when I see the big brown UPS truck on the street in front of my house. I run to the door and excitedly swing it open. Randy, my long-time UPS driver, is already holding his arms open for me to jump into. He knows the drill by now. He understands that when he delivers a very large, extremely heavy box from my publisher, that I will hug him and cry happy tears.
It happens. Every. Time. Even though it’s happened twelve times before over the past five years, I still get that giddy feeling. That incredible feeling that I can only describe as one like giving birth to a child and holding him in your arms for the very first time.
My book!
Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m a published author. That I get paid to make stuff up and write it down. That I get money in exchange for doing something I love. That what I do for a living isn’t even something I consider work.
Randy puts me down and I kiss him on his cheek and then wipe a tear from mine.
“Should I put it inside the door for you, Ms. Mitchell?” he asks, leaning down to pick up the large brown box.
“Please, Randy,” I say. “And, I’ve told you before, call me Baylor.”
“Well, Baylor,” he says. “You’ll never know how much I look forward to these deliveries. It’s one of the highlights of my job. When’s your next book coming out? I want to make sure I’m not sick that day.”
We share a laugh as he puts the box in the entryway. I can hardly wait to grab a knife and cut through the thick packing tape so I can hold the new books in my hand. “It’ll be a while,” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”
“Have a great day,” he says, walking back to his truck.
“I will now.” I turn to shut the door. But before I completely close it, I see an unfamiliar car pulling into my driveway. I squint and look through the crack in the door. I focus my eyes on the driver only to see a messy-yet-perfect head of blonde hair.
Shit!
I slam the door shut.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I lock the door and grab my cell phone, fully prepared to dial Chris at the restaurant or Callie at the gym, or even 911 if I have to. And although I know it’s coming, I about jump out of my skin when the doorbell rings.
I back away from the door, walking backwards as I stare at the large, solid, deep-red double doors that separate me from him. I keep backing up until my calves hit the rear of the couch in the living room behind me.
Knock knock knock.
“Baylor, I know you’re in there,” Gavin says through the two-inch steel doors. “I saw you. Now, open up please, I only want to talk.”
I can’t speak. I can’t move. I can’t even make a call on the cell phone clutched in my hand. He’s here. He’s at my house. Is he here for my kid?
Bile rises in my throat as I hear more knocking. “Baylor,” his muffled voice shouts again. “I know about Maddox. But I didn’t back then. You don’t know the whole story. Will you just hear me out? Please?” he begs.
“I have the letter, Gavin!” I yell though the door. “The letter that proves otherwise. In fact, I gave it to my lawyer.”
My legs start working again, so I sneak around to the kitchen and get myself a glass of water to keep from throwing up. I slowly walk over to the kitchen window. The one that has a clear view of my front porch. I carefully peek through the curtains at the corner of the window. I see him standing at the door wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking very much like he did in college, with a body that proclaims sexual prowess. He’s holding a bouquet of purple orchids and my heart does a nose dive.
“Please, open the door and let me explain,” he says, with a smooth accented voice that is rough and edgy and deeply male.
Why is he bringing me those flowers? To soften me up before he slaps me with a lawsuit maybe?
Without properly thinking it through, I stomp angrily to the front door and forcefully swing it open, swearing under my breath when the door handle dents my freshly painted wall of the entryway.
“How do you manage to ruin all my great days?” I yell at him. Then I rip the flowers out of his hand, step back and slam the door in his stunned face.
I walk back into the kitchen and pull an empty box from the recycle bin. As I work on the flowers, I watch him through the window. He’s pacing around my porch, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Baylor!” he shouts. “Don’t you owe it to me, to us, to at least hear me out?”
I go back to the front door and open it, shoving the box of smashed up, ripped up, cut up orchids at him. “I’d like you to leave,” I say. “Now!” I shut the door on him once again and go back to the kitchen to watch what he does.
He paces around shaking his head for a minute, all the while mumbling to himself. Finally, he heads back to his car and I sigh a breath of relief as I watch him walk away. Then my body betrays me and tears pool in my eyes at the sight of him leaving me again.
Once inside his car, he glances up to catch me watching him through the window.
Shit!
I jump out of his view, my entire body shaking from our brief interaction. I slide down the face of the cabinets onto the cool white tile of my kitchen floor and wait to hear his engine start. I don’t.
What the hell is he doing? I shudder to think he’s merely going to sit there and wait for me to come out. Oh, God, what about when Maddox comes home?
I pull my cell out of my jeans pocket to phone Callie. I’ll have her take Maddox to Chris’s house after school. I stop dialing when I hear the crunching of gravel, as footsteps make their way up my walk.
I hear the creaking of the second step as he climbs the five stairs to the porch. There is a pause, then more footsteps walking away. Finally, his car starts and I hear him back out of the driveway. I stay glued to the floor until I can no longer hear the engine driving down my street.
I stand up and lean on the sink for support, looking out the window for several minutes to make sure he’s not coming back. Then it catches my eye—a piece of paper stuck in the handle of my front door. My heart races as I retrieve and then unfold the note that is written on the back of his rental car agreement.
Baylor,
I’m not leaving town until you hear me out. I’m staying at the Oak Leaf Hotel. I’m sure you are aware of the location as it’s one of only two hotels in town. Suite 309.
I’ll be back every day until you talk to me.
Gavin
I immediately call my mom. Where Callie and my sisters are ruled by emotions, my mom has always been the voice of reason. She is the one who gave me the keychain. The keychain he still possesses. She’s supported every decision I’ve ever made with fierce loyalty. She’s my moral compass, my greatest cheerleader, my role model.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks in that motherly voice.
It used to amaze me how my mother could know something was bothering me from a simple look or greeting. But now that I’m a mom, I get it. Even without words, I can tell when Maddox is happy, sad, bored, even hungry. It’s true, we have this sixth sense that seems to suddenly appear as soon as we push a child through our vagina.
“Gavin came to the house just now,” I say.
“Oh, Baylor, are you okay? Is everything okay? Maddox wasn’t there, was he?”
“No. I’m okay,” I assure her. “Maddox is still at school.”
“What did he want?”
“He claims he only wants to talk. He said I owe it to him to hear him out. He brought me orchids.”
“Purple?” she asks.
Purple Orchids Page 18
