Parking somewhere in Timbuktu behind a shitty Hyundai, I get out of my truck amongst the hoard of cars that easily fit in a single driveway, which is almost bigger than the parking lot at work. Amos’ death machine is parked near the mammoth cement stairs leading up to a house that looks like the mansion in the board game Life. I know Brandon didn’t make all this money on his own. His wife, Diana, is an attorney for a hospital here in Richmond. I guess she’s good at winning malpractice lawsuits. But he’s not the one married to a skirt-chasing loser.
As I walk around my truck, I see Shasta’s Infiniti—subsidized by the big chief himself, no doubt. She’s a paralegal, and she’s only been working at the firm for a year and a half. Though, she doesn’t spend nearly a fraction of what I do on clothes since hers come from Target. I don’t need a mental rerun of how I know that shit.
This is a bad idea.
When I reach Betsy’s Pontiac Grand Prix, discontinued over a decade ago, I have doubts not only about being here but that Betsy knows how to pronounce Prix without sounding like a full-blown fuckface.
Just as I turn around, I hear, “Rod!” Please let it be Satan. “If you leave I’ll follow you home!” Hearing Amos yell, I’m convinced he should follow me. I’ll introduce him to the crack dealers living in my complex, telling them he’s an undercover narc. They’ll even get rid of the body. Yeah, maybe that’s cold, but I see it as an investment in my own survival. The dealers will be thankful I outed a Five-0 and will leave me alone. An all-around win. Maybe not for Vaughn, but I’m not one to dwell on trivial details.
Who am I kidding? Nothing ever works for me, except accidentally reproducing. Hanging my head in defeat, I sigh, wishing my father hadn’t made the same mistake as me, using a faulty condom, instead of subjecting me to this bullshit.
Since I know I have zero way out of this now, I walk over to where Amos waits on the lawn. He’s still wearing his ridiculous tie-dye do-rag, minus the team hat, and a stonewashed, frayed jean vest over his Legal Eagles shirt. Christ. I expect to see a teddy bear or a save-the-whales patch on the back, but it’s remarkably blank. From a distance, he’d pass for the oddball garden gnome people hide in the backyard behind a bush. But up close, any charm disappears, and I’m left with a secretly flaming biker who gets his fashion sense from Kevin James and Whoopi Goldberg. Amos gives me the same disapproving look as my mother. “You can’t leave. You just got here.”
“What’s it matter if I’m here or not? I’d rather be home doing nothing.”
“You’re hurt. We’re all worried about you. You missed the rest of the game.”
“That’s not my damn fault.” I watch a car pull into the driveway slow, maybe confused where to park. I’m surprised Brandon didn’t have valet parking.
Amos frowns, rubbing the top of his colorful head. Wearing a turban would’ve at least added some culture, rather than looking like a Village People reject. “You feeling okay?”
“Never better.” I feel like shit, but the pain in my ass has nothing to do with it, not like the one standing in front of me.
“Why’d you and Finn argue?”
“You were there.” Drop it, Vaughn.
“I didn’t hear all of it.” Amos shakes his head with a self-righteous frown and whispering, “I told you to watch it with Hadley.”
Disregarding his remark, I take in the pretentiousness surrounding us, instead asking, “How’s Scanlon?”
“Ricky said Crick is bruised and slightly dislocated his shoulder. They popped it back in, gave him meds, and sent him home. He’ll be fine in a week or two.”
I nod. “That’s good. He’s tough.” And a better man than I’ll ever be.
“Everyone’s asking about you.” Does Hadley even care her husband wishes I were dead and out of her life?
I’m unsettled by that, but still, I laugh at Amos’ serious expression clashing with his Halloween getup. “What’d you tell them? Everything?” A man and woman walk past, and Amos politely nods at them. Their expression clearly says they think he’s either hired help or a murderous drifter. I still believe the latter.
He says, “No.” Again, I look away, searching the cars parked here. “Finn left.”
“I don’t care.” Amos doesn’t need to know what the hell I do care about.
“Okay,” he says with a lilt, irritating me. I know what he’s thinking, and I don’t need another warning about getting in over my head. I’ve already drowned in a beautiful riptide when I started working at the firm. I’d die that death again versus the violent one forced upon me years before. “You hungry?”
“No.” Always, but that’s something else he can shove. I’m not his pet project.
“Well, it’s catered, so there’s a lot of food. I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Val wants to see you too.” He starts walking, looking over his shoulder. When I don’t follow like the lapdog Amos thinks I am, he stops and waits for me to pretend I’m making my own decision to go. Damn him.
I follow Amos through a wrought-iron gate and down a stone path on the side of the house. Stone benches here and there and small trees draped in white lights frame the walkway. It feels like a cemetery. I wish I had this sort of money to blow on short trees and seats for squirrels.
We finally reach a clearing, where throngs of people swarm around an in-ground pool. There’re some little kids in it, but no adults. Thank God because I don’t want to see more of Betsy than required.
“Look who made it!” Val engulfs me in a hug like I’m returning from battle. “It’s so good to see you here.” Her perfume reminds me of home. That’s stupid, but it’s soothing. I don’t have family here, but Val is close enough. She lets go of me and holding onto my arm, she takes a look at my leg. “How are you feeling? I saw you limp.”
“I’m okay. Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, Rod. You know I will. Do you want something to eat? Brandon has a ton of food over there. Don’t let it go to waste.” Not giving me a chance to argue, Val pulls me to the food with Amos following. She’s one woman I’d never argue with. Handing me a plate, Val lists all the food present as I observe the immediate area, not seeing Hadley anywhere. “And don’t forget the hummus at the end. I told Brandon you want hummus.”
I laugh, somewhat touched she thought of me that way. “Thanks.” I pile my plate with chicken, rigatoni, some mushroom stir fry-looking thing, and some veggies with hummus while Val grabs a napkin and silverware for me. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten like this. And it’ll be a while before I do again.
“You want a beer?” Val asks, nodding toward the bar set up near the pool. Brandon went overboard for a company softball team.
I shrug as Amos starts leading me toward an area of tables and chairs. “Uh, sure.” As long as Brandon’s paying for it, I may as well enjoy myself.
Amos stops at a table where Audrey and Simone are yakking, asking them, “I have another tablemate if you don’t mind.”
Audrey smiles at me while Simone uses her foot to push out the chair, saying, “I guess we’ll allow it. How’s the ass?”
I pull out the chair next to her and set down my plate. “I can’t see it. You tell me. Can you bounce a quarter off of it?”
Audrey coughs on her drink—Sprite or whatever—while Amos sighs on the other side of me. Unphased, Simone shakes her head. “Not more than a dime.”
“So kind, Garrison.”
“Just another service I provide.”
“I want a refund.”
She flips her a blonde pigtail as she reaches for her bottle of beer. “Sorry. No returns.” Figures.
Val delivers my beer, and above the sounds of squeals in the pool, I ask, “Where’s Nico and Ali? They allowed ditching?”
She waves her hand toward the house as she sits on the other side of Amos at the circular table. “They’re here somewhere. Brandon was giving tours of his house, so maybe they’re doing that.”
As I take a bite of the chicken, Amos makes a face, seeing something behind
me. A hand brushes my shoulder, and I look up from my food to see Hadley standing next to me, holding Finley. Behind her, Rhonda hovers. Joy. Awkwardness at its best.
Hadley smiles, and I sit straighter in her glow. She says, “I was wondering if you would show up or not.”
I laugh somewhat, distracted by the baby in her arms. “I’ll let you know tomorrow how that turned out.” I reach up to lift Finley’s hand, and she curls her little fingers around mine. I could be your dad.
Brushing my thumb over her soft hand, I smile, and Hadley asks, “You want to hold her?”
Without hesitating, I scoot my chair and hold out my hands. “Yeah. Give her here.”
While maneuvering Finley into my arms, Hadley’s hair brushes against mine. I hold my breath, so she doesn’t overwhelm me even more than I already am. “Support her head with your arm.”
I settle back against the chair and get comfortable. It feels so natural holding her. I’ve never been afraid, and at the hospital, she was the first baby I’ve ever held. “I know how to hold her.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Her round face looks up at me with blue eyes while her outrageous blonde hair screams, standing on end, refusing to do anything else. She’s a mini, badass rock chick. Just like Eden. It’s the best thing ever. I brush my hand through her hair and cup the side of her small face. Did Hadley give birth to my daughter? Will I ever have that answer without losing my best friend either way?
Hadley pulls over a chair from the table behind us. Rhonda follows, and they both squeeze in at my table. Next to me, Hadley watches me hold her daughter. “How’s your...bruise?”
I smile wider at Finley as I answer, “Don’t worry about me.”
Simone says, “Translation: Quit asking about his ass.”
Hadley laughs, replying to Simone, but I don’t know what the hell she says. I can’t stop staring at Finley. Other than the hair, I search for anything else that suggests she’s mine, but she looks like her mother. The only things I have in my favor are that night and the timing of her birth. Not really convincing evidence. It could all be a coincidence.
Amos says, “Rod and Crick are both strong and will heal fast.”
Val says, “Thank the Lord that Crick will be okay too. Softball sure isn’t a sport for the weak.”
Hearing that, I snort. “Too bad for Gloria.”
“Now, Gregory,” Val scolds with a laugh. “You never know if that would get back to Gloria.” She obviously doesn’t know me that well because I couldn’t give two shits and a jock itch about that wobbling trash fire.
Hadley touches Finley’s blonde hair, her black nails a stark contrast. “Rod, you should hear some of Rhonda’s horror stories from the reception desk. I had no idea what she dealt with.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, not taking my eyes off the baby.
“She said there was a man who used to call in every other day, claiming he had the wrong number. But he had this distinct voice—gravelly—like he smoked a lot.”
“Okay.”
“I think he liked hearing Rhonda’s voice. Maybe men like it. As a guy, what do you think?” What the fuck is this nonsense?
I finally look up. Hadley’s face is expectant like she’s waiting for me to frolic in her bullshit, whereas Rhonda’s face matches our team’s maroon T-shirts. “About what?”
Hadley’s stiff smile warns me to play along. “Rhonda. Do you think her voice is sexy?”
I make a face at Hadley. Like most of my team I’ve seen so far, she’s still wearing her team T-shirt. “How should I know if that’s sexy? I’m not Rod Stewart. I don’t even call her.” Her smile flips upside down. Not unexpected.
Through her frown, Hadley says, “Maybe you could call her. Right?”
We exchange dirty looks. “She’s feet from my office. I don’t need to call her.” Rhonda turns to Audrey to extricate herself from this conversation. I wish the fuck I could.
“That defeats the purpose.”
“Of what?”
Simone scoots her chair closer, leaning against me to see over my shoulder. “Maybe not sexy yet, but my niece is the prettiest baby in the world.” I won’t argue with the pretty part, but niece may be debatable. Every time I hold this baby, my thoughts run crazy about the reality of it all. It is possible Finley is mine. A big possibility. And I can’t tell a soul. But to be fair, I haven’t even clued-in my parents about Birdy yet. Yeah. Greg Rodwell is a sorry excuse for not only a father but a son too.
Hearing chewing in my ear, I turn to see Simone munching on my roll. “What the hell?” Hadley taps my arm, and I make myself dizzy looking back and forth between the two. “What?”
“Watch what you say,” Hadley says, nodding at Finley. “Babies are impressionable.”
Simone giggles next to me. “Fuck that.”
“Seriously?” Hadley squeals, reaching over and taking Finley from me. I don’t want to let her go. Every time I have to give her back, I want to argue, hold on to her tighter, tell Hadley the truth. But I can’t do any of those, and it burns. If she’s mine, I want her to know me. I don’t want her to think I abandoned her.
Shit.
“Rod,” Hadley says in a tone that Val used earlier. “My daughter’s first word is going to be dirty.” I guess I said shit out loud.
“Right on,” Simone mumbles, eating more of my damn food.
I frown at her, which does nothing. “Am I in your way?”
“A little.” She picks up my fork and digs into the mushroom thing. I shove the plate to Simone, and she gladly accepts it, but I steal a carrot and a hunk of hummus before she devours everything.
Standing, I see many people here I don’t know amongst those I wish I didn’t. Amos’ hand goes to my shoulder, and he says, “That last time I saw her, she was in the downstairs living room. Let’s go.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.” I need to get this over with and stop running from it. Face it like the man I’m not.
At the table, I hear Simone and Hadley whispering. I don’t need to announce to them what I’m about to do or I’ll chicken out and leave.
Amos walks me to the basement entrance, a sliding glass door, which seems out of place for a house like this but I’m no architect. I don’t even have the balls to be a lawyer.
Shutting the door behind me muffles the music outside. Amos leads the way around the corner to a gigantic living room with a football-field-sized TV hanging above a fireplace within glass-looking tiles. There are two sectional couches and sitting on the left one, Shasta does a double take, seeing me. I stop, but Amos’ hand returns to my shoulder, and he basically shoves me closer. I will end his life somehow. Shasta uncrosses her legs but still leaves her arms crossed beneath her tits, nearly popping out of her tight dress. After her initial surprise wears off, a glare takes its place. “You finally made it.”
“I told you I’d be here.” I glance at the car seat on the floor, facing away from me. This is it. I don’t know if I want to meet her or get the fuck out of here. I have another look around the room, seeing it’s empty except for Shasta and Birdy. She must’ve scared everyone off. Turning back to Shasta, I ask, “Where’s your wingman? Betsy get tired of you?”
“She’s checking out Diana’s art gallery upstairs.” Shasta’s eyes drift over me. She always does that. I don’t have to check out her body to remember. It’s a memory I can’t escape, no matter how hard I try to every second.
“How quaint,” I remark, rolling my eyes, and Amos snickers behind me. It’s shocking that he doesn’t need an interpreter.
Getting up from the couch, Shasta smooths her cheetah-print dress, and I notice her matching heels. Way too much of imitation dead animal. I wonder if connecting the dots would reveal easy whore in the pattern. She steps toward me, hosing me with her perfume, and I instinctively step back, causing her to hiss a sigh, seething, “I thought you’d never leave Hadley’s kid. I know what you really want.” I don’t respond, and when I pretend to focus on scratching my arm, Shasta goes
on. “I was watching you from here. You were all fatherly. I saw the look in your eyes. Is there something Finn Wilder should know?”
I snap my head to her, instantly hacked off by that, especially since it’s true. It’s easier to maintain a façade with speculative gossip. “You don’t need to make up shit and spread it faster than you—”
“Rod,” Amos stops me. Prickwad. I have shit to say, but I guess I should watch my mouth. There’s a time and a place. I’ll tell her at the next office meeting.
“You afraid people might suspect?” No. I’m afraid I’ll take things further than I already had and tell Hadley I want a paternity test.
“It’s idiotic. Can I just meet my daughter?” At least I think this one is. That night forever replays, too, even though I want to forget it forever.
Shasta shrugs. “Maybe you already have.” She nods to the huge window behind her, where I see our table outside from here. Shit. Maybe Shasta isn’t as much of a dumbass as I thought.
“Again, quit with the conspiracies and just let me see Birdy.”
Still suspicious, Shasta watches me, and I try like fuck not to look guilty. But it’s hard because in an alternate universe and if the circumstances were different, I’d be telling everyone I fathered Hadley’s baby.
Finally, Shasta asks, “Do you even want to meet her?”
Amos says, “Shasta, he has a right to his daughter.”
“Tell him that. I never said he couldn’t see her.” We glare at each other, but I break it, going closer to the car seat. Before I’m able to see my kid, Shasta stuffs herself in between us. Her eyes, heavy with fake eyelashes, shoot past me. “Amos, can you give us a minute?” Christ. He’s already heard enough. For now, he seems to believe Hadley and I aren’t sleeping together. I doubt he’d believe I got her pregnant without actually having sex with her. And it’s not something I want to describe to Amos Vaughn.
Amos doesn’t respond, so I say, “It’s okay, Amos.”
“I’ll be at the table if you need me.” What I need is a vasectomy.
“Could you grab me some more food? Simone won’t leave me shit.”
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