Claiming Serenity

by Eden Butler

  “Another one? Didn’t you just go yesterday?”

  The old man had a dent in his cheek when he smiled. “Maintenance, son. It’s key to recovery. Do I… need to take you along with me next time?” He pointed to the half empty bottle. Most of that Donovan’s mother had sneaked, but he’d admit his fault at helping to empty the bottle.

  “I’m not drunk. Just require a little distraction.”

  “If you’re going to drink, do it where everyone can see. Tequila alone, in the dark of night is never a good idea.” His father looked out onto the yard, nodding toward the lights from the historic district sparkling against the black sky. “Folks around here like to gossip. It’s what got me in to trouble most of the time.” The man sat next to Donovan trying to mimic his son, but his legs were much shorter and only hung down half the way that Donovan’s did.

  “I think the trouble you’re referencing was your own fault, Pop.”

  “True enough.” Donovan pulled another swig, but before he could catch one more, his father pulled the bottle from him.

  “I wasn’t done with that.”

  “Yes you were.” The clear liquid ran out of the decanter as his father tipped it upside down over the railing, then placed the empty bottle gingerly next to him on the balcony. “Nasty stuff.” Donovan watched him pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe away the liquid from his fingers, moving his chin to the picture next to Donovan’s knee. “That from the Ireland trip?”

  “Yeah. Ten years ago.” He handed it over and watched his father’s eyes dance, thinking that he must be remembering that time, when Layla’s father was still the best friend he ever had.

  “Ah, well, those were some fun years.”

  “For you.”

  Donovan had always liked his father’s laugh. Not the one raspy from whiskey or the occasional drunken party cigars he smoked, but the sober, truly amused laugh he released. He hadn’t heard it often, and certainly not lately, but he still thought it was nice; a crisp, contented sound. “I remember you two teased each other relentlessly. God, for years and years.” He handed the picture back to Donovan. “That trip was no exception.” Donovan remembered it too. Some stupid local boy with wide ears and too many freckles flirted with Layla all through dinner and Donovan had retaliated, stupidly blaming her for nothing at all. He never thought either of their parents believed him spilling his cider in her lap had been an accident.

  Jesus, had they always been such a disaster?

  “I ah, had breakfast with Sean Mullens this morning.”

  Donovan’s gaze quickly slipped to his father, checking to see if perhaps he was cracking a bad joke. “Why?”

  A small shrug and his father leaned forward, resting his shoulders against the railing. “He called me as I was headed into the office. Told me he needed to have a word. He wanted my advice.”

  “Yours?”

  “It might be hard to believe, Donovan, but once upon a time I was a good man. Sean remembers that, I suppose.” He scratched his chin, his gaze unfocused as though he was trying to remember all the stupid things he’d done to change that good man so drastically. “Sean wanted to speak with Layla. He wanted to mend fences and I suppose he thought I’d know something about that.”

  Donovan didn’t comment. His father had a way about him, sometimes filling up the silence between them with a memory, always something that he thought might make Donovan smile. But the apologies he’d made for betraying an eighteen year old Donovan had never seemed enough. That pain still ran deep. It wasn’t that he still felt anything at all for Jolie anymore, he didn’t. It was that his father had been at the center of his first heartache. The man who was meant to protect him from the ugliness of the world had been the one to first deliver it to Donovan.

  “That must have been awkward.”

  “It was. At first. Funny thing about knowing someone your whole life, son. You go back to the kids you once were. Despite the stupid shit you do to each other, you always go back to the people you were. If you want to. If you can let go of your grudges.”

  That was true enough, it seemed to Donovan. He and Layla had fought and cursed each other for years. There had always been so much damn anger and heat between them. And then, there was just heat. Seeing her today, knowing with one look that she didn’t want him, didn’t want the baby he’d given her, had reminded him so much of the girl she’d been when her rage, her offense had her screaming at him for whatever stupid prank he’d pulled on her.

  You always go back. Until there’s nothing left to go back to.

  “Sean told me about the baby.” Donovan frowned at his father, instantly wondering if there was something wrong with her, if in her anger Layla had kept something from him. When his frown deepened his father smiled. “I mean that it’s a girl. Your… um… you’re having a daughter.”

  “No. We’re having a girl. She’ll be someone else’s daughter.” Donovan closed his eyes, let his forehead fall onto the railing. He didn’t want to think about that baby. He didn’t want to obsess as he had been for months on all the things he’d miss from her life.

  “I can relate, Donovan.”

  “Yeah. I guess you can.”

  The tree limbs in front of them moved, rustled and brushed against the roof and in the break between the leaves, Donovan caught sight of the sky above them, the clear pattern of stars visible so close to the mountains. That knot in his throat, the one that had vanished the night Layla turned up on his front landing with her bags in her hands telling him he was all she had, returned the second he watched his tiny daughter moving under the sonogram in that doctor’s office. He’d been awed by the sight and then immediately terrified when realization hit him that she wouldn’t be his. Not really. How had he forgotten that his father may have felt the same once? “You ever wonder about her?”

  “Evan. They named her Evan Nicole. Yes, son, I do. Every damn day.”

  Donovan hadn’t expected that. His father was never distant, not once he sobered up, but any attempts the old man had made to make up for his stupidity, Donovan had always brushed aside as guilt and shame. He felt like a selfish prick and now, with the knowledge that his first child, quite possibly his only child, would never know anything about him, would never be in his life, softened Donovan’s anger; the brimming fury he’d always felt when he was around his father.

  “I’m sorry. I should have thought more about…”

  His father stopped him, waved his hand to dismiss Donovan’s sympathy. “I did it to myself. It made all this mess, but she’s doing well. She’s perfect and beautiful and her parents love her immensely.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Only once, about three years back. The adoption was closed, but Maryville isn’t far from here and your mother, well, she likes to keep tabs on me as you know. I found a bill for a private investigator. Then I drove up there.” He shook his head, closing his eyes tight as he released a deep breath. “She was playing in the park with her mother and the moment I saw her, saw how similar to you she was, I knew she was mine.”

  There was so much agony on his father’s face and Donovan realized, as the old man weaved his fingers together, looking out again toward the town lights, that it must have been impossibly hard to see his child, to want to hold her, even speak to her, yet know that wasn’t ever going to happen.

  “It… it will never go away, will it, Pop?”

  Donovan thought for a moment that his father would lie to him, try to dull the pain he knew his son would soon feel with small untruths meant to soothe. But that forced smile, the barely there lift of his mouth disappeared and Donovan saw that agony, all the disappointment his father had served himself reflected in the defeated frown that deepened the wrinkles on his face. “It doesn’t. I wish I could tell you it did, but Donovan once they’re gone, once they’re given to some other father, a different mother, then that’s it. You become the sperm donor. They are the parents. You become a name never written on a birth certificate and you will spe
nd the rest of your life knowing that some asshole you’ve never met gets credit for that perfect baby. He gets the firsts. He gets it all and you’re left wondering where she is, who she’ll be and how you could have fucked up so badly.”

  Donovan squeezed his eyes tight thinking about Layla, alone, away from her family, friends, in a dark, lonely apartment in New York. He thought about himself in New Zealand, spending his free time with Declan and Autumn, seeing them build a life together, knowing that he could have had that too.

  “It’s different for you, Donovan. I… I’m afraid it will be worse.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, son,” there was a break in his father’s voice, some withheld emotion that he swallowed away and gripped Donovan’s shoulder. “I have you, your brothers, your mother. I never loved Jolie. Hell, I barely remember…” Donovan tensed, not liking hearing how something so meaningless could have fractured their relationship and his father must have seen something in his expression, something that had him forgetting his admission. “But you son, you’ve loved Layla a long damn time.”

  “I was always cruel to her. Up until eight months ago, we hated each other.”

  “No, son.” That grip on his shoulder tightened and Donovan closed his eyes, blinked them back open when his father pulled his hand away. “You didn’t. Neither of you and if you don’t go to her, tell her how you really feel, tell her what you really want, then you’ll be spending your life wondering about a child you made and never knew. You’ll spend it with that pain and the unbearable ache of knowing that Layla is out in the world, in love with someone else. Likely giving some other guy the life that was meant for you.” He could hear the low wheeze in his father’s throat, as though what he’d say next was important, was something Donovan needed to really understand. “I may have been a horrible father. I may have hurt you more than anyone else in the world, but I couldn’t bear seeing you like that. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

  He could only stare at his father, wishing, praying he’d see something in the dulled whites of his eyes that confirmed the truth, that made his words some epic truism that Donovan needed to heed. But there was too much doubt ripping apart any hoping, any anticipation he’d have at a life with Layla, with their daughter. “It’s too late, Pop. She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t want the baby.”

  “She does, son. I saw how scared she was that night at Sean and Meara’s. I saw how she looked at you and I remember how you’ve both looked at each other for years. If you want her, if you love her and want a life with her, then you have to fight for it.” Donovan let his father pull him close so that his head was against his old man’s shoulder. He felt like a kid then, like the boy he was before his father had destroyed his faith. It felt natural, it felt awkward but ultimately, Donovan appreciated that his father held him. It was a relief, a release that lowered Donovan’s shoulders as his father kissed the top of his head. “Son, you have to deserve it.”

  Darren and Michelle Marlow were thirty-four and thirty-two respectively. He was the CEO of a technology firm that handled the data security for the state. She was a CPA with company who boasted several record labels as just a few of their clients. They each drove a Mercedes, had both pledged to sister/brother houses at Vanderbilt and had met at a Vols game in the fall of 2003. Ten years later, they claimed to be happily married, owned a large cabin in Gatlinburg and lived in a 4500 square foot house in Franklin. They were friendly with several country music superstars and went to church, Protestant, every Sunday.

  On the surface, they looked like normal, well-adjusted people. It was nine in the morning, a Thursday, and Layla and her parents sat across a long conference table from the CPA and her CEO husband smiling politely. Their questions were brief. They had learned a lot about Layla and the baby’s father, as the counselor had referred to Donovan throughout the rigorous interview process, even before this meeting.

  “You’re planning a career in fashion?” Michelle asked Layla with a quiet, friendly voice and eyes wide and curious as though she was truly interested in where Layla landed after graduation.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat, hating how soft it sounded. “Yes. I’ve applied to Parsons for graduate school.”

  “Our Layla is so artistic, always has been. My brother is a writer and his son graduated from one of those fancy California art schools. It’s in the blood, I think.” Layla’s mother was making small talk, she guessed, filling the quiet space around them as they waited for the counselor to return from giving them the time to “Get to know each other a little.”

  Layla didn’t think the Marlows cared that her cousin worked at Pixar or that her uncle published a short story collection fifteen years ago. They wanted to know, she was sure, if Layla was healthy, if Donovan was. They wanted to know about family history and, most importantly of all, if Layla was serious about giving her baby to them.

  “And, um,” the CEO started, looking at his wife as though what he’d ask was something they both wanted to know, “the father?”

  “He’s a good man.” Layla slipped her gaze to her father when he said that, noticing how he held his shoulders back, kept his voice stern as though he defied anyone to disagree with him. “He’s very athletic, intelligent, driven, comes from a… well, we’ve been friends with his family for years. Good people. Community-oriented, very successful. Donovan will do well, I think, and as far as I know there aren’t any medical issues to be worried about.”

  “That’s great to hear,” Michelle said, offering Layla another tender smile that she believed was genuine. “Do you mind me asking… why?” She waved her hand around the room and Layla didn’t need clarification. The woman wanted to know why Layla was there, offering her child up to people she’d only just met.

  “I’m…” she looked to her parents, nodding when they smiled at her. “I’m not ready, I suppose and Donovan and I… well, that’s not anything serious.” Layla elbowed her father when he choked, knowing by that gruff tone that he disagreed with her. “Y’all can give her a life I can’t right now.”

  “I see.” Darren held his wife’s hand, squeezing her fingers. “We can provide for her, certainly and we’ve thought about children for a while now. It just wasn’t in the cards for us and, Layla, we want you to know that what you’re doing, well,” Darren looked down, as though he needed to keep his emotions in check. “We couldn’t be happier about her. A little girl would be wonderful. Michelle is the only girl in her family and my side’s all boys. Our folks will be falling over each to have a granddaughter.” Then he straightened, pulled his hands away from his wife’s and onto the arms of the chair. His demeanor changed just a bit and the CEO became all business and dead serious. “We just want to make certain that this is something you want, Layla. We’re prepared to allow you to be involved in the baby’s life, if that’s what you want, but if you have any doubts, please tell us now. We’ve been disappointed before.”

  Just then, with the Marlows staring at her, examining her face for any break of her composure and her mother taking her hand, giving her a supporting squeeze, Layla felt the air around her heat like sun against asphalt. These people were depending on her, expecting her to be absolutely sure that she’d be able to hand her baby over to them and not look back.

  “I… uh… that must have been hard for you.” She felt like she’d been gargling glass and her heart, which had been drumming heavily, racking against her lungs, now beat double time as though what she said next would seal her decision. “I’m sorry that you’ve been disappointed, but Donovan and I… I mean, I’m only twenty-three and I want to go to New York and, like I said, Donovan and I… well…” Layla grabbed the sweating glass of water in front of her, took a long sip and tried not to notice how Michelle leaned against the table, how Darren rubbed his wife’s back as thought to calm her. To her left, her father leaned toward her, whispering something Layla didn’t quite catch, something about how she was feeling, if she was sure and all Layla could do was drink th
at water, say silent prayers that they’d all stop staring so hard at her, that she wished she’d made Donovan come with her.

  “Layla, honey, are you okay?” Her mother’s tone was soft, concerned, but Layla couldn’t answer, could only nod once as she continued to drink. “It’s a little overwhelming for her,” her mother told the Marlows. “Something like this has never happened to anyone she knows and she’s still so young. Level-headed, of course, but it’s a huge decision.”

  “Of course it is,” Michelle said, her voice higher than it had been just moments before. Then the CPA adjusted her spot in her chair, flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head, watching as Layla set down the glass and took in a few calming breaths. “Listen, Layla, if you’re uncertain, we can take a break. Maybe come back in a couple of weeks and…”

  A loud shout outside of the door interrupted Michelle’s suggestion. When the banging began and the loud refrain of “Layla! Where are you?” sounded behind the door, that wild thump of Layla’s heart sped quick so that she could barely catch her breath.

  “Oh God,” she said, coming to her feet, then backing away from the table when Donovan charged through the door.

  He looked sloppy, desperate. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, but his well-loved jeans and black leather shirt looked smart, neat against his spotless Chucks. There were big bags under his eyes but his hair was gelled and combed so that those loose curls fell perfectly into place. “There you are. Thank God!”

  “Donovan?” She came around the table and stopped him when he reached for her, ignoring her father’s looming presence just behind her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Layla,” he said, through a breath. “I… I couldn’t help it. I can’t… shit.” Then Donovan’s gaze moved from her face and focused on the shocked, mildly disappointed expressions of the couple across the table. Donovan tried smiling, the small movement of his cheeks, his mouth, told Layla that he was doing his best to remain civil. He even managed to face them, rubbing his palm against his jeans as Darren offered him a shake. “Donovan Donley. I’m so sorry to interrupt.”