Yours and Mine (Freshman Forty Book 2)

by Christine Duval

  “You said they wouldn’t hate me.”

  “Well, I lied. And you won them over anyway.”

  Laurel doesn’t say anything for a long time and I stare her down until she finally looks away. “I hate when you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Look at me like that. It is so intense.”

  “Well, I’m an intense guy.”

  I can see her face flushing, but I can’t tell if its anguish or attraction or maybe a little of both. I know I can’t be the only one who feels something here. Not after that kiss.

  I don’t give her any more opportunities to fault me with what happened last night. “I have to study, Laurel. And I have an afternoon fishing trip.”

  She bites her lip and it makes me want to bite it again, too. But instead I walk towards the house. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  I notice through the living room window it takes her a good five minutes before she finally closes Carolyn’s door, climbs into her car, and takes off.

  Chapter 24

  Since the barbeque, my mother and Jenny have spent much of their time preparing the house to be sold. They rented a dumpster and gutted many of my father’s belongings that were in disrepair, painted the ceiling in the living room plus most of the walls, and scrubbed every room clean.

  With the place looking better than it has in ages, she finally calls a realtor to get an idea what she can expect to sell it for.

  “It’s better than I thought,” she says on the phone to me afterwards. “Do you know the McConnells’ house down the street sold for over a million dollars? That one isn’t even on the water. And it’s not much bigger than this.”

  “Wow.”

  “The agent told me if we had someone paint the exterior, we could do even better than that.”

  “Joe and I could paint it.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” She sounds happier than she has in years. “I think this number will convince even your father that it is in everyone’s interest to sell. When can you bring me up to talk to him?”

  Since the prison is in the Adirondacks, we decide to tie in visiting my father with my trip to see Carolyn. Steve is coming along, too, so my father can be made aware of what he and my mother’s legal rights are concerning the deed and the sale. And he can bring her home after the meeting.

  When we arrive at the old prison that once was a sanatorium back in the 1800s, my stomach twinges. This is where my father is living now? It has an eery, timeworn feel, set back from the road on a mile-long drive surrounded by trees that mask the barbed-wire fencing around its perimeter.

  We are guided through the visitation process that begins with a metal detector, followed by our bags being checked, then photos taken and our driver’s licenses handed over, and finally, because he is in their substance-abuse program, ending in a pat down for contraband. When we are led out of security, I’m surprised to find my father sitting in a large room furnished with couches, chairs and a couple of four-top tables. There are several families here visiting with prisoners, and a handful of guards are scattered around the room. Maybe it is from watching too many movies, but I figured he’d be sitting at a desk, a wall of glass between us, and we’d be talking to each other over a telephone.

  He’s slumped in a chair in the corner, legs crossed, and he’s wearing a khaki-colored jumpsuit just like all the other prisoners here. His hair has been cut and he’s cleanly shaven.

  We approach him hesitantly and my mother is the first to say, “Mitch?”

  He jumps when he hears her voice. “Anna?” His eyes blink with confusion.

  The skin on his face lies in folds and his hair is grayer than I remember it. He looks older, tired, but his eyes are the most lucid I’ve seen in years.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello to your son?”

  He nods and stands, giving me an awkward hug. “It’s good to see you. I wasn’t expecting anyone else.”

  “And you remember Janie’s husband, Steve,” my mother continues.

  I can tell he is perplexed at this mismatch of visitors who’ve just driven four hours to see him.

  “Let’s take a seat,” Steve says, gesturing to a table that has cleared.

  I sit next to my father and my mother sits across from him with Steve at her side. She is wearing a suit she purchased from Kohl’s just for this occasion and her hair is down, resting at her shoulders – the way my father always liked it.

  She straightens her back. “We know about your gambling debt, Mitch.”

  He sucks his lower lip under his teeth, but doesn’t say anything.

  “Between credit cards and Foxwoods, you’ve got over fifty thousand dollars in debt. And now the casino has put a lien on the house!”

  “How’d you find out about that? You been going through my things?”

  My mother eyes me. We can’t reveal our source without telling him about Carolyn and the custody hearing, and that will get this conversation too off track.

  I chime in, “Joe and I were at your house. We found the notices.”

  “So you went and told your mother?” His voice goes up an octave and a security guard glances at our table.

  “He didn’t–” My mother tries to come to my defense, but I don’t let her.

  “You were barely conscious in a medical holding cell, going through detox. Who else was I supposed to tell?” I snap.

  He grunts and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  My mother continues. “Unless you happen to have fifty thousand dollars lying around to repay all this debt, and I doubt you do, we need to come up with a permanent solution. You’re going to be in here a long time. They’ll take the house away!”

  “Well, I don’t know what I can do about it. Now that I’m in here, they’ve stopped my disability checks. I can’t even pay the minimums on the loans.”

  “Loans?” I ask. “I thought there was only one.”

  “I’ve got a line of credit with Mohegan Sun, too. I owe them around ten grand.”

  I put my head in my hand. “Jesus, Dad.”

  My mother shifts in her chair. “Well, I’ve found a way to dig you out of this mess.”

  “Oh, and what’s that? You got the money?”

  “You know I don’t, Mitch.”

  “So what’s this genius plan of yours?” His voice hardens as he speaks.

  “I’m going to sell the house.”

  “What?” My father stands up. “You aren’t selling the house. My grandfather built that house with his bare hands.”

  “It’s sell it or lose it, Mitch,” Steve says. “Look.” He slides a letter from the bank across the table. “Either you sell it or they will.”

  My dad picks up the paper and reads it. “I don’t understand half of this.” He sits back down.

  “They’re going to start foreclosure proceedings in the next ninety days if you don’t take action to save it.”

  “I can’t do anything in here.”

  “But I can,” my mom says. “My name is on the deed. I have legal authority to sell it and I’ve already met with a realtor. Mitch, the property is worth one point two million dollars.”

  My father laughs. A genuine, hearty laugh. “That place?”

  No one else shares in the chuckling and he quiets down, interested in what she has to say.

  “I have the appraisal right here.” She hands it to my dad.

  My father stares at the figure. “One point two million? But how?”

  “People want to live on the water. You’ve got the biggest lot on the whole street,” I say. “Greenport is the new Hamptons.”

  “Mitch, we can sell this, pay off the loans and your credit card debt, and when you get out, you’ll have more than half a million dollars in the bank.”

  “Why half a million? Why not all of it?”

  My mother shakes her head.

  “Dad! Are you serious…?”

  She holds her hand up to me. “Danny, I can speak for myself.” Then, turning
to my father, she says, “I have devoted my life to you, stood by your side through active duty, two wars, a mental breakdown that left us penniless, and a long and drawn-out battle with alcohol addiction that finally broke us. I’ve raised our boys with no help from you. I am entitled to half!”

  Nice, Mom!

  My dad stays silent for a long time, staring at the floor, hands clasped in front of him. Finally he says, “What do I have to do?”

  My mother’s mouth curls up in satisfaction.

  After my father signs all the papers, an announcement over a loudspeaker states that visiting hours are ending in five minutes. Steve shakes my father’s hand and he and my mother leave so that I can talk to my dad alone.

  I clear my throat when they’re out of the room. “There’s something I need you to know.”

  “You need some money? Now that I’m a rich man, I’ve got some to lend.”

  I smile. “No. Although, come to think of it, maybe eventually. Kids get pretty expensive.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Kids? You having a baby?”

  “I have a baby, Dad. I have a daughter. She’s almost seven months old now. Her name is Carolyn.”

  “Seven months old?”

  “I was waiting to tell you until after you got through detox.”

  “I have a granddaughter?”

  “You do.” I take out my phone and show him the album of photos I’ve maxed out the memory with on my Android.

  He looks through them. “She is pretty.”

  “She is.”

  “Who is her mother?”

  “Her name is Laurel. She’s a student at Colman College. You don’t know her.”

  He hands the phone back to me. “Colman College? Isn’t that one of the best colleges in the country?”

  “Yup.”

  “How’d you end up having a baby with someone who goes there?”

  “Long story.”

  The loudspeaker announces that visiting hours are now up.

  “You going to marry this girl?” he says, standing.

  I smile and put my phone in my pocket. “Right now I’m just trying to get her to like me.”

  “Like you?” He looks perplexed. “She liked you enough to have a baby with you.”

  “It’s complicated.” I pat him on the back. “Next time, I’ll bring them both to meet you.”

  I start to follow the single-file line of people exiting the room. When I look back, I see tears in the corners of his eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve missed out on so much.”

  I grab his arm and squeeze. “Concentrate on getting better. You can get back on track if you try.”

  I follow the families through the door and meet my mom and Steve in the parking lot.

  “How’d it go?” my mom asks.

  “Better than expected.”

  Chapter 25

  Steve and my mother depart in his car for Long Island while I hop on the Thruway, heading west. I get to Laurel’s just after seven and she opens the door, holding Carolyn, who is already in pajamas. She has an apprehensive expression on her face, like she’s not sure what she’s getting into by letting me in, and she’s wearing clothes that announce she’s going out tonight – shimmery jeans, high heels and a fitted top – plus she’s got on extra eyeliner.

  We stand in the doorway a little too long until I push past her and reach for Carolyn.

  “How was the drive?” she asks, tucking her hands behind her back.

  “Quick.”

  She looks at me sideways. “Quick? From Long Island?”

  “I was visiting my father at his new prison. It’s only a couple hours from here.”

  “Oh, wow.” Her face softens. “How was that?”

  “Surprisingly, it was one of the best visits I’ve ever had with my dad.”

  “Really?” She follows me into the living room, where I put Carolyn down on the floor on her blanket and crouch next to her, handing her toys that she can’t get into her mouth fast enough.

  Laurel sits on the coffee table and seems genuinely interested in hearing all about my first experience visiting a prison.

  “What was so great about it?”

  “Well, he agreed to sell the house.”

  She smiles. “He did?”

  “And he didn’t fight giving my mom half of the profit either.”

  “That’s great.”

  “And I finally told him about you and Carolyn. He wants to meet you.”

  “In prison?” Her eyes narrow in worry.

  “It’s not anything like you’ve seen in the movies. Everyone meets in this big room, like the coffee hour after church. People bring their kids. It’s kind of loud, actually. I was expecting something completely different.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think you’d be willing to come with me next time? Just once, so he can meet you.”

  Laurel nods. “I guess so.” There is still some angst on her face.

  “Carolyn will be safe, don’t worry,” I reassure her. “There are guards all around.”

  “I’m not worried about our safety.” Her face is pensive.

  “What are you worried about, then?” I sit next to her on the coffee table.

  She glances at me. “You think he’ll like me?”

  I laugh. “You’re worried about my father liking you?”

  “Well, you did just spring it on him that you have a kid with me. He might have a problem with it.”

  “Trust me, Laurel, he will love you.”

  “That’s what you told me about your mother and brother. Then later I learned they secretly hated me.”

  “They didn’t hate you. They were mad at you. And it’s over. Your idea about selling the house…it’s turned my mother’s life around. And if my dad can successfully get off alcohol, you might have helped change his, too.”

  “You’re giving me credit for too much.”

  “No. I don’t think I am.”

  Laurel smiles. “I’m glad I could help. It makes me…feel better about everything.”

  “So where are you going tonight?” I change the subject.

  “Why do you think I’m going anywhere?”

  “The way you’re dressed. Girls don’t dress like that when they’re staying in. You got a hot date?”

  “I’m supposed to go over to the Towers. Another party in Mike’s suite.”

  “But then you took one look at me and decided you’d rather stay home?” I wink.

  She laughs and then says, “It is nice to have company here. It’s kind of a shame to go out the one night I have someone over who actually wants to be here.”

  “Has Mike come over here at all since the last time I was up?”

  “On Sunday for dinner. He was really hungover, too. Now he has a fake ID and he started going to the bars downtown.”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But something is bothering you about it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have mentioned it if it didn’t. I know you.” Our eyes meet in understanding. We really could be good together if she’d just give me one more chance.

  She looks away and frowns. “It doesn’t bother me that he wants to go downtown. Everyone who has a fake ID does. It’s just that it’s one more example of how much our lives are veering in different directions. He’s fully emerged in the whole Colman College experience while I’m getting more isolated from it.”

  “What’s going on with the Adderall?”

  “Liz ran into him at this bar called The Ivy. It’s a place to hear bands and dance. I’ve never been. She said he seemed sped up again. She was pretty sure it was an Adderall buzz.”

  I stand and head towards the front door. “I don’t know what you see in that guy.” Then I call from the porch, “I picked up some groceries on the way here. Why don’t you cancel your plans with the Adderall junkie and I’ll make you a n
ice dinner?”

  I cock my head back through the door. “You know you want to,” I tease.

  She laughs.

  When I get back inside with my duffle bag and the groceries I picked up at a Wegmans, she’s kicked off her heels and is climbing the stairs. “I’m going to change.”

  I can’t help but contain a smile. This is shaping up to be a great day.

  ***

  Since the only thing I cook well is fish, considering I catch so much of it, I picked up some local trout from the fish counter, a bag of spinach and a box of rice. After rifling through the shed that is closest to the house, I find an old bag of charcoal and some lighting fluid and add it to the decades-old Webster near the picnic table in the back.

  Laurel joins me outside after she’s put Carolyn to bed. She rests the baby monitor on the picnic table and looks up.

  “Wow.”

  The sky is full of stars, and since there are no streetlights or neighboring houses, it’s like we have our very own planetarium – a big dome of constellations – above our heads.

  “Brrrr. It’s getting chilly,” she says, zipping up her North Face.

  “Come closer to the grill. You’ll warm up.”

  She moves to where I’m standing, rubbing her hands near the fire. “So the guy who leases the land here came by today to drop off a few bottles of wine from the fall harvest. I put them over there to keep them cold. He said they’re very happy with it.”

  “Why don’t you open one up? Let’s try it.”

  “You want to?”

  “Sure.”

  Laurel returns from the kitchen a few minutes later and hands me a tumbler of white wine. “It’s Riesling.”

  I take a sip of the crisp, citrusy wine. “It’s good.”

  She agrees. “Tastes just like the wines my grandfather produced years ago.”

  “He let you drink wine years ago?”

  She shrugs. “He let me taste it. He’d make me spit it out, but he wanted me to understand what qualifies as a good wine and what doesn’t.”

  I place the fish on the grill now that the coals are the right temperature and close the top.

  “Let’s sit.” I motion to the picnic table and Laurel straddles the bench across from me.