by Adriana Law
First thing he did was stifle his gag reflex—the house smelled like cat piss, an ammonia odor so overwhelming it stole his breath. The dining room table was covered with stack upon stack of bundled newspapers. He assumed someone had a newspaper route. And he had originally thought the couch out on the porch was the ugliest piece of furniture he’d ever seen, but he was wrong… the couch Clarissa was sitting on was the ugliest piece of furniture he’d ever seen. It was pea green with wide gashes in the puffy fabric where its guts were beginning to spill, a monstrosity.
But the importance of the house faded as his gaze connected with hers.
“What the hell do you want, Mack?” She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, and flicked a lapping flame at the end, tossing the lighter back on the end table amongst the rest of the junk. All eighty pounds of her shifted on the couch. Her skin was colorless, her hair lifeless, her eyes weak and distant, and the rest of her just looked…well, old. She could easily have been in one of those ‘wanted’ mug shots you see on the counter in convenient stores. Maybe she was. Hell, he didn’t know this woman any longer. Her voice was scratchy, “Well? Are you going to stand there all day rudely staring at me?”
He sank into a chair angled by the couch with a sigh. The girl sulked into the den and stuck a bottled beer in his large hand.
“Olivia, go out in the back yard and play,” Clarissa said.
Mackenzie twisted the cap off his beer and took a chug his eyes staying on Clarissa the entire time. He couldn’t believe it. How much she’d changed. “How are you?” He inquired settling into the chair.
“How do I look?” The sides of her cheeks sunk in as she took a draw off the cigarette. Smoke clouded the air. A smile was foreign to her face now. She sniffed. “No need to answer, the disgusted expression says it all…You appear to be doing well.” She eyed his expensive well-tailored suit and polished dress shoes. “You always did take good care of yourself.” Some show of emotion slid over her face, a face that was otherwise void of any emotion. She avoided looking at him, snubbing out the cigarette in an ashtray as she asked, “How’s Drew? Did he grow up to be just like his father?”
“Would you rather him grow up to be like you?” Another hefty chug.
Her eyes flashed to his, murky with anger. “You smug bastard, do you think I give a shit what you think about me? I want to know about my son!” All the anger bled from her voice, leaving only despair. Regret. “He’s twenty five now. A man. He’s not the little boy I used to know. If you have a heart at all… tell me about him. ”
He was tired of the little avoidance dance they were doing. Leaning forward, elbows planted on his knees he leveled her with his intensity. “You still using, Clarissa?”
She lit another cigarette. His expression hardened. He added, “I’m not answering any of your questions until you answer mine!”
“You always have put yourself first.”
“Let’s keep the little remarks about my character to a minimum. I really don’t think you have any room to talk. Are you still using?”
“Occasionally.”
His eyes narrowed slowly sweeping over her thin body. “Are you still trading sex for drugs?”
“I don’t have to. My son pays for what I need.” Mackenzie didn’t shock easily, but this shocked him. She continued, “I have AIDS, you coldhearted bastard! The doctors say I have a year at most!” She shrugged a knobby shoulder, “My son keeps me comfortable, while I wait.”
Mackenzie gaze traveled around the shitty conditions, the filth. “Is the girl yours or your piece-of-shit brothers? Or both?”
“Mine, Olivia is mine!”
He raised a brow, “She calls you… Auntie C?”
“She believes she’s too grown-up to call me mommy.”
Or too ashamed, he thought, but for once he used his filter. “Does she have it?”
“I didn’t know her father had AIDS when I got pregnant.”
She’d sidestepped answering the question. What a fucked up life. “You pick some real winners, C. Social services allowed you to keep your kids? What the hell were they thinking? They should have taken away your ability to reproduce.”
That earned him a smile, “And yours.” She took a long drag. “I might not have my shit together, but I’m a good mother! I had my father and brothers help. What the hell did you really come for, Mack! Spit it out or leave, because I can’t stomach looking at your condescending expression! ”
“The day I made you leave… you told me the child you were carry wasn’t mine?”
Her frail body shook with laughter until she started coughing. She covered her coughing fit with a closed fist, reaching for a glass of ice water on the end table. She took a couple of soothing sips, and then replied, “I love how you word it I made you leave”. It sounds so tame. You used me and kicked my ass to the curb the first chance you got just like my parents predicted you would… did you really expect me to tell you the baby was yours? You just would have stolen him from me like you did Drew!” She stretched for the pack of Salem Menthol Lights on the table. “Besides… you wanted to believe he wasn’t yours. You hated the idea of me shooting up Heroine while I was pregnant. What a CATASTROPHE that would have been… if Jonathan Mackenzie would have had a child that was less than perfect! ”
Mackenzie stood to his full intimidating height. His grin was wicked as he informed his ex-wife that, “You know, Drew has been staying at a ranch that is no more than ten minutes from you TWICE now, and he has absolutely no idea how close you are to him, nor do I think he’d care if he did. If he ever found out where his mother crawled off to, he’d take one look at how pathetic you’ve become, AND THANK ME for running you out of his life.”
Clarissa wiped tears that had finally sprung loose slipping down her cheeks; her gaze focused on the ceiling, a corner of the room, the floor, anywhere, but at him. He always had had a connert for making people feel like shit. “You get off on playing with people’s emotions and their heads… I’m assuming Drew didn’t accidently wind up where he is, did he?”
A gleaming smile spread, so many white teeth showing. “Oh no my dear… it was no accident.”
She picked up the glass full of ice water and hurled it at him. He ducked, the glass smacking the wall adjacent him. She yelled, “I wish I’d never met you!” Next a magazine sailed at him, fluttering to the floor, then another. “Get the hell out of my house! I thought MAYBE you’d come here to apologize. TO MAKE AMENDS! BUT YOU DON”T HAVE IT IN YOU!”
He chuckled, being herded towards the front door, his arms blocking things flying at him. “Why would I ever apologize to WHORE?”
“GET OUT ! GET OUT AND STAY OUT!” Clarissa, out of breath and panting, her cheeks burning crimson shoved him over the threshold of the front door, which the little girl was gladly holding open for him, and the wood door SLAMMED in his face, shaking the glass in the windows across the front of the house!
He laughed, backing his way down the front steps as the two peered out one of those windows at him. The little girl had the audacity to flash him the middle finger.
Mackenzie backed right in an unshakeable barrier, a firm body, evenly matched with his strength.
“What’s so funny?” was asked, in a deep voice.
He turned to see Blackwell studying him with intense narrowed eyes that mirrored his own. Mack chuckled, and held his hands up in an innocent gesture. “I was just being introduced to your little sister that’s all. She’s a spitfire! Quite the personality.”
Blackwell’s head pivoted in the direction of the cab waiting by the curb on standby, and then his suspicious gaze slid back to Mackenzie. Mackenzie eyed Blackwell in the same fashion. Blackwell’s hands were buried in the pockets of his navy coveralls stained with grease and grime and he was wearing black work boots. A name tag was pinned to the coveralls. “Oh this is unbelievable!” Mack flicked the name tag as if it were a pesky bug. “Clay Miller… you’re a fucking auto mechanic! You are as deceitful and cunning as your old man,
you know that!” He cocked a brow, truly impressed. “How the hell do you afford all of those expensive clothes you wear, son?”
Clay/Christopher, whatever his name was tensed his jaw working under the surface as he snarled, “Don’t call me son! I’m not your son!”
“You’re right… you’re the garbage that I threw out.”
Whack! Blackwell’s fist landed in the dead center of Mackenzie’s face snapping his head back. The man took a couple of staggering steps, laughing, cupping his nose with a hand. He smeared the blood gushing from a nostril. “Damn, that made my eyes water… there still might be hope for you yet.”
“One question!” Blackwell growled, his chest rising and falling with his quick breaths. “Why did you hire me to break up Drew and Megan two years ago if you already knew who I was? Is this all part of some sick game you’re playing?”
Mackenzie’s grin deepened and he shrugged off any lingering pain. “I was curious and wondered what you were like. Am I not allowed?”
“I think that’s the first normal thing you’ve ever said.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I need to work on that… I sure as hell don’t want to be categorized as normal or common, Clay.” Mack smirked at the name tag. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a pen and his check book…
“What are you doing?”
The pen danced, and a check was ripped from its place and passed to Blackwell. He glanced down, speechless, his brows lowered in confusion. Three hundred thousand dollars was scribbled across the check. “Is this your way of easing your guilty conscience? Because, if it is… ”
“Before you tell me to shove it up my ass… I’d take some time to think about it.” Mack nodded at the house. “I’m sure your mother needs things.”
“Is this embezzled money?”
“Does it matter? It’s money. ” Mack buried the check book and pen inside of his jacket and headed towards the cab, chuckling. “You definitely deserve compensation for living in those conditions … I’m impressed that you managed to turn out halfway normal. I applauded you.”
“Have done everything I’ve asked?” Christopher/Clay shouted.
Mackenzie gave a sarcastic two thumbs up, before sliding into the back of the cab.
After the cab gone, he climbed the steps to find his mother waiting by the door. She embraced him, tiny in his arms, sobbing, “He’s here, Clay! Your brothers here!”
He stiffened. She pulled back, searching his face as she asked, “What are you not telling me?” ♠
Nine
Birdie smiled, her blue-veined hands clutching the glass of ice tea in front of her. She’d lost weight, quite a bit and Megan found herself wondering if it had anything to do with Tink’s death. Birdie closed her eyes as if to collect her thoughts then spoke, “You seem happy, Megan. It’s good to see.”
Megan shifted in the kitchen chair, taking a refreshing swallow from her own glass of tea. Conner had received a phone call from the hospital, an emergency that only he could handle. Her fiancé never really took a day off. She loved his devotion to everything he cared about, one of those things being her. His absence left her and Birdie some time alone for catching up. She said, “Thank you. I am happy. How are you all managing since…” her gaze flitted to the empty chair, the empty chair where he would have sat. She could still see Tink rubbing his round belly with that sneaky grin he had right before he stirred up some trouble. She missed him, and hadn’t realized how much until she’d come back.
Birdie stared into her tea. “You mean since Tink? I’m not going to lie, the ranch is not the same without that rascal bellowing for a warm meal, but it’s been two years and we’ve somehow managed. I think his death affected Griffin the most.” She chuckled at the remembrance of time passed. “After Drew left…Griff was the only male in the house. Heaven help him. It wasn’t long before we all discovered he’d been lying about not being able to talk…of course Emma had already known long before the rest of us.”
Megan choked on her tea, sputtering and coughing. “Why would he lie about something like that?” She thought about all the times the guy had allowed her to make a fool of herself. How he’d not said one word the night of the fire. What would possess a person to shut himself off from conversations, from relationships, to stay an outsider?
Birdie leaned back, settling more comfortably into the rickety kitchen chair. She swept up a clump of gray hair that had sprung loose from the neat bun in the back and tucked it back where it belonged. “I reckon this ranch draws in wounded souls is all I can figure. We all have a story. Griffin doesn’t seem ready to share his.” She allowed her watery gaze to sweep the room. “Point is, I think this is the only place most of us has ever found any peace. It sure is the only place I’ve ever felt like I belong.” Offering Megan a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Birdie slid back her chair and went to stand by the kitchen sink and covered her eyes with a hand. “Where will I go? I’m too old to start over someplace new.”
Oh Goodness. Megan felt awkward and unsure of what to say as she went to stand next to the old woman. She placed a comforting hand on Birdie’s rounded shoulders. “Shh…you’re not going anywhere. That’s why I’m here. It’s not the same as last time; You, Emma, Griffin, Ms. Susan…you all come first.” She realized she had purposely left him out. He was no longer a part of it. Was he? “No one is getting this place without accepting that it comes with a built-in family. The right person is out there…I promise. Then you all can stop living in fear that tomorrow might be the day.”
As soon as she saw some resemblance of hope on Birdie’s face, Megan sagged against the counter top. Her voice came out low, “I have to ask…how is he? Has he tried to talk about any of it with you? Has he mentioned Tink?”
Birdie cut her gaze out the window, towards the barn knowing exactly who Megan was referring to. “No. You know he’s not a big talker, Meg. But I don’t think he would have come home if he wasn’t ready to face it.”
Home.
Home’s a place where you feel safe, a place where the people there love you unconditionally.
Birdie was right. The ranch did pull in wounded souls, wounded souls who had no home. Megan had always thought that was her: lost and drifting. But getting to know people who truly had nowhere else to go, she’d realized she was lucky to have her mother and even Stratford. ♠
Ten
“So, where’s the happy couple?” Drew sneered swiping a can of soda from the refrigerator. The soda hissed as he popped the top and sank down in the kitchen chair across from Emma.
“I don’t know. Think I overheard something about you being a jackass and them getting the hell out of dodge.” Emma settled her five perfectly painted pink toes on the floor, wiggled them so she could admire her work, then pulled the opposite foot up into the seat of the chair. She leaned; chin resting on her knee as she touched the pink tip of the wet brush to her unpainted toenail. Her blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder and her snotty attitude reminded Drew of someone else.
He took a chug. “Funny. Now where are they?”
She dipped the brush in the bottle. “In your room.”
“My room?”
“Well, what used to be your room. You’ve been relocated to Tink’s old bedroom.”
His stomach clenched. “They’ve lost their freaking minds if they think I’m sleeping in there.”
All finished, Emma twisted the lid on the bottle of polish and swiped the soda from his hand. She took a sip. “Don’t tell me this, tell them, but I think it’s pretty much settled.” Her lips twitched as she fought hard not to smile. “It seems like you don’t get a vote. And are we trying to cut down on using our favorite F-word? Because honestly Drew… ’freaking’ sounds kind of weird coming out of your mouth. What’s next? Cigarettes?” Her gaze narrowed on his stony expression. “Oh my God! I just now noticed! I haven’t seen you smoke since you’ve been back! WoW! Next it’ll be kids and a minivan.”
In the two years Drew was
gone, Emma had grown up. He wasn’t the only one who noticed, Griffin had noticed it too, but poor Griff was in way over his head with this one and luckily the guy knew it. He’d seen Griff do his best to fight going there. Drew swiped the soda out of her hands and smiled, taking back control of what was his, like he was going to take back control of his room. “Emma, have I told you how much of a bitch you’ve become?”
She turned in the kitchen chair to face him and drummed her nails on the table top, studying him. “Drew, why did you come back here?”
It wasn’t like him to be short on words, but honestly he didn’t like where this conversation was going.
She continued, “I’m assuming you came here for a fresh start? Am I right?”
He took another swallow, his throat suddenly dry. Ugh oh, this couldn’t be headed in a comfortable direction. “Your point?”
“Well, why don’t you try doing that? As it stands you’re right back where you started…being the same ol’ dick to the girl you’re dying to have. I don’t know why but, I think you believe this is honestly working for you. Do you? Think it’s working?”
