“Did you get my text?”
I hold up the phone.
“No, I mean the picture. Of me and … Chadd.”
His pause combines with a small smile, and in that instant I’m sure Chadd told him everything. He probably bragged about fucking some slutty waitress in the bathroom, then Tommy put two and two together. I know Chadd felt pretty good afterward, and judging by how many times I’ve had to fight his advances, I’d say he wants an encore. I imagine that enthusiasm was infectious. Maybe Chadd got angry, and Tommy got hungry.
I’ve hit that, and I could hit it again. Looks like she won’t spread for you more than once, but I bet she’ll spread like butter for me.
I force my voice to stay steady. I’m not intimidated or afraid. I’m drawn toward him like a magnet. Everything I’m fighting now, it’s me versus me. Brain versus pussy. Sense versus lust. Logic versus programming, human versus beast.
“I got it.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“You didn’t reply. Why didn’t you reply, Maya?”
“It wasn’t from you. You didn’t send it.”
“Mmm-hmm. It was from … Chadd. Who you know.”
“That’s right.”
“If I’d sent it, would you have replied? I just wanted to say hi.”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“What would you have said?”
“‘Hi.’”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all you said,” I tell him.
“Hmm. Well. Hi again.”
“Hi.”
“We should talk, you and me,” he says.
“Why?”
“We have so much in common.”
Like my daughter, I want to say. But what’s the point? Mackenzie and I have survived just fine so far on our own. Reminding Tommy of what he already knows but has always denied in his cocky way will only invite him in. And if I seriously had doubts about Grady being in Mackenzie’s life, they pale in intense comparison to how badly I want Tommy to stay out of it.
“I don’t think so, Tommy.”
“I always liked you.”
“Really.” My first instinct is to argue that he didn’t always like me — that he ignored me for all those years I was silently crushing on him, thinking of his kiss, writing his name, picturing his perfect face. And I want to remind him that since the night we had sex, he’s seemed to go right back to ignoring me. He’s only here because he wants seconds. I guess a chat with his buddy Chadd reminded him that I’m ripe for the asking.
Fucking bastards.
And fuck me, that I feel myself responding to the obvious desire I feel radiating from him.
I don’t say what’s on my mind. I won’t deny that he “always liked me” because that’s the game he wants to play. Seduction is seduction, and Tommy and I have a story whether I like it or not. If I say more than I should, he’ll tell me I’m pretty. He’ll find a way to get me alone, and I’ll go.
But no. I won’t. I refuse. I know who Tommy is and how he’ll be after … after that thing I won’t let myself think of. After the thrusting. The clawing. The screaming and the sweat.
“Sure. Hey, when’s your shift over?”
“My tables are waiting.”
“I’m ‘your tables.’ You haven’t even taken my order.”
“What do you want?”
“You didn’t even introduce yourself. Shouldn’t you say that your name is Maya and you’ll be ‘taking care of me’?”
He shifts sideways. His smile tips almost on end. If we were somewhere else, I could take care of him, all right. And oh God, my body wants it. I’m soaking wet. Despite knowing better, every bit of me is doing just what he wants.
“What do you want, Tommy? Are you just here to harass me?”
His face registers hurt. “I’m here to eat. Did I do something wrong?”
You used me. You knocked me up; you ruined what I had with Grady; you turned your back on us, laughing. I could have come after you for support. But thinking of touching you again, even with a court order, made me too sick to bother.
Until now. Oh, do I want to touch him now.
“I’ll be back. Give you some time to look at the menu.” I start to move past, giving Tommy and any possible reach a nice wide berth. But Tommy doesn’t try to grab me like Chadd did, using his hands. He grabs me with words instead.
“I want to meet her,” he says from behind my back.
I turn.
“You heard me. I want to be part of her life.”
My mouth hangs open. “No,” I say.
“She’s my daughter.”
“Something you’ve never acknowledged. Something you’ve never tried to help me with. Something you’ve never shown interest in until now.”
“Well, I’ve come around.”
“Then support her. Pay your fair share.”
Tommy seems to consider. He’s cocky, but persuasive so often because the look is never overtly disobedient. Tommy is never exactly saying, I’ll do what I want, and you can’t stop me. His body usually says something closer to, Here’s what’s sensible. You don’t want to be stupid by disagreeing, do you?
“Fine.” And the codicil I can see in his eyes almost sickens me: I suppose it’s in my budget to buy your dignity.
“Never mind,” I say. “Forget I said anything.”
“No. I want to do what’s right,” he says, giving me a look that says the exact opposite. “But obviously that means I’ll get visitation. Or you and I could have our own arrangement.” His eyes rake me from bottom to top.
I take a step closer, trying to be bold, keeping my voice low so I won’t be overheard.
“You had your chance.”
“The world is full of second chances.”
“So, what? Now you want to get married? Get a little house with a white picket fence?”
“Now you’ve gone too far. I just want to be … closer.”
There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that I’ve been trying to place, and now I see it. I can’t believe it took me so long to recognize, given that it’s a Tommy Finch hallmark: dishonesty, plain and simple.
“You’re so full of shit.”
“I’m not. I’ll pay, like you said.”
“I’m not for sale.”
“It’s not just about you, Maya.”
“We’re not for sale.”
“Why don’t you trust me?”
“Twenty years of knowing you.”
“See, now,” he says, “that hurts.”
“Why now, Tommy? Mackenzie is almost ten years old. You didn’t want to help when I got pregnant, and you haven’t wanted to help since. So why are you so goddamn interested in mending fences now?”
“I got to thinking about what matters in life. I’m trying to be a better person.”
I feel my face contort, like I’ve bitten a lemon. “Oh, bullshit.”
“You said you didn’t want my help. Didn’t need it because you had Grady.” His lip curls up into a sinister smile. “How did that work out for you?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Trying to be with Grady?”
“What we did. One little slip, nothing more.”
“Hmm. And you regret it. Even after that beautiful little girl of ours?”
“Don’t twist my words, Tommy. This isn’t about her. This is about you. You’re here because he’s back, aren’t you?”
“Grady?” Another fake-thoughtful nod. “Yes, I guess he is back. Ran into him the other night. Apparently, for some people, no time’s passed. He hasn’t changed. Kind of sad, really. I just wanted to talk. But guess what Grady did?”
“Goodbye, Tommy,” I say, starting to turn.
“He ran away.”
I shouldn’t engage, but I almost have to. I began this encounter turned on, and the hideous thing is that I still am. I don’t know what kind of self-sabotaging voodoo is living inside me, but the more fury I feel, th
e hotter I get. He can fight with me. Or he can pin me down and have his way. Either would make me happy until I’m miserable.
“How dare you come in here,” I say, moving closer than I should, my voice practically a hiss. “How dare you even talk to me after all that’s happened.”
Tommy gives an annoyingly casual shrug, as if he doesn’t notice my vitriol. “I’m just trying to open a dialogue. After talking to Chadd, I got this intense impulse to renew acquaintances with the girl from my past.”
“I’m not interested.”
“How about in the bathroom? Would you be interested in there?”
I can’t speak. I can’t move. I just stand there with my mouth hanging open.
Tommy stands. There’s a small satchel in the booth beside him, and he takes his time gathering it, checking the flap, making sure it’s closed. I gape for maybe ten seconds, but it feels like an eternity before we’re standing face to face, Tommy finally ready to do what I’ve asked and get out of my sight.
“Tell your boyfriend I said hi,” Tommy says.
Then he’s gone, and I sit in his vacated booth before I fall.
CHAPTER 25
Grady
The auction guys show up the next morning. They don’t call first, which was supposed to be the deal. I don’t know any of the people who arrive, so I have to pick up the phone and call Greg, who I’d spoken to before. He refers me to my signed contract, for their most all-in-one package.
You can auction anything, but the better the place looks, the higher price it’ll fetch. Higher, in the real estate world, by tens of thousands of dollars for the cost of a cleaning and a fresh coat of paint. A price I’m paying with my higher-than-normal commission, and a price they’re willing to pay to inflate our mutual bounty.
I can stay in the house while they’re rearranging, cleaning, painting, and doing small cosmetic repairs, but it’s obvious once things get moving that I’d be in everyone’s way. The chemicals reek, and paint fumes have always given me a headache.
“I’ll just leave for a bit,” I tell the woman who seems to be in charge.
“Good idea,” she says, as if she’s been walking around waiting for me to find my senses the entire time. “Come back Tuesday.”
“Oh. I meant I’d just leave for a few hours or something.”
She looks at me like I’m an idiot — the same look you’d give an obnoxious third wheel trying to invite himself along on an intimate evening for two. “If you want.”
“Should I not?”
“We’ll be covering everything with drop cloths. I noticed the air conditioning doesn’t work, and you won’t be able to open the windows since it’s expected to rain. It won’t be comfortable in here.” She looks at her paperwork. “Greg said you understood?”
“I should leave then.”
“If you don’t like being asphyxiated, then yes, I’d recommend it.”
I’ll bet she’s being dramatic. Chances are they want to move fast, trying to turn these auction spots as quickly as possible. The auction date is only about a week away, and they’re under the gun. If I stay, I’ll mess up preparations they make one evening to start early the next day. Probably, in most of the auction-estate cases, there’s not some homeless traveler using the place as a flophouse. They’re probably tasked with clearing the old-person smell from the building, knowing the octogenarian himself is finally gone.
But it does stink in here. It’s fine. I can get a motel room, and maybe some decent TV for a change.
And so, suddenly and unexpectedly evicted, I shower quickly, gather a bag, and head for the door. I’m at my truck when I realize something else then run inside and gather Carl, too. I don’t want to hunt for the carrier because they’ve already laid out a bunch of drop cloths over my carefully organized piles of random shit, but Carl looks as ready to go as a man wearing his hat, compulsively checking his watch. He tells me Rowr then steps into a half box I find as if I’m the asshole for thinking he’d want to stay.
It’s only 8 a.m. With an entire empty day ahead of us, I wonder what the hell Carl and I will do with ourselves.
I got up early because my mind was full of the day’s awkward event and I couldn’t sleep. I sense a renewing connection between me and Maya — and damn him, Joe is right that I can’t just flit off to Alaska because of it. No. I can stay, at least for a while, for Maya. She’s not the problem. Neither is Mackenzie. She seems like a sweet little girl, and if I forget the origin story she can’t help having, I see nothing in her but delight and joy. She can’t help that her father is a worthless, womanizing fucker. Or that her mother, who’s usually sensible, was fool enough to fall for him the second we were on a break.
No, today’s awkwardness has more to do with Maya’s parents. I always liked them, and they always seemed to like me before I split. I had an amusing chat with Arthur that first day, and got an okay vibe. But really, I have no idea what Maya has told them about me. She must have been furious — in that uniquely apoplectic way she has — when I skipped town after she told me she’d not only been with Tommy, but that he’d knocked her up. I tried explaining it to Maya back then (it was more about Ernie than her, though her cheating didn’t help), but I don’t know if that information ever made it to Arthur and Charlotte. They might think I’m a shit. It wasn’t my baby, but I did leave their daughter when she needed me most.
It hardly matters. That was almost a decade ago, and we’ve all moved on. I’ve forgiven Maya by default, probably because she’s suffered enough. I don’t know if she’s forgiven me, since my transgressions spanned the entire time we were apart.
I didn’t call. I couldn’t face the idea of speaking with her. Hearing, maybe, how badly she needed my help.
I barely wrote. Postcards don’t require a return address, which was fine because mine rotated like the wheels on a bike. They’re more like missives than correspondence. Broadcasts, not conversations.
For ten years, I thought only of me. And even though I technically didn’t do anything wrong (and might have been justified in my own anger), that doesn’t stop it from feeling like I’m the bastard. Like I’m the one who did wrong then made it worse by the year, refusing to so much as look back.
At 8 a.m. on a Sunday, Inferno Falls is strangely peaceful. The entire original cluster now called Old Town looks like a movie set — some designer’s conception of what Tiny Town, America looked like two hundred years ago, mixed with the wave of trendiness that’s found the Falls in the past few years. With few people around, the feeling of a quaint facade is even deeper. I feel, after I park in the public lot and start to stroll, like I’m on a Hollywood back lot, about to meet actors and grips instead of the everyday folks who live here.
I head to Hill of Beans for a coffee then kill nearly two hours making lazy turns and peeking in windows. After the town itself peters out, I wander on the old dirt road heading out to the slow rises and falls of land that eventually lead to Cherry Hill. Farther on, I see the main road, but stick to the path, my boots getting dusty.
I wonder how far I can walk. I never came out this way when I used to live here. Some of Maya’s friends knew this area, though; I see a sign for Ticket to Ride stables. I guess you can board and train your own horses, or you can hire one to explore the rolling hills on your own. I wonder how they know people won’t just abscond with their mounts? But then again, I guess they’re animals, not cars. They know who feeds them.
And this is Inferno Falls, where people still tend to trust each other, despite the modern world. There are seedy areas on the opposite end, as you bleed past Rum Street and into Tiny Amsterdam, but out here, it’s still quaint. From what I saw when Joe and Brandon were taking me around, even Tiny Amsterdam has had a facelift — porn stores now looking like classy lingerie shops, strip joints with valet parking, tits and asses in display windows not on DVD covers, but on clever, quirky pastries. Beyond, there’s still Dalton Park and the Regency and my old stomping grounds. Little has touched those spots. But
here, it’s another world.
I realize where I am. I’ve come at it from another direction, but up there is Reed Creek. It’s not the spot Maya and I used to visit, and based on her description, it’s not the part near her new house. But the creek is there, and if I went to it now, I could follow it back. To Maya then to our old makeout spot. Like a march down the banks, back in time.
It’s nearly eleven by the time I’m in the middle of Old Town. More people have spilled onto the streets, and the diners appear to be hopping, gearing up for lunch. I look at my phone as if that will change the time, make it later, bring me closer to my only appointment now that I have nothing to do. But it remains nearly 11 a.m. And thanks to my shower and the clothes still in my truck, I’m more or less ready to hit the Hollands’ with five minutes’ warning.
With nothing better to do, I decide I’m hungry. I had breakfast much earlier than usual, so there’s no harm in an early lunch. I hoof it back to my truck so I can check on Carl. It’s not hot, and he’s stayed where I left him despite leaving the side windows halfway down, plus leaving the little slider leading to the bed all the way open. He could leave any time he wanted, and honestly, life would get simpler. If I stay in town, then fine, I guess I have a cat. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a cat on the road?
Carl looks at me through the half-open window as if to say that I made my cat-bed, and now I’ve got to lie in it. He does this feline squint that’s half content and half smug then looks at the open air between us as if reading my mind.
Yes, I could leave. But if I stay in this truck, you’ll continue to feed me. And then, because he’s a dick, I imagine Carl adding, Sucker.
I head back the way I came, considering calling Joe or Brandon for the thousandth time since I started walking. But I’ve monopolized Joe’s time lately, and keep trying to remind myself that Brandon’s now married. If I stick around, I’ll have to meet her sometime.
The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) Page 15
