The Marriage Pact: A Baby Romance

by Tia Siren

  “What?”

  “He died. I found his body in the living room.”

  “Get the fuck out of here!” said Garrett with a hint of sadness. “You’re kidding. We just saw him yesterday!”

  “And, now he’s dead.”

  “Holy shit,” he said. “That really sucks. I can’t believe that. How did he die?”

  “They think it was a heart attack.”

  “Wow, bummer,” Garrett said. “You all right, bro?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s a lot though.”

  “You want to get together and chill?”

  “Yeah, actually. I’d be really down for that.”

  I slid off the hood. Bo and I hopped into the Focus and headed over to Garrett’s house.

  When we arrived, I walked in without knocking. That’s how it was with us.

  “The person I really feel bad for is Bailey,” I said to Garrett.

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he said. “First, she loses her mom, now her dad. And she isn’t even 30 yet, is she?”

  “No, not yet. She and I are both 29,” I told him.

  “Yeah. That really sucks,” he said. “Did you call Bailey?”

  “Nah, I figured the hospital or someone would notify her, you know?”

  “Maybe, but don’t you think she’d rather hear it from someone close to her than from a doctor she doesn’t know?”

  I chuckled. “I’m not close to her anymore.”

  “Don’t pull any of that crap,” he said. “You should call her and tell her. What if they told her you’re the one that found her? Wouldn’t she get super pissed at you for not calling her or anything?”

  “Goddamn it, you’re right. I would look like a major asshole.”

  “Of course, I’m right,” he said. “Call her. It’s going to be awkward no matter what. Be a man, dude. You know it’s the right thing to do.”

  I did agree with him on that. I still wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Chapter 4

  Bailey

  Originally, Leah and I were going to meet with producers from a record label on Sunday afternoon to discuss the possibility of signing with them. But shortly after our lunch at Gracie’s, Jack Howard, the producer Leah was in contact with the most, contacted her and asked if we could turn our Sunday lunch into a Saturday night “dinner and drinks” meeting. I hadn’t gone out for drinks in weeks. I felt confident that they would pay for us, and so we happily agreed.

  As Leah and I were getting ready, I started getting a variety of unusual phone calls. Two different numbers that I didn’t recognize called twice, one of them leaving a voicemail asking me to return the call. I’d been getting numerous sales calls and the like for years, so I thought nothing of it.

  Then, it got really strange. I began to get calls from a number that I recognized all too well.

  I’d deleted the number from my contacts years ago, but I had it memorized from all the times that I used to call it in the past. I didn’t even consider that the series of calls could be related. I merely thought it was a coincidence, a case of bad timing. And, like the calls from numbers I didn’t know, the one I did know kept repeatedly calling—only he didn’t leave a voicemail.

  The number I recognized belonged to Darren Holt, a man that I’d grown up with and had been good friends with for years. Darren and I had a complicated history, and we didn’t leave things on a good note. There wasn’t anger, but there was sadness and slight remnants of bitterness left in our wake. I’d decided to explore my talents in Memphis around a healthy music scene, and he chose to work jobs like construction or air-conditioning installation and repair in Rome, Georgia where we’d grown up. I had grown tired of staying in Rome. It was a small town with little to do.

  Seeing Darren’s number appear on my phone again sent a wave of emotions through me, and my mind went on a journey back to a past I’d seldom thought about. I thought back on the height of our friendship and how we used to enjoy making and playing music together. I remembered those short few months when we explored our physical attraction to each other.

  Then, I remembered when I asked him to go to Tennessee with me. He said no, and that was the end of it. The discussion was short, and the closure was almost nonexistent.

  I did wonder why he was calling and what he wanted to talk about. We hadn’t spoken in years, so I did wonder what made right then so important. While I pondered, he kept calling me over and over again. A small part of me wanted to feed my curiosity, but a larger part of me didn’t want to deal with him. Considering Leah and I wanted to be fully focused and on our game when it came time to talk with the producers, it was easy for me to ignore Darren’s phone calls. I was looking at my phone quite a bit, imagining how a phone call with him might go for us at that point in our lives.

  “Who keeps calling you?” Leah asked as she finished applying her makeup. “That’s not Jack, is it?”

  I considered answering her fully and honestly, but she didn’t know that much about Darren. Anytime his name had entered into conversation, I was always vague about what he’d meant to me.

  “It’s a bunch of wrong numbers,” I told her. “Not sure who it is.”

  “Maybe you should answer,” she suggested. “In case it’s someone from the label.”

  “It’s not. The caller left a voicemail and didn’t say who they were,” I said. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

  The restaurant we were in was extravagant: The food was exquisite, the atmosphere was sophisticated, and the company was pleasant.

  The producers were smiling the entire time we sat there. They told me that they were happy with what they were hearing, wanted to hear more, and thought that I was a rising star too hot for any other label to handle appropriately. They said they wanted to sign me right then and there.

  At first, those words and their importance made a huge impact on me. I’d been independently putting my music out for so long that, even though this meeting had been planned for days, it was still peculiar to imagine me signed to a record label beside many other noted performers. Musicians and artists all around the globe wanted to get signed to a known label. It was the beginning of a real music career and only meant great things.

  Yet, even though I knew I should’ve been more excited and been processing every word that came out of their mouths, I couldn’t get my mind off of the phone calls from before. The vague, mystery numbers weren’t what stood out, of course. I was irritated with myself, but I kept wondering why Darren had called me.

  I knew that he wouldn’t have been calling just to talk. There were guys from my past who would call sometimes, approach the conversation casually, and try to talk about things as if the past didn’t matter. Darren was never one of those guys, and last I knew, he was still in a similar place as I was regarding our connection.

  Since it was Saturday night, I thought that possibly he was drunk and being fueled by liquid courage, wanting to talk for any number of reasons. I also considered that maybe I was deflecting. The producers had been giving Leah and me drinks all night, and while I wasn’t unbelievably intoxicated, I was certainly inebriated.

  I can’t recall when, but at some point, Jack Howard put the contract on the table and slid it toward me. I was so distracted that it took me a few seconds to process what was happening.

  “We’re willing to sign you right here and now,” Jack said. “Are you ready to conquer the world, Bailey?”

  “Whoa.” I laughed in surprise.

  “This contract is quite extensive,” Leah said.

  “Well, most contracts are,” said Jack smiling. “Most of the details are just necessary things—legal type jargon that isn’t interesting but has to be put in print.”

  Leah gave me an inquisitive look as if to say, “Well?”

  I was on autopilot, and although I was kind of drunk, I knew well enough not to make an important decision like that irrationally.

  “Do you think we could look over the contract for a bit first?” I as
ked them. “It’s not that I don’t want to sign. I do. I just like to know exactly what I’m getting into before I jump in headfirst.”

  “Totally understandable,” Jack said. “Take it with you. Look it over closely, and sign it whenever you’re good and ready.”

  “But, we’re ready,” one of the other producers said. “Just to let you know. So there’s no doubt in your mind. We want to work with you, Bailey! We see your talent and want to make sure everyone in the world can hear it.”

  “Thank you all so much!” I said. “I promise we’ll be in touch.”

  We all shook hands, and they took their leave. Leah and I stayed behind, thumbing through the contract and skimming it.

  “I wanted to say we should examine this thing for a bit first, but I didn’t want to tell you what to do right in front of them,” said Leah. “I think you did the right thing.”

  “I hope so,” I said while finishing up another drink.

  Afterward, Leah and I took an Uber back to our individual houses. I found myself looking at the call log on my phone. I stared at Darren’s number, thinking about how it hadn’t changed in over ten years. My number had changed about seven or eight times since I left Rome, and I’d assumed that he must’ve done the same thing at some point. Since he hadn’t, I wondered if it was because he didn’t feel he had a real reason to change it. Or, perhaps he didn’t change it out of laziness. There was some weird, dumb part of me that thought maybe he hadn’t changed it because he wanted me to be able to get in touch with him again if I ever had the desire. I knew that was a selfish thing to think, but I’d kept my number the same for many months after I left on the chance that he might call again.

  Since he finally had called again, I decided to be brave and return his call. I wasn’t drunk, but I was still a little tipsy.

  My heart skipped a beat hearing the phone ringing. Every time it rang, I both wanted him to answer it as soon as possible and not pick up. After twenty seconds went by, I assumed that he wasn’t going to take my call.

  Then, with only a second or two left, Darren answered.

  “Hello?” the familiar voice said to me.

  It was intense to hear his voice again. I had forgotten what it sounded like. Instantly, with just one word, I could hear past phone calls we’d made to each other, and I heard his voice as we sang songs together.

  “Hi,” I stammered.

  “Hey, Bailey,” Darren said.

  His voice was still beautiful, and it still made me feel warm. My fear that I would be uncomfortable were quickly fading away.

  “How are you?” I asked him.

  “Been better, to tell you the truth,” he answered. “I hope I wasn’t bothering you earlier. I’m sorry that I kept calling, but—”

  I was expecting him to finish his sentence, but he remained silent.

  “Hello?” I said. “Darren?”

  “I’m here,” he replied. “Sorry, I just, I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Say what?” I asked anxiously.

  “Bailey, I’m so sorry, but your father, he passed away earlier today.”

  Nothing could have prepared me for that. I was frozen.

  “I went over to his house earlier, and I found him,” he continued. “They think he might’ve died of a heart attack. I took him to the hospital, but he didn’t—he was already gone. I’m so terribly sorry, Bailey.”

  “Is this a joke?” I asked him in total disbelief.

  “I really wish it were,” said Darren. “I figured someone from the hospital or something might call and tell you. But I was the one that took him in, so I figured it’d be best if I told you.”

  I laughed, unable to contain myself.

  “Bailey?” he asked.

  “I just talked to my dad,” I said through laughter. “I talked to him early this afternoon. You’re fucking with me.”

  “Bailey, I’m not.”

  We sat there in silence, with only the buzzing from the phone line. Nearly five minutes passed where neither of us spoke.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I blurted out.

  “I’m sorry, Bailey,” he said.

  “Thank you, Darren. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Before he could give an adequate goodbye, I hung up.

  I found my dad’s phone number and called it. It rang and rang, and all I wanted was for him to pick up and tell me that Darren was playing a sick joke on me.

  Instead, it went to voicemail:

  “You’ve reached Wayne Wright. I’m not available, but if you leave your name and message, I’ll return your call as soon as possible. Thanks.”

  I hung up and tried him again. Again, it rang until it couldn’t anymore, and went to voicemail. I hung up and tried him again.

  I became so afraid. If my dad didn’t answer my call the first time, he always picked up the second or third time, no matter what was going on. I wondered if maybe he was not feeling well, and maybe he didn’t have his phone on him.

  Then, as I kept calling my dad’s cell, I looked up one of the phone numbers that had tried to call me earlier.

  My heart sank: Rome City Hospital.

  I couldn’t bear to call the hospital back. Instead, I kept calling my dad as the night went on.

  I finally broke when, at about two in the morning, his phone no longer rang. It went straight to voicemail, meaning that the phone had died. Then, somehow, I knew for an absolute fact that Darren hadn’t lied to me. I was lost and confused.

  Chapter 5

  Darren

  After the phone call I’d had with Bailey on Saturday night, I didn’t hear back from her at all until Monday morning.

  She texted me:

  “I’m flying into Atlanta around noon. Coming to Rome to arrange my dad’s funeral.

  “I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with this… but do you think you could meet me at the funeral home? I want to talk with you.”

  I quickly replied with, “Of course. Do you have an address?”

  She answered with, “712 Mabel St.”

  I’d answered her without giving it a second thought. I was sure that there would be some awkward tension at first once we saw each other again, but I was willing to deal with it. I felt like I was still a part of this, somehow.

  I’d texted her around 1:00, asking if she was making her way to Rome yet. When she didn’t answer, I decided to head over to the funeral home so that she wouldn’t arrive to nothing but her father’s body.

  I got to Garrison Brewster’s Funeral Home on 712 Mabel at about a quarter till two. There was only one car in the parking lot, and the building looked old. This place had been in Rome since before I was born, like many of the places in town.

  I walked into the funeral home and saw a mahogany coffin resting along a wall. It was closed, but I knew who was inside it. It was odd knowing that only two days prior, I had planned on having a nice meal with the man in that coffin, and now he was dead. It helped underline how fleeting life was.

  I stood near the coffin for several minutes before the funeral director finally greeted me. He appeared to be a nice enough man, but his suit was old and worn enough that I wondered if he’d taken it from one of the people he helped bury. He smelled like one of the people he helped bury, too.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he said to me. “I hope you’re doing well, despite whatever has brought you here today.”

  “I’m here for Wayne Wright,” I stated.

  “Ah, yes,” he said with lament. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, sir. My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My understanding is that Mr. Wright’s wishes were to be cremated,” said the funeral director. “Will there be a service after the viewing?”

  “I—I assume that.”

  “I apologize,” he said. “This is a difficult time for you, I’m sure. Would you like a few minutes?”

  “I—”

  I wasn’t sure how to go about it. It felt strange to be there on my own, looking a
round and seeing no family or friends. I realized that many people in Wayne’s life likely didn’t even know he had passed away, but it didn’t stop me from feeling incredibly sad. I hated the idea of lying dead in a coffin with no one around me but a funeral director who had buried thousands of people before me.

  “Will any other family be arriving today?” he asked me.

  “Well, I’m not family,” I corrected him. “I’m not his son, or nephew, or anything. I’m a friend.”

  “Oh, my,” he said embarrassed. “I’m terribly sorry. Forgive me. I did think you were family.”

  “I’ve known him for most of my life,” I said. “I’m actually the one who found him at his house.”

  “Good Lord,” he gasped. “That must have been terrible to come upon.”

  “It was,” I assured him. “His daughter, Bailey, she should be here soon to answer any questions you have about arrangements.”

  “I appreciate it,” he said. “So sorry for your loss, again.”

  I sat in a chair near the coffin, playing senselessly on my phone, not focusing or caring about what I was doing. My mind was in overdrive wondering about Bailey and where she was. There was a small part of me that wanted to bolt, to get away and not face whatever wrath she might be harboring.

  When last I saw her, she’d had tears in her eyes. She wanted me to go to Tennessee with her desperately, and I sincerely didn’t want to leave our small town that I had grown accustomed to and knew like the back of my hand. I’d been able to keep the tears from falling down my face, and that suppression didn’t stop on the day she left. Now, as fate was finally bonding us back together, I grew weary. I’d never wanted to see Bailey cry again, and I felt sure that coming to see her dead father would be more than enough to supply fresh tears.

  I heard a car pull up near the funeral home. I heard one door slam and then another. I was sure that it was her, and I speculated quickly about who had closed the second car door. I expected to be greeted by her and potentially a boyfriend. That idea made me wearier than the idea of her crying.