Muscle

by Lexi Whitlow

  Ordinarily I’d bristle under this kind of unprovoked assault, but this old fart actually entertains me. That, and I’m buoyed by the fact that he’s performing for the court whether he knows it or not. Ms. Barbour has to be watching and taking notes.

  “Be that as it may, right now, we have just a couple hours for you to make the best impression you can on your granddaughter.” I smile again, taking the very high ground. “Emma’s favorite subjects are horses and reading. She knows all her ABC’s already, and can already read all the Level 1 readers by herself.”

  I pull back from Emma a little so I can see her. “Emma, why don’t you tell your grandparents about Stoney. I know they’d want to hear about him.”

  This line opens Emma up a little. In a small voice she relates to these strange, abrupt people, all the wonders of her horse, beginning nervously.

  “…he’s nice,” she starts, going on a little more. “…he’s a blue roan with a star on his nose, and he likes to nip my hair when I’m brushing him down. He’s got hind quarters like a jack rabbit, and can jump a fence higher than any of our fifteen-hand stallions. Daddy say’s it’s because he’s so small and light, he can fly like a bird in the air.”

  They tell Emma about their house in Phoenix, sitting at the head of a cul-de-sac, surrounded by other houses with kids her age. They have a swimming pool with a diving board, and their community has a playground with monkey bars and a tennis court.

  “You ever go swimming in a swimming pool?” Delores Beaufort asks her granddaughter. “One with blue water and floats?”

  Emma shakes her head. “We go to the lake,” she says. “It’s fun. Jacob and I swim down to the bottom where the rocks are and see who can pull one up to the top.”

  Delores and her husband stiffen, glancing at one another with shared outrage. Then they look at me.

  “He lets her swim in the lake?” she asks me, her eyes narrow with disdain.

  I’ve only been here since November, so I’ve never seen Emma swim anywhere. In that moment, I can’t see the harm in it and I wonder why they react so negatively. Then it occurs to me, Emma’s mother—their daughter—died in the lake. She drowned, trapped in a car in just a few feet of water

  “He’s probably got a million-dollar policy on little Emily too,” Craig Beaufort growls. “Probably wants to see her drown like her momma.”

  What the fuck did he just say? No fucking way.

  I shoot a look at Ms. Meredith Barbour. “That is inappropriate,” I spit. “And Emma doesn’t need to hear that kind of vile accusation from you—or anyone.”

  “Mr. Beaufort, can you please keep it civil,” Ms. Barbour requests, stepping forward into our circle. “Emma is, without question, a well-cared for little girl. Your insinuations are not appropriate.”

  He sits back in his chair—Camden’s chair—then he slaps his hand down hard on the arm. He shoots me a look that says he wants to take my head off. He opens his snaggle-toothed maw and starts speaking. Fast.

  “That little city-bird right there ain’t no one to me nor to my grand-baby. She don’t tell me how to talk or what to say. She’s just the same as every other one of the women Camden Davis has turned in and out of here since our Bev caught him with the first babysitter—”

  “Mr. Beaufort, if you don’t stop this—” Barbour interrupts, but she’s no match for this big rough man and his desire to be heard.

  “Shut up while I’m talking. You ain’t nobody to me either. You’re just a court scribe, taking notes. You can take this note; Camden Davis murdered Emma’s momma just as sure as if he put his hands around her neck and held her under the water himself. He’s a—”

  I don’t wait. I scoop Emma up in my arms and start talking to her, so she can’t hear that awful old man’s accusations. I bolt with her, rushing her up the stairs while she tunes up and begins crying on my shoulder.

  “I love you baby,” I croon into her ear, over and over again. “And your dad loves you. And Grams, and Jacob, and Stoney, and Amanda, and Tyler. Manuel loves you because you’re so sweet with him and his horses. And I love you so very much my sweet, baby girl.”

  When I have her upstairs, safe in her room, I rock her in my arms until she stops crying.

  When she’s finally calm, she rubs her eyes and she looks up into mine. Her face is red. Her eyes are swollen. She looks pained beyond anything I have ever seen in her before.

  “That man said Daddy did bad things to—.”

  “It’s not true,” I say, cutting her short. “Those people lost their daughter. They’re angry. But what they said isn’t true. Your daddy loves you. He loves you more than anything in the whole big world.”

  A moment later we both hear a commotion downstairs; people speaking in loud, angry voices. This old house has the acoustics of a cathedral. Every sound is amplified, carried up and out.

  There’s a quick knock on the bedroom door. I look up in time to see Beck, Cam’s mom peeking in.

  “Gramma!” Emma calls, holding her arms out.

  Beck comes in, closing the door behind her, then moving to take Emma into her arms, giving me a look that communicates her wary apprehension of all that has transpired so far.

  She smooths Emma’s hair cuddling her. “It’s okay Em, Gram’s here,” she sooths softly. “I love you, baby girl. Everything’s okay.”

  Downstairs the ruckus gets louder.

  I hear Cam’s voice, tight and enraged.

  “Get the fuck out of my house!” he shouts.

  A cacophony of loud replies, all garbled together, follow.

  “Go talk him down,” Beck urges me, worried eyes imploring. “I’ve got Emma. Just go keep him from doing or saying anything that’ll make this worse.”

  Downstairs I find Tyler and Cam on one side, the Beaufort’s on the other, with Ms. Meredith Barbour in between, trying to keep them from making physical contact. Cam is bowed up bigger than a pissed-off bull in a matador’s ring, telling them they have no right.

  I walk right into the middle of the fray, hands up, using all my might, pressing them to Cam’s chest, pushing him back toward the kitchen, away from these awful people.

  His eyes are wild, liquid with rage and with tears.

  “Shut up, Cam,” I order him, shoving him back on his feet, hard.

  He backs up, looking at me with a confused expression; like some animal that has been spun on its heels and hasn’t quite got its bearings.

  “Lookit that!” the old man calls out. “The babysitter leading him around by his dick. See who’s calling things here. Just like before. Just like when he sent Beverly over that bridge. She killed herself because—”

  “This isn’t about them,” I state firmly in a low voice to Cam. “This isn’t about you. This isn’t even about Beverly. This is about Emma and right now she’s upstairs scared, listening to all this. So, you need to be the bigger man and shut the fuck up—for her sake.”

  Cam’s wild eyes fix on mine. His mouth, ready to shout another obscenity, closes. He backs up, his hands finding a grip on the ledge of the kitchen counter.

  Tyler is in the foyer with Ms. Barbour, moving the Beaufort’s out toward the door.

  “We didn’t get our two hours!” Delores Beaufort calls out loudly. “The judge is going to hear about this. You’re in violation, right out of the get-go. And we’ve got good lawyers now. You’ll see—!”

  A moment later, as they’re shown out to their car, the house falls quiet again.

  Cam’s fists grip the edge of the counter like he’s hanging on for dear life. He’s pale. Immobile.

  “Breathe,” I say. “Deep breaths. Count to ten. Exhale.”

  He does it. Then he does it again. In a few moments he’s easier, the tension slipping from his frame.

  Before I even know what’s happened, Cam has me in a tight bear-hug embrace. He’s shuddering against me, holding me. “They want to take her,” he cries into my neck. “They want to take my baby. They can’t… I won’t let them… Please don
’t let them.”

  I slip my arms around his broad back. Usually Camden seems so powerful, so in charge, but now he’s vulnerable—frightened. He leans on me for support and comfort, his tears falling onto my shoulder.

  “They won’t take her away from you,” I whisper. “She’s all yours. She’s okay. She needs you.”

  I soothe him like I soothed his daughter moments before.

  “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  I hug him, easing his tears, trying to still his angst.

  I know full well that my reassurances are promises I cannot fulfil. None of this is up to me. I’m as powerless in this drama playing out as a bird in a hurricane. All I can do is be there, witnessing the event, trying to make it through the eye of the storm.

  Later, when Emma is asleep, Beck has gone home, the dinner dishes are washed and put away, and Camden and I are upstairs in his room, he finally gives vent to all his angst.

  “If you hadn’t been there, I would have taken Craig Beaufort’s head off,” he says. “And that would have just made everything worse. You calmed me down. And you took care of Emma when they were saying things… I don’t know what we would do without you.”

  Yeah. When things get real I do tend to keep a cool head. That comes from being the only sane person in my family when my baby brother was dying, and my parents were falling apart, blaming each other. They couldn’t stop ripping one another’s hearts out, while Jon withered to nothing in his hospital bed, his damaged, diseased heart, failing him. Their hearts broke, but his heart failed completely.

  All I could do then was calm him, be the quiet, safe harbor in the storm. Our parents blew apart, and the shrapnel spread far and wide, but I wrapped myself around Jon, letting him slip away, unharmed by their self-indulgent drama.

  He was nine. I was thirteen. I remember thinking even then, that the roles had reversed and the children were better at dealing with harsh reality than the parents.

  Emma’s upstairs now, sleeping like a baby. She knows her daddy is upset. She knows that there’s drama unfolding. What she doesn’t know yet is how the empowered adults in her life are going to deal with it. She’s not consciously aware of it, but in her dreams, she’s hoping that they don’t act like children.

  “You need to get a check on your emotions,” I say. “Those people only want to trigger you—set you off. If you let them, you’re playing right into their game. You need to rise above all that and let the world, and them, see that they can’t rattle you. If you’re really thinking, you’re also looking for every reason why they’re not good for Emma.”

  “They’re not good for Emma,” Cam says. “Just like they were shitty parents to Bev and her sister.”

  “So, prove it,” I say. “Show the world. Otherwise you’re just the flip side of a coin. You need to show the world who they are. And you need to be far better by comparison.”

  I say all this while I’m still processing what I heard in the living room earlier.

  Camden Davis murdered Emma’s momma just as sure as if he put his hands around her neck and held her under the water himself…

  What could make a man say such a thing, much less believe it?

  Chapter 16

  Camden

  I lost my shit today.

  When I got the call from my attorney that they were coming, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe there was no way to prevent it. I’m not accustomed to anyone telling me what to do. I’m sure as hell not accustomed to being told I have to let low-life like Craig and Delores Beaufort into my house.

  That I have to let them be with Emma.

  As soon as they stepped out of the car they started talking trash. Delores spit on the ground at my feet and Craig just smirked at me, walking up onto my porch like he owned it.

  Tyler got between me and them right out of the gate. He took them inside and told me to stay out. If he hadn’t been here, I think I would’ve taken a swing at Craig and gotten myself arrested in the process. Craig was probably hoping for an outcome like that, which is why he brought a deputy with him.

  All that aside, if it hadn’t been for Grace, everything would have gone sideways. She reminded me of the most important thing; Emma.

  She reminded me too, how much I rely on her steadiness. She’s been solid through all of it, without pressing me for explanations on why it’s happening.

  I told her the basics, but I haven’t been completely honest with her, and she knows it. It’s why she’s backed off from me, putting up a discreet wall between us. That wall is protecting her, but it’s keeping me at bay. I can’t let that wall stand.

  If she hates me once she knows everything, then at least she’ll hate me for valid reasons and not because I withheld the truth. She’s going to find out all the sordid details anyway. I’d rather she heard it from me than from the gossip of people who only have little pieces of the truth and not the whole picture.

  “The things Craig said about me,” I begin, meeting Grace’s eyes, holding her gaze. “He’s mostly right about how things happened with Bev.”

  She regards me with a reserved expression, saying nothing.

  I haul in a lungful of air, letting it go slowly, then I lay the entire saga at her feet, bearing all my demons.

  “Beverly didn’t mean to get pregnant,” I begin. “She didn’t want to be pregnant. We were already on the rocks when she found out she was, and at the time I wasn’t entirely certain the baby was mine. There were rumors flying around all over town that she was screwing some guy up at Turtle Lake. I told Bev I wanted a paternity test to confirm the baby was mine. She flew into a rage, but she finally agreed to the test.

  “The results came back, and sure enough, she was carrying my child.”

  Grace sits quietly, watching me, listening, while I tell her all of it, in every, last excruciating detail.

  “Bev and I agreed to try and make it work. But as much as I tried, she was depressed and miserable living out here on the ranch, and being pregnant didn’t help. She wanted to be in Missoula for all the reasons I didn’t. She wanted movie theaters and concerts, and new restaurants to try out on the weekends. She wanted to go clubbing and stay out late. She wanted to stay twenty-three years-old forever with no responsibilities, instead of growing up, being a wife and a mother on a working ranch.

  “She didn’t deal with the pregnancy well. The bigger she got, the more miserable she became, and she wouldn’t quit drinking. She slowed down a little, but she wouldn’t stop. That pissed me off. I dealt with it by clearing all the alcohol out of the house. She dealt with that by driving to the liquor store or the bar. I took her keys away. After that, it was game on, and we fought constantly.

  “Then Emma was born. I think we had about ten happy minutes after she arrived, before everything went wrong. Almost as soon as they cut the umbilical cord, she started to turn blue. Her blood pressure went sky high, and the doctors and nurses scrambled. It all happened so fast, I barely remember the details. I just know that one minute I had a beautiful baby daughter, wailing a mighty hello to the world, and the next she was the color of stone and listless with a crowd of doctors rushing her away.

  “Most new parents don’t get much sleep, but I lived at the hospital those first few weeks in an exhausted blur. Then, when they determined that a stent wasn’t going to be sufficient to open the blockage in her aorta, they said she would have to have open heart surgery. The hospital in Missoula wasn’t equipped to deal with it, so we flew with Emma to Las Vegas.

  “You’d think having your sick newborn in the cardiac critical care unit at a children’s hospital would be the thing to slow you down, make you take stock, and get your priorities in order. Not Beverly. We were in Vegas, so she was determined to do Vegas. The third night after Emma’s first open heart surgery—she was just four weeks old—Bev left me at the hospital while she went to the strip for drinking, gambling, and who knows what else. She stayed out all night without a word of explanation. By then I was so exhausted and so o
ver it all, I didn’t even care anymore.

  “The surgery went well enough, but Emma developed pneumonia in the hospital a few days afterwards. She was so sick the doctors and nurses weren’t willing to say that she would be okay. They told me they would pray for her.

  “Emma pulled through, but it was touch and go for weeks.

  “We brought Emma home after five weeks in Las Vegas. Tyler ran the ranch while I was away. If I hadn’t had him to cover my back, the whole thing would have gone belly-up.