Couture Love

by Fields, MJ

  After using the bathroom and taking a hot shower, I come back out into the open living space and see a Spiderman blanket has been draped across the couch.

  “You’re home again so soon?”

  I look toward the kitchen where my father is leaning against the island.

  “And tired, so …” I walk toward the couch.

  “We have some issues, son.”

  “You don’t say.” I fluff the pillow.

  “Jean’s son surfaced and is taking over the company.”

  I huff. “Good for him.”

  “Might be good for him, but not for us.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning. I just drove nine hours straight because I can’t afford a flight so that I could be here to show my sister some support when she needs it—”

  “She’s gonna need it.” He shakes his head. “Owed some girl at school some money and got her ass kicked.”

  “This is your fucking—”

  “You think it’s my fault, but I more than provide for her. That’s what alimony and child support are for. Not my fault her mother blows it, and not my fault she doesn’t tell me when she needs something because her mother paints me to be the fucking devil, Eric.”

  “It’s—”

  “She tell you about that?”

  He knows the answer to that question, and he’s enjoying this shit.

  “Daisy and Daniel are fine. A little high strung but fine.” As he shakes his head, I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him appear affected and not like a complete pompous ass. “Shelby’s a different kind.”

  “She was raised by—”

  “And she could stay here; that’s her choice.”

  “Not with the way Mrs. Cartwright 4.0 treats her.”

  “She stole from her jewelry chest.”

  “Yeah, well,” I huff.

  “It’s not the same, Eric. I had—”

  “It is the same thing,” I snap. “You used my money for a buy-in to college?”

  “Now that you mention it, that’s one of the reasons—”

  “No more excuses, Father.”

  “No quick way fix to it, so why not let me handle it?”

  “No, I want control over my own shit, and I want to go to bed so when Shelby wakes up, I can take her to get breakfast and then to school and find out whose ass I have to kick.”

  He chuckles as he walks toward the door. “She’s suspended for a week.”

  “For getting her ass kicked?”

  He smirks. “She got in a few jabs, too.” Then he leaves.

  Thank God.

  I draw the curtains, lock the doors, and then go peek in on Shelby.

  Through the sliver of light coming through the main living area, I see her eyes are open. Well, one and a half are. The half is visibly swollen, even in the dark.

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m tired of talking about it.”

  I lean against the door. “School shrink?”

  “No, Dad.”

  Not sure I heard her right, I ask, “Father?”

  She nods and pulls the purple blanket up to her chin. “I think he feels bad. And I don’t think I like him feeling that way.”

  “He has a lot to feel bad about.”

  “Maybe to you.” She yawns. “But it’s her fault.”

  “Whose fault? Suzy’s?”

  She shakes her head. “My mom’s.”

  “Shells—”

  “I wanna go to sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  * * *

  Still half-asleep, I jump up to the sound of a scream and sunshine in my face.

  “Dad!”

  Shelby. It’s Shelby.

  “Dad, wake up! Dad! Help! Someone, help!”

  I run out the door and see her fully clothed, dragging our father across the shallow end of the pool.

  “Daddy, please!”

  I run and jump in beside her.

  “Eric! Eric, he’s—”

  “Call nine-one-one.”

  She’s still screaming, panicking.

  “Shelby, now!”

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, Shelby, Suzy, and I pull into Stony Brook Emergency behind the ambulance. Shelby is sobbing into her hands, and Suzy is making phone calls and pissing me off.

  “Get off the phone, Suzy.”

  “Excuse me?” she snaps as she wipes away tears.

  “We don’t even know what’s going on with him yet, and you have him dead.”

  “Excuse me?” she snaps again as she bats away tears.

  “Get. Off. The. Fucking. Phone.” I take it from her hand. “Until you know what’s going on, shut the fuck up.”

  I throw the vehicle in park, and then we all jump out. I hit the key fob and lock the doors.

  * * *

  Waiting is hell, especially after we see the EMTs doing chest compressions as they bring him into the emergency room, especially when the ER doc tells us that his best chance for survival is surgery and recommends New York Presbyterian via helicopter, and especially since the last conversation you had with your father was an argument about money.

  Fuck money.

  Fuck it.

  Somehow, I manage to get Suzy to go back home and take care of her kids, telling her that there isn’t a thing she can do for him and that, when he woke up, he will want to see her.

  The saddest thing about it is it didn’t take much to convince her. She was out the door with another board member’s wife, the third Mrs. Burns, I believe.

  Shelby, on the other hand, flat-ass refuses to leave. No amount of trying to convince her changes that, and although her excuse is that she can’t go to school because of her suspension, I know it’s because she is harboring the same fucked-up feeling I am.

  That feeling: guilt.

  * * *

  After we watch the helicopter take off with Father … Dad, Shelby and I hurry through the white corridors toward the exit and all but run to the vehicle.

  Once inside the Rover, Shelby loses it again.

  “Shelby, seatbelt, and then type New York Presbyterian into the GPS.”

  She buckles then bats at her tears as she sets the GPS.

  “One hour and fifty-two minutes?” She sniffs. “What if he—”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “How do you know!” It’s more accusatory than question.

  “Just do,” I say as I turn onto the main road.

  She pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them tightly. “He was mad at me, EJ, and I screamed at him and told him it was his fault. I screamed at him! I told him I hated him! I—”

  “Shells—”

  “That’s what he calls me. He started it. Not you, him!”

  “Okay, well—”

  “I’m the reason he’s dying. I’m the reason—”

  “You’re the reason he didn’t drown in that pool, Shelby. Your scream woke me up. You calling nine-one-one got help to him.”

  “He hates me.”

  “No, Shelby.” I accelerate and pass a few cars. “Last night, when you and I talked, you said—”

  “It’s after noon—a lot has happened since then!”

  “Shelby, talk, don’t scream.”

  “No—”

  “Not giving you the option like I did last night. Talk, Shelby.”

  “He’s sending Mom away. Told me I have to stay here. I told him I hated him!”

  “I get you’re upset, but talk, kiddo.”

  “I’m not a kid!”

  “I suppose not, but you should have been given the opportunity to be one.”

  I give her a few minutes to process what I said. It’s a big fucking statement and will be an even bigger realization when she gets it.

  After several minutes, she clears her throat and sits back. “He was telling her. She said she didn’t want me here.”

  “Suzy?”

  “
Who else?” She throws her hands in the air.

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. I told him that I hated him, and that I would never stay there.”

  “But you don’t hate him.”

  “I’m not staying there. When I know he’s okay, I’m going back.”

  “And where did he say he’s sending your mom?”

  “Jail probably.”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Samantha Tuttle beat me up for money that Mom owes her for pills, so—”

  “He knows that?”

  “How the fuck do I know what he knows?” she spits.

  “Language,” I warn, but with little conviction behind it. She’s a fifteen-year-old who’s never had stability. I can empathies with that. The rest of the shit she’s gone through, though, not so much.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

  “Shells,” I sigh.

  “Stop calling me that! And after this, go back to hating me, because right now—”

  “Never hated you, and we aren’t taking two steps forward and three back, Shelby. He can’t send your mom to jail for Sammie Tuttle giving you a couple of black eyes. No evidence. If he’s sending her away, I’m going to assume he’s talking rehab.”

  “Why would he do that? He hates her.”

  “Because he loves you.”

  She huffs. “He hasn’t said so since I was seven years old.”

  “Well, he does. And I’m siding with him on this; you aren’t going back there.”

  “You can’t stop me,” she snaps.

  “You wanna make a bet?”

  An incoming call from a 718 area code comes through.

  “Keep your emotions in check while I take this. Might be the hospital.”

  I hit accept on the steering wheel control. “This is Eric Cartwright.”

  “Exactly the man I was looking for.”

  “And you are?”

  “Name’s Philip Ellison. I’m a friend of Coach Thompson’s and wanted to contact you personally.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m not interested.”

  “You wanna tell me what would make the deal more interesting?”

  “To be honest? Nothing.”

  “Not sure what old Jimbo told you, but we make a quality underwear that we men need to hold our shit in place.”

  “Gross,” Shelby whispers.

  I glance over to see her pretending to gag.

  “Would love to have you as the face of the new collegiate men’s line coming out in a few weeks. Had a guy, but he did us dirty last minute, so we could use you.”

  “Sir—”

  “How much?” Shelby asks.

  I glare at her. “Doesn’t matter how much—”

  “Hundred and fifty sound fair?”

  “An hour?” Shelby interjects while looking down at her phone. “That’s shit money, and you and I both know that.”

  “Not sure who I’m talking to now, but I wouldn’t give a hot dog to a man who’s got the grade A beef we’re looking for.” He chuckles.

  “Double gross,” she whispers then clears her throat. “Three hundred and fifty, six months, and the contract is renewable at his discretion.”

  “He’s a good-looking boy, but he’s not Gandy, miss. Two hundred K, eight months, and I’ll agree on the contract terms.”

  “Three hundred, seven months, and okay.”

  “Shelby, I’m not interested,” I state firmly, “so don’t waste his time.”

  “An hour,” he jokes.

  “You heard the man; don’t waste our time.” She smirks.

  “We add that he does a live commercial blast on social media once a month, approved by us, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “You deposit fifty Gs in his account as a good faith measure, no strings, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Twenty,” he counters.

  “Thirty and then the rest before the shoot takes place in case he has a pimple on his ass and you change your mind.”

  “We set up the shoot this weekend, and it’s a deal.” He laughs. “I just need an email address to send the contract, and an account number for the transfer, and we’ll get the ball rolling on our end.”

  “We’ll text it to you as soon as you free up the line.”

  “This weekend isn’t going to work, Shelby,” I scold her then continue, “I appreciate the offer, but right now we’re on our way to the hospital and are unsure of what we’re facing.”

  “I apologize, Eric. Your girl was giving me a run for my money. She a Duke student, as well? When she graduates from college, we could use her on our team, little ballbuster.”

  “She’s my fifteen-year-old sister—”

  “But I’ll take the job now,” she says as if she truly believes she’s getting an offer.

  “Well, damn, sweetheart, you keep us in mind when you get through college. We prefer Duke graduates.” He laughs

  She glares at me like he was being serious, like I just took away a piece of chocolate cake.

  “We’ll know more in a couple hours. I’m sure Eric can figure something out for this weekend. I can stay with Dad while he meets you. The shoot will have to be in New York City.”

  “Your family will be in our prayers. Keep in touch.”

  Before I can reiterate that I’m not interested, the line disconnects.

  “Shelby—”

  “As your contract negotiator, all I ask is that Mom goes to a decent rehab center.”

  Fuck, I sigh to myself.

  “Dad and Suzy fight about money, things are bad. He keeps saying de la Porte bonuses are due and things will be fine. If he’s wrong, we need that money, Eric.”

  “If I do this, Shelby, you will be moving in with Dad.”

  Her smile stops me from continuing.

  “You said Dad.”

  Shit.

  “Well, you’ll be moving in with him and leaving that school. We’ll find you a better one.”

  Eighteen

  Eric

  My card was declined at the gas pump, and I had to pay cash. Apparently, when you have your bill set up to automatically draft from your savings account, your account needs money in it to pay said bill.

  Mine doesn’t.

  “Don’t be mad at him,” Shelby whispered several times.

  I was past mad. I was done.

  As we sat beside his hospital bed, while he looked a lot like death but was just sleeping, I decided it was probably for the betterment of all that I didn’t wrap my fingers around his neck and shake him.

  I also felt like a whipped bitch.

  When the surgical team came in to get him, they told us that, when the radiologist report was read, they found a third blockage and that, without the surgery, he wouldn’t make it. They feel he has a great chance of making it through surgery and recovery, even with the extent of the damage.

  “We just need a signature for consent from his healthcare proxy.” The nurse hands me a clipboard.

  “His wife isn’t here.”

  She looks at the form then at me. “You’re Eric Cartwright, correct?”

  I nod.

  “The fax we received from his primary physician states that you’re his healthcare proxy. He changed it last week when he had his annual physical.”

  I don’t know why that makes me feel like he may have a little bit of respect, but it does.

  “Did his physician know there was an issue?”

  She nods. “He was supposed to see Dr. Woo yesterday for a stress test but rescheduled. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  I hear Shelby whimper and look over at her. I know immediately she’s blaming herself.

  “Would you mind telling us, if the tests had been done, would this have been avoided?”

  “Hard to say, but my educated guess is no.”

  “Even if he wasn’t under more stress than normal?”

  “Arteries don’t clog in a day,” she states. “So, absolutely not.”

  I look
over at Shelby as I take the clipboard and nod. She nods back.

  After I sign and the team steps out, I look over at Dad. His eyes are open.

  “You have a nice rest?”

  Shelby gasps. “Dad, I’m so sorry I—”

  “I’d blame the cigars and steaks, not you.”

  She stands up and gets closer to him but stops, worry evident on her face.

  “Come give me a hug, Shells.”

  I watch him hug her, kiss her cheek, and then he says, “Love you, Shells. And when I get out, I expect no argument about what we discussed earlier. You need to be home, and she needs help.”

  She glances at me, and I give her a nod.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Now do me a favor and give me a minute with your brother before they come take me away.”

  Shelby now tosses me the same look that I’ve been giving her all day, and Dad chuckles.

  “Unlike you’ve been most of the day, I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  She looks back at Dad. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Dad looks at me. “The boy loves me, Shells. He may not say it, but I know it.”

  When she walks out, I bite back the million different remarks I could make.

  “Been a hard few months, son. And I know you don’t get it, and maybe I could have discussed all the shit that’s been going on, but no man wants his kids to see him at his worse.” He looks at me like I’m going to maybe hug him like Shelby did.

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  I force myself to nod.

  “There’s a gala tomorrow. If I’m not there to kiss Jean’s boy’s ass, I’m going to lose the bonus that has yet to be given for last quarter because the will hasn’t been read, as well as this quarter’s if that little asshole is even giving them out. One’s a guarantee and will pay off some cards, put some cash back in your account. The other isn’t. But understand, I never expected this shit to happen, and I wasn’t stealing from you, son. I simply moved money around. I’ve tried to give all of you the best opportunities I could.”

  I get it, but it doesn’t make it right.