Fate Interrupted 2

by Kaitlyn Cross

  Disappointment winked in her eyes. “I thought we could order Chinese and watch a movie after we finished the crib.”

  He smiled thinly, the front door pulling him closer. “You thought wrong.”

  She followed right behind him, her feet pattering against the shiny floor. “Tomorrow night then? I could make pasta while you’re putting the crib together.”

  He pulled the front door back and stepped outside, the night’s cool air never feeling better. “I’m busy tomorrow night.” The driveway unraveled beneath him in a gloomy blur, his legs moving faster.

  “Dean!”

  At the Jeep, he turned to face her. “Look, Megan, that stuff is never going to happen, even if…” He glanced at her stomach and decided to swallow what he was going to say.

  She took a couple of hurried steps as he climbed inside the Jeep and brought the engine to life. The wind tugged at her robe, the dejected look on her face almost tricking him into feeling sorry for her. He backed up into the street and, without waving, sped away into the night, eager to put this whole thing in the rearview mirror as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next afternoon, Clay looked up and slapped shut the folder on his desk, surprise stealing his expression. “Dean,” he said, rebounding with his experienced smile. He leaned back in the leather chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “Well, this is a surprise.”

  “I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No, no, come in,” he replied, nodding to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Is everything okay?”

  “It is,” Dean answered, taking a seat and discreetly wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I just never got the chance to thank you for the house.”

  Clay’s forehead wrinkled. “Shame you haven’t been able to enjoy it.”

  “Just the same, I appreciate the gesture; you shouldn’t have done that. That’s one hell of a wedding gift,” he grinned, folding his hands in his lap and concentrating on not fidgeting.

  Clay studied him for a few seconds and then lifted his brow. “Hopefully, Megan will be able to get some good use out of it for many years to come.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and folding his hands. “I know she’s leery about being there alone at night…but maybe when you see that baby’s face for the first time that will change.”

  Dean lifted a leg up onto his knee and tried not to waggle his foot like a nervous dog. “You mean if that baby is mine?”

  “Of course,” Clay smiled and straightened the nameplate on his desk. “There will always be a place for you in that house, at the head of that table.”

  Dean bit back a smirk. They examined each other over a moment of awkward silence. A phone rang down the hall, coming from the front desk. Dean’s eyes fell to the nameplate: Clay Crawford etched into the gold plated metal, Council President in smaller letters below.

  Clay grabbed a pen and lightly tapped it against the folder, his face sobering. “How is Evy?”

  Dean pressed his lips together. “Busy with the shop I suppose.”

  “Good, good.” Clay glanced out into the hall, where the phone continued to ring.

  “Taking a step back and trying to get her stuff in order.”

  Clay’s eyes swung back to Dean and he nodded heartily, like he completely understood. “Sometimes that’s the best medicine.”

  “It’s been a lot to handle.”

  He inhaled a lungful of air, his chest and pride swelling at the same time. The chair creaked as he leaned back and folded his hands over a silver belt buckle. “Look, Dean, I know our road hasn’t been without its bumps, but - regardless of what the future holds - I want you to know I appreciate the spot you’re in.”

  Dean blinked without interrupting, eager to hear where this was going.

  “I mean, Evy is a very pretty girl and just as sweet as can be. I wouldn’t have wanted to walk a mile in your shoes for all the beer in Milwaukee.”

  The phone finally stopped ringing but Dean’s heart kept pounding.

  Clay pinched his eyes together. “I admire the decisions you have made. I really do. A lot of men would have thrown everyone under the bus and ran for the hills, but not you.”

  Dean held his steady gaze, his face tightening. “They weren’t easy decisions to make.”

  “I know they weren’t, Dean, but I hope from here on out we can leave the past in the past and put our best foot forward.”

  Another bout of prickly silence settled around them, sucking the oxygen from the room.

  Dean’s heart jack hammered in his chest. He rapped his knuckles on the desk and stood up. “Thanks for the time.”

  Clay got to his feet as well and extended his hand, fingers splayed wide. “Thank you for stopping by. It means a lot,” he said, shaking Dean’s hand with a sturdy grip. “Hope to see you at the house for Nancy’s birthday on Sunday.”

  Dean nodded and turned for the door, pulse racing, shallow breaths all he could grasp. He stopped in the doorway and turned back around. “Oh, I almost forgot…I want to put the house on my insurance. Can you email me a copy of the deed?”

  Clay hiked his charcoal gray slacks up, his lips stretching downward. “It’s already taken care of.”

  “The least I could do.”

  “Thank you for the gesture, Dean, but it’s part of the gift,” he said, busting out his million dollar smile. “Plus, if you are - in fact - not the father, this will make things much easier down the road,” he said, looking as if it was a bitter pill to swallow. “For now, I think I’ll keep everything in my name.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  They held one another’s eyes, no one making a move, a western showdown in a modern office.

  “And what name might that be,” came a deep voice from out in the hall.

  The alderman’s eyes snapped to the massive black man filling the doorway. Clay’s color crumpled down the collar of his pressed shirt, his face blending with his gray hair. “Well, this day just keeps getting better and better,” he grumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  The man ducked a little as he stepped into the light that reflected off his shiny black shoes. He stopped next to Dean and studied Clay with intense scrutiny while stroking his beard, his cologne nearly as powerful as his presence.

  Dean slapped the man on a broad shoulder testing the seams of an expensive suit. “You know the honorable Mayor Andrews, don’t you Clay?” he asked, smirking all the way to the bank.

  “I believe I do,” Clay responded, his commanding voice shrinking to the back of the room.

  Mayor Andrews straightened his coat - an American flag pinned to its lapel - and shot Dean a quick wink, a silent understanding passing between them. He turned back to Clay and cleared his throat. “Now, Alderman Crawford, when you say name, just what name do you mean?”

  Clay stood there for a moment, paralyzed with surprise, blinking blankly and grinding his jaw. “W-what is this all about,” he stammered, loosening his yellow tie.

  The mayor tipped his chin down and lifted his caterpillar-like eyebrows. “Waterford Homebuyers? Does that name ring a bell?”

  Clay’s eyes darted from Andrews to Dean and thinned, a stark realization slowly sinking in. “Oh, I get it,” he whispered, managing to reclaim a portion of his shit-eating grin. “This isn’t over yet, is it, Dean?”

  Dean stared hard at him, but spoke softly. “We’re getting there, Clay. We’re getting there.”

  Andrews shifted in his stance and formed a steeple with his hands. “Now, according to Bayshore Realty, Waterford Homebuyers is the name on the mortgage and also seem to have negotiated a very interesting deal on such an attractive piece of property.” He paused to gauge Clay’s reaction. “And according to my team, Morgan Homes was very appreciative of their winning bid to build by the lake.”

  “If you have a point, Mayor, by all means feel free to get to it.”

  The Mayor chuckled softly, rubbing a hand back and forth across his shin
y bald head. “My point is, a state official cannot, solicit, accept, or use the authority of his public position to secure anything of value, including a gift, meal, entertainment, or house, that could have a substantial and improper influence upon him in the performance of his duties - in accordance with The Wisconsin Code of Ethics for Public Officials and Employees, subchapter three, chapter nineteen point forty-five.”

  Dean bit his tongue in the thunderstruck silence that followed, the look on Clay’s face making it tough not to laugh.

  “This is slander,” Clay hissed, his eyes little more than icy slits now. “You have no proof!”

  Andrews wagged a meaty finger at him and spoke sternly. “That you will have to take up with the District Attorney.” He took a deep breath that made his chest even bigger. “You have betrayed the public trust of this office, Mr. Crawford, and are hereby relieved of your civic duties until the outcome of a comprehensive investigation is reached, effective immediately.”

  Clay swallowed thickly, his face nearly as white as his button-down now. “You are gravely overstepping your authority, Mayor.”

  Andrews lifted his brow, a confident twinkle in his eyes. “Am I?” Without breaking eye contact with Clay, he turned his head slightly to the side and spoke out the corner of his mouth. “Robbins!”

  Clay’s eyes widened when two of Milwaukee’s finest appeared in the doorway.

  Andrews turned to the cop with curly blond hair and nodded toward Clay. “Officer Robbins, if you would be so kind.”

  The cop crossed the room on determined legs, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “Please turn around and place your hands behind your back for me, sir.”

  Clay didn’t move a muscle, and whether it was by choice or not Dean couldn’t tell. “On what charge?”

  The handcuff clicked loudly as Robbins popped it open with his thumb. “The Mayor just cited the statute you are charged with violating, sir.”

  “This is nonsense! That house is paid for!”

  Andrews dipped his chin and looked at Clay over an imaginary pair of reading glasses. “Paid for by a dummy corporation with untraceable funds that is currently under investigation.”

  “Sir,” Robbins said in a controlled voice, born from years of experience. “Turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

  Robbins’ portly partner stepped forward to assist while Clay shot Dean a pointed glare.

  Dean clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Where’s Ryder when ya need him, huh?”

  The two police officers spun Clay around and forced his hands behind his back.

  “This will never hold up,” he grunted between clicks, the cool metal digging into his skin.

  They turned him back around and each took an arm.

  “You’re right, Dean,” Clay panted, drilling him with a malevolent glare. “This isn’t over.”

  “Relax, Clay,” the Mayor said, stepping off to the side. “You’ll make bail in the morning and have plenty of time to make your case.”

  Andrews and Clay exchanged another heavy glower. Something about an accident on North Avenue and Sherman Boulevard squawked through the radio attached to Robbins’ shoulder.

  Clay’s jaw tensed. “Fuck you.”

  Andrews grunted and slid his hands into his pockets. “Take him away, boys.”

  Clay’shead snapped back as the two cops ushered him out of the office. “This isn’t over yet!” he shouted, their steps quickly fading down the hallway with beige walls and white trim.

  Mayor Andrews turned to Dean with a thin smile. “I always wanted to say that.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Now?” A longwinded breath fluttered past the lips peeking out from his beard. “Now, there will be a lengthy investigation, followed by an even lengthier trial. This is a serious offense, but with a tedious process. In the meantime, they’ll release him and probably freeze his assets. Hard to say for sure.” Andrews shrugged his wide shoulders. “If the DA digs up any other misdoings – which they’ll certainly look into - Clay will end up losing everything, if he hasn’t already. But that’s the risk one takes when subverting public trust.”

  “Well, whatever you need from me down the road, you just let me know.”

  Andrews nodded. “I’m sure the DA’s office will be in touch with you very shortly. They’ll want to hear your side of the story, as will the press.” The Mayor offered up a hand the size of a bear claw. “Just remember, the truth will set you free.” They shook hands and the mayor’s eyes grew heavy, his voice becoming soft. “I’m sorry you and your friends had to go through this on my watch, Dean. You have opened my eyes to what lies just beneath, and I promise to do a better job in the future. Thank you for coming to me.” He held onto Dean’s hand, swallowing it whole. “On behalf of the entire city of Milwaukee, I thank you.”

  Dean’s arm jerked with the man’s powerful shake. “Thank you for listening.”

  Andrews let go and inhaled deeply through his nose, scanning Clay’s office through disgraced eyes. “In the meantime, I think I’ll stop by this Sugars and see what I can dig up on my own. Maybe I’ll come across a slice of raspberry cheesecake in direct violation of a caloric-sized ordinance and have to cart it away.” He winked at Dean and let loose a bellowing laugh, slapping him on the back and turning for the doorway. They left the room together, the floor trembling beneath their combined weight. Just like Clay had. As they passed the front desk, Andrews nodded to a man wearing a black leather jacket with a gold badge hanging around his neck. The man nodded back and returned to his conversation with Clay’s secretary, hastily jotting something down on a small notepad.

  ***

  The police cruiser quietly pulled away, Clay shooting daggers at Dean from the back seat for as long as he could. Dean sent him off with one last parting grin before hurrying across the municipal parking lot, his legs as light as tail feathers. It felt like he was floating to the Grand Cherokee, easily traversing white lines and gray pavement that matched the color of the sky. He jumped in, shut the door and soaked up the silence, his mind automatically replaying portions of the last twenty-five minutes.

  A smile rippled across his face as rain started to patter against the windshield. His head slowly shook back and forth, not believing Evy and his friends were finally free. He couldn’t wait to tell her the news, knowing she might change her mind. Things were different now. Weren’t they? Megan suddenly reared her head in his daydream like a massive Dragon rising over the edge of a jagged bluff. His spirits fell with his shoulders. Clay’s threats were gone but Megan’s weren’t. He pounded the steering wheel and swore as the rain came down harder, blurring the world before him into distorted shapes.

  There was no one to blame but himself and he knew it, but that didn’t make him hate Megan any less. He cursed the day he met her, feeling so close to the light only to have it snuffed out one more time. Hope melted down his face as the stark realization that Evy would be better off without him and his baggage. Nothing had really changed after all. She deserved a life without Megan as a constant reminder of the past. If being apart from Evy was in her best interest, then so be it. No matter how much it hurt to even begin to accept that, he was willing to try.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and grimaced when he saw the screen. Speak of the devil. Megan must have already found out about her father and Dean could only imagine what was going through her head. He glanced at the clock in the dash. Maybe she hadn’t found out yet and just wanted to know about the crib. His mind see-sawed back and forth. The Mayor’s statement about the DA freezing Clay’s assets suddenly rang hollow in his ears. The cell vibrated in his hand as a snapshot of the future whipped through his mind: Megan scared and broke, financially and emotionally. He took a deep breath and held it, his brain swelling with insidious thoughts. His lungs pushed the breath back out and Dean slid the answer key across the screen.

  “Hello?”

  Megan paused just long enough
to make Dean think the call had dropped. “I just wanted you to be the first to know,” she said glumly.

  The rain drummed against the sunroof, a thousand different thoughts assaulting him from all sides. “To know what?”

  ***

  Evy shut the oven door on a tray of chocolate toffee cookies and set the timer. Next, she slid a tray of maple bacon cupcakes into another oven and set that timer as well. She hurried over to a tall rack against the wall and started flipping through containers of spices and frosting nozzles. From there, she rifled through boxes of cocktail napkins and to-go cups, more frantic with each second that ticked by. She checked between bags of sprinkles and behind an industrial sized tub of Crisco. A box of coffee stirrers fell over on the top shelf, sending multicolored stirrers exploding across the tiled floor like Pick-up Sticks.

  “Shit!”

  “What’cha lookin for?” Brooke asked, looking up from the cheesecake she was spreading fresh strawberries across.

  “Are we all out of tulip liners?” she asked, rounding up the scattered straws.

  Brooke came over to the rack. “I know we were getting low,” she said, standing on her tippy-toes to investigate the top shelf.

  “How can we be so low when we’ve hardly sold anything this week?” Evy groaned, dumping the mess in the garbage and returning to the rack.

  “Because somebody forgot to order them the last time around, remember?”

  Evy stopped peeking behind a box of coffee filters on the bottom shelf and hung her head in shame, guilt wrenching her from the inside out. How many things had she let fall by the wayside? Too many. She wouldn’t let her sister down again. A promise was a promise, even if just to herself.

  “But they’ll be on next week’s shipment,” Brooke said, easing the tension and giving up on her search. “In the meantime, will you run out back and ask Ben to run to Costco and grab some regular cupcake liners?”

  “I hate that kind.” Evy stood up, her knees cracking, her legs feeling like bags of sand.