Walk On The Wild Side

by Jami Alden

  “Your powers of deduction are astounding,” Brady said as he added the vegetables back to the pans and sprinkled in a handful of cheese into each. “Get the plates and forks.”

  “It’s Molly, isn’t it?” Jordan said as he set the requested items on the counter.

  “It’s none of your business,” Brady said as he slid the omelets onto the plates. He handed one to Jordan and took the other to the table and sat down.

  “I mean I know I said you should hit that,” Jordan said as he slid into the seat across from him, “but Molly’s doesn’t seem like a girl you just booty call.”

  “She’s not,” Brady shoved back from the table and went to the refrigerator to get some salsa. “And it wasn’t just a booty call.”

  “So you were with Molly!” Jordan crowed.

  Brady winced “Do me a favor and keep that information to yourself. Molly’s not keen on the idea of everyone finding out about us.”

  Jordan’s lips tightened and he set down his fork. “Right. She’ll screw around with you, but God forbid she goes anywhere people might see her with you.”

  “Let me guess, things didn't work out with the girl from your chemistry class.” Right after school started, Jordan had told him about a girl—Emma? Emily?—who had been assigned to his table in his honor’s chem class. According to Jordan she was “superhot” and “supercool.” It didn’t hurt that she was new to the school, her parents having moved to Idaho from Portland over the summer, and thus wasn’t up to speed on the sordid history of the McManus/Flannery clan and why most girls stayed far away from Jordan. Or at least pretended to.

  “She’d sneak out to meet me, but she wouldn't go to the homecoming dance with me,” he said as he pushed the remains of his omelet around on his plate. “It was stupid of me to even ask her. But I’m lucky, right? Now I don’t have to spend a bunch of money on dinner and shit.”

  “Someday you’ll meet a girl who will like you for who you are, no matter how fucked up our family is.”

  “Like Molly?’ Jordan said sarcastically.”

  Brady’s jaw clenched. “It’s different with Molly. Her not wanting to go public yet has nothing to do with the family.” Because she only knows the barest minimum, “She just broke up with a guy she was with since high school. She wants to take it slow.” He took his empty plate to the sink and wondered why he felt compelled to explain himself to a teenager.

  “How is doing her on the down low taking it slow?”

  Brady grimaced, hating the way it sounded so sordid, coming out of Jordan’s mouth. But really, wasn’t that how Molly viewed it?

  And if that was true, how was this any different from all the other times he’d let himself be used for sex because he knew better than to ask for more?

  And God knew, he wanted more with Molly. He wanted everything. Now he just had to figure out how to move their relationship in the right direction without scaring her the hell away. Had to make her understand that he was the real deal, the kind of guy she could depend on. The kind of man she could build a life with.

  ###

  After her talk with Brady, Molly woke with a sense of resolve. Today she was going to contact her father. It was time to stop vacillating, and get this over with once and for all.

  Still as she drank her coffee and pulled up his information on her computer, she couldn’t drown out the echo of multiple voices arguing her in her head. There was Ellie’s voice, telling her to leave well enough alone. He didn’t want to see us. He doesn’t deserve to have us in his life.

  Then there was Dr. Stewart. As long as you keep your expectations realistic, and you feel this might provide a sense of closure, then I don’t advise against it.

  Brady joined the fray. You have to do what will make you feel better.

  Then of course, there was her own voice, waffling back and forth amid a torrent of emotions and worries about possible outcomes.

  What if he greets you with open arms? What kind of relationship do you think you’ll have? I’ll start slowly, cautiously and keep my expectations low.

  Or if he rejects you, will you be okay with that? I’ve dealt with it before. I can get over it again.

  Worse, what if he never responds at all? I’ll know I’ve done my part, and will accept that our relationship was never meant to be.

  All of that was easy to say, but she knew the potential for getting hurt was high. The real question was, the only question that mattered, was it better to risk the hurt than to go on for the rest of her life with this burning ache, this unanswered question.

  It was.

  She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. With her heartbeat thundering in her head, she picked up the phone in her sweating hand and dialed the number she’d written on a scrap of paper.

  She held her breath as the phone rang once, twice, three times. It was going to go to voicemail, she thought with equal parts relief and disappointment.

  Then, just as she was about to hang up, she heard a woman’s voice say, “Hello?”

  Molly’s vocal chords seized up in panic. It stupidly hadn’t occurred to her that another person—a woman in particular—would answer the phone instead of him.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  Calm. “Yes, may I please speak to Patrick Tanner?”

  “I’m sorry my husband isn’t in right now. Can I take a message?”

  Molly’s stomach flipped at the acknowledgment that her father had remarried. Yes, tell him his daughter called. Molly tried to think fast—if she said nothing the woman might wonder why a strange woman was calling her husband for no reason. “Oh, okay. This is Julie down at Super Cuts,” she said, praying her father still had enough of his thick, sandy brown hair to warrant regular haircuts. “Mr. Tanner entered his name in a raffle to win a free haircut. Tell him to come down any time.”

  She hung up, hands shaking, body covered in flop sweat, and contemplated her next move. Calling probably hadn’t been the best way to make initial contact, she realized. Not only had she not accounted for the possibility that he might be married and having other family members around might make it difficult for him to talk, now she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with that initial, bound to be awkward conversation either.

  Writing a letter, which she had first dismissed out of impatience—if she was going to contact her father, she wanted to do it as expeditiously as possible—was definitely the best way to go.

  Dear Papa

  Dear Dad

  Dear Patrick

  Dear Mr. Tanner

  Dear Male Parent I lived with for the first nine years of my life

  I wish I still knew what to call you. When I was little, I called you Papa, but then when I was five I started copying Ellie and calling you Daddy. But after nearly twenty years of not hearing from you, it feels strange, even in my head.

  She sat back, chewing her lip as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. What should she tell him? How was she supposed to sum up that last twenty years of her life?

  In case you’re interested, here’s a little about me. We never moved from Big Timber after we left, and I went to Montana State and now have a degree in finance and went on to get my CPA license. Mom says I got my numbers sense from you, or more specifically, your father. Which was news to me since I never met my grandfather on your side, so I guess I’ll have to take her word for it.

  After college I moved back to Big Timber. In addition to helping Mom run the restaurant, I work for several local businesses, helping them with their bookkeeping and accounting. Not the most exciting work in the world, but I find it interesting. Besides, I find life throws you enough excitement even if you don’t seek it out.

  Ellie is also doing well. I’m not going to share the particulars because I don’t feel that’s my place, but you should know she’s healthy and happy and living close to me here in Big Timber.

  Over the years, as I grew into adulthood, I wondered about you and thought about reaching out. But I always squashed the impulse, tel
ling myself that since you were the adult in the situation, it was your place to reach out, not mine.

  But now that I am no longer a child, I can look back and see that with the way you and Mom split up, and the way Ellie and I sometimes treated you—cutting off your phone calls, not responding to your letters when you were deployed—you might have gotten the idea that it was just better to let us go. And that's why you stopped writing and calling us back after we left with mom.

  In any case, lately certain events in my life have brought you into my thoughts more than ever before, to the point where I feel like I will never have peace unless I at least try reach out. I don’t know if it’s possible for us to have a relationship, or if that would even be the best thing for either of us, but I know I can’t rest without at least making this first gesture.

  I know this is sudden and likely intrusive, but I would really like to hear from you and learn what your life has been like since I saw you last. When you get this, please call me or email me when you feel the time is right.

  Your Daughter,

  Molly

  She added her contact information at the end and read the letter several times. She tweaked it here and there, trying to find the right balance in tone. She wanted to convey some idea of her personality, but didn’t want to come off as too familiar, or God forbid, too needy. At the same time, she didn’t want to sound too impersonal or businesslike.

  When she was satisfied, she printed it out and slid it into an envelope. She printed out his address in her small, neat handwriting with hands that weren’t entirely steady and walked it down to the post office before she could think better of it.

  Now, with the letter in the hands of the US Post Office, there was no going back, and nothing to do but wait.

  ###

  Later that day she went to help Brady prep their happy hour specials and narrow down the possibilities for the recipe they would showcase next week when the Simply Delicious crew visited their kitchen. As she walked through the front she waved a quick hello to Jordan, at his usual perch at the bar with his laptop in front of him.

  But this time he wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him was Cindy, Janelle’s younger sister, who babysat Anthony over the summer. Despite her stomach churning over the letter she’d sent the day before, she couldn’t help smiling a little at the way Cindy tossed her head and laughed, sending a curtain of straight blond hair spilling over her shoulder, clearly mesmerized by the new boy in town.

  And if Jordan’s grin was anything to go by, he was equally enthralled by Cindy’s natural beauty.

  “Looks like we’ve got a love connection,” she said as she walked into the kitchen and saw Brady, already busy breaking down the filet for this evening’s beef skewers.

  His knife froze, midair. “Oh do we?” he said, one dark eyebrow cocked.

  Oh God, did he think she meant them? She felt her cheeks heat to a shade just shy of tomato. “Jordan—he’s out there with Cindy and they’re all googly eyed.”

  “Oh,” he said. Was that disappointment? No, definitely not. It was just the stress over everything with her father making her hear things. “He could do a lot worse.”

  “So could she,” she said and went to wash her hands before tying a half apron around her waist.

  “Provided I can keep him in line.”

  “You seem to be doing well so far.”

  “It’s only been a week. He’s on his best behavior.”

  Hopefully it would last, Molly thought. Even with the limited information Brady had been willing to share about Jordan and his background, she knew how important it was to him that his nephew stayed on the right track.

  “Have you put any more thought into what you might want to make next week?” Molly asked. If anything could distract her from the stress of waiting to hear from her father, it was the stress of the upcoming shoot. And not having any clue what they would be preparing.

  “I know you want to do something seasonal, so based on what Joe says they’ll be harvesting in the next two weeks we could do something with Brussels sprouts or chard.”

  “I told you I’ll come up with something. You don’t need to worry about it.”

  Molly felt anxiety that had little to do with whatever recipe Brady came up with clamp down on her chest. “You may not need to worry about it, but if you’re serious about me being your sous chef, I do. You know I need to prep and practice so I don’t look like an idiot on camera,” she said, practically shouting by the end.

  He shot her wary look, his knife pausing in its slicing of tenderloin for the beef satay. “Chill out, OCD girl. I’ll get you the recipe.”

  “Wanting to be prepared doesn’t make me OCD,” she snapped. She grabbed a bamboo skewer from the pile next to Brady and started stabbing cubes of meat onto it.

  He set down his knife and wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his waistband. Molly pretended to ignore him until he gently removed the skewer from her hand. “What’s got you so pissy all of sudden?”

  The harsh question was buffered by his gentle tone and the genuine concern in his gray eyes.

  Molly’s shoulders slumped. “I sent a letter to my dad this morning,” she said.

  His dark eyebrows rose. “That’s a big step.”

  She nodded. “I know the soonest he could possibly get it is in a couple of days, but the idea that now it’s really out there, and I don’t know how he’s going to respond kinda has me freaked out.”

  This time only one eyebrow cocked. “Kinda?”

  She gave him a little smile. “Really freaked out.”

  He settled his hands on her shoulders, and she was surprised at how much calmer she felt with just that simple touch.

  “Whatever happens, we’ll be able to handle it,” he said and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead and went back to cutting the steak.

  Molly picked up another skewer. She knew his use of “we” was probably a slip of the tongue, but there was no doubt she felt better with Brady around and able to talk her down from the tree as she waited for her father’s reply.

  Over the next few days, Molly did her best to keep her mind off her father, or more to the point, his lack of response. But even her days at work and nights with Brady could only temporarily keep her mind from churning. He’s not going to respond. He doesn’t care.

  Maybe he never got the letter. Should have sent it certified mail, dummy.

  Maybe his wife intercepted it, tore it up so he would never see it.

  Maybe you should write another letter.

  Thank God she had Brady as a sounding board. Funny, if six months ago someone would have told her he would become her closest confidant regarding one of the most stressful times of her life, she would have called the men with the little white coats to come take that person away.

  But Brady seemed to have endless patience as he listened to her analyze everything to death, going over the possibilities as she agonized over what might or might not be happening, what she should or should not do.

  Ultimately his advice was always the same. Be patient. Assuming he had received the letter, and Brady was betting he had, having your daughter contact you after twenty years was not something to take lightly. He was probably still absorbing it, trying to figure out how to respond. If she didn’t hear in another week, another letter might be in order. But for now, sit tight, and try not to think about it.

  Like that was even possible, she groused mentally as she walked into the restaurant the following Monday afternoon. Though the restaurant was usually closed on Mondays, Brady had finally narrowed down the Simply Delicious recipes down to three choices and invited the restaurant staff, friends and family to help make the final choice.`

  Molly came early to help Brady cook, and was surprised to see that Damon, Ellie, and Anthony were already here. Based on the delicious aromas of grilled meat and onions cooking leaking from the kitchen, Anthony had no doubt convinced Brady to cook him up one of his signature burgers, which was not on today’s menu.


  After ditching her coat and purse in the office, she went into the kitchen and saw Brady, Damon, and Ellie gathered around a prep table with their heads bent while Anthony sat on a stool and stared yearningly at the thick patty sizzling on the flat top.

  “Hey sweets,” Molly said and bent to give Anthony a smacking kiss as she went over to join his parents and Brady.

  She thought the piece of paper they were poring over was a recipe until Damon said, “You could level out this section for a lawn and have stairs from the deck come down to meet it.”

  “And if you wanted to go really crazy,” Ellie piped in, “you could put a hot tub in.”

  “What are you looking at,” Molly asked as she stood up on tiptoe so she could see over her sister’s shoulder.

  “Oh, just some ideas for the house. I’m meeting with a builder tomorrow and I’m trying to get some ideas down so I don’t go in cold. Damon thinks the master suite should be on the first floor, but I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  “I guess it depends,” Molly said, a little taken aback. “If you have little kids, you’d want to be on the same floor—”

  “Not necessarily,” Damon said pointedly.

  “So you think the parents’ room should be on the same level as the kids,” Brady said, his gaze locking on her.

  “I imagine it makes sense, if you’re getting up a lot in the middle of the night.” She gave herself a mental shake, wondering why she was thinking about tending to non-existent children in Brady’s non-`existent house. “Wait, so you’re building a house now?”

  “Building can’t happen until spring, but if I want to start I have to get all the plans in place well ahead of time.”

  “I thought you were going back to Idaho—you said you didn’t know how long you’d be able to stay.” Use me while you have me, he’d said. And she’d done her best to do exactly that, hadn’t she?

  Brady gave her a quizzical look. “I meant I might be going back and forth for a while. I never meant I would leave here permanently. My plan was always to make this place my home. That hasn’t changed.” He was looking right at her when he said it, as though he wanted that to sink in.