by R. R. Banks
“Anarchy,” he whispered.
We nodded in silent solidarity for a few seconds until I felt like an appropriate amount of time had passed, then I leaned onto the counter casually.
“So…did anyone respond to the stories?” I asked.
Coy’s attention seemed to snap back to me from those distant memories.
“Respond?” he asked. “Oh. Respond. To the stories.”
“Yes.”
He looked around on his counter for a few seconds.
“As a matter of fact, yes. You did get a few responses.”
My heart sank.
“Just a few?”
I had actually been right. Nobody was going to give two flipping-fucking shits about a new haunt in an old tired pumpkin patch and cornfield-gone-hit-and-run-victim.
“I think that your stories were a little bit shocking to some of our more conservative neighbors, and I heard rumblings that some people were upset that you asked that they not put their name on their responses. It made them feel like there was something to be ashamed of. Of course, there were also some of them that I dare say preferred to not have to put their name on their answer because that way no one could judge them for what they were thinking.”
“I guess I can understand that.”
“Give me just a minute.”
Coy walked through the door that led to the small back room of the post office portion of the building and came back with a box. He handed it to me and I peeked inside at the assortment of letters and postcards piled inside. I noticed that a few of the postcards were drawn onto index cards and most of the envelopes didn’t have any postage on them, telling me that the majority of people who decided to respond didn’t actually mail in their responses but just walked them into the office.
So much for anonymity.
I picked up one of the postcards and noticed a large black bar across the front in what appeared to be marker. I held it up to show Coy.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Oh. Like I said, a couple people had strong opinions about not putting their name on their response, and a few others just had strong opinions all together. I didn’t open any of the envelopes or anything, but I tried to sift through some of the responses and do a little bit of editing for you. I might not have caught everything, but you won’t be seeing any names.”
He smiled at me proudly and I managed a smile back.
“Did you respond?” I asked.
“I did,” he said. “But you’ll never know which one of them is mine.”
“Rules,” I said.
He gave me a single nod of acknowledgement and agreement.
“Rules.”
Tucking the box on my hip, I headed out of the building and started back toward my car. I tossed the box into the backseat and rushed back into the post office where I grabbed hold of what very well might be the last pay phone still living in the wild. Dialing Roman, I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I filled out one of the feedback cards that Coy kept on the counter. It was something I did fairly regularly. I might have been the only one who actually filled them in, but at least there was something there when he opened the box at the end of the day.
I seriously need a new phone.
“I have the responses,” I told him when he answered, still sounding groggy. I was never going to get used to his late sleeping, and it aggravated me even more after the debacle with the stories. “I’ll be back at the house in a few minutes.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” he said.
I didn’t mention that I had already had three cups that morning, not to mention the chores I’d finished, the shower I’d taken, and the errands I’d run. There wasn’t any real point in it. It wasn’t going to get through his mind that his lifestyle wasn’t fitting in here and it was really starting to irk everyone. When I ended the call with Roman, I immediately called Granddaddy. He answered sounding about three hours more awake than Roman, but there was still that hint of tiredness in his voice that had been bothering me since I first got back home. It had lessened somewhat as Lorelei brightened his days and seemed to give him energy, but there was still a faint sadness about him, like he felt like he was fading. I could only hope that I was wrong about this haunt idea and that soon business would be booming again and Granddaddy would wake back up.
“Is the baby still sleeping?” I asked.
“No. She woke up a little bit ago so I fed her some breakfast and now she’s in her office putting in a hard morning of work.”
I smiled, knowing that meant that my daughter was in her playpen, probably grasping onto the side with her chubby little hands, making her way around the perimeter over and over again. Those first steps that she had taken seemed to have sparked her interest in the whole walking thing and now she was fully invested in getting her legs and the rest of her body to cooperate with each other so that she could make it a regular thing.
“Good. Thanks for watching her this morning.”
“No problem, Ladybug. Did you get the mail you were going after?”
“I did,” I told him, still feeling that hint of guilt that I was hiding the plan from him. “I’ll be home in just a minute and Roman should be getting there soon to go over it with me.”
“So, he’s actually awake during the morning hours?”
“Yes, he is,” I said, a bit more indignantly than might have been necessary. “As a matter of fact, he’s going to make us coffee when he gets there.”
Because I woke his sorry ass up and he won’t be functional for another three hours if he doesn’t get an IV drip of caffeine going within the first 20 minutes of having his eyes open.
Why am I defending this man?
We hadn’t spoken except briefly over the phone since our argument in my mother’s house and I was feeling awkward about seeing him. I at once felt guilty for screaming at him the way I did and making those horrible accusations, and still infuriated over him going behind my back to do these things and the stories that he had chosen. It was a tense, uncomfortable position to be in, but there was little I could do about it. At this point I was already fully invested in the idea of the haunt and its potential for saving the farm, which meant that I was going to need to accept Roman’s help. He needed to be there to read through the responses with me, and that was just going to have to mean that I swallow my anger and put myself on my best behavior.
When I got home, I hauled the box of responses inside. As soon as I opened the door I could hear Lorelei’s happy little gurgles coming from the living room and I went in to give her a kiss. She looked up at me with her round, bright eyes and I felt the same tightness of emotion in my throat that I always did when I looked at her. She was truly amazing. I never could have imagined loving something as much as I loved her, especially something that had come to me completely unexpectedly and in circumstances that I never would have planned. One little hand reached up to me, the other clinging to the side of the playpen with all its strength, and I swept her up into my arms. Both little palms flattened on my cheeks so she could hold my face as she gave me a big wet baby kiss.
“I love you,” I murmured to her.
“Love Mama.”
My heart melted a little and I cuddled her close to my chest. I wanted so much for her. I wished so hard for her. The life that she deserved seemed so outside of the realm of my potential right then, but I knew that there was absolutely nothing that could keep me from giving her anything and everything that I could. Right now, she was too little to have any awareness of our situation or to want for anything but me, and by the time that she was old enough to really understand what was going on, I was going to make sure that she had no struggles, no difficulties to worry about.
I had to make this work.
I heard a knock on the front door and I lowered Lorelei back into her playpen. She slipped down to her little diapered bottom and blinked, seemingly surprised by the sudden development. I expected her to whine, but she didn’t. Instead, she press
ed against the mesh side of the playpen, tucked her little legs under her, and clawed her way up until she was standing again, promptly starting her scooting process around the edge.
Exactly, baby. Exactly.
I patted Granddaddy on the shoulder as I walked past him in his recliner, realizing that I hadn’t even acknowledged him when I got home in my haste to get my first morning cuddles with the baby. He rested his hand on mine and gave it a tight squeeze. Filled with a renewed dedication to the haunt concept, I opened the front door and gave Roman a smile that I hoped would come across as optimistically as I wanted it to, though I knew he could probably still see my uncertainty. That didn’t matter. No matter what I thought about this plan, it was really all we had right then, so I had to go for it with everything in me.
“Good morning,” I said.
Roman grunted at me. There could have been words in there, but I couldn’t really decipher any of them. I stepped back and gestured for him to come inside. He stepped past me and I got a strong whiff of his expensive cologne. I had to give it to the man for his meticulous self-grooming habits. He was barely conscious, but his hair was perfect and he smelled like the inside of Scrooge McDuck’s jacket pocket. I closed the door and turned around, finding him standing only a few feet from me. When I looked into his face, my breath caught slightly in my throat. For the first time I realized just how much Lorelei looked like him, her huge, beautiful eyes sweet feminine reflections of his own.
“I’m sorry,” I suddenly said, surprising myself with the words. As I got over the shock, though, I realized that they were exactly what I needed to say. “I’m sorry for everything that went on the other day and all those things I said.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Roman said, seemingly finding his ability to use decipherable communication.
I stared into his eyes again, remembering how they looked through my mask, and felt my stomach clench slightly.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
I nodded, snapping out of my thoughts and putting the smile back on my lips.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m fine. Um. Let’s go make that coffee and get started. I have a lot that I need to get done today.”
That was a big fucking lie. I had literally nothing to do that day other than go through the responses. But I couldn’t keep looking at him. I couldn’t let the flicker of emotion that I had felt starting in my chest become anything more. I just couldn’t.
Roman followed me into the kitchen and opened the cabinet, taking down the container of coffee. He stared at the coffee maker like they were facing off across a battlefield. Finally, it seemed that they had come to an understanding and he approached it, going through the process of making a pot of midnight-colored coffee like I had taught him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roman
I don’t care what Bitsy says, I’m upgrading this fucking coffee machine.
I pressed the brew button and took a step back as the ancient machine sputtered to life, coughing and chugging until it finally started hissing as the water from the reservoir processed through the coffee grounds. I stared at the pot, waiting for the first bubbles to appear that indicated that it would, eventually, start filling with coffee. If I was at home, I would be on my third cup by now.
“Would you like a muffin?”
I looked over my shoulder at Bitsy.
Bitsy. Bitsy. Bitsy. Nope. It still didn’t feel right. I had really known this woman for a few weeks now and I still couldn’t get used to her being called Bitsy. But she didn’t really feel like a Beatrice, either. Maybe I could find out her middle name and gradually transition to calling her that.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“A muffin,” she said, holding up a large muffin that appeared to be dotted with blueberries. “I baked some this morning. Would you like one to go with your coffee?”
She baked muffins? She was way too fucking productive for this early in the morning.
Of course, that wasn’t a new revelation. It just stood out to me more and more each morning that I spent with her.
But it was a muffin. I couldn’t say no to a muffin. I nodded.
“Sure. That sounds delicious.”
That could have come out more smoothly.
She offered the muffin to me and I looked down at it.
Not blueberries. Chocolate chips. Even better.
When the coffee pot had finally decided to give up its caffeine goodness I poured us each a mug and gave one to her.
“The box of responses is in the living room next to the playpen. Can you grab them and I’ll meet you in the office?”
I held the other mug of coffee out to her and she carried it with her out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward the office. When she was gone I took a bite of the muffin and gave a little groan. It was absurdly delicious. Far better than it should have been allowed to be. It was just a chocolate chip muffin. How could it be this good?
Because Bitsy made it.
I went into the living room and saw the box sitting on the floor just as she said it would be.
“Good morning, Benson,” I said as I started through the room toward it.
The old man gave a gruff reply that I couldn’t understand and I kept moving, not making eye contact. It felt like I was going through a minefield, a feeling that I wasn’t accustomed to, but was already fully sure that I didn’t like. I was going to figure out that man. I was going to make him like me. I had to. If I was going to convince Bitsy that she needed to give me a chance to be something more than just the unintended father of her child, I was going to have to show her that I could get along with her family, too. That wasn’t going to be easy. I was used to being able to charm people, but Benson was not to be charmed. He was like tobacco --- all dried up and dusty yet appreciated by people for some sort of hidden sweetness that I just couldn’t figure out.
As I approached the playpen I thought that it was empty. When I got close to it, though, I realized that Lorelei was inside, lying on her back, sleeping peacefully. Coming to the side carefully so that I didn’t make too much noise and disturb her, I stared down at the little baby, suddenly overwhelmed. She was wearing one of the outfits that I had given her for her birthday and propped in the corner I saw the little pink teddy bear that I had chosen. The gifts had seemed almost abstract when I had picked them out for her. Even though I had spent some time with her and even held her for a short time, when it came time to celebrate her birthday I was still trying to process that she was real. I didn’t know what to do to acknowledge her, especially on such an important milestone when I had only just discovered that she existed. Now that I saw her wearing the little outfit that had seemed impossibly small and could tell that the bear had been cuddled and possibly chewed on by her two teeth, they become suddenly clear and important. They weren’t just items that I had purchased for a baby. They were gifts for my daughter.
My daughter.
The words still sent a chill through me, but they were less foreign now. I could feel myself connecting, drawing closer to this baby even as I felt myself falling harder for Bitsy. The emotions were new and raw, and seemed to be getting stronger and clearer every time that I saw them. Chasing her here had been about finding the girl that I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind for a year and a half. But finding her here with Lorelei had changed everything. She kept saying that she didn’t want me to have anything to do with the baby, that she didn’t need me, but I refused to let her go that easy. I wasn’t going to let my chances of a family slip between my fingers.
“Are you coming?” Bitsy shouted from upstairs.
Even if she was making it real fucking hard to get close to her.
The baby shifted around a little, her face scrunching up so I thought that she might wake up and start crying, but she soon relaxed again and I let out a breath of relief.
“You best keep quiet,” Benson snapped. “That baby needs her morning nap or she’ll be fussy clear through ‘til supper.”
I didn’t even make any noise.
I decided it would be best not to argue with him and reached down to pick up the box with my non-muffin occupied hand. Giving him what I hoped was an apologetic look, I crept out of the room and up the stairs. Bitsy was sitting in the middle of the floor sipping her cup of coffee. Mine was across from her, indicating that she wanted me to sit on the floor with her.
Rather than in the perfectly good chairs that she had pushed out of the way to make room on the floor.
“Did anyone ever tell you that your grandfather is like one of those scary old men in urban legends about teenagers disappearing when they went to carve their initials in a tree?”
She looked up at me without her expression changing.
“Yes,” she said.
I nodded.
“Fantastic. Maybe that’s what this haunt should be about.”
“What happened?”
“The baby almost woke up and he got pissy with me.”
“She woke up? What did you do?”
She shifted like she was getting up.
I glared at her.
“I didn’t do anything. You shouted at me from up here. But, no, she didn’t wake up. Just wiggled around a little.”
“Oh, good.”
She settled back onto the rug and I walked further into the room, setting the box down on the worn rug.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked around the room like she wasn’t sure what I was asking.
“Waiting for you in the office like I said I was going to.”
“I meant sitting on the floor.”
“I thought that we could spread the responses out on the floor in different piles based on what they say so it’s easier to stay organized. Besides, it’s cooler down here.”
Says the woman swallowing down coffee like it’s her job.
“You really should look into getting a better air conditioner,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed.
