by Emilia Finn
But I can provide for my baby. The hopeless love, the adventure, the lifetime kind of stuff that she’ll compare every man in her future to. He must meet the benchmark I set, and he must exceed it, otherwise he’ll have me to answer to, and she’ll walk, because she’ll know she deserves better.
“They’ll have the toys right, Daddy?”
“Yes, baby. They’ll have the toys.”
I stop at my car and set her on her feet. I drop the bag of stuff, unlock the car, and, holding the door open, watch her scramble into the back, into the seat with the five-point harness that she still has to use. I wait while she gets herself in, rearranges her butt until she’s comfortable, and then rearranges her doll until they’re both comfortable.
Leaning in, I start buckling her in and making sure the straps are straight. “We’ll stop in a couple hours and get lunch and a toy. I wonder what kind they’ll have?”
She vibrates with excitement, because she’s lucky to get drive-thru only once a year. The last time was when we made the drive to the Stacked Deck tournament last December. And the time before that, the Stacked Deck tournament the year before. A Happy Meal from McDonald’s is just as exciting to her as Santa and his elves are. So rare, so thrilling as she makes her way through her apple slices and juice, then through whatever main meal I can find that doesn’t fuck with her allergies.
Apart from me being broke ninety-nine percent of the time and not able to afford takeout, Lyss’ allergies make it almost impossible to eat anywhere but at home. No milk, wheat, nuts, eggs.
“Maybe they’ll still have the books,” she whispers with what sounds like awe. “Do you think they’ll have the books, Daddy?”
“I don’t know.” I clip her in and lean back with a wide grin. “But we’ll ask them. Are you ready?”
Wide eyes, plump lips that come from my side of the family, she grins and nods, then grabs her doll and squeezes. “I’m ready.”
“Alright. If you start to feel sick, tell me, okay? Give me time to pull over.”
“Promise! Can I read?” She tries to lean forward to study my packed-to-the-brim car. “Daddy? Did you bring my books?”
“I packed them, but you can’t read in the car. It makes your tummy hurt, remember?”
“Daddy? Why is our last name Walker?”
Laughing, I slam the door and walk to my side. Sliding in and pressing the keys into the ignition, I peek at her in the mirror and pray she sleeps. “That’s the name I was born with, baby. When you’re born, you’re given a name. When we have kids, we give our name to them. Usually the kids take the daddy’s name, though not always.”
“Is Walker your mommy’s name or your daddy’s name?”
“My daddy’s, just like you.”
She nods, considering my words as though they’re cryptic, but oh so intriguing. “Daddy?”
I switch the engine on and pull away from the apartment I considered a prison cell for years. Away from the yard at the back, filled with my make-do workout gear. Away from the woman standing in the window, crying so loud that I can hear her on the wind.
“Yes, baby?”
“Why do we have two ears? We only need one, right?”
I laugh and settle in for the world’s longest trip. “I’m not sure, but that’s a good question. I suppose we do only need one.”
Miles
Home Sweet Home
Twelve hours on the road.
What is supposed to be a ten-hour drive turns out to be twelve and a half, because Lyss decided she’d like to read even though I said not to. Fruit chunks and the bitter scent of stomach acid and apple juice now soak into the floor of my car as we approach the small town we’ve visited twice before.
We stink, we’re miserable, and no one is laughing anymore. But my energy is renewed as we approach the town signs.
Welcome to town. Population, 10,142.
The sign is brown, a single bullet long ago passed through the “4,” and beside the hole it left is a bunch of graffiti that I vow to drive out and study one day. There’s no real reason why I should, it doesn’t pertain to me, but this is our new adventure, right? This is our new home, and eventually, I’ll find a little free time with my girl, we’ll drive around to discover our new space. So while we’re doing that, we’ll swing out this way and take a peek.
The sun is still up, since it’s summer, and the sun rarely lowers before nine at night. But it’s slowly, grudgingly heading toward the horizon, and letting the air cool. Lyss lounges in a kind of comatose state in the back. She’s awake, but in a trance that comes with supreme boredom and the fear that, if she moves, she’ll be sick again.
I don’t tell her this is our town yet. I don’t want to get her revving too soon, so I act like nothing is happening. I lower my music a little – Bruno Mars has been serenading us for the last three or four songs – and slow as we approach the train tracks on the edge of town. Large spruce trees line the road, so tall, so foreboding that they should be creepy. But in reality, they lend the town a kind of romance. It’s tucked away between mountains and trees, around winding roads that make my daughter green, but once we cross the tracks, the town spreads out ahead of us. The lights are coming on, since the sunlight will be gone in the next hour.
My poor car, a 1989 Toyota Corolla, has been my companion since the day we found out about Lyss. Muscle cars and sporty zip-abouts are fun and all, but they’re not reliable enough for a family, and not cheap enough for me to afford. When the Corolla needs repairs, I can do them myself, rather than it being the newer computerized types of today that make that kind of DIY maintenance impossible. When it needs new parts, those parts are available online, cheap, and in huge supply.
This car might not be what I dreamed of when I was young and thinking about that sporting greatness, but it’s safe, it’s reliable, and it’s the car I brought my baby home from the hospital in, so really, I love it.
We slowly putter along Main Street, and because my daughter is observant, she rouses from her glazed state. “We’re here, Daddy?”
She’s driven this street a few times over the last eighteen months. She made mention of the plastic statue outside the ice cream parlor the first time we passed, and when we went inside and asked about it, she got a close-up view of the polka-dot-bikini-clad llama.
Not the kind of statue I would typically expect of the plump woman that owned the shop, but hey, who am I to judge?
We pass that statue now, cementing Lyss’ suspicions, and bringing her to sit up with excitement. “We’re here, Daddy!”
“We sure are, baby. How are you feeling?”
“My stomach feels gross.” And yet, her smile remains. Her skin holds a sweaty sheen from a miserable day, and little bags have set up camp beneath her beautiful eyes, but her lips curve up until they part and reveal the two front teeth that are growing in. “It’s dinnertime, but I’m not hungry for dinner, Daddy.”
I scoff and slow at the town’s single set of traffic lights. There’s one car to our left, and when he gets the green, the driver chugs along while his girl in the passenger seat throws her head back with teasing laughter. She’s blonde, she’s slim, and when he reaches out with one hand while the other remains on the steering wheel, he does something – tickles her, I suppose – that sends her convulsing with laughter beside him.
“I wonder what’s so funny?” Lyss ponders. I peek over my shoulder and grin when I find her eyes following the truck’s movements. “She was laughing big.”
“She sure was. It’s fun to laugh like that, huh?”
She gives an eager nod that turns to her slumping back when our light turns green, and I amble across the intersection.
“What do you think she was laughing about?” I watch my girl in the mirror as we make our way along the street. “Tell me a story.”
Lyss flashes a wide grin, lifts her long legs to rest on the back of the chair in front of her. “I think maybe he told a joke.” She tilts her head to the left while she considers. “I think maybe they
went out for ice cream, and now they’re going home. But maybe first he told the joke about the dolphins at the bar.”
Frowning, I approach the next intersection, headed toward the estate we’ve been given instructions to. “What joke?”
“Ya know the one about the dolphins that swim into a bar?” She stretches her neck to catch my eyes in the mirror. “You know the one, Daddy?”
I shake my head and cross another set of train tracks – or, same set, I suppose, just on the opposite side of town. “I don’t know the joke. Tell me.”
“Okay.” With a wiggle of her butt, my girl clears her throat, and lifts her chin with the kind of confidence I hope she holds onto for the rest of the life. “What did the dolphins say when they swam into the bar?”
I think about it. I really, really do. But I come up with nothing.
“What, baby? What did the dolphins say when they swam into the bar?”
“Ouch.”
My eyes snap to the mirror. To her dancing eyes. To her quivering chin as she holds back her giggles and waits for mine. “Ouch?”
She bursts out laughing and slams her head against the back of her car seat. “You get it?” she cackles. “Do you get it, Daddy?”
“I… uh…” I clear my throat and finally let my laughter escape. “I get it. Well done, baby. That was a good one.”
“I bet the driver of that car told the lady the dolphin joke,” she giggles. “Her laugh looked like Grandma’s laugh when I told her the joke.”
“It was a good one.”
Shaking my head, I steer along a gently bending road and into the forested area just outside town. Finally, my GPS drones that our destination is five hundred feet on our right, but the directions are unnecessary. This place is the only break in the trees on the whole road, and the eight or so foot tall fence is foreboding, impossible to ignore.
As we come closer, we see the gate. Iron, heavy, and though it looks sort of compound-ish in its security, behind it, we get a peek into a home. Or, in this case, lots of homes. Seven, by my fast count as we pull off the road and stop in front of the gate.
A six-foot-tall concrete block stands sentry just outside my door. It could almost pass as the mailbox, but nestled beneath the ‘eaves’ of concrete is a screen. It’s the size and shape of an iPad, but at the same time, it’s nothing like one. It seems hardier than a smart screen, more durable.
Lyss sits taller in the back, silent as she studies it just like I do.
Seven homes line a narrow street, three on each side, and one at the top of the block overlooking their empire, in a way. Something makes me think Bobby Kincaid lives in that one – the Bobby Kincaid, former heavyweight world effing champion. He holds multiple titles, just as his brother and brother-in-law do.
I’m a fighter who used to have dirty dreams about the kind of fame I could achieve by going pro. But the people that live on the other side of this gate… Jesus, they’re living legends. The Kincaids to the fight world are like Michael Jackson is to pop, and the dolphins are to Lyss’ shitty joke. And here we are, with a real-life fucking invitation into their world.
“Are you scared, Daddy?”
I jump at Lyss’ words, swallow, and turn to her with an embarrassed grin. “Maybe. A little bit.”
“They’re nice.” She’s six, but she’s giving me a pep talk like our roles are reversed. “And they have the puppies.”
I snort and turn back to study the estate.
It could be described as militant, I suppose. But that seems too hard for what this is. The homes are not sprawling mansions, but regular homes. They’re nice homes, that’s for sure. Double story, regal in their simplicity, they each boast a front porch, four or five steps leading up to the timber flooring, and then an eight or so foot walk from the steps to the front door. Each home is fronted by cute, if not easy-to-maintain gardens that consist mostly of daisies and the odd shrub. Every house is identical: same size, same layout from the outside. Each has a front room that juts forward, with a massive window that takes up almost the whole wall, upstairs bedrooms with cute, lacy curtains, and shutters framing each window.
Most of the houses tend toward white and cream, though one has royal blue shutters that stand out compared to the rest. One has a red door, the others are white. Each home is the same, but they come with their individual flairs to prove that those who live behind the doors have their own personality, likes, and dislikes.
“I wonder who lives in each one, baby?”
It’s not a secret that the family, the Kincaids, live on this estate together. Bobby Kincaid, the oldest of three. His brothers Aiden and Jimmy. His best friend Jon Hart lives in another. And Jack Reilly, another champion, another legend, is brother to Bobby’s wife, and lives in one of these houses too.
Jack is the youngest of the lot, so when I spy a cute little trike in one of the front yards, I figure that one is probably his. And since Bobby is the master of his universe, I suspect he lives in the home that overlooks the estate. It seems in character for the commander of his ship. That’s two of the five families. And if there are seven homes on this estate, that means two homes are vacant.
My window is down to combat the heat, so when a voice comes from my left, I jump in my seat and press a hand to my heart.
“You’re freaking my family out, Iowa.” Female, sassy, and so fucking confident. “Did you forget how to use your hands?” she continues. “Press the buzzer, ask to be let in. Stop being a creep.”
“Uh…” I clear my throat and lean a little out of my window. “Sorry. I was having a moment.”
“Wanna have it in here in the air-conditioning? It’s hot as balls out there.”
I blow out a laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t press the buzzer, so how’d you know we were here?”
“Motion activation somethin’-somethin’ our friends in security hooked us up with. We knew you were on our road, we knew you were in our driveway. Now we know you’re having a moment.”
“Evelyn.” A man’s voice, deep and ominous, comes through the speaker. “Buzz it open and shush.”
“He’s having a moment, Biggie. Give him a sec.”
I bring my arm back inside the car, shake my head, and press my forehead to the steering wheel. “I just… shit. Can you open the gates?”
“Sure!”
Evelyn Kincaid is niece to Bobby, daughter to Aiden ‘Biggie’ Kincaid. She’s a fighting champion herself, and rides no one’s coattails. When she felt unfairly treated a couple years back – or more accurately, when she thought her friend was unfairly treated – she decided to snub the mainstream fighting circuit and instead created her own. Hence: Stacked Deck.
“Daddy?” Lyss’ voice turns a little quieter as the gates beep, and the electricity pulses through them, rolling them open. “You said ‘shit’.”
“I know baby. I’m sorry.”
“Are you…” Her voice tremors so much now that she draws my attention around. “Are you still scared?”
She can’t hold the fort. That’s what she’s telling me. She was brave, talking me up to go in, but now the gates are open, and she’s panicking.
“No, baby. I’m not scared.” I reach back and take her hand when she leans forward. “Daddy’s got it. I’ve always got it, huh?”
She nods and tries her damnedest to hide her quivering lip. My girl wants to be brave, but it takes a lot of work for her to do that. “Yes.”
“Stay with me, okay? You don’t have to get down, or talk to anyone until you’re ready.”
“What if they ask for a cuddle?” she whispers. “What if they say so?”
“You don’t ever have to cuddle anyone that you don’t wanna cuddle.”
“Grandma said…” She swallows when my eyes whip back around to hers. “Grandma said it’s impolite to say no.”
Grandma can suck my left nut. “Daddy is the boss, okay? Not Grandma. And not Miss Kincaid. If you don’t wanna hug anyone, you don’t have to. And if anyone tells you that you sh
ould, then you tell me, and I’ll take care of it. Okay?”
She nods and releases my hand when the gate stops wide open. I push the car into gear and slowly move forward.
The front door at the top of the estate – the house I’ve pegged as Bobby’s – swings open, and through the door comes the very Miss Kincaid that changed my life. Wild blonde curls, a large grin that forces a man to smile back. She wears denim cutoff shorts and a Rollin On Gym tank that molds to her body and shows off the shape she owns beneath it.
Unfortunately for the rest of mankind, she’s very much taken, as proven by her heavyweight fighter fiancé following her out and throwing a heavy arm over her shoulders as they come down the steps.
When she points, I pull into an empty driveway and cut the engine.
I draw in a long breath until my stomach and chest expand, then I let it out again and murmur, “Oh boy.”
“Don’t leave me, Daddy.” Lyss panics and claws at her seatbelt when I undo mine. “Don’t forget.”
“I won’t forget.”
I turn in my seat and unbuckle her belt, and the second the clips are released, she breaks free Hulk-style. She bounds over the middle console, despite the fact she knows she’s not allowed to, and throws herself against my side so my arm goes around her hips.
“You can relax, okay?” I tug the keys from the ignition, and when I remember, I reach back and grab Lyss’ favorite doll so she’ll have something to do with her hands when all of these new people come out to greet us. “You ready?”
She takes Trudy and cuddles her tight. My girl wears a cute little dress with capped sleeves. It goes to her knees, to show off legs bruised from the everyday experiences of a girl her age. Skinned knee, bruised shin, and the cutest little fuzz hair growing through to cover her creamy white skin.
“Baby, you ready?”
Evie and Ben come closer, though they move slowly. They know I’m having a moment, and they know Lyss is shy, so although I know Evie is the type that usually rushes a situation, she’s being considerate of her visitors right now.
