Like Father Like Son

by Lennon, Leigh

  Before she has a rebuttal, the medic who delivered Scotland pops her head back in. “The second ambulance is here. They’ll take you and Miss Scotland to the hospital together. Grandpa, you can follow them if you would like.”

  Grandpa, I love the sound of this title. I lean down and give Scotland a peck on her tiny little cheek. “I’ll see you at the hospital, little darlin’.” Giving Holland the same kiss, but more intimately on the forehead, I simply state, “Yeah, let me grab my keys and I’ll be right behind you.” Like there’s any other place I’d be.

  Chapter 29

  Three things are weighing me down, standing in the door, watching Holland hold my granddaughter. First, I have to call Christine and I’d rather walk the desert without water than deal with her. Second, I promised Holland I’d get Scotland’s crib set up before they release her tomorrow. But to do number two, I have to leave them for a couple of hours, which leads me to number three. I can’t seem to pry myself away from these two.

  I’m still getting used to Scott not being here. And Scotland, what a perfect name for her. She’s everything I could ever want in a grandchild. But when her eyes open, I’m back to when I held my son for the first time. Her greenish hazel eyes, just like his—just like mine—are what causes the waterworks to fall freely. “Are you going to stand there, or are you going to hold your grandbaby?” Yes, this is much better than calling my ex-wife, who will be on the next flight here, probably on my fucking dime, too.

  “You’re ready to give her up, finally?” I tease, closing my distance between them quickly.

  Sticking her tongue out at me, she’s glowing brightly. “Now that we have been given the all clear and we know Scotland is safe, yes I am. But, only to you.”

  I’ve lived with Scotland as part of my world for five hours now. The pain, the loss of my son can never be genuinely erased, but this baby gives me hope Scott will live on in her.

  “So, what do you think, Gramps, is she a keeper?” Holland asks.

  My face is inches from this little babe in my arms. I can’t speak. The air leaves me when every fiber of my being sees the future. In her eyes, I imagine the hours we’ll play with Barbie Dolls or the snuggles on the couch as I teach her the ins and outs of college basketball. I may even follow the Tarheels now and give her a choice between UCLA or UNC. I can imagine the tea parties or the jewelry I’ll allow her to decorate me in. Tears fill my eyes. Tearing my gaze from her to Holland, I finally answer. “Yeah, she’s a keeper, that’s for sure.”

  Sitting next to Holland, without thinking, I reach over and grab her knee. “You did good.”

  “Yeah, do you think you’ll keep your phone fully charged from now on?” she sasses.

  This girl—regardless of any situation she finds herself in, her mouth still is primed and ready to back talk. “Glad to know that mouth is still as vicious as ever.”

  Squeezing my arm playfully, her reply is pure Holland. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

  True, so very true.

  The second Elise and Ned burst through the visitor doors with pink balloons and roses, I pull my hand away from her knee instantly. There’s a flash of fear in her eyes. As if Elise and Ned saw it, I stand quickly, giving my baby back to her mother.

  After half an hour with all of them, I snag my friend to help with the furniture, leaving Holland and Scotland in the capable hands of Elise.

  When we’re in the truck, I wait for Ned to address one of the two things I don’t want to talk about. “So, when are you going to call Christine?” he asks. I moan. It’s one of the things I don’t want to think about.

  “Yeah, probably after we assemble the crib,” I reply, quickly and abruptly.

  He’s nodding his head in the passenger seat. “So,” he begins again, and I know in his long pause, he’s about to bring up the number two thing I’d rather not discuss. “It looks like we interrupted a moment between you and Holland earlier.”

  I groan. “Just lending her some comfort. It was a tough day and scary—delivering in her house and all.”

  “Okay, you can pile that shit for someone else who may not know you as well as I do, but don’t insult me by acting like I’m not your closest friend. I see you two together.”

  I grip the steering wheel tight, gritting my teeth together. “Yeah, and your point?” I bite out.

  I watch him from my peripheral and he stays quiet for a while. Soon, he asks me the one question only he could ask. “You love her, don’t you?”

  Do I love her? Hell, I know the answer to his question. I knew it back in the truck on our cross-country trip. I knew it when we sat at the lake the first day here. It’s been reaffirmed a hundred times since then. Fuck, yeah, I love my Holland.

  “Shit, Ned. You know the answer as well as I do,” I admit and it’s the first time I’ve ever really even confessed it to myself. “I know it’s wrong. Hell, do you think I want to love her? If I could will myself to love anyone besides her, I would.”

  “And Kat?” Ned asks.

  “I’ve not been with anyone since Scott’s funeral. Shit, I’ve tried with Kat—the day after we got back. It wasn’t fair to her. I think she sees it and because Kat’s a good woman, she’s not fussed at me or even called me out on it.”

  “Well, my friend, as I told you a month ago, you’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess. And if I can see it and Kat has read it from you, hell, the second your ex-wife gets here, she’ll see it as plain as day. More so, it’s not hard to know Holland loves you, too.”

  I snap my head to the side. “What?” I ask dumbfounded.

  “Come on, M, you have to see it, too. She looks at you as if you hung the moon. She adores you. She has this radiant glow about her when you’re near her. I know the look of lust; I know the look of love. You can have lust without love, but when you love someone, you have both and as sure as the earth is round and the ocean is salty, that girl loves you, too.”

  “But we can’t be together. It’s wrong. You see it, right?” I ask, almost begging for his permission. With Holland, I see my whole self.

  “I know what I’ve told you in the past. But you can’t always choose love. But, yeah, I guess you’re right, I suppose not. I mean, I get your apprehension.” With his declaration, it’s more proof why we can’t be together.

  I’m in the back of my SUV Maguire insisted on buying for the baby and me several months ago. He’d been right, that gloating jackalope. I remember how he got his way that day when he tricked me with breakfast and a trip to the dealership. He knew he won. And now that I’m enjoying everything of this car he paid for; he sure as flapjacks won.

  “See, aren’t you glad you have room now with the baby?” I’m in the back seat, Maguire turning onto the road that leads to our houses. I watch the up and down movements of my little girl. I can only think of the one thing I dread more than my next period and it’s my mother-in-law.

  “Does she have to come in tomorrow? I mean, give me a couple days to acclimate to being a mom. I know Christine, she’s going to whip in, tell me everything I’m doing wrong, make me cry, leave me questioning myself, and threaten to come back a couple months later.”

  Maguire starts to choke on air. “Wow, darlin’, you know Christine well. Yep, that’s her MO. But the good thing, I bought her tickets for only three days. We just need to get through them.”

  I won’t let Christine rain on my parade. “It’s not like I have to see her day and night.” I think of the time she’ll be at her hotel and I’ll get a break, somehow, some way.

  “Well,” Maguire begins, stretching out the one syllable. This isn’t good. “She’s actually staying with me.”

  My mouth drops. “Why in the flip flop polly wop is she staying with you?” I say it so loud I startle my poor newborn.

  “Well, darlin’…”

  “Don’t freakin’ well, darlin’ me. What would provoke you to let her do this?” Tears free fall from my eyes. I’m n
ot expecting them. They come even though I’ve not asked. I can’t help the irrational anger overtaking me.

  “Holland, calm down for one second.”

  “Oh, don’t flipping tell me to calm down.” We stop in front of the garage and I’m out of the back seat so quick. Leaning over, I unclip the baby seat from the base. Maguire is behind me and I whip around gently, attempting to keep my baby asleep. “Oh, no, you don’t. You don’t get to invite the mother-in-law from hell to question everything I do, then tell me to freakin’ calm down.” Opening the door to the garage, I hurry upstairs—leaving Maguire in my wake.

  Placing the baby carrier on the floor, I slide down the back of the wall, allowing all the tears to flow after I tried to avoid letting Maguire see me cry. From my side view, I notice movement from Scotland. “Hey, little girl.” This is not the welcome she deserves. I stand, taking the carrier and placing it on the table Scott made for me. Unbuckling her, I cuddle her close, walking down to the back of the apartment. Passing my room, I peek in. The blood on my sheets and the dirty towels on the floor are clean and gone.

  The door at the end of the hall to Scotland’s nursery is open. When I walk in, the pictures are hung. The crib and the rocking chair are assembled. The dresser Maguire made to match the crib has all the knick-knacks of Scott’s set on the shelves above.

  Opening the drawers, I’d expected them to be empty. I’ve not had my baby shower yet. In them are a dozen pink sleepers, several onesies, and a large bag of diapers. The red, white, and navy-blue stars are decorated around the room along with all the old Americana décor.

  It’s fitting for our baby to sleep under the same stars and stripes Scott died protecting. Scotland is starting to wiggle in my arms. Her little nose scrunches up and I smile at her. “Okay, little lady, you hungry? Let’s get you fed.”

  I find nursing Scotland to be difficult, but when she latches on, I pick up my phone.

  Me: Hey, could you come over here? I’m sorry. I think I’ve found my sanity.

  Within a second, he returns my text.

  Maguire: Sure, darlin’, no need to apologize.

  His ability to take my crap causes me to giggle. Scott would have lost his ever-loving mind with me. Although Scott learned early on in our marriage that telling me to calm down elicited more anger from me than if he were to tell me I looked fat—he certainly would have lost his patience with me by now.

  I’m in my own little world, watching Scotland nurse when I see something white from the corner of my eye. “I wave the white flag, I surrender!” he hollers from the other side of the wall. I grab a blanket near me, covering up.

  “Hey, I’m decent, come in.” He walks in looking for his baby. It’s what he keeps on calling her. And honestly, I love it.

  “Where’s my little darlin’?” he asks. I lift up the blanket, showing her little foot when he nods, a blush covering his face.

  “I’m only feeding her, it’s as natural as taking a shit.” Me swearing will clear the air because I will be chastised, and I’ll act aloof.

  Sure enough, when the condescending, “Holland,” escapes his mouth, I counter with, “Maguire,” and we fall into our usual banter.

  He sits on the floor and I watch him as he watches me. It should be weird, but it never is, not with him. A thought occurs to me, “How late were you up last night making sure the nursery was put together?” I ask.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “Ah, this was nothing.” Maguire draws his knees up to the core of his body. He’s so humble. I love humility on Maguire. Hell, I love anything on Maguire, or off of him. Ah, fiddlesticks, what’s wrong with me?

  “And all the pink outfits?” I question.

  He winks at me. “Who knew I’m so good at picking out baby girl clothes? I stuck with pink for now, but I’ll get her an assortment. I even washed them for her in the baby detergent you have up here.”

  Be still my heart. Maguire did all this for me? “About Christine, I’m sorry. It’s your house, of course, you should have her there.”

  He verbally groans. “It was what we did when Scott was young. She’d fly him out here and stay a day or two at my house because I always footed the bill. It was just easier in a way. But I should have been more considerate of you. After all, you’re right, she’ll be invasive and opinionated and overbearing and a lot of things that make Christine, Christine.” He scrubs his chin and it’s then I realize how tired this man is. He yawns when he continues, “So, I’m going to pay for a hotel in town.” I try to stop him, but he puts up his hand. “No, it’s already settled.” He continues to yawn, and his eyes look heavy.

  “Hey, go take a nap. I may need you later and if you’re exhausted, that won’t help me.” Of course, I have no intention of asking for help, but it’s one way to get him to sleep, which he needs.

  “Let me get some shut-eye.” He stands, walking to the two of us. He leans down, giving me a kiss on the forehead and he touches Scotland’s foot affectionately. “Come get me if you need me and I mean it, Holland.”

  I wait to hear the front door open. It typically has this creak, but I figure he must have fixed it last night when I don’t hear it. As Scotland unlatches herself from me and falls into a deep slumber, we meander our way into our living room to watch something, anything from my DVR. Rounding the small kitchen to the living room, Maguire is sprawled out on my couch, gently snoring. The gigantic man doesn’t fit, but he’s so freaking handsome lying there, snoozing away. I take one more glance at him before moving to my bedroom.

  Chapter 30

  The second she’s in my truck, Christine doesn’t stop with the complaints. “Why can’t I stay at the house? How am I going to get out to your place from town? I don’t have a car. Great, I’m here and I can’t see our granddaughter.”

  It’s non-stop and my hand reaches for my shoulder, trying to work out the knots appearing with each new grievance. I let her go on for five minutes because history has proven I should never interrupt Christine.

  “Shit, M, are you going to say anything?” Her tone is the same embedded in my head from seventeen years ago.

  “Just waiting for you to finish, Chris.”

  Her hands rake through her deep brown hair, her eyes narrowing in on my own. “I’ve not even started yet.”

  Oh, and to think I’d been looking forward to seeing her again. “First, Chris, I’m going to let you borrow my truck. I’ll drive Scott’s truck while you’re here.”

  “But, what’s up with me not being able to stay with you? I mean, I always have.” She’s pleading with me. She wants as much time with our baby girl as she can get. I don’t speak and she doesn’t wait when she jumps to conclusions. “Holland doesn’t want me there. She hates me. Oh, I see what it’s like. I was willing to give her a home and she rats me out—making you excommunicate me.”

  A loud laugh emits from my mouth as sarcasm accompanies what I have to say next. “Always a drama queen, Chris.” Her deadly looks, too, have not changed through the years. “Listen, I just need my space. I booked you a great room, my treat. You can come and go as you please.”

  She has nothing more to say but sits with her hands crossed in the passenger seat pouting. The thirty-minute ride is horrendous when we approach the town. Turning one direction takes us to the tiny town of Coral Creek, but the other way takes me home. “You want to run by the hotel or go straight to the house to see Scotland?”

  “I guess we should go straight to your house since time with my grandbaby is limited.” Oh, there’s so much on the tip of my tongue. “By the way, what’s up with the name she picked— Scotland May? What’s with that girl and countries?”

  Why am I up in arms over Christine trash talking Holland? It’s obvious, the protective nature I have when it comes to her. After all, Christine is so much bark and a lot of bite.

  My reply is quick and blunt. “Really, Christine? Scotland is in honor of Scott, our son. It was the one name they picked out early on.
And May, do you even have to ask? It’s our son’s birth month.”

  I watch her head twist around so fast out of my side view. “Shit, M, you don’t have to be such an ass about the whole thing.”

  “And I’m not going to watch you treat Holland like some second-rate citizen while you’re here.”

  She slams her hand against the glass of the passenger door. “I fucking knew it. You didn’t want me at your place. You think I’ll pick on Holland.”

  “You do pick on Holland, Chris. You did it after she lost her husband, but you won’t do it after she’s given birth to our granddaughter, I won’t allow it.” My warning is clear. Though I’ll limit my time with Holland, so Christine doesn’t see what the two of us have together.

  “And I lost my son, she wasn’t letting me have a say in anything. Not where he was buried, not the songs for the funeral. I was left out of the loop of every decision.”

  I take in a deep breath before I go ape-shit crazy on her. “Listen, Chris, you can make this trip good or you can make it bad. Do you want to be a grade A bitch and push the mother of your granddaughter farther away from you than you two already are?”

  Turning toward the road that leads up to my estate, the cab is so quiet I can hear her breathe. The second I stop, she’s out of the door. “Go fuck yourself, Maguire.” I chuckle. Glad to know some things never change. Christine is proof of it.

  She makes herself at home, opening my door, peeking in before I can get out of the truck. “They’re not here. Can you take me to her apartment?” She asks like she’s not familiar with my home. She’s made it her mission every time she visited.

  “Follow me.” When we’re in the garage, she rushes up to the stairs, knocking on the door demanding access right away. If Holland’s gotten the baby down for a nap, she’s going to lose her ever-loving mind.

  “Come in.” Holland’s voice carries. Of course, it does.

  Chris opens the door, turning toward her voice. We enter the living room space; Holland is in the second rocking chair I made. I follow Chris, her steps are hurried until she stops, turning around, pushing me back.