by Billie Dale
“Enough,” she answers.
“And?”
“I know more than she thinks, Mazric.” She explains how she knows all about everything Mazzy’s got her fingers in. The village of family surrounding them works behind the scenes to keep her grounded more than she realizes. She punches my chest, catching me off guard I fall back on my ass. “Did you think you’d sweep her away from me? Offer the glitz of the rich and famous?”
“For fuck’s sake, Sam. No. You made sure I never knew about her and three days isn’t enough time to figure it all out.” I rub the spot she hit, but it’s what’s inside that hurts. “Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do?”
Fifty-Four
SAMANTHA
“NO.” MY HAIR SMACKS my face with the force of my denial. “I can’t.”
“Why not? The great Samantha too proud to admit she doesn’t know?” he sneers.
A rolling tidal wave of anger sits on the tip of my tongue. I need to get away from him before the levee breaks and all hell flies out of my mouth. “Mazric, let’s table this for later. We will work out time for you to see Mazzy.”
“Damn it! This is impossible.” His hands fist his hair. “I didn’t come back to have all this bullshit dropped on me.”
“Nice to know you consider your daughter bullshit,” I chide. “Why did you come home?”
“Don’t twist my words,” his hard tone warns. “You, Sammy Lee, I’m here for you. I thought maybe—” He shakes his head, pressing his lips to a thin line he tosses up his hands. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
A small light of hope flamed up these last few days, but the anguished defeat of his words snuffs it out.
“Help me out here, Sammy. Tell me what you’d do if you were wearing my enormous size thirteen sneakers?” he pleads, but it still holds an angered edge.
“No. It doesn’t matter what I’d do. Mazzy is our concern. Let’s focus—”
“God, you’re still hiding. You made your world bigger but kept the walls up, and now you’re trapping our daughter inside too. The perfect Samantha Lee doesn’t have all the answers for once. I’m not your mother, Sam, and to do what’s best for Mazzy, I will get my lawyers involved,” he says and my rage fizzes over.
“Wow.” I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. “Go back to Arkansas, Mazric, and when you stop being a clueless bastard, call me.” My shoulders ache from the tension filling my body, and I need to step away. Saddened and furious I stomp toward the house.
“Go bury your head, Samantha,” he taunts.
And I’m done. My feet halt and I round on him. “I’m not the poor little girl next door anymore. Yes, I live in the sticks and enjoy the simplicity of life. Mazzy has a wonderful world here and when she’s ready, she’ll branch out. You want to drag attorneys in, go ahead. I’ve got a team on speed dial who’d love to eat yours for lunch.” I push closer, enjoying his widening eyes. “What would I do in your position? I would never be where you are.”
“Right, ‘cause you’re too smart,” he snarks.
“No, Mazric. Almost nine years ago, when the person I loved spewed a ton of lies and fed me a huge helping of bullshit, I would’ve known better. My trust, faith, and knowing her would’ve prevailed. You say I hide and bury my head, but damn it, you are the one who took off and yes it’s what I thought was best then, but I was a pregnant, terrified sixteen-year-old. If I stood there looking at you with fear of the unknown trailing in tears down your cheeks yeah, I might’ve ran for a bit, but I would’ve come back, persisted, known. Even if I thought that baby wasn’t mine, my best friend needed me, and we’d have found a way through, together.”
“I was hurt and afraid—”
“Don’t give me excuses. You admitted you knew all along, suppressed or not doesn’t matter. We both did what we wanted, but I’ll be damned if I let you steamroll over me now. So, do what you do best. Leave. You want to drag this through the dirt and chickenshit out again when the going gets tough; bring it on.”
Head held high and heart in my throat, I seal up those open spaces burgeoning with optimism and this time I walk away from him.
CURRY STANDS NEAR THE back door, raising his hands in surrender when I charge in. The roar of the quad signals Mazric’s departure, followed by the chiming of Curry’s phone.
“He wants you to grab his stuff, right?” I ask, reading the furrow of his brow. His lips part to answer but I finish for him, “And to bring Mazzy Jae so he can say goodbye.”
“You know him pretty well, even after all these years.” He scratches his chin with his hand.
“Zebra stripes and changes. The ole cliché works,” I answer, spitting the words trying to calm the furious energy speeding my pulse.
“Thank you for the hospitality. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see more of the farm. Maybe next time you can introduce me to one of those big John Deeres?”
He’s avoiding the elephant in the room and I let him. “Curry James, are you a wannabe farm boy? Do you think my tractor’s sexy?” I laugh. His deep chocolate eyes crinkle at the edges with his bright white toothy smile, as he head bobs like an excited toddler. “Tell ya what, next time you get a break from being a basketball superstar, hop on a plane, and I’ll take you out to Home Vittles and let you harvest until your heart’s content. You’re welcome in my guest room anytime.”
“I will take you up on that offer.” His grin turns serious. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Curry...” My shoulders tense.
“I got wisdom to share, so gimme a minute,” he interrupts, lowering his head so we’re eye to eye. I button my lips, allowing my posture to loosen. “Mazric got spooked a few years ago. He thought he saw you in the stands, freaked out and ended up hurt. You’re the ghost he’s chasing, and it’s not ankle issues keeping him from performing. It’s his eye in the stands distracting his focus. The engagement to Meloni was a huge mistake, but he thought it’d stop the haunting. I came here to watch him fall on his face when you kicked him to the curb.”
He waggles his brows, pulling a chuckle from my lips. How this man, who could palm my head with his ginormous fingers, can look so much like a child is hilarious. “MJ is a wonderful kid. I’m no kind of shrink, but if Mazric knew about that girl, he buried it deep enough even he couldn’t find it. Now it might take a proctologist to remove his head from his ass, and you know him pretty damn well, but he’s not the boy who ran from you. Give him time to prove he can be the man you both need.”
He winks, calls out for Mazzy, shoulders his and Mazric’s bags, and with a sad smile pulling down his lips he nods before ducking out the door.
Fifty-Five
Six Months Later
MAZRIC
“VORTEX! MY OFFICE NOW!” Coach’s boisterous baritone echoes off walls.
“You’re in trouble,” Curry razzes. I flip him off, run the towel over my wet hair one last time, and walk the path I’ve traveled too many times in the last months. Coach has been all over my distracted backside since I returned from Kentucky. Three days spent in the heartland and my house became a tomb of cold colors and lifeless steel.
I miss my daughter. She emails, texts, and FaceTimes. After she fills me in on her life, I spend the rest of the conversation hoping for a glimpse of her mother in the background. Mazzy Jae throws tips at me left and right, trying to fix my game but my head is not in it anymore. Gleaning information from your child about the dating status of her mom is wrong, but fuck me, I can’t help it.
Might as well stick my name placard on the chair in front of Coach’s desk for all the time I spend sitting listening to him bitch about my potential going down the shitter. He places his phone in the cradle when I step through the door. His usual angry face holds a grim edge. I open my mouth to once again make excuses about why I suck when my phone chimes from my hoodie pocket. I apologize, reaching in to silence it.
“Get that,” Coach advises, unable to look me in the eye.
THE AIRPORT, THE PLANE, the car to th
e hospital; nothing moves fast enough. I almost grind my teeth to nubs waiting for the private chartered jet to plan, clear, and takeoff. At least I landed in Lexington so the trip is shorter from touchdown to the automatic door. In the cardiac wing waiting room Mom, Johnny, Hendrix, and Vivianne sit staring at a muted television, holding Styrofoam cups of coffee.
“Daddy,” Mazzy calls, moving from the hold of Sammy’s arms.
She started calling me Dad and I couldn’t wait to hear it in person, but not like this. Her body collides with mine and I scoop her off the floor. She clings like a spider monkey as I close the distance to the rest of my family. Mom rises, hugging me around the little girl glued to my chest and everyone else offers a weak wave.
Hendrix bribes a reluctant Mazzy out of my hold with ice cream from the cafeteria, but she won’t go until I promise I’m not going anywhere and will be right here when she gets back. When she’s out of sight, I drop into the chair next to Sammy and ask what the hell happened.
“I don’t know.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “His horse was at the edge of the road and he was face down in the ditch. I couldn’t find his pulse and I panicked. Forgot everything I knew to do except call for help.”
I open my arms and she falls into my chest, chastising herself between sobs. Pappy Joe had a heart attack. An eighty percent blockage of his arteries dropped him like a stone while he was fixing a fence. Sammy did more than she remembers, according to the EMTs, and thanks to her CPR he made it to the hospital and is in surgery to remove the clogs.
Now we wait, drink crappy coffee, and wait some more. Mazzy’s head rests on my thighs with her feet on Sam’s. Mom’s sleeping on Johnny’s shoulder, which I checkmark to interrogate about later. With insistence and prodding Viv and Hendrix went home, promising to return later with better food. We’re edging closer to panic with each hour ticking by.
We tried to talk MJ into leaving with Hendrix but she’s as stubborn as her mother, and when she kicks in her big brain, her logic is infallible. Unable to sit still any longer, I slip out—careful not to wake her—and move to pester the nurses again for information. A youngish man in blue scrubs, with a surgical mask around his neck, pushes through the double doors. His eyes train on Sam as he asks for the family of Joe Vortex.
“STOP POKING AT ME AND take this crap you call food away,” I hear Joe’s scratchy growl the second I step off the elevator. At the door the nurse stomps out, throwing up her hands mumbling about how impossible he is. “Boy, tell me you brought me something edible.” He’s tugging and pulling on his IV and heart monitor, scratching at the gown covering his chest. Alarm sirens fill the room and the nurse returns.
“Mr. Vortex, stop trying to remove the leads. Let us get the readings we need and I promise we’ll unhook them.” Her hands work to silence the machines. “Can you make him stop?” She checks the wires pushing off his fighting fingers.
“Paps, come on. Let the lady do her job. The sooner you stop fighting, the quicker you go home.” He throws his head back against the pillow, huffing a breath he stops resisting.
The nurse finishes moving to leave. “You’re Mazric Vortex, right? You play for the Prospectors?”
“Uh, yeah but I’m wanting to keep this on the QT, the last thing Gramps needs is a camp of photographers outside, so if you don’t mind?” I crank up the charm, hoping a little flirting will keep her lips closed.
“I could be persuaded. Grab a coffee later? My shift ends in an hour.” She bats her long lashes and sticks out her ample chest, tempting with the curves of her body, which even hidden under the shapeless fit of pink scrubs still rocks.
Tons of naughty nurse fantasies filled my teenage years and she’s gorgeous. A woman I’d pounce on seven months ago, turning coffee into a romp in an empty room now does nothing for me, but I need her to keep those plush lips closed. “Sure. Come find me when you’re free.” I choke on the words, hating the way her face lights up with promise.
She skips off and I turn to face the bear. “Sit your ass down, Son.”
“Paps, you need to rest. How about we read the paper or watch a game on TV?” I counter.
“Sit. Now,” he demands, and the beats per minute on his screen skip and jump.
“Calm down, I’m sitting.” Reverting to the petulant teen who used to hate his lectures, I drop in the chair beside his bed.
“So, this contraption bumps wonky and you do what I say? Nice to know.” His thick mustached lip pulls up and through his silver scruff I see his dimple. The same my dad and I have.
“Yeah, yeah get on with it, Old Man. That nurse will be back for me soon.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time my Ginny left me?” He shifts on the bed cringing. I rush from my chair to help; he orders me back down, demanding I stop fussing. He continues saying before Granny was his wife; she wanted a life outside of Seven Mile Forge. She had dreams of running her own bakery, but he was stuck in his old ways of keeping a woman barefoot and pregnant. His caveman mentality chased her right down the road, returning four months later carrying my dad in her belly. She squashed his prideful grin by forcing him to listen to her demands. He thought for sure he had her right where he wanted because she’d never leave and take away his kid.
They butted heads in a battle of stubbornness until Dad was born. After almost losing Gran in a difficult childbirth, Pappy made a deal with himself and God. If she made it through, he promised to marry her and do everything in his power to keep her happy. They wed as soon as she healed. All those years weren’t roses and berries, but they were honest, faithful, equal, and each day was a chance to start over. No matter what they fought about the day before, they agreed to settle it over coffee the next morning.
“Paps, you and Gran lived a fairytale of a different time. You were both willing to make concessions and shared similar dreams of running the farm.”
“Your grandmother hated that farm. Genevieve Kyleigh Borden was Seven Miles version of Scarlet O’Hara: debutante, socialite, highfalutin snob; who dated me to piss off her parents. She made Asia DeMarco look like Mother Teresa. But under the money and tulle hid a heart of gold with a soft spot for children and gentleman bad boys. Tell a woman like Ginny she’ll drown if she keeps her nose up in the air, while nursing bruised ribs, and you earn her respect.”
I love listening to his stories about Granny and losing her almost broke him, but I don’t see where he’s going and most of his talks have a point. “What does any of this have to do with me, Paps?”
“Samantha Lee Gentry is like a daughter to me, and it’s time for you to lower that nose of yours and stop drowning. You did your thing, and judging by the way you’re playing, the love for the game is gone. The long night’s over, it’s time to wake up, drink coffee, and start anew. I cherish every second I had Ginny and I miss her with every breath. We get one shot on this earth, and you never know when the bang will leave your bullet.”
The nurse hovers in the door, licking her lips and gripping her purse strap. Her radiant sexual energy tells me she’s spent the last hour keying herself up for our so-called coffee date. Too bad I can’t remember her name.
“Nurse Kacy, you’re SOL with my grandson today. He’s got a fence to mend,” Pappy says.
“Oh.” Her face falls. “Another time?”
“No, I’m sorry. Thanks for taking such great care of Joe, and I hope you’ll keep him being my granddad a secret, but I belong to someone else and it’s time I go home.”
“Hospital policy says I’ll be fired if I say anything.” She shrugs. “Had to try though.” With a wink and a slip of her hips she saunters down the hall.
“Damn jersey chasers,” Pappy grumbles. “Go on home, get your gal.”
A snorting laugh shakes my chest. I open my mouth to thank him, but he waves me off, demanding I return later with his great granddaughter and her mother.
Fifty-Six
SAMANTHA
“MOOOOOM, COME ON, HURRY,” Mazzy yells, rushing me so we can visit Jo
e.
“Mazilynn, I told you he’s being released today and we’ll head to the house as soon as Granny Carrie says he’s home and settled.” What I don’t say is I’m avoiding her dad. After the shock of Joe’s heart attack wore off, being in the same room with him sucked. I strategized my visits around his.
“Momma?” Mazzy steps inside my bedroom.
“MJ, stop pestering,” I warn.
“No. Look.” She waves a large brown envelope. “This was on the porch. Your name is on it.”
The new CEO at Home Vittles was couriering contracts but the delivery guy leaves them at the main house, most don’t know I live down the lane. I tell her I’ll look when I finish putting laundry away.
“Uncle Hendi,” she cheers, “you’re back.” Her bare feet slap on the hardwood ending with the oomph of her colliding with Hendrix.
Curious as to why he’s returned from his work on the score the latest Jerry Bruckheimer action flick, I set the basket on the bed, following the sound of their hurried whispers. Joe’s been in the hospital for a week under observation. Three days ago the doctor said he’d make a full recovery and Joe told Hendrix to get back to work. He left and wasn’t supposed to be home for several months. “Hey,” I call. Mazzy’s frantic hands stop, and I’m met with guilty wide eyes from both my friend and daughter. “Hendrix, something go wrong with your job?”
“No, all’s good. I, ah, I...”
“He came back to test my new software,” Mazzy interrupts. They both suck at lying. But the real question is, why are they doing it?
“Riiiigghht.” My lips twist to the side and I cock my best one brow mom glare.
“It’s at Granny’s. Come on, Uncle, let’s go get it. Mom, you need to open the package.” Before I can protest or demand truth, she shoves him out the door and they speed through the grass and gravel on the four wheelers.
