by V McFarlane
Carla’s married. She got married right out of high school to an older guy her father set her up with. A few years later Ethan, her son, was born. Funny thing was, last I checked she was always too busy to deal with her own kid and had hired a live-in nanny. She has always had a thing for me though, all through high school and after, even during her engagement and now her marriage. I was never interested though. Not then and definitely not now
“Sorry, busy,” I tell her, looking over her shoulder. I spot the blonde waiting close to the classroom door. She’s dressed in a cute little denim skirt and cowboy boots, a pink floral blouse gently blowing and sticking to her figure as the summer breeze teases her.
What is it about her that has got me so interested?
I’ve never been the kind of guy who’s been all about a woman. During college it was all about the party. About how many girls I could get back to my room and ultimately into my bed, and then after that it was about my distillery. About keeping up the family business and reputation.
The whiskey has been my life for a long time now, so much so that I haven’t had time to look for a woman and it certainly wasn’t something I wanted. Relationships mean time and time isn’t something I have, especially now that I’m juggling work with my daughter.
Before Carla can say anything further, I push passed her and head towards the blonde. I need to at least know her name.
“I’m Taron,” I blurt the moment I’m within reach.
The blonde’s head whips around and then those sparkly green eyes narrow and her lips thin into a flat line. “You,” she growls.
Oh, shit. What’d I do?
“Me?”
“Well, Taron,” she hisses quiet enough so no one around us can hear what she’s saying, “you got me fired!”
My brows furrow. Wait, what?
“Me? How the hell did I get you fired?”
“That little stunt you pulled this morning, blocking me in,” she explains, “Well it was my first day at work and apparently being late on your first day doesn’t leave a great impression, now does it?”
Shit.
It wasn’t like I blocked her in on purpose!
“That isn’t my fault,” I say, “It’s not my fault you can’t manage your time.”
Damn it. That’s not what I wanted to say!
Her mouth opens and closes a few times but then she just settles on a scowl and turns her back to me. As much as the back is glorious to look at, I just have to know her name.
“Look,” I start but she suddenly spins on her heel.
“No, you look,” she seethes, “I’m sorry if I upset you when we first met but I’m new here and I really don’t need anyone giving me a hard time.” She grumbles something that sounds like, I had enough of that in the last town, but I can’t be sure.
“You didn’t upset me,” I tell her even though she did. I’m a big boy though, I can handle myself.
She sighs, shakes her head, and turns her back on me once more, the movement causing her hair to lift just a little but enough for it to send a whiff of that floral scent she owns so well.
Just then, the classroom door opens and the teacher steps out, followed by a mass of kids running to their parents. A small blonde girl barrels into the woman ahead of me, a huge grin on her face. Ripley follows, wrapping herself around my legs and smiling up at me.
“Hey sweetheart,” I greet, “Good day?”
“The best!” She squeals. “Me and Ava are best friends.”
“Ava?”
She points to the smaller blonde wrapped around the larger one. Well things just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
“What happened to your shoes!?” Ava’s mother screeches, a hand over her mouth.
Ava looks a little sheepish and her eyes dart to Ripley before the teacher, a middle aged woman, comes over, a small sympathetic smile on her mouth.
“Miss Hart?” the teacher asks.
“Just Penny,” She replies.
Penny.
The teacher smiles, “I’m Mrs Trusson, Ava’s teacher.”
Penny smiles but it’s fake. Her eyes keep darting back and forth between Mrs Trusson and the paint covered shoes on her daughter’s feet.
“Well, Miss Hart, there was a little accident in class today. Ripley–” ah, shit, “And Ava were playing, and a paint pot got spilt. Unfortunately, Ava was standing underneath it.”
I look down at Ripley, taking in her blue dress and white sandals, still pristine and then take in Ava, her little dress looks faded but clean but those shoes, a little pair of pink sneakers, or what were pink are completely ruined, green paint stains the fabric and is also on the little white socks sticking out the top.
“I understand,” Penny says quietly, “accidents happen.”
“Sorry, mommy,” Ava says, pouting up at her mother.
“It’s okay, baby,” Penny cups her daughters face and I can’t help but notice how delicate her hands look, the skin soft and subtle, her nails trimmed but clean of any polish.
“I’ll get her a new pair,” I say out loud, wondering where the hell that came from.
Penny turns to look at me. Is that tears in her eyes?
“That won’t be necessary,” she says, “come on, say goodbye to Ripley, we need to get home.”
Ava waves at Ripley and we watch as they head towards the gates, disappearing around the corner. Mrs Trusson smiles at me but then turns and heads back into the classroom.
“Such a shame,” Carla’s voice suddenly says from behind me, “People like that shouldn’t have children.”
My head snaps in her direction, “Excuse me?”
“Well, did you see her,” she says as if that’s some kind of explanation. “She’s wearing clothes that went out two seasons ago and do not get me started on the split ends. I feel sorry for the child, she clearly can’t afford to have her.”
How can people like Carla still exist? At what point is it okay to belittle and bitch about other people, parents especially, about shit that doesn’t concern them.
“Carla,” I say slowly, “Maybe you should keep your opinions to yourself.”
Her words, they hit me hard. Can she afford it? I think about what I do know. She drives a car that’s falling apart, Ava was wearing a dress that looked a little old, not that I am judging, and she has just lost her job. She said she was new to town so she’s just trying to find her feet.
Carla scoffs, “It’s not my opinion. Everyone is thinking it. That girl does not belong here.”
I swallow, grasping Ripley’s hand.
“See you around, Taron,” Carla gives a flirty smile and sashays away, taking her son with her. Ripley waves at him and he waves back.
“She doesn’t seem very nice,” Ripley comments.
I have to stifle a laugh, “Well, sweetheart, sometimes people say things they don’t mean and we shouldn’t take what they say to heart.”
Carla meant every word she said but Ripley’s far too young to understand how the world works right now, “How about some icecream and you can tell me all about your day and your new friend, Ava?”
_
After we’ve stopped by to have icecream – which I promptly felt guilty for, because who feeds their kid icecream before they’ve even had dinner – we head to a clothes shop. I’ve started to fill out Ripley’s wardrobe a little more, with the help of Della but she still needs more clothes.
I was shocked when I unpacked her bags and found most of her clothes had holes in them or were two sizes too small.
Why didn’t Anna get in contact? I was never secretive about my family or my wealth. Surely, she should have known I would have helped out, even if it were just child support.
Ripley skips down an aisle of pink dresses and then stops her eyes going wide as she stares at a pretty glittery top hanging off one of the miniature sized mannequins.
“Daddy!” she breathes, “Look how sparkly it is!”
“Do you want it?”
Her e
yes go wide, “Can I?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” I smile.
My mind wanders back to Penny. How badly is she struggling?
Why do I even care so much?
As if the universe wants me to know the answer, I see her walking passed the front of the store Ripley and I are currently in. She looks flustered, her blonde hair a little dishevelled but Ava seems happy skipping alongside her mother, still in those paint stained shoes.
“Hey Ripley,” I ask, “Should we go look at some other stores?”
Nine
Penny
It would be just my luck that Ava’s only pair of sneakers would be ruined. She only has three pairs, a pair of boots for the winter, her dress shoes for events that she can’t wear to school and those stained sneakers on her feet.
“Can we get icecream?” Ava asks as she skips alongside me.
I think about how much cash I have in my purse. My account has less.
“I’m sorry, baby, we can’t.”
“But Ripley got icecream,” she whines.
Tears sting my eyes. With the last of my money I need to buy a new pair of sneakers.
We head into a discount store and straight to the children’s section. Ava picks up a pair of light up Disney trainers. I look at the tag and shake my head. How many times will I have to apologise today?
“I’ll get them,” a deep, bourbon smooth voice says behind me, “It’s the least I can do.”
I turn to find Taron, Ripley gripping his hand, grinning at me.
My heart might just skip a little. Why does he have to be so damn attractive!? Those hazel eyes are almost neon against the darkness of him and that thick black hair is just begging for my fingers.
“It’s fine.” I say though I really could use the help, just so Ava could smile at getting something she really wants.
“Let me,” Taron says, taking the flashing trainers from Ava’s hands. “A replacement for those.” He gestures to the shoes on Ava’s feet.
“It was my fault, Miss Hart,” Ripley says, “I knocked the paint over.”
I shake my head and smile down at the girl, “It’s okay, honey, it was an accident.”
Ripley nods, “Can I go see Ava?” She asks her dad.
“Sure, sweetheart.” She lets go of his hand and runs over to Ava who is looking at some discount toys on a shelf.
“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot,” Taron says to me, still holding those shoes.
“You don’t have to get them,” I say, going to take them, only he holds them back from me with the only way to get them would be to step into his space and wrestle him for them. “Ava can get another pair.”
Taron cocks his head, “Penny, right?”
I nod.
“So, where you from, Penny?”
We follow the children through the aisles, stopping every now and then when something piques their interest. They seem to have become fast friends which makes my heart happy. Ava has always been a sociable kid, finding it easy to make friends but after the chaos in our last town, I was wondering how hard it would hit her.
Not very, I realise as the two girls skip and giggle their way through the store.
I think about my answer and when I choose not to reply, Taron smiles and says, “I think we should start again seeing as our kids seem to be fast friends.”
I stop and look at him, “Really?”
“Sure,” he smiles. Oh God! The man has dimples. Freaking dimples! They sink into his cheeks at the edges of those perfect lips and just ask for me to sink a finger into them just to make sure they are real.
“Okay,” I breathe, my eyes completely fixed on his mouth.
“Hi, I’m Taron,” he grins, “And you are?”
I laugh, “Penny.”
“So, Penny, what do you say we go and get some food for the kids?”
My brows draw together, “Here?” Panic squeezes my stomach, “uh, I’ve actually got something cooking at home.”
It was so obviously a lie, but I wasn’t about to admit that I simply couldn’t afford to eat out. It wasn’t simply a case of if I did, I’d leave myself short, it was a case of if I did, I wouldn’t be able to pay the bills. A declined card would be humiliating and rifling through a purse with only a few notes and some short change even more so.
“My treat,” he says, “The cheeseburgers down on the ground floor are amazing.”
I shake my head quickly, “No, maybe another time though.”
With the panic in my gut I call for Ava and take the shoes from Taron, “It was a pleasure.”
Ava pouts as I hurry to the counter and place them there, pulling out my card ready to pay.
“Twenty-seven, fifty,” the young girl smiles politely.
My heart drops. Shit. I had completely forgot I wouldn’t be able to afford these goddamned sneakers!
“Uh, on second thoughts, we’re just going to choose something else.”
“But mommy!” Ava whines.
“I’ve got it,” that familiar voice says from behind me and before I can stop him, he’s handing cash to the clerk and she’s bagging the sneakers up.
Taron takes the bag from the woman and hands it to Ava who is smiling up at him with eyes so wide they resemble saucers. She might actually be a little bit in love right now.
“What do you say?” I ask, trying to steady the break in my voice.
“Thank you, Mr Cain.”
Cain? Where have I heard that before and why is it that my daughter knows his last name, but I don’t?
Right. Ripley.
“You’re most welcome,” Taron says to Ava, “Now you gotta promise to take extra good care of them.”
“I promise,” Ava smiles and hugs the bag, “Tinkerbell is my favourite!”
“Me too!” Ripley says beside Taron.
“So, how about that dinner?”
“Can we, mommy!?” Ava bounces, clutching the shoes.
“No catch, just dinner.” Taron says.
I look down at Ava, her eyes so wide with glee it breaks my heart just to think the word no.
“Sure,” I say even though my stomach clenches with unease.
_
Ripley sits beside Taron whist Ava is beside me and Taron and I are facing each other. The girls are busy with the colouring pads the waitress gave to them but every now and then they’ll throw themselves into a conversation about Tinkerbell or school that both of us find amusing.
“I’m sorry about the job,” Taron says to me, his voice quiet so as not to draw attention to the girls.
I can’t help but feel a little resentful. I wouldn’t have been late if he hadn’t blocked me in.
“I promise, I didn’t do it on purpose. The spot was the only one left, you know what school runs are like.”
“You said when we met that day at the park,” I cock my head, “That you just found out you were going to be dad. Is that true?”
He takes a sip of his soda and nods, “The same day actually.”
“How does that happen?”
He sighs, “Anna,” his eyes flick to Ripley but she doesn’t react to the name, too engrossed in making sure the purple crayon she’s using stays within the lines of the giant bear looking thing on the paper, “We met in college and as you’re probably aware, you know, how kids are made, she didn’t tell me. I was a senior, leaving maybe a month or two after we met. She died and made it clear that Ripley was to come to me.”
“Wow,” I breathe, “That must have been quite a shock.”
I think back to my reaction and the guilt just intensifies.
I should never have judged him.
“You weren’t close with her?” I ask.
He shakes his head, “Not really.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “That must have been tough.”
He nods and then looks down at Ripley, “It was, but I can’t say I regret it or wish it were any different. I’m still new to it all, but I didn’t think something I didn’t know existed would become
so important.”
I nod in understanding, “Children do that. One minute you’re having the time of your life, the next you’ve got this little person depending on you. It’s like nothing I can explain.”
He nods.
“So how about you?” He asks, “What’s your story?”
Ten
Taron
She shuts down.
Her shoulders stiffen and her spine goes rigid, “So, what looks good?” She says instead of answering the question.
I don’t push, instead I look down at the menu, pushing away the curiosity that bubbles to the forefront of my mind, “The double is good,” I tell her, “or the Philly.”
She nods her pretty blonde head and draws her lip between her teeth, suddenly so interested in the menu nothing else matters. I can’t help but admire her. In the short time we’ve spent in the mall I’ve noticed she has a very light dusting of nude coloured freckles that sit across her nose and cheeks and she has a little scar, probably no bigger than an inch in her left eyebrow.
Her emerald eyes have speckles of gold in them and when the light hits her just right those speckles explode like fireflies in the darkest of nights. She looks at her daughter with complete adoration, like the only thing that matters in the entire universe is that tiny human that sits next to her.
Ava has many of her features, her nose, her lips, that honey coloured hair but those eyes. They belong to someone else. So incredibly dark blue they almost don’t pass for blue and I wonder if she gets them from her father.
The waitress comes back to our little booth set a way back from the main dining floor, a big smile on her face, “What can I get you folks?”
“Chicken nuggets!” Both the girls say at the same time.
The waitress chuckles, “Great choice,” she says as she writes it down, “And how about for mom and dad?”
I look to Penny who purses her lips, “Just the Caesar please.”
I frown, “Double cheeseburger and fries,” I tell her and then look back to Penny, “You sure that’s all you want?”
She nods.
“I’ll get this to the kitchen,” the waitress says.