Jack Who? Perfect Storms

by Lisa Gillis

  “Hey!” Olivia sat up with a welcoming smile and raised her voice over the t.v. volume for Tristan’s benefit, “Guess who’s home!”

  “Momma!” Tristan scrambled for his crutches.

  Shoving the thick envelope back to the mail pile, she crouched, sprinting at the same time to swing him up, and twirl him around. “Gotcha!” It was a race every evening to see if she could reach him before he situated his crutches enough to walk. Sometimes, he beat her, but either way, they both ended up on the couch in a tickling match.

  Olivia cleared his meal mess from the sofa table and returned from the kitchen with a rag to wipe it down.

  Shortly after Tristan’s first birthday, he began exhibiting problems walking. When tests concluded a medical diagnosis, several long-term plans changed, including childcare. Olivia valiantly moved to a different work shift since Marissa couldn’t afford a one on one caregiver, and her son needed special attention that would be difficult in a group of children.

  With one last kiss, she let Tristan get back to his show, and with an appreciative sniff, she inquired of Olivia, “What smells so good? Did you cook?”

  Busting with laughter, Olivia denied the ridiculous, and Marissa found the Chinese delivery spread across the stovetop.

  “Made my bonus this month.” While handing over a clean plate, her friend shrugged off the slight cost that was never in Marissa’s tight budget.

  Olivia could say what she wanted to say, but Marissa knew her friend’s income had always been subsidized by her parents, both during and after college, and up until her marriage to a successful stockbroker who now did the subsidizing.

  Marissa’s own family was not so well off. Briefly, she had gone to college on a scholarship that she lost due to a lacking grade point average during the third semester. That part of her past held too much partying and too little studying, something she regretted now as she seemed stuck in a poverty level income job.

  “And,” with a flourish, her friend opened the freezer and extracted the blender jar, “I made margaritas.”

  “Why does everyone think I need a drink tonight?” Marissa wondered aloud. Olivia questioned this random speculation, and as she watched her glass fill to the rim with the slushy lime drink, she filled her bartender in on the latest Clayton gossip of this afternoon.

  “You knew what you were getting into!” Simpering, Olivia poured herself a drink as well. “I just hope he was worth it.” As usual, her friend never missed an opportunity to try and pry any dirty details.

  Nothing had changed over the years. Olivia was still far too controlling of Marissa’s love life. Yet, everything had changed. Olivia had grown out of her wild ways, and Marissa had grown into them.

  Once a month or so, Olivia would keep Tristan overnight, and Marissa would meet a date somewhere. Date in this definition was liberal. She went out to hook up, and did so on a holy grail search for that special chemistry found with only one man ever– Tristan’s father.

  Never had she told anyone the identity of her child’s father. Not even Olivia.

  After much pestering over many months, just before Tristan was born, Marissa had finally appeased her inquisitive friend with a half-truth, implying a hook up with a guy who could not commit to a family. Once, when the subject came up, she had even let Olivia guess and believe that the one night stand mystery guy was married.

  Tonight, regarding Clayton, Marissa caved at last. “He really wasn’t worth it.” She muttered the confession with a sad sigh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t him. I just wasn’t into it I guess.”

  Her job as a gaming supervisor required her to stand all day, and her knees suddenly felt the strain. Sinking to a bar stool at the counter, she tiredly stared into her drink.

  “Rissa, I wish you would let me set you up with Michael’s friend Joel.” Olivia spoke of her husband of two years, and his friend already mentioned to Marissa several times. “Hot, and rich.” Coming to lean on her arms over the bar, her friend’s sympathetic eyes skittered to Tristan who was popping open a fortune cookie with his gaze still glued to the television. “You need rich...”

  The envelope in the hall flashed to mind. Marissa was afraid to read the reply. Would she have to get her own lawyer? Spend money she didn’t have to acquire the money needed for Tristan? Where would she come up with the retainer amount for her own legal counsel? Would Jack continue making her feel like some slutty schemer who set out from the get go to shake him down?

  Wouldn’t it be easier to abandon this plan of getting the money from Tristan’s father and instead get Tristan a new father? Could she give up this fantasy of finding another spiritual and chemical connection?

  Would the details of Jack’s skin against her, his hands, his mouth, his everything, ever fade into simply a fond memory?

  “Did you say you had a picture?” Her voice felt small, and she gulped a few fortifying drinks as Olivia flew to the sofa and returned, just that fast, clutching her phone.

  After sliding her finger across the face a few times, Olivia slid the device across the bar to Marissa. Delaying a few uneasy seconds, Marissa instead reached for a straw from the colorful straw dispenser that Tristan had begged to buy during a dollar store excursion.

  Lifting the phone, she studied a more than average handsome face, and since the picture had been snapped by a pool, an extremely fit, shirtless body. Intently watching her reaction, Olivia let a few seconds tick by then exploded, “Well?”

  “You’re right. He’s hot. But, I need to think about it. And I can’t go out with anyone until after Tristan’s surgery.”

  Unconsciously, both of their eyes went to the calendar on the fridge and the large notation on a date exactly a week from the day’s date.

  “Oh! The mail! You have a certified delivery!” Surprisingly, Olivia abandoned the subject of Marissa dating Joel to inform of the envelope she did not know had already been seen. Then, she went so far as to take it upon herself to fetch it, mumbling about the return address being an attorney.

  Once, over mixed drinks in the past, Olivia had asked why Marissa wasn’t solving the money problems concerning her son by involving his father, and after explaining what she could, Marissa had begun keeping her friend slightly updated. At this point, Olivia knew only that Marissa had appealed to this man through an attorney.

  With her drink now drained, Marissa felt the courage needed to rip open the cardboard casing. Olivia busied herself filling the glasses again and then nonchalantly leaned against the fridge after returning the pitcher to the freezer.

  Marissa’s eyes scanned the posh letterhead and then the letter itself before beginning to silently read:

  ‘Ms. Marissa Duplei,

  Regarding our phone conversation on the date of blah blah blah; here she began to skim; ‘after much consideration, on behalf of Mr. J. L. Storm, enclosed is what he feels is a fair sum pending the outcome of a paternity test,’ blah blah. ‘By cashing the enclosed check, you are entering into a legal commitment to obtain a paternity test no later than,’ blah. ‘The paternity test is to be conducted at one of the following facilities,’ blah blah. ‘If a paternity test meeting these specifications is negative, you will abandon all claims of Jack Storm as the paternal parent of your child, Tristan Jack Duplei. If said test proves positive, you agree to sign a disclosure agreement, and in addition to the enclosed monies, a new financial agreement will be drawn up, pending a custody settlement.

  Custody settlement?

  CHAPTER 8

  CUSTODY SETTLEMENT! A pulse began to loudly pound in her ears, and the sudden lightheartedness was not due to the ingested alcohol.

  “Rissa? Are you okay?” Olivia stooped to recover the sheets that fluttered to the floor, and swore, although cursing was something they never did around Tristan. “Shit! This is, this is…”

  Jolting to her senses, Marissa snatched the paper from her friend’s hand. Protectively, she folded Jack’s name from sight, although, if the swearing was any indicatio
n, it sounded like her secret was out.

  However, it was the smaller sheath that had Olivia gaping–the mentioned check. Marissa almost fainted in shock.

  The amount was generous beyond belief. As dictated by legal jargon, the money remained hers to keep no matter the outcome of the paternity test. Fortunately, it was drawn on the law firm account, and there was no ‘Jack Storm’ signature exposing a secret Marissa would soon be legally bound to keep.

  The money was enough to pay for his doctors, surgery, hospital stay, and also allow for a top physical therapy program. Yet, if she cashed the check, did that create an obligation to go through with a custody hearing when the paternity test proved Jack to be Tristan’s father?

  “Rissa, this is wonderful!”

  Was it? It seemed like a curse in disguise of a blessing.

  Olivia was dancing around, and she griped because she wanted a celebration drink. Responsibly, in preparation for the drive home, Liv put her glass into the sink, ran water into it, and then turned. One hand settled determinedly on her hip. “It’s past time you give the deets on Russ.”

  “What?”

  Marissa’s exclamation did not stem from ignorance of the slang. Olivia often used deets for details and totes for totally, along with other talk that kept her a popular dealer with the younger crowd in the casino.

  “Give it up, Rissa. Is he the, you know,” dropping her voice to a whisper, Olivia continued, “sperm donor?”

  “You read my texts?” There was no alternative way anyone could know that unspoken name.

  “Surely you are going not going to go ratchet after all this time!”

  Marissa continued to stare her friend down.

  “Alright, yes! A long time ago, I read your texts. You were asleep at my house and got a text really late. I was still awake and looked at it just in case it was a schedule change. It said, ‘Hi’.” Liv waved her hands, “Big deal.”

  Having committed those texts to memory, by reading them to herself so many times over the years, Marissa breathed a little easier. However, the relief she felt at thinking the snooping had stopped before the next text exchange, months later, was short-lived.

  “Then you clammed up about the uh, sperm donor. You were napping one day, and I looked at you all huge and prego, and I couldn’t stop myself. I checked your texts and calls for the month that it would have happened, and I found that you and Russ had texted, and he sounded personal with you.”

  “Liv!” The intrusion of privacy was horrifying, only because of the situation. It wasn’t as if they had never spied in each other’s phones for one reason or another.

  “I’m really sorry!” In her friend’s agitation, both hands raised simultaneously tucking loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Finally, bringing her eyes to Marissa’s, she whined, “I’m your best friend. Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

  Looking away from a gaze that suddenly made her feel guilty for keeping such a secret, Marissa quietly asked, “Why Russ? Why is that your guess?”

  Continuing to stare dead on, Olivia solemnly returned, “Because you always tell me about every guy. And never, ever, have you mentioned Russ.”

  Or Jack. Marissa’s mind silently retorted.

  Jack who? The text replayed in her head, but for some reason, the ‘Jack’ texts in the Russ conversation had gone over or out of Olivia’s head. Maybe her friend had been skimming and had missed that crucial clue. It certainly didn’t sound as if Liv had looked at the dates in the text series since the fateful month would have contained only two from ‘Russ’ and the intimate texts had come months later. Five fat months later to be exact.

  From the den, Tristan’s high-pitched laughs while watching his shows became the only break in the stretching silence.

  Rounding the bar to the sink, Marissa dumped her glass in and stared after it. Without turning, she spoke, “Liv, if I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a living soul. Not even Michael.”

  “Okay.” The response was immediate and bordered on reverent.

  “I mean it. I am about to have to sign a legal agreement swearing myself to silence.” Pivoting, she saw that her friend’s eyes had slightly rounded at the seriousness tone and words.

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “The day we went to the Hang Fest, the dog I told you I found...” Picking at a fingernail in bad need of a manicure before her job wrote her up over it, Marissa considered one last time whether it was wise to confess. “The dog belonged to the Russ that you saw on the phone.”

  “So who is Russ?” Olivia prompted when Marissa didn’t immediately continue.

  “He’s was one of the musicians that day. I’m sure he is Tristan’s– that it is him.” Nervously, Marissa stuttered and, like Olivia had minutes ago, avoided the word father. Cautiously, she sent a look to the den where Tristan was fitting together a Hot Wheels track. “But that’s all I can tell you right now.”

  The evening had become stressful enough without adding to the chain of events, and she halted the attempted confession when envisioning Olivia’s typical overblown reaction.

  Marissa’s eyes locked onto her best friend’s fake eyelashes, imploring her to understand. “The letter that came with that check stipulates a paternity test. I will tell you everything soon. And, I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I don’t know what I would have done, or would do, without you. And you of all people deserve the truth.”

  Nodding in acceptance, Olivia moved around gathering her things in preparation to leave. Bending for a hug and kiss, she said her goodbye to Tristan and then spun about to Marissa.

  Even from across the room, Marissa could physically feel her friend’s mind spinning like the hamster wheel that had held such fascination for Tristan on one of his shows.

  Slowing, stopping, full speed, again and again.

  Olivia’s brows puckered. “He was in a band? Or with a band?”

  The question was predictable from Olivia, but the reasoning behind it had changed over the years. Five years ago, Olivia would have asked to determine banging status. Tonight, it was to aid her in her Google search later. Marissa almost smiled but felt too guilty at the thought of Olivia wasting the rest of the night attempting to cross-reference ‘Russ’ to the band appearances of that fateful year.

  Closing the space between them, she hugged her friend, much tighter than in the usual girly greeting or goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

  The letter and check weighed on her thoughts, and she knew a crying jag would come later in the shower, muffled from tiny ears.

  “Momma? Did you eat your fortune cookie? You can have it if you want.”

  Olivia waved a last goodbye as Tristan spoke, then let herself out the door.

  “No. Do you want it?”

  Excitedly, he nodded in confirmation and added, “But you can keep your fortune.”

  “Cool! I need a good fortune!” Oh how she needed two different definitions of fortune.

  After having his cookie, they adjourned to the spare room, which over the years had evolved into a mini gym.

  After a series of stretching exercises, Tristan began on the exercycle sized for him, and she reclined on the weight bench. The workout ritual was something they did together. The main reason she participated was to encourage her son, who was forced by circumstances to make it an everyday part of his life. However, the results in the mirror also pushed her on.

  She was never sure if the quest to keep a trim and toned body was for the overweight adolescent girl who had once sat home dateless during those first awkward school dances, or the twenty-something year old ‘Mariss’ who secretly hoped to one day be a family with Jack Storm.

  The eating disorder of adolescence had returned with a vengeance five years ago, and she knew stress was the root of the problem. The only times she didn’t struggle with weight was during times of being content with her life.

  Tristan kept up a steady chatter, and a smile found its way to her face as she listened to the news of the
day. Aunt Liv had bought him a new book app for the tablet she had given him for Christmas. The Chinese food delivery had taken almost an hour. One of his favorite shows recorded twice. Bally ate broccoli. Pleasantly, his tiny voice filled the room and as always, was the highlight of her evening.

  The shred of an electronic riff, the pounding of drums, and a deep throaty howl interrupted the soothing sound waves, jarring her from her mindless leg thrusts, and rendering Tristan speechless.

  “Is that your phone?” Round eyes accompanied his inquiry, and his short legs stopped their pedaling.

  Jack’s number had been dumped, along with the rest of her contacts, from phone to phone, over the years. It was understandable that she had never deleted it. What could be considered unusual was her post cell upgrade ritual of scrolling through her sound files and assigning his special ring tone once more to his number.

  Leaning to the side, she snatched the phone from the floor and verified the caller ID. Numbly, she took in the shaking of her hand as ’RUSS’ flashed the screen.

  “It’s going to stop! Answer it!” Tristan’s frantic cry brought her attention to a miniature version of the face that haunted her dreams, and whose voice was now a click away.

  Her thumb hovered and then pressed.

  CHAPTER 9

  A QUICK CLICK routed the call to voicemail.

  “Momma, why did you do that?”

  Vaguely, she brought her gaze from the phone to Tristan’s disappointment and wondered if somehow, subconsciously, he felt a connection to the caller– to his dad. Even Bally was now sitting, instead of lying, on her haunches with a judgmental ear cocked back.

  “I didn’t feel like talking...” While defending her actions to her four-year old son, she was listening for the voicemail tone but wound up as deflated as Tristan looked when there was none. The truth was that the finely worded custody clause in the letter was terrifying.