Daddy’s Secret Baby

by Black, Natasha L.

  “I envy that kind of a bond.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. It comes with its share of complaints. And arguments. Let me tell you, there’s no disagreement like a disagreement with my wife before coffee.”

  “Why in the world would you take your life into your own hands like that?”

  He barked with laughter. “Because before coffee, I’m as much of an idiot as she is ornery and unwilling to talk. I’m Alistair, by the way.”

  I shook his hand. “Arianna.”

  “Well, Arianna, now that we have formally met, would you like to talk about the dates for your exhibit and what kind of pieces you’d like to showcase? And just to be up-front, while we cater to all kinds of art, we keep the sexually explicit art to a minimum. We encourage kids to come view our works and come talk to the artists. And we figure breasts and penises around every corner is going to make for awkward exhibit conversations.”

  I blushed. “Don’t worry. My artwork isn’t anything like that.”

  “But if it’s anything like the painting my wife has bought from you online, you have a place here. All of your work does.”

  We pored over the calendar for the art gallery and came up with a few dates. While I filled out the official paperwork, I couldn’t stop smiling and thanking my lucky stars. I’d been so hesitant when Petra suggested I start selling my artwork online. In her mind, it wasn’t doing me any good “collecting dust,” so might as well put them up for cheap and see if anyone wanted them. Even then, not many people reached for them. Sales had trickled up a bit the past few months, but nothing to write home to anyone about.

  I never thought selling a painting online would spark something like this, though.

  “By the way? You should know that we’ve had several people already inquire about whether or not your picture is for sale,” Alistair said.

  His voice pulled me from the paperwork. “What?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Nine, to be exact. And two of those individuals figured they just needed to offer the right amount of money to get it off the wall.”

  “Nine people?”

  “Yep. Nine people. Of all different kinds. Families. Bachelors. A gay couple traveling through. They were heartbroken when we told them it wasn’t for sale and simply on display. I already have their contact information so I can invite them to your exhibit.”

  I felt breathless. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. They were very serious about your painting. When I told them I was trying to track you down to get you in here and ask for more paintings, they practically threw their information at me.”

  “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t believe it.”

  “Well believe it. Now, the gallery fee is pretty standard. We don’t charge our artists up front for the space. Or even space on our walls. We just take a nine percent commission from every piece sold. That way, you don’t get charged for artwork that’s hanging on the wall for weeks on end, if that happens. And we get paid for the display of your artwork without excessive money exchanging hands so many times around.”

  “How much does a local artist usually see in their gallery openings?”

  He shrugged. “That depends on a lot of factors. Interest in the community. Pricing of their artwork. The last local artist we had in here last painted in gray scale only. Average price for his pieces were around five hundred. And at the end of the night he walked away with…”

  I watched the man bob his head as I sat on the edge of my seat.

  “Five thousand dollars, after we took our commission.”

  I almost fell out of my chair. “Five thousand. In one night?”

  The man shrugged. “That’s pretty standard all around. We cater to a smaller crowd, so it’s not what it could be for other artists. But it gets us by and gives local artists exposure.”

  I sat back in my chair. “Wow.”

  He chuckled. “Go ahead and finish filling out your paperwork. I’ll send you with some dates to deliberate over, and you can get back to me within the week. I want to get you on the schedule before the weekend, though. Our spots do fill up quickly during the fall and winter months.”

  “Of course. Yes.”

  The rest of the meeting was a blur. I turned in the paperwork and shook the man’s hand. He escorted me out to my car with his information and the dates for potential exhibits, and I sat in my car in a daze. I couldn’t believe it. I was scheduling an exhibit. My first ever exhibit!

  “Yes!” I shrieked.

  I slammed my hands against the steering wheel. I cranked up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. I wanted to surprise Petra and Macy with dinner and sit down and talk about it with them. I wanted to tell them everything and have my daughter help me pick out a date and have Petra help me pick out which paintings to put up. I also wanted to tell Simon, to celebrate with him and invite him to the gallery and, maybe, possibly, even have him come with me. As my guest.

  But I shoved that feeling to the side.

  “This is about him and Macy,” I whispered to myself.

  So, I needed to make sure I kept things that way.

  16

  Simon

  “They’re making good time, huh?” Dad asked.

  I nodded slowly. “Yep.”

  “Must’ve had things pretty packed up for you there at the school.”

  “Probably.”

  “At the apartment, too.”

  I licked my lips and kept an eye out for the moving van.

  After postponing the damn thing twice, the day had finally come. All of my shit was being hauled from Connecticut back to my hometown; the place I’d tried to escape from all those years ago. It helped that the college wanted me out as quickly as possible. And to be honest, I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to look back. I had tolerated that job through gritted teeth for far too many years, putting up with their unrealistic expectations and their insanely low budgets for winning teams that had been under my tutelage for years.

  If they didn’t want to pay out for winners, they’d never pay out for anything.

  “You think they’ll find this place?” Dad asked.

  “They better. Because they wanted to charge me an extra two hundred to meet at your place before following me over.”

  “Assholes.”

  “Right?”

  Silence fell between us, and I drew in the fresh air through my nose. I looked around at the changing of the leaves on the trees and the fields with butterflies and rabbits chasing each other around like I was on a fucking movie set for a live action Bambi or some shit. I heard deer rustling off in the distance. I hear twigs crackling and tires slowly coming up the gravel walkway. I grinned over at Dad, and he smiled brightly, slapping me on the back.

  “Sounds like they made it,” he said.

  When the moving van emerged into view, I sighed with relief. My entire life was in that twenty-foot truck. My office. My apartment. My belongings. I helped my father off the wooden porch as the moving van came to a stop. I walked around and threw open the back, wanting to make sure nothing had been damaged in the process.

  “Everything look good?” Dad asked.

  “Yep. Go ahead and walk the guys through the cabin. I’m going to start bringing boxes in,” I said.

  Dad loved giving tours of the place, especially when he got to regale them with stories of Mom. I’d heard them dozens of times, but they never got old. I didn’t like personally talking about my mother. Not because I didn’t love her, but because I didn’t remember much about her. The more I talked about her, the more it reminded me that my memories weren’t my own. Just stories my father told me as a child to help me sleep. Stories of how my mother used to smile, what her laugh sounded like—anything to paint her in the light he remembered about her.

  And not the dark cloud everyone assumed her to be.

  “And this is the master bedroom. The bedroom suite will go in here, if he’s got one. You know, my wife and I never actually used this room. We used the one down the
hallway—technically, the guest room, but it overlooks the edge of the lake in the distance. And my wife loved that. Always made her smile.”

  I grinned. “She was always a fan of water.”

  “Don’t you fucking know it,” Dad said.

  Like Arianna.

  My father didn’t like to talk about my mother’s bad spells. The times when she couldn’t get out of bed. The times when she went days without showering or barely eating. My mother struggled with depression all her life, and when people asked my father about it, he’d just smile and say, “That makes her happy moments even more of a celebration.” Always looking on the bright side of things.

  Until her darkness finally swallowed her whole one day, when I was only four years old.

  “And over here is the kitchen. You can put his kitchen stuff in here. My wife always wanted me to knock out this wall and make it an open-concept environment. And I’d always ask her, ‘Open to what? You want to watch me cook you dinner while you lie in bed?’”

  The movers laughed at the story as I cracked a grin. It was one of my favorites. The kitchen was oddly placed in the cabin, though. The front door led straight down a hallway, with a door immediately to the left that led into the massive den. Straight down the hallway to the left was the master bedroom and en suite bathroom. If you continued walking down the hallway to the right, the first door on the right housed the kitchen.

  What I assumed my mother meant was that she wanted the back wall of the bedroom knocked out so the kitchen blended into the hallway. And then eventually, she’d want to knock out another wall, so the kitchen and the den were somewhat interconnected. But the opposing wall of the kitchen backed up to the bedroom she and Dad always slept in.

  Hence, the joke.

  I helped the movers with boxes so they could get the furniture in quicker. I didn’t need to look up at the sky to smell the summer storm brewing. I didn’t want everything to get wet, not that I had much to get wet in the first place. No furniture, except for my bed, a dresser, and a couch. Thankfully. Because the cabin was completely furnished and ready for renting, minus the good dusting Dad mentioned.

  “Where do you want the bed since there’s already one in the room?”

  I dropped the box of books in my hand and wiped at my brow.

  “Uh, well, I suppose you could—”

  “Put it in the spare bedroom closet. The closet’s bigger in that room. It’ll fit the metal frame and the mattress. You can lean the box spring against the wall.”

  “That why your wife liked it better? The closet?” the mover asked.

  I slowly looked over at Dad before he smiled broadly.

  “You know, you could very well be right,” he said.

  All of us started laughing as the last of the things were moved in. The boxes were in their proper rooms, and extra furniture was stored in the areas of the cabin I figured I’d never use. I completed the payment of the move with the guys, then tipped them for their help. After closing the door to the cabin, I drew in a deep breath.

  “Alright, spit it out,” I said.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  “I’m not stupid. When did you find time to get down here and clean the place?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He grinned at me before he disappeared around the corner. I followed him, finding him in the kitchen as he pulled out a couple of steaks wrapped in Saran wrap, already marinating.

  The sight made me snicker.

  “Seriously, Dad?”

  “What? I came by earlier to set up a nice dinner for us, and I dusted a bit. What gives?” he asked.

  “And you moved around the furniture to accommodate mine?”

  “Bah, didn’t take long.”

  “And you cleaned out that spare bedroom closet to fit the mattress and the frame?”

  He sighed. “How could you possibly kno—”

  “You’ve complained for years about that closet stacking up with things people leave behind when they rent this place for the summers. You mean to tell me it miraculously got cleaned out and you had nothing to do with it?”

  He unwrapped the steaks. “Well, sorry if I want to spoil my son a bit. If you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t been home in a while.”

  “You need to be resting, Dad.”

  “No, what I need are smiles. Memories. Good times. Laughter. Hard work, and to keep my body moving so it doesn’t forget how to. That’s what I need.”

  I licked my lips before I walked over to him. I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him from behind. He poured some oil into a pan and struck it up, readying the steaks to be cooked.

  “Thank you, Dad,” I murmured.

  “You’re welcome, son. Now, start chopping up some vegetables. I’ve got a bunch of things in the bottom of the fridge.”

  I laughed. “Did you stock the place for me?”

  “I didn’t fill every crevice with food, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “But?”

  He chuckled. “But there might be some fun snacks for Macy in the pantry at the top.”

  “And?”

  He sighed. “And some nice slabs of steak in the freezer in case Ari stops by.”

  “Should I ask one more time?”

  He groaned. “And your favorite ice cream’s in the freezer, too.”

  I smiled. “I love you, Dad.”

  He looked over at me. “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Actually, I think I’m starting to figure out just how much.”

  He chuckled. “Trust me, Simon. You haven’t felt anything yet. Now, start chopping. Those vegetables aren’t going to cook themselves.”

  17

  Arianna

  “So, where’s Macy tonight again?” Petra asked.

  I sipped my wine. “Sleepover with a friend.”

  “Does that mean I can crash here? Otherwise, this is my last glass of wine.”

  I grinned. “Girl, I’ve got two more bottles we’re opening before this night is done.”

  “My girl! Hell, yeah.”

  I laughed as we clinked our glasses together. Dinner had been phenomenal—bone-in steaks with my sour cream mashed potatoes, a nice salad, and a store-bought pie Petra brought over. And all of it, topped off with some wine. I needed this relaxation, the time with my best friend. It had been much too long since we had gotten together, just us, one-on-one in my backyard, while we lounged in my chairs.

  “Thanks for taking Macy to and from school Wednesday, by the way.”

  She waved her hand in the air. “You know that isn’t an issue. Especially when it comes to your artwork. And speaking of which, did you get that painting finished today?’

  I nodded. “Yep. It’s drying in the shed right now.”

  “Do you know when your exhibit is going to be?”

  “A month from now. So, I really need to kick my ass into gear.”

  “Oh, my gosh. Please tell me I’m coming.”

  I laughed. “Coming? Girl, you’re helping me set up the damn thing. I need another car to haul the bigger paintings over to the gallery. And my car won’t fit them.”

  “I’m so excited for you. This is exactly the kind of break you needed. See? I told you that you needed to start selling your stuff online.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Petra. You did.”

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. You’re the one who procrastinated on it. And look what it got you once you stepped out there! The right person bought your painting, just like I said they would.”

  “Yes, wise old oracle. You predicted my life.”

  She laughed. “You know you love me.”

  I playfully glared at her before I topped off my glass of wine.

  “Hey, hey, hey, don’t hog the good stuff.”

  I smiled, topping off her glass. “I’m surprised you haven’t asked about Simon yet.”

  “Hey, no boy talk on girls’ night. I mean, unless there’s some juicy gossip.” />
  I sighed. “No, Petra. We haven’t slept together.”

  “Well, then no boy talk on girls’ night.”

  I shook the bottle out in her glass. “You know, I figured you would’ve been against Simon coming back into town.”

  “Why? Not his fault he didn’t know about Macy.”

  “Hey, now.”

  “Not quite your fault, either. If anything, I blame your father. That man needed serious help after your mother died, and he never got it. He didn’t take other people’s advice, and it almost ruined him.”

  “Me too.”

  “I mean, I didn’t want to say it, but yes. You too.”

  I sighed. “Do you think Dad will ever get better?”

  She shrugged. “Not until he gets help. He hasn’t been the same since your mother’s death. And he made your life miserable for it. I think it came from a good place, though. So, at least there’s that.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  I shrugged. “He’s done and said so many things that I’m not sure it matters anymore.”

  “Do you want to fix things with your dad?”

  “I think I need to work on fixing things with the rest of my family first.”

  “Alright, so back to Simon. Have you two talked lately?”

  I shook my head. “No, we haven’t.”

  “So, nothing has moved forward on a custody agreement?”

  “Nope.”

  “And he hasn’t sicced his lawyer on you?”

  “I haven’t received anything.”

  She nodded. “Good. Because he was a bit of an ass for dropping that bomb on you.”

  “Right? Finally. I’m really glad I’m not the only one who saw it that way.”

  “Not by a long shot.”

  “I still have feelings for him, Petra.”

  She paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “I know you do, Ari.”

  I sighed. “But I don’t want to act on them. This reunion is for him and Macy. This has to be Macy-centered. She needs her father. She needs a decent male role model. I can’t make this about me. She’ll never forgive me for it.”