by Kris Ripper
Emery only faltered briefly. “I go to my place for a few days and I’m completely out of the loop. On the other hand, I’m sure Alice is in hog heaven, filling notebooks.”
“We took pictures of Miles with his mom for her. I haven’t seen the sketches, yet.”
“Have you seen her other sketches—” Emery broke off. “Hey, Lisa.”
“Hi.” She looked over. “You okay?”
Singer fought a grimace. When your recently-escaped-a-cult sister checks in with you, you know you’re in trouble. “I’ll live.”
Lisa didn’t look particularly convinced.
“Lunch? I have turkey, ham, provolone, and something Frankie brought over from Trader Joe’s, but I think that was just a dare. It’s a meat-free meat product, whatever that means.”
“Um … sure. Yes.” She looked up at Emery for a second.
“I’ll help myself.”
“Are you talking about Alice? I saw some of her work when we were there.”
Singer allowed himself the blissful sensation of distraction. He hadn’t considered that Emery might be serious. Emery had not, to his knowledge, dated since he’d followed Alice and Carey to California. Not seriously enough to warrant entry to the Derrie bush telegraph network, anyway.
“Oh, you did? Amazing, aren’t they? Alice is like, crazy good.”
“She is. I mean, I don’t really know anything about art, but some of them? It was like I could reach out and touch them in space. Not like they were photographs, but … real.”
“I know, it’s incredible. My work, you know. The restraints.”
“Restraints?” Singer asked, beginning his sandwich now that they were both done. Not hugely surprising, that Emery could restrain someone. He’d learned early on not to underestimate either Emery or Alice’s random collection of skills.
“Alice is doing a painting,” Emery explained. “She needed a model restrained. And one of the Derries had a volunteer handy.”
Of course they did.
“He was stunning. Completely beautiful on his knees. And so submissive.” He shook his head. “A little too tortured, maybe, but the painting should be amazing. Were there sketches of his face?”
“I’m not sure. But there were a lot of notebooks Carey didn’t show me.”
“Carey showed you?” Emery’s blunt disbelief mirrored Singer’s exactly. “Really?”
“Is that strange?”
“Carey generally stays away from nudes. Especially nudes in knots. I mean, he likes Alice in knots, but strangers? Not so much.”
Singer waved a hand. “Enough oversharing about my pretend in-laws, thank you.”
Emery didn’t exactly look repentant, but apparently decided not to push it. “Still, Carey showed you? Hm. That is really interesting.”
Lisa shrugged. “You were in some of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen drawings of someone I knew in real life.”
“Were you uncontrollably aroused by my badassness?”
“Is that an industry term?” Lisa shot back, even as she blushed.
“Damn right. I, uh, brought you an orchid. By the way.”
“An orchid?”
“Is that bizarre? I thought having something alive in there with you and the scrapbooking supplies might be good. And you mentioned you liked plants.”
Since when did Lisa like plants? Singer finished making his sandwich and stood back to eat it. Or maybe to observe.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“I wanted a fern—for the oxygen—but this caught my eye.” Emery nudged the little pot across the counter.
It was like watching very young children who didn’t yet understand how to interact with people. Lisa set her sandwich down and picked up the flower, turning it in her hand. Pink-tinged petals, glossy green leaves.
“It’s … very nice. Thank you. I’ll, um, be right back.”
Singer watched her leave, then turned to Emery. “Should I be shaking my fist at you and threatening to beat you up if you hurt my sister?”
“Considering she just responded to my pathetic courting attempt with ‘it’s very nice,’ I’m thinking there isn’t much for you to worry about, there, Singer.” Emery raised an eyebrow. “And do you really think you could take me with your fists?”
“A purely symbolic gesture. My sister doesn’t seem like your usual type.”
“You know nothing about my usual type. And don’t bother asking Alice. Alice will never tell.”
Lisa returned, going back to her lunch. “I put it next to the computer. But I think it might be better by the window. It would take a little remodeling.”
“Let me know if you’d like a hand. I’m excellent at remodeling.”
“According to you, you’re excellent at everything, Emery.”
Emery smiled. “I really am.”
Alice’s slightly aloof best friend had a crush on his sister. Jake will be so amused.
It all came crashing back. Jake would be amused, if they were still amused with each other.
Singer decided he’d rejected “wallowing in despair” far too quickly and excused himself to his bedroom.
32
Singer
66 days with Miles
They walked into the building just in time to see Marie walking out, backward, arguing with Brandi.
“He is my grandson—”
“I’ve told you over and over again, Marie, unless Regina is here—”
“I don’t know where she is! If I did, she would be here!”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “So, Regina isn’t here today?”
“I’m so sorry you drove all the way here,” Brandi said. “I was told she would be here.”
Marie, voice cracking, tried one more time. “I want to see my grandson.”
“I don’t see any reason why you can’t.” Singer glanced at Jake. “We’ll take you to lunch, Marie.” Brandi began to object, but Jake was nodding like this was the obvious solution. Even a scrap of Jake’s approval—once so common as to be taken for granted—was enough now to warm Singer’s spine.
“I really wouldn’t recommend that at this stage—”
“I’m sure it will be fine. Marie? Can we take you to lunch?”
Marie’s expression did not soften. She hesitated so long that Singer thought, as impossible as it seemed, she might say no. “Fine,” she said at last, as if she were conceding defeat. “That would be fine.”
“I’m not sure—” Brandi began. Then stopped. “I will contact you to get another visit, with Regina, scheduled.” The door snapped shut, with attitude.
“Somewhere nearby,” Jake said, and Singer conjured an image of himself and Jake riding in the front seat of their crossover, with Marie and Miles sitting in the back. Walking distance, so I can feel less like a privileged white man, if nothing else.
“Do you know anywhere around here to eat, Marie?”
“This isn’t my neighborhood.”
“Right, well, we’ll find something, then.”
“Do you want to hold Miles?” Jake asked.
“Can’t today. Maybe when we’re sitting.”
“Of course.” Singer, then Jake, adjusted their pace to hers.
*
The diner they found two blocks down was perfect. Big booth seats, quick service, and Miles ate something from all of their plates, standing up next to his grandmother to lean against the table.
“He’s getting real big now, isn’t he?” Marie asked.
“My mom says not to worry if he loses weight when he starts walking, because he’ll be using different muscle groups, but I don’t know. I think Regina was right. He’s built like a football player.”
Marie nodded, sipping her coffee. “His daddy was a damn fool. Could’ve gone to college for that, but got caught up in drugs. He’s the
reason for all this.” She waved her hand across the table, from Miles to them. “Got Regina into all those drugs and she can’t get herself off them. Fools, both of them.”
“Marie, can I ask you something?” Jake cleared his throat. “I told you my mom’s an ER nurse, right? Can I ask you what’s wrong with your back? Why you can’t— Why the placement didn’t work out?”
For a long second, Singer thought she wouldn’t answer. Her expression went steely, almost defiant. Then Miles squawked at his food and something softened in Marie’s gaze. When she started talking, she only sounded resigned.
“Car accident, two years ago. Got rear-ended by an idiot with no insurance. Whiplash, bulging disc, some kind of joint pain they keep telling me is fixed, even though I feel it every day.” She shook her head. “Kept going back the whole first year, but it didn’t matter how much pain I was in, they told me everything looked good.”
“That’s horrible,” Jake said, with feeling. (Singer could only imagine what Cathy would say.)
“They thought I was trying to get pills.” She eyed them, hand smoothing up and down Miles’s back.
“Mom says the real danger is all the overprescribing to people who aren’t trying to get pills. Doctors will give you Vicodin for a headache and withhold the Percocet you need for chronic pain.”
“I hate all of it. I don’t want to go through life with a pill bottle in my hand.”
“And they didn’t try physical therapy?”
She grunted. “Sure, they tried. The insurance gave me sixty days to ‘fully recover’ from my injuries. That was it.”
The reality of it crackled over Singer’s awareness: had a car not hit Marie two years ago, they wouldn’t be sitting here now. They wouldn’t have ever met Miles at all. He fought a shiver. Any gratitude for Miles’s placement with them was tied up in gratitude for Marie’s injury, her pain. He couldn’t be sad about Miles, but he had to beat back rage on Marie’s behalf.
Miles slammed a hand down over her potatoes and fisted it, trying to pick up enough to shove in his mouth. Marie smiled and reached out, ghosting it over his head, down his neck.
“Sweet boy. You all take him to church?”
They looked at each other, sharing mirrored stumped expressions.
“We don’t actually have a church,” Jake said. “Singer’s family is agnostic, and mine is Catholic.”
“But you don’t go.”
“I guess my parents still go to mass. My brother and I don’t.” Jake paused. “The church hasn’t always been good to us. I’m not sure I could go back to it.”
Singer caught his breath, watching Jake’s face.
“Mm-hmm,” Marie said. “Children need church. You boys don’t know that yet, but children need to have Jesus in their lives.”
“Marie,” Singer said, hoping like hell he wasn’t about to end any chance that he and Jake would ever sleep under the same roof again. “You have a church, right?”
She stared at him.
“Could we bring Miles to your church? It’s not something that means much to us, but I think you’re right, I think it’s important that he have—choices. That he have access to faith. I didn’t have that, when I was young.” He didn’t dare look over at Jake.
Suddenly Marie began to laugh, huge rolling laughter. Miles blinked up at her, and his face crumpled.
“Here.” Jake scooped him into his lap. But Jake was smiling.
“Oh, that’s funny. Oh, that’s so funny.” Marie wiped her eyes. “Picture you two pale, pale white boys—oh, that’s so funny.”
Miles, now safe on Jake’s lap, stared over at his grandmother, fascinated by her. He waved food-encrusted hands around and made noise. Singer captured each hand with napkins to minimize the damage while Marie calmed down, still wiping her eyes.
“Well, I grant it might be strange,” Singer said. “But it would be a way for Miles to see you without Brandi telling us not to. And if Regina was there, he could see her as well.”
“That girl hasn’t gone to church in years, not since she turned sixteen and knew better than God.” Marie shook her head. “You’re really serious about this. You want to raise this baby, like he’s yours. He’s not your family. He’ll never pass as yours.”
This time it wasn’t an accusation, but a question.
“We can’t accidentally get pregnant, Marie,” Jake said evenly, as if he were discussing the traffic patterns on the bridge. “We want to adopt. We love Miles. Tell us where your church is and we’ll come. Unless you think we wouldn’t be welcome?”
Marie and Jake stared at each other for a long moment, and Singer couldn’t tell which way it would go. He mopped at Miles’s face again and watched as he crammed another chunk of scrambled egg into his mouth.
“Any grandson of mine is welcome in my church,” Marie said. “And you two along with him.”
“Settled, then. Give us the details.”
And Singer’s first thought, as he reached into the diaper bag for a pen and paper, was: at least I’ll see them on Sundays. Every Sunday morning he’d spend with Jake and Miles at Marie’s church. That was worth any discomfort. And Marie’s challenging look, saying good-bye to them on the sidewalk. She didn’t think they’d show.
But Marie didn’t know Jake with a dare. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and there was no way Jake wasn’t going to church.
33
Viv
53 days until starting over
At long last, Viv thought she might be getting somewhere. Now that it was just Singer and Lisa in the house, everything would certainly improve. Even if Singer had watched the baby one day, he must be seeing exactly how his impermanence was detrimental to the child.
And sometimes distance made it clear exactly what wasn’t working between two people. She resolutely turned her mind away from Drew and the house in Valencia.
Tonight she would talk to them. Singer. Lisa. It was time for the three of them to be honest with one another. Last time she and Singer had spoken, he hadn’t been ready to hear the truth, but that had been days ago. Surely he’d be more aware now. He might even be able to see that all this was a blessing in disguise, saving him from far deeper mistakes.
And Lisa. If she only had a little bit of time with Lisa, Viv knew she could convince her to see another specialist. Not that man who thought he knew better than Viv about her own daughter. Someone else. She’d find the right person, she just needed Lisa to give her a chance.
Resolved and ready, dressed, put together—the three of them might go to dinner, somewhere nice—she entered her own home by the back door. Singer was in the kitchen, which was convenient.
“Darling, don’t you think it would be nice if we went to dinner? I was thinking maybe that place in Lafayette we went for your birthday that year, though we don’t have a reservation. I’m sure we can get in somewhere.”
“Sorry, Mother. We’re having people over.” He pulled a wine bottle out of the refrigerator and gauged its level before returning it to its shelf.
“People? What people?”
“Oh, Frankie. Emery. I think Carey and Alice are probably staying home.”
He said it as if it didn’t matter, but she could sense the undercurrent there. “I should imagine, since they have guests.”
Singer kept his face in a cabinet, bringing down another bottle of wine, unopened. “Yes, well, in any case they’ll be here soon.”
“Are you trying to evict me from my own house?”
“Evict you? No, Mother. Since you’ve never shown any interest in spending time with my friends before this, I assume you have no interest in spending time with them tonight. And anyway, I think we’ll probably just have a glass of wine and sit in the spa.” He glanced over. “I’ll tell Frankie to keep her voice down.”
The spa. Her spa. With—that man in it.
�
�I simply don’t understand why that Emery keeps coming over. I thought you said he was a friend of Jake’s.” It took everything in her power not to demand Singer call off this—this gathering, these people. She had her own plans, which were undeniably more important than the brash girl and the young man who would almost certainly use the spa as an excuse to—
Viv didn’t want to think about it. “Your sister isn’t involved in this, is she?”
Singer sighed. “She does live here, Mother. And Emery is her friend, too.”
Viv was about to say something to that when Lisa herself slid into the room, along the edges, like she always did now. As if she were trying not to take up too much space.
She only met Viv’s gaze for a second. “I like Emery.”
“You like him,” Viv repeated. “Well, Lisa, I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t consider your good opinion exactly beyond reproach.”
Singer spun toward her, taking half a step forward. “Have you ever had a friend, Mother? In fact, have you seen anyone in your age group since you got here?”
His tone was so … vicious. She nearly moved back, as though even with the peninsula between them his aggression could reach out and touch her. Singer had never been an angry boy, but the expression on his face now was far from pleasant.
Viv marshaled herself. “How would you know what I’ve been doing? It isn’t as if you’ve been eager to spend time with me since I arrived, Singer, and I really don’t know what to make of that—”
“Since you arrived? You mean when you didn’t tell us you were coming or how long you planned to stay? How long do you plan to stay, Mother? We’re spending time together now, so—”
The doorbell rang. They stared at each other.
Lisa shifted, melting out of the room again. “I’ll, um, get that.”
The door opened. Viv was still locked on Singer, but both of them heard the low voice, and Lisa’s in answer. She braced, but Lisa didn’t bring him into the kitchen.
“I hope you know what you’re risking having that man around this house,” she said tersely.
He rolled his eyes. As if her concerns were a joke. “Oh, what are we risking? Why do you treat him like he’s a predator? He’s a friend, Mother. Do you think I’d have him here in the house—with Miles—if I didn’t think he was safe?”