MAYBE BABY

by ANDREA SMITH

  I put my groceries away, leaving a small, frozen pizza out to microwave for dinner. The wine Clint had bought for me was chilled, so I pulled out a big plastic cup, filling it to the top and tossing a couple of ice cubes in it for good measure.

  I popped the pizza into the microwave for the specified number of minutes. I found the television remote, pressing the power button to get some noise going. The quietness of the cottage was eerie.

  I sat crossways in the living room chair, flipping through the channels, finally stopping on the tail end of 'One Tree Hill.' I sipped my iced wine, enjoying the taste. Soon the feeling of relaxation that sunk in.

  My microwave beeped when my pizza was done. I refilled my plastic glass of wine, grabbed a couple of napkins and took my pizza out to the living area so I could continue watching television while I ate.

  I switched the channel over to ‘Criminal Minds’ at 9 p.m. It was probably not the best choice to watch a show about ghastly serial killers and rapists when I still had the heebie-jeebies about my cottage. It didn’t seem so bad now. My wine seemed to be providing me with a nice supply of liquid courage this evening.

  I finished my pizza, tossing the cardboard disk it came on and my napkins into the trash can. I missed. Oh well, I’d get it later. I got back into my little fridge and refilled my plastic cup with wine. Uh-oh, it was damn near gone! For some reason that struck me as funny, and I started giggling. I slipped out of my clothes, tossing them into the bedroom. It was warm and I was afraid to open windows because of the stalker. I was comfortable in my push-up bra and panties. They matched, too!

  I returned to the living area changing the station again so that I could watch my favorite new show, ‘Revenge.’

  (God, Daniel is hot!)

  I really hoped that Emily wasn’t playing him like the others. He had no responsibility for what his parents had done. Anyone could see that they were in love, or at least he was in love with her. Emily was one complicated bitch. That thought brought a new fit of giggles. Then it hit me, ‘Daniel’. His name was Daniel, just like my old boyfriend’s name was Daniel.

  I thought back to my dream in the hospital that was like an instant replay of prom night, only with additional scenes that had not been part of my recollection. I recalled the night Trey was here, kissing me and I freaked, thinking it was my mom’s voice I was hearing in my head, disclosing all of those awful things about me being in denial.

  That was not my mom’s voice in my head that night. It was the voice of my own subconscious, doing its job. Forcing me to face the reality of what it knew and what my conscious had refused to believe for years.

  I remembered what had happened after prom. Daniel had dropped me like yesterday’s trash.

  At the time, I convinced myself and others that it was due to my getting drunk and then sick, spoiling what was to be our own special night, my first time. I pretended that it didn’t matter because the truth was; I could no longer look at Daniel without feeling queasy. My mother never once questioned what had happened between Daniel and me. Not once.

  It wasn’t like my mom still didn’t have her boyfriends; it wasn’t as if she discontinued her ‘date’ nights. At this point, she didn’t care what I saw or what I heard from her bedroom.

  Thinking back, I could not say with any certainty whether Daniel ever fucked my mom again after prom night. It didn’t really matter though. She had accomplished what she had intended. She had diminished me to nothing.

  Now that I had come to terms with at least this portion of my memory, it felt as if a weight had been lifted. I would not allow her to damage me any further. She wanted to destroy me for some reason, but she had failed. I took comfort in that.

  I went to the fridge and poured the rest of the chilled wine into my plastic cup. I tossed the empty bottle over to the trash can.

  (Missed again!)

  I started laughing almost hysterically; simultaneously tears spilled down my cheeks. Someone was at the door of my cottage, pounding loudly. Oh God, I wonder if Clint was checking on me. It was unusual for me to be up this late on a work night. I padded over to the front door in my bare feet, wiping my face dry of the tears.

  “Clint, is that you?” I asked.

  “It’s Trey,” the smooth and silky voice replied.

  I opened the door and sure enough it was Trey. The look on his face when he saw me standing there in my undies with a plastic cup half filled with wine was priceless. It caused more giggles to break lose. I composed myself, unlatching the screen door and holding it open.

  “Come on in, Trey. I thought you were Clint.”

  He raised an eyebrow, glancing at my attire.

  “Dressed like that?” he snapped.

  I acted like I had been oblivious to what I was wearing. I looked down at my stomach, seeing the navel ring and low cut silk bikini panties.

  “Oh, I forgot I hadn’t put my robe on after I changed. Is it warm in here?” I asked, fanning myself.

  “Be right back.”

  I took my time walking to my bedroom, knowing that his sapphire eyes were watching my backside the whole way; I got some satisfaction in that.

  I grabbed my bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door and put it on. I left the belt untied; I didn’t want to hide everything from him. As I exited my room Trey was in the kitchenette, picking up all of the trash that had ended up on the floor instead of the trash can. As he picked the empty wine bottle up, he turned to me.

  “How were you able to buy this?” he questioned.

  I hesitated for a moment, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

  “Because if I find out anyone that works for me bought you alcohol after all the shit that happened a few weeks back, that is immediate termination.”

  “Chill, Trey.” I laughed. “I bought it myself when I was staying with Gina. They didn’t card me.”

  I sauntered over to where he was standing, taking the empty wine bottle from him and setting it on the counter.

  “I’d offer you some wine, Trey, but as you can see, I’m all out.”

  “I’m surprised that you would come back to stay here at this cottage, Tylar.”

  “Well, I really had no choice,” I responded.

  “That’s not true, Tylar. You know it.”

  “I’m not staying with you Trey; not after the way you accused me of being a whore!” I snapped, my voice getting louder.

  “I did no such thing,” he argued.

  “What do you call asking me about your white shirt, your robe, your razor? I expected you to be pissed about the car; I didn’t expect you to presume I brought in some random guy, let him use your razor, wear your clothes and fuck me in your bed!”

  I was slurring now, pointing my plastic cup at him accusingly, while I staggered a bit. Trey grabbed the plastic cup from me and emptied the contents in the sink. Before I had a chance to verbally blast him, he took my arm and pulled me into the living area, planting me firmly beside him on the couch. I started to say something, but his voice cut me off before I got a syllable out.

  “You are going to keep you smart mouth shut for now. I will do the talking.” he said in his control freak tone. (Whatever.)

  “I’m certainly not going to beg you to come back and stay at the manor. However, know that the invitation is open should you not feel comfortable here. The reason that I came by this evening is to let you know that I was able to get into contact with Andrew Sneed this week while in Atlanta.”

  He had my full attention now.

  “Tylar, it appears that your trust has been depleted, and your mother left the employ of that law firm a couple of weeks weeks ago. It appears that she has also left your home in Radcliffe to parts unknown at this time.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “That trust was only accessible by me.”

  “Apparently, your signature appeared on the disbursement requests that started while you were still living with your mother for minimal amounts. The big take was after you arrived here.
Sneed has a copy of it with what he maintains is your signature. What is more is that the fax stamp on the document shows it coming from the fax machine located in the business office here, with a fax cover sheet that is on our stationary. Sneed had no reason to believe that it was not legitimate. Fax and scanned

  signatures are considered to be as legal as the originals.”

  “There’s more,” he continued.

  How could this get any worse I wondered?

  “It appears that your mother’s motivation in getting her part-time job at their legal firm was for the purpose of having the trust managed there. She actually started working their prior to the establishment of your trust. It was a private trust; there was no requirement for it to be filed as a public record with any government agency. Prior to your mom’s sudden departure from her job, just after your trust was cleaned out, she either took or destroyed all of the documents pertaining to your trust, electronic and hard copy alike.”

  “Why would she do that?” I asked.

  “For the purpose of destroying the trail back to the trustor, the person who set up the trust.”

  “But I know who that is; it’s my dad, her ex-husband.”

  “Tylar, I’ve had one of our law clerks digging into some of this. Your mom was never married to anyone.”

  “Stop, Trey I cannot listen to any more of this, please!” My voice was cracking, my shoulders shaking. I pulled my knees up tucking them under my chin and burying my face into them.

  “Baby, “I’m sorry,” he said gently, pulling me to him.

  I pushed him away.

  “Trey, please leave,” I asked.

  I don’t think Trey knew what to think. But I was tired of always be on the receiving end of his pity.

  “As you wish,” he replied, standing up. “But Tylar, this is something you can’t simply ignore. It appears that your mother committed a felony act. Her law firm is not convinced any criminal activity took place. We need to establish that your signature was forged in order to start the process with the local prosecutor in that county. Timing was a factor in all of this; I’m convinced of it.”

  “How do we go about doing that?” I asked.

  “We need to make a trip to Kentucky. You will need to confirm the signature as a forgery, and then file a formal complaint with the Prosecutor’s office.”

  “But we don’t even know where she is.”

  “I’m aware of that which is why you need to go to your home and determine what the situation is there. Talk to neighbors, her friends, anyone that might shed some light.”

  “So you would go with me?” I asked

  “I told you I would, Tylar,” he replied. “I have the next couple of days free into early next week. I made flight reservations for us tomorrow morning.”

  “But I’m supposed to leave Friday night to fly to Atlanta to spend a few days with Gina,” I whined.

  “Really, Tylar?”

  I knew he was right. This needed to take priority. I would call Gina and let her know. Perhaps the trip could be rescheduled. Gina would understand.

  “I’ll phone Gina first thing in the morning,” I replied. “I’m sure she can get my flight re-scheduled for another time.”

  “Okay, then. Please get some rest. Are you sure you won’t stay with me at the house tonight?”

  “I really don’t feel like changing, packing and all of that kind of stuff right now. In case you hadn’t noticed, Trey, I’m a little drunk?”

  He chuckled, taking a seat on the couch next to me once again. He pulled me over to him and this time, I let him.

  “I noticed, baby,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “What should I do with you, Tylar?”

  “I have some things to tell you Trey. I don’t want to get into it all tonight though, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m going to sleep on your couch, though and no argument, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  I got a pillow for Trey and a sheet for him in case he wanted to sleep in his boxers. He opened the window in the living area to catch some of the breeze from outside. I went to my room, cranked my window air conditioner on and was asleep within minutes after my head hit the pillow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Trey roused me up while it was still dark outside. He had made coffee, poured me a glass of orange juice and toasted a bagel for me. I was hung over and grumbling. He told me he didn’t want to hear it. It was my own fault.

  I choked the bagel down, and drank my juice. I popped into the shower, washing my hair, shaving my legs. Trey brought an outfit into the bathroom for me, along with clean panties and a bra

  (Control freak!).

  I dressed, brushed my teeth, and blew my hair dry. I packed up my toiletries and cosmetics, and the clothes that Trey had laid out on my bed for me. This was record time for me to pack and be ready to travel on a moment’s notice.

  Trey hustled me out, locking my cottage up behind us. We walked down the path past the stables to the manor. It was still dark.

  “What time is our flight?” I asked.

  “It departs at 7:30 a.m. The limo will be up at the house in thirty minutes, get a move on it. I’ve still got to pack.”

  Once the limo picked us up, I snuggled up against Trey and fell back to sleep. It seemed like two minutes later we were at the airport boarding a commercial flight to Louisville. We were seated in first class. The flight was going to be relatively short, but we were given top notch treatment.

  The flight attendants continued to gush over Trey, wanting to get him more coffee, juice whatever. I was getting pissed with their continuous fawning over him. I didn’t want to be obvious so I closed my eyes as if to go to sleep and ended up draped across him during most of the flight. The flight attendant made sure to come by during our initial descent into Louisville instructing Trey that I needed to be in my assigned seat, with my seat belt fastened during landing. Bitch I thought, smirking to myself. Trey nudged me gently.

  “Wake up, baby,” he said softly.

  “We’re getting ready to land in a few minutes. Let’s get you buckled up in your seat.”

  He buckled my seat belt as I opened my eyes, catching the attention of the bitch flight attendant who had been flirting with Trey the duration of the flight. I gave her a silent smirk.

  Once landed, Trey had reserved a rental car. The airport shuttle took us over to the lot and Trey picked up the Lexus SUV. He had booked a room at the Crowne Plaza Hotel near the airport.

  After we were settled in our room, I grabbed my cell phone from my purse and phoned Gina, letting her know that there had been a change in plans. Gina said that she would call the airlines and get the flight dates changed. We decided the weekend of my birthday, July 14th would work. Gina was actually more excited about moving my visit until then so she could plan a celebration of sorts at the Sanctuary.

  Our first stop was at the law offices of Findley, Morris & Sneed, L.L.P. In all of the years my mother had worked part-time there, I had never seen where she worked. It was a two story red brick building, located a couple of blocks from the courthouse on the outskirts of the downtown area. Trey had evidently called ahead. Mr. Sneed was expecting us.

  Mr. Sneed was a short, rather pudgy man in his mid-fifties. His hair was receding. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. His suit looked like something he had probably purchased used ten years prior. Definitely not your upscale law firm, but pretty much the type of firm I would have expected my mom to be affiliated.

  Trey introduced him and me to Mr. Sneed. We sat in his small, drab office. Sneed provided copies of the trust disbursement documents that he had ordered from the bank that actually held the funds. Trey and I sorted through them, separating them into two piles; one being the ones that had my actual signature authorization, the others that had forged signatures.

  There were a total of three that had been forged; two of the three were for $1000 each, and had been executed with my forged signature during my freshman year of college. />
  The final withdrawal from the trust was for the entire balance left of $53,454.78. This was processed just a week after I had arrived at the Sinclair’s estate. Sneed provided a copy of the fax transmission cover sheet that was on La Vie Belle stationary. The request instructions indicated the trust payout was to be disbursed as a check, and mailed to my attention c/o Sinclair Stables, P.O. Box 721, Bristol. VA. 24201-0721. That was the same mailing address that I had provided to the bank when I accepted the job at the stables.

  The only trust disbursement I had requested was the one submitted about a week after my trust had been emptied for registration fees for fall quarter at the university.

  I was still having difficulty in understanding my mom’s motivation for this. The house was paid for; at least that is what she had always told me. I had given her my jeep. Her only bills were utilities, food, clothing, car insurance. Surely, her salary would have covered those expenses? If not, then surely her ‘date nights’ would have supplemented her lifestyle.

  “Mr. Sneed, Did my mother resign her position here giving notice?” I asked.

  “She did not,” he answered. “She collected her last pay check on a Friday, and did not show for work the following Tuesday. Martha, the other part-time clerk got worried. Her phone had been shut off. Martha drove out to your house in Radcliffe. It appeared to be empty. When Mr. Sinclair here got in touch with us last week questioning the status of your trust, well, we tried to dig deeper. As you know, any documentation concerning your trust has disappeared or been destroyed. I am really sorry. I never expected this from your mother.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  He seemed puzzled that I would question him on that.

  “She was a good, consistent worker the years she worked for this firm, Ms. Preston. None of the partners saw anything odd or unusual with her behavior, not until a little more than a month ago."