Fucking bitch.
The uncharitable thought hammers my brain and I shut my eyes as I lean my head against the edge of the booth. My silence is rather lengthy. Jessie’s breathing takes a sharp incline. She’s worried I’ll hang up. Not answer. Disappear forever again. I want to. I can still. I think hard about it. I take the receiver off my ear and hold it over the box, thinking and almost slamming it down to cut off the call. But… I don’t. My curiosity is too powerful. And this sudden prick of feeling, interest, even wonder is new. It’s the first sensation that managed to forge through the thick numbness I feel cloaked beneath.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Max? Fine. I’d be willing to hang out and meet with him.”
“I’ve been texting him. He’ll be there in an hour. He’s just getting out of class and will get there as soon as he can. Where are you?”
“The diner by the highway and the Super 8.”
“I know it.” Her tone is crisp. Then she adds softly, “Natalie… Please—”
I wait, wondering what Jessie is begging of me. Don’t leave? Don’t go? Don’t come? Don’t hate me? Don’t come near me? What? What will this woman ask of me? Her long lost, unwanted daughter whom her other daughter found, not she. That irrefutable fact is not lost on me.
“Please just give me a chance to contact Christina.”
I hang up. That’s my eloquent answer. That’s the answer I see her deserving. All about her precious Christina! The daughter she raised, loved, nurtured, nourished and wanted. Yes, there is that undeniable fact, but contrary to my bitterness, I don’t think it extends to Christina. She was very sweet when I met her. Almost tongue–tied in my presence. At the time, I came off as cold and callous, totally uninterested in her, and I felt bad later. It took a lot of guts to come to me as she did, and totally without any warning or notice. I had no notion my biological family was interested in me; not to mention, this innocent, sweet, unsure, young girl. Eighteen. I think she was barely eighteen or nineteen. I don’t really know. I know nothing about these people. Or what could possibly benefit or injure me by meeting them.
Chapter Four
Natalie
I cross the parking lot again and nab the same table with the same waitress. “Hey, hon, back already?”
“Connected up with the friend.”
“Well, that’s nice. Beauty of small towns. Can I get you more coffee?”
“Sure.”
I stare out the windows, watching traffic that stops and goes at the one, lone signal. Some cars merge onto the highway while others keep moving forward in a lazy speed, gliding under the overpass. Things feel slow and easy here this afternoon. The sun is slanted now over the sky.
I first have trouble picturing Max, but the minute I see a young, rather short, but handsome Latino kid getting out of a sedan and crossing the lot with fast, purposeful strides, I instantly remember him.
Max Salazar. He enters the establishment and glances around. He obviously remembers me. His facial expression loosens into relief: he was obviously quite prepared for me to have already left. Honestly? So was I, but here I am. I stare at him, my best neutral, kind of cold cop face. I’m purposely using my intimidation skills. No simpering from me. No making him feel at ease.
He stops in front of my table and says nothing. Glancing down at me when I don’t stand up, he observes me sweeping my hand over the table, indicating for him to sit down. He slides into the booth and leans back, his gaze fastened on me.
He looks like a baby with his face almost completely scrubbed free of hair. His youthful eyes don’t even have a single wrinkle. His smile is genuine, however. And hard. There is no innocence in this kid’s stare. I realize it now, although I think I missed it before when he was with Christina. She had innocence. That was so obvious. But not this kid. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
His smile is small. “No, not much. Christina always makes up for my conversational deficiencies.”
I smile back. “Yes, except when meeting me. She was quite tongue–tied.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You were also trying to intimidate her. As you are trying to do to me now. You should know, however, that nothing about you intimidates me. I don’t worry or even care if you like me, like Christina, or would leave on account of me, like Jessie. So, Natalie what are you doing here?”
I lean back, and my smile becomes secretive. I don’t expect his suspicion of me. It’s kind of ironic. Funny. Interesting. And as I said before, not much else interests me now. “You’re worried about my motives? You all were the ones who came and found me.”
“Yes, but a year and nine months later, out of absolutely nowhere, you don’t even call first and just show up in town, looking for her?”
I shrug. “It was a spur–of–the–moment decision.” Which was totally honest. No plans to seek out long-lost family until I happened to stumble upon my husband when he was screwing someone else. “I had some unexpected time off, and I started thinking and wondering… so I guess I’m here finally to face it all. You have to admit, you couldn’t have expected a good reaction that day you two came to my house. I was in complete shock. Unprecedented. I had no idea how to react.”
Max inclined his head. “True enough. I’ll give you that. So now you’re interested?”
Am I? Really? I don’t know if that’s too strong of a word. I just literally have nothing else to do, and nowhere else to go. “I want to know more.”
Max kind of straightens up and leans his elbows on the table. His gaze is boring into my face. “Don’t mess with Christina. If you really want to do this, and meet her, then make sure it’s genuine. She doesn’t deserve whatever this really is. Your attitude is totally apathetic. You don’t care if you meet her, or any of them. Yet you’re here. The two don’t match at all. It’s a long trip, one, I venture to say, that should have been made by someone who was actually serious about meeting another person, like Christina was. Yet, here you are; and I get the feeling that is not really why you’re here.”
“Aren’t you like her cousin or something?” I raise my eyebrows, taunting him, trying to deflect his grilling of my true motives. I’m a little impressed that some kid, a guy especially, could manage to read me so easily and clearly.
He smiles. “I was adopted when I was fifteen. I didn’t even meet Christina until I was thirteen.”
“And now? You’re her boyfriend?”
His smile is cocky this time. “Yes, I am. And she’s far nicer than I am.”
I squint my eyes at him, and reply, “And more naïve I’m guessing too.”
He nods. “I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t grow up in a family like hers.”
She grew up in my life. I don’t say it though. I’m confused as to whether I resent her or not. Max is watching my face intently, trying to figure out if I am too. I know he said it on purpose to gauge my reaction. “You want to know if hate her, or want to be her sister? I have no idea. I wish I could tell you where my motives lie. I just… kind of came. That’s as deep as it gets and as deep as I feel about my motives right now.”
He stares at me and nods. “I might believe that.”
I nod too. “So back to the cousin and boyfriend thing. That’s really kind of gross, you know.”
He shrugs and leans back while stretching his arm along the back of the booth. “Nothing cousinly between us.”
“And the whole family is okay with that?”
“They didn’t love it at first, but I think everyone’s used to it now.”
“What about her sisters?”
“Melissa and Emily? They’re your sisters too. Why not just ask me instead of this passive/aggressive questioning? What do you want to know, Natalie?”
This kid is good. “Okay, I’m asking. What is the family like?”
“Kind, caring, supportive. Jessie and Will are good parents. The three girls are fine people. Are you disappointed or glad?”
“Confused about where I could possibly fit into the scheme of things
.”
Max shrugs. “Who fits in anywhere? They do have the capacity to accept the, shall we say, unexpected?”
“Like cousins who start dating.”
“I was brought here by my brother who was a drug dealer. He got caught dating one of their friends’ daughters. We came here at first to hide from our other brother. He was the drug runner and looking for both of us. As in, he would most likely have killed us if he found us. They took us in. The Hendrickses, and now my parents, Noah and Lindsey.”
“Who are they?”
“Your aunt, Jessie’s sister.”
I lean back, studying Max, and cross my arms over my chest. “A whole damn family is here?”
“Yes. They are a whole damn family.”
“Yet, they took you in. For no other reason than…”
“I’m sure if you ask them, they will say ‘because it was the right thing to do.’”
“And Jessie? What do you think of her?”
“She is my aunt. I love and respect her. But I can’t speak for you, or what you should feel for her.”
“Do you know the circumstances of my birth?”
“Yes.” His tone seems crisp and confident. “But only in the capacity of Christina’s boyfriend. Otherwise, as her cousin, I would not know.”
I consider him. “Will you tell me?”
“No. You want to know? You need to ask Jessie. Not me. Not Christina. It’s her story to tell you… or not, if she so chooses.”
I think many things about my birth. I work as patrol officer. I’ve seen a lot of bad domestic situations over the course of my job. I’ve met the dregs of our society and the black sheep of some families; and it sounds to me that Max has too. That accounts for the edge he has, which Christina lacks. I’m thinking, from first glance and first proof, that maybe Jessie was a decent mother. So now I’m guessing she was too young when she had me, or got raped by my biological father. Do I care? Do I feel sympathy? Yes. Of course. Something tightens in my heart. I have considered every possible scenario throughout my lifetime as to why I was given away as a newborn infant. But now I’m sitting here, staring at someone who knows her, and I realize in an almost suffocating moment that I have talked to her, this same woman who gave birth to me and then let me go. It seems to hit me finally for real. This did happen. I can have the answers I seek. Maybe. If I want to know them. Do I? Am I brave enough to accept the worst rejection possible? Either way, this woman who gave birth to me did not want me. My life, for whatever reason, was a mistake. And no matter how healthy anyone is now, no one wants to admit, much less feel that.
Max is staring at me as I take it all in. “Look, Natalie, you came all the way here. You’re close now and I have to believe if someone came this far, curiosity is at least part of their motivation. Why not put off all this bullshit and just go meet her? Go meet Jessie for yourself. I suspect you’re just pretending to want to see Christina. It’s a first move, and you’re ready to pussyfoot around, but what you really want is to meet Jessie. So why don’t you let me just take you there?”
“You really try to protect her, don’t you?”
“Who? Christina? Yeah, I do. The whole naïve, nice thing she has going on? It’s real and I don’t ever want to see it get ruined or lost.”
I appreciate the sweet sentiment. Max has been around real life and real situations; or at least, his attitude and essence convey that. I get it. Honestly? I was never all that naïve or innocent. I grew up a lot differently, none of this small town stuff, but probably nowhere near the way, I’m gathering, Max grew up. I was spared the drug–dealing brothers and death threats and all. Plus… Sam always looked out for me. No matter how tough I pretended to be, I could always rely on knowing no one in the neighborhood dared to pick on me, or bully me, or insult me, or even look at me the wrong way. Sam Ford had my back then. God, not a day in twenty–plus years has gone by without him having my back. Almost instinctively, I glance over my shoulder when a shiver goes down my spine. For the first time in two decades, there is no one who has my back. Not like this kid before me has for my naïve, stupid–sweet little sister. A sister I don’t know. I don’t even know if I want to know her.
But the kid is right. I’m here to meet my mother.
The rest is all bullshit.
Perhaps only because I respect him calling me on it, I nod. “All right. Yeah. Let’s just get on with it.”
Max nods, his expression neutral. He approves.
I follow him in my car. I’m finally on my way to meet my mother. Someone named Jessie Hendricks.
Chapter Five
Sam
I lay on our bed, sprawled out with only a t–shirt and my tightie–whities on. I’ve been drinking for three days straight. I might have eaten something… sometime. I don’t remember. I’m drunk. I’ve dialed Natalie’s number so many times, I’m starting to believe she really isn’t going to talk to me. Worse yet, I really don’t know where in the hell in the entire world my wife could be.
The third day, I finally get around to calling the office. I ineloquently tell whichever secretary—it might have even been the one I had sex with— that I, Sam Ford, am quitting BorderLine Solutions; effective immediately. Now. Pronto. Forever. Goodbye. The female voice rises in alarm as she starts calling louder into the receiver, “Mr. Ford! Mr. Ford! Please let me put you through to—” but I cut her off. No more job.
I’m aware enough, despite my stupor, to realize that probably wasn’t the best way to handle things.
The need to piss enters my comatose brain. Heaving myself up to a straight posture, I stumble to my feet and weave my way to the luxury bathroom adjoining our bedroom. I often don’t bother to lift the seat rim. I dribble on it. Natalie hates that. Always cusses me out over it, explaining how she doesn’t need to sit on my piss. How would I like it if she peed on my underwear? Yeah, Nat was never too subtle. Never too shy. Never did she avoid me. Or back down from any fight. Until now. Telling, isn’t it? She has more to say about my piss than she does about our marriage.
The phone rings and rings. It’s done that on and off for the last few days. Work mostly. Dustin. My mother. Never Natalie. I ignore it all. Texts. Calls. Even the few times when the front doorbell peals.
I don’t look in the mirror. I’m having trouble doing that. Shame stares back at me. I am too ashamed to even catch a glimpse of my own reflection.
I stumble out and back onto the bed, lifting one of many bottles off the nightstand. We have a pretty decent stock when it comes to liquor. Mine mostly, usually reserved for entertaining clients and associates and friends. Now, it’s all the shitty things I filled my life with in my effort to ignore the crumbling façade that used to be my marriage. Was I doing it more often of late in order to avoid my loneliness? Or just to piss Natalie off? I honestly don’t know. Neither scenario makes me feel proud.
I sleep some more, or pass out, which is more descriptive, and try to ignore my thoughts and feelings. All of it hurts. All of it makes me want to shut my eyes forever.
Knocking. So much knocking and doorbell–ringing, it keeps waking me up. I roll over, pushing two pillows over my head, trying to muffle the sound from my ears as well as the way each pound of the door and ring of the bell split my head like a cleaver. Not to mention the echo! We have one of those bells that sounds like a bullhorn when announcing visitors.
It won’t stop. Knock. Ring. Scream. I finally throw the pillows off and stumble to my feet. I ineptly weave and slide to the front door. My coordination is gone. Gripping the doorknob desperately, I use it to steady my balance. Just as the knocks rap again.
“Open up, Sam!”
Groaning, I lean my head against the wooden door. It’s Jayden. Of course. My cryptic “I quit” no doubt got passed on with some alarm to the higher–ups.
I finally find the strength to open the door. Jayden stops moving or speaking and his mouth falls open. His astonished gaze roams down to my feet and back up again. Yup, still in my underwear and t–shirt.
I don’t even care. The stubble is rather long on my face and I’m sure my eyes are bloodshot.
Jayden’s jaw clenches with alarm. “What is going on?” He pushes me backwards before moving past me. I don’t have the strength to stop him. A sudden wave of nausea is too strong as it sweeps over me.
“What is this shit? You quit? What the hell? You look like a mental patient. No, you look more like a heroin addict in need of a fix. Are you on drugs? Oh shit, Sam, did you start using?”
I get Jayden’s elaborate connection, from me looking a little under the weather to a jonesing heroin addict. I once came to work with a hundred–and–two degree temperature and a raging case of strep throat. I refused to admit I was sick until my throat almost closed off and I could not swallow. So here I was, out of nowhere, looking like this in middle of a workday. And, oh yeah, I spastically quit.
“I’m not on drugs,” I mumble, sounding defeated as I stumble to the couch. I let myself fall onto it, grateful for the reprieve from swaying on my feet. “I’ve been drunk for a few days.”
Jayden follows me, and stands in the room, his hands on his lean hips, dressed in an impeccable black suit over a purple silk shirt. His elbows poke out. The bright sunlight falls through the downstairs windows, blinding me. The dazzling white soon has me blinking and rubbing my eyelids to try and soothe the aching. “Is this about Chantal?”
I go still. The fuzzy vertigo of too much drink instantly seems to fall out of my head. I stiffen as I lift my gaze to his. “What about Chantal? How do you know about her?”
Leanne Davis - Natalie (Daughters Series #2) Page 5