by Becky Flade
She pulled him close. Hugged him tight. Like any little boy would, he squirmed.
“Mom-my.” He dragged the word out.
“Go pick out a book for tonight.”
He scooted off the edge of her bed and ran down to his room to select a story. She should tell Brady not to run in the house. She often did. He usually forgot. But she didn’t enjoy tapping down his enthusiasm. How many kids were that excited to be read to?
Had Jayson ever enjoyed simple pleasures like sitting in his mother’s lap being read to after a warm bath? She knew he remembered the drinking, crying, fear, and abuse. But did he have memories of anything else? Does he know words and benign neglect leave scars too?
She thought he’d be the father Brady deserved. It’s why she looked for him. She’d known he’d be a good daddy. Don’t let your own scars cloud your judgment.
“This one.” Brady shoved the book into her lap. Are You My Mother?
She flicked her eyes toward the heavens. Are you kidding me with this? Her mother always told her, God answers prayers. You just have to listen.
“We’ll read in a minute. I want to talk to you first.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“No, baby.” She breathed deep, slowed her racing heart. “Do you remember meeting Mr. Donovan last weekend?”
“He has a motorcycle.”
“That’s right.” Her mouth was dry as dust. How do I say this? “Mr. Donovan is your dad. He thought you were awesome and would like to spend some time with you. But only if you say okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”
Brady sucked his thumb. He’d outgrown the habit years ago, falling to it when sick, scared or confused. I feel sick, scared and confused too. He wrinkled his nose, pushing his thick brows together when deep in thought, like now. He may look like his dad, but he’s got my quick and busy mind.
“What do I call him?”
“Whatever you want as long as you’re respectful.”
“Are you going to get married?”
“Nope.”
“Is he going to come live here with us?”
“No, bub.”
“Do I have to go live with him?” He asked in a near whisper.
“Never.”
“Can I ride the motorcycle?” He looked at her from under his lashes.
She laughed. “Maybe. When you’re older and if you wear a helmet.”
She hugged him again, and he didn’t squirm or protest this time. “What do you think about having Jayson over for lunch tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“Pass me the book.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Hey bub, I’m home and I’m ordering pizza. Tell me something good. How was your day?”
She let the door slam behind her, something she rarely did or allowed Brady to do, but the angry bang of the wood on the frame matched her mood. She opened the fridge, popped the cap on a can of Pepsi, and took a deep gulp of the cold cola wishing it was a beer.
“Well, we played, we played, and then we played some more. It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.”
Christ, why today? She shut the fridge door and turned toward Jayson.
His eyes widened. “Wow, you’re wearing a suit.”
“I wear one every day. Where is Mrs. Cunningham?”
“She had an emergency and called your sister. She picked up Brady. And we crossed paths at the supermarket. I offered to take him off her hands. They called. But you didn’t answer.”
“Jayson. Jayson. Jayson.” Brady slid into the room in his socks. “Hi, Mommy.”
He smiled, ran to her for a quick kiss, and returned to Jayson’s side. She tried not to be hurt as she checked her phone. Sure enough, she had several missed calls and text messages. She tossed the phone back into her bag. He looked insulted. Get over it. You’ve proved yourself a liar time and again.
“I gotta get going, big guy. Your mom had a bad day chasing bad guys. I think she wants to order pizza, get a hug, take off that weird suit, and put her feet up.”
“Mommy doesn’t chase bad guys. She’s a lawyer like Miss Sally on Cars. Can Jayson stay for dinner?”
“Sure, he can.”
Brady smiled and bolted from the room.
“You’re a lawyer?”
“I’ve been with the district attorney’s office since Brady was an infant.” She held up a finger as the clerk at their favorite pizza shop answered on the first ring. She ordered a medium for her and Brady, and a second pie for Jayson with his preferred toppings. He smiled at her with a grin too like her son’s when she disconnected.
“You remember how I like my pizza.”
“Figured it was safe to assume that much had been true.”
His eyes went flat before the smile had faded.
She sighed and pushed her hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. I had a shitty day. And now I’m pissed I put myself in a position where I have to apologize to you.”
“I should go.”
“Cut and run? Yeah, that sounds about right.” She walked to him, too angry at the world to care about keeping him at a safe distance, and put her finger in his face. “Our son asked you to stay. You’re staying. That’s being a father. You don’t have to like it any more than I do, but you’ll smile through it just like I will. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it.” He grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth.
She hadn’t expected it, wasn’t prepared. As quickly as it started, it ended, and she wiped a hand over bruised lips. What the hell?
“I apologize.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Won’t happen again.”
She slapped a twenty on the counter. “For the pizza.”
She gathered her things and stomped up the stairs, but stopped in Brady’s doorway to watch him play for a minute. He had created an entire city out of blocks and moved different cars down narrow streets. It was his favorite game to play. Most nights she’d sit with him, and they’d give the streets funny names. If I sit down, Brady will want Jayson to join us. She felt his intrusion more here than she had with the angry, punishing kiss.
“Dinner will be here soon.”
“Okay, Mom.”
He smiled at her and some of the tension in her neck loosed. Brady Parker had all the right moves. She stood behind her bedroom door, forehead against the thin wood, listening to her son chatter as he washed his hands. He’s happy. That’s all that matters. I just have to keep reminding myself of that and I’ll get through this. It’ll get easier. She stepped away to change her clothes as Brady’s feet thundered through the hall and down the stairs.
The first lunch had been awkward. But Brady didn’t let that get in his way. Her boy was a chatterbox, a friendly kid who’d never met a stranger. He was full of questions and Jayson had been eager to answer them. In the weeks that followed, he started giving her money. She’d been about to throw it in his face, her son’s affections weren’t for sale, but he’d told her, in that quiet way she remembered. It was his job to help support Brady.
She took his money. And plastered a smile on his face every Saturday when he came to visit. Even if it was burning a hole into her soul.
They were at the table eating when she returned to the kitchen. She dropped her briefcase by her desk—the breakfast nook acted as her home office since Brady’s birth—and sat. Their easy banter made conversation unnecessary. This is what our life was supposed to have been.
She shook it off. The day had been hard enough already—she didn’t need that torture too. She already knew ‘what ifs’ were painful and hopeless. They solved nothing. She considered a third slice when the conversation turned to her.
“You’re a prosecutor?”
“Yes, I am.” She decided she’d run an extra mile and reached into the box. “I work in the juvenile unit. It’s not just about winning there. It’s also about second chances.”
“You said you had a bad day. What happened?”
She looked over to where Brady play
ed with his napkin. It didn’t look as though he listened. She knew he wouldn’t miss a word. Her boy didn’t miss much. She shook her head and took a bite of her slice. Jayson’s gaze followed hers.
“So, little man, what you got cooking this weekend?”
After dinner, they disappeared upstairs. The chore of cleaning up the kitchen was routine, and she found comfort in the routine. But pizza night takes two minutes to put right. Now what? She poured a glass of wine and opened her briefcase.
She shouldn’t have brought the Frye case file home. There was no rule against it. She often worked from home, everyone did. But this case had been reassigned after today’s debacle. She stuck it in her briefcase despite being told to stay away from it. This boy had no one.
“He’s asleep.” Jayson’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I was reading to him, and he nodded off. He’s still in his clothes.”
“That’s fine.” She looked at the clock, it was going on nine. “It’s my fault. I lost track of time.”
“Feel like telling me about that bad day now?”
“It’s not your problem.” She rolled her shoulders.
“No, you’re right it’s not. You could still tell me.” He pulled out a chair, turned it and straddled the back. “We can talk, maybe even be friends someday.”
“You make a habit of kissing your friends when you’re mad at them?”
“Only the pretty ones.” He shot back with a quick smile. “I was mad and needed to do something, but it shouldn’t have been that. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t know how to respond or even if she should. Leave it alone. She gestured to the open file on her desk.
“I’ve got this defendant, fifteen-year-old boy. Good kid, gets good grades, and from all accounts is abused, most likely by his mother’s boyfriend. He takes it, makes excuses for the bruises and broken bones. Until one night the boyfriend turns on the mother, and the boy beats the man up trying to protect his mom.”
“Defense of self or others justifies the use of force. Why are you prosecuting this kid?”
“Boyfriend’s pressing charges. Mother claims that’s not what happened. Says her boy attacked her and the boyfriend tried to save her. She wants to press charges against her son, too.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“She was in my office today, along with her son’s public defender. I thought I could convince her to do the right thing. She snapped, started screaming. There was no calming her down. She pointed to the picture of Brady on my desk and said something about how I should wait until he’s bigger than me before I start judging her. I told her it wouldn’t matter if he was bigger than me, I’d never let some man I was screwing knock my son around.”
“How’d she respond?”
“Like throwing gasoline on a fire. She came at me. I hit her.”
“Good for you.” He clapped. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you’re still a bruiser.”
“Don’t make me laugh. It’s not funny. I could’ve lost my job. The public defender’s a good guy, we’ve worked together before, and he backed me up. Told my boss it was self-defense. They gave the case to someone else.”
“You can’t save everybody.”
“I know. It’s just this kid…”
“What about this kid?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Some cases get to you, and this is one of them. It’s not my case anymore.” She closed the manila folder and stuffed it back in her briefcase. “I’m having a second glass. You want one?”
“Sure.” He stood and leaned against the island. “You loved being a cop. Why did you quit?”
“How do you know I didn’t get fired?”
“Not possible. What happened?”
“I quit after Brady was born.” She smiled and handed him a goblet.
“Is that on me too?”
“It pains me to let you off the hook for anything, but no. Even if you had been here, I’d have quit the force.”
“But you loved it.”
“I love Brady more. I loved him from the second I knew I was pregnant. I decided then and there to give up my badge. I just let the force cover my maternity leave first. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. You’ve answered plenty of my questions tonight.”
“How do you know, for sure, Checcio isn’t going to come after you? After Brady?”
It gnawed at her, this worry someone would come after Brady to hurt Jayson. She’d hoped his ignorance of Brady’s existence provided protection. But now? Things had changed. As soon as she saw his badge, and understood the truth, the blunt edge of fear had grown keen.
“I never testified. My supervisor at DEA is the only person aware of my role in the investigation. When the task force was ready to serve arrest warrants, he gave my warrant to two cops with repeated excessive force complaints. They hurt me. It was touch and go for a few days.”
“Your boss, the guy responsible for your safety, nearly got you killed?”
He nodded.
“Did he do it to protect your cover, protect his case, or get two bad cops off the street?”
“All of the above. As far as the rest of the world knows my defense attorney struck a hell of a deal in exchange for my not suing. Aren’t I the lucky son-of-a-bitch?” He raised his glass as though in a toast. “To Frank Stedman, a man not afraid to make the hard decisions. There is no sacrifice too great for me to make for his cause.”
She stood there, her glass in her hand, long after he’d left. I wish I didn’t understand how he felt. So much was lost for other men’s ambition and greed. She drained her glass and locked the door. She put little things in their place, cleaning up toys and shutting out lights as she moved through the first floor. She checked the windows and the front door, everything was locked. I smell him in every room. Did he check the doors and windows too? She imagined he had.
Brady’s room had been straightened up. Not well, but they tried. She sat on the edge of his bed and pulled off his socks one at a time. His toes flexed and released like they were saying “ahhh.” She tucked his blanket around him.
He smiled in his sleep and mumbled, “Love you, Mommy.”
“Love you too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Parker family dinner was to be a barbeque this Sunday. Kylee kept her father company as he warmed up the grill and Brady helped his grandmother make deviled eggs. The heat had rolled back to create a beautiful day. Summer was ending, and she loved the fall.
She hadn’t discussed Jayson’s return with her parents or her family. They knew what they needed to: he was back, and getting to know his son. But she refused to discuss it further. I don’t know how to tell them the rest. What if they knew?
“Dad? Did you know Jayson was an undercover cop?”
“He didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. Why?”
“I’d always wondered why you and mom were so accepting of my relationship with, as far as I knew, a drug dealer. But I never asked about it. Maybe your accedence made it easier for me to justify the relationship to myself. But it occurs to me now you may have known.”
“No.” Her father sat beside her and took her hand. “I suspected. I shared my suspicions with your mother. We figured if we were right, Jayson would tell you, and then us, when he could. And if we weren’t, you’d end the relationship in due course. Instead, he disappeared, and you were pregnant.”
“Why not share your theories with me after he left?”
“And if we were wrong?”
She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he rubbed her back. It was a simple and sound explanation; it spoke of her parents. They wouldn’t have wanted her to wait for Jayson to come back to her a hero when they didn’t know he would. I hate doubting them.
“Has he been to see you and Mom?”
“Not yet.”
“I thought he might’ve come to see you guys first.”
“I’m not surprised. Knowing Jayson, after discovering the responsibilities he ina
dvertently left behind, he’s ashamed to face your mother and me.”
“Well you know him better than I do. Why did you suspect he was a cop? I didn’t have a clue.”
But I should’ve. She remembered saying once he should’ve been a cop. He even played paintball as though he’d had combat training. Looking at it all now, without lust clouding her view, it was clear as crystal. You can blame it on lust if you want but you loved him, and you know it.
“After Jayson got out of the hospital, his dad was locked up and his mother was gone. The house had been rented out to new tenants. He was broke and homeless.”
“Yes, I know all of that.”
“He’d aged out of medical assistance while he was in the hospital. He had a huge debt hanging over his head. Your mother and I paid his hospital bill.” Her father smiled. “Based on the expression on your face, you didn’t know that Little Miss Smarty-pants. Your mom had taken you kids to the shore for the summer, and I came down on the weekends, remember? Well, Jayson stayed here with me until he left for basic training.”
“Wait. He was in the army?”
“The whole time you were in college. He sent us every check he received until he’d paid us back. When his father died, Jayson’s unit was deployed, unreachable. We were listed as his emergency contacts, they called us instead. When he was discharged, with honors, we took him to dinner. We were proud of him. Just as proud as when you graduated law school, and Michael graduated medical school. We handed him the passbook to the savings account where we’d put all his money minus the cost of burying his father. Your mother didn’t want Jayson to pay for it, but I knew it would be a matter of pride. It’s one of the few arguments I’ve won.”
Her father paused while he laid thick slabs of steak and marinated chicken on the grill.
“He took his GI Bill and the money we’d saved for him and relocated to Baltimore. He enrolled in the university there. He wrote at first, but then we didn’t hear from him or about him again until you arrested him six years. That’s why I never believed he was what he pretended to be.”