“But you’re not because if a bad kid does something good, no one cares. If a good kid does, he’s a flippin’ hero.”
Parker pivoted on the seat so he could look Rave in the eye. “Son, the world doesn’t owe you squat, and the sooner you figure that out, the better your life will be.”
“Yeah, life’s what you make of it. I get it. That’s always easy for people to say who had something to start with. I didn’t have jack, Parker. So don’t act like you get me or understand me or even care.”
Parker rummaged for the keys. “I’ve seen a million just like you. Boy, you got two roads in front of you. One is leading to nothing but pain. One—maybe, just maybe, if you’re strong enough—might lead you to some form of happiness. But it’s two roads. And cowards always take the easy road. And they line the street with words like ‘Life hasn’t given me jack.’”
Rave didn’t know why his nose tingled or why the skin around his eyes suddenly felt hot. Maybe because this was one of the longest conversations he’d had with any man trying to help him—and in his heart, he knew that’s what Parker was doing.
Parker’s voice softened. “Tonight, I didn’t see a good kid or a bad kid. I saw a young man stand up for what was right.” He opened the back door and helped Rave out. “That’s what’s in you, Rave. Under all the anger and the hurt.” He shoved a finger into Rave’s chest. “That’s what’s in you. What you do with it is your choice.”
He unlocked the cuffs, and Rave ran his hands over the reddened areas on his wrists. He started to walk away in the direction of his apartment because he didn’t trust his voice to speak.
Parker stopped him. “Hey!”
Rave turned, uncertain.
“I meant it about the happy birthday.”
Rave walked the rest of the way home because he was saving his gas money so he could take Ashley and Daniel to the aquarium the following weekend. Daniel was four and had become obsessed with stingrays in the last few months. There were stingray tanks at the aquarium and already, Rave could see in his mind’s eye what the bright-eyed little guy’s reaction would be. Rave had caught stingrays in the Gulf, but the ones at the aquarium had the barbs removed, making them safe for little hands.
Otherwise, he’d take Daniel fishing. Plus, Ashley had been all over him to act more like a grown-up. He was trying. He really was. But with not much of a role model, he wasn’t certain what grown-up looked like.
The apartment he shared with three other twenty-somethings smelled like stale beer and sweat. Ashley always threw open the windows when she arrived, so when he started up the two cracked concrete steps to his front door, he knew she and Daniel were there. A rust-red curtain danced in the open window. SpongeBob music wafted out to him.
Why wasn’t there a stingray character in SpongeBob? That’s what Daniel had asked him at least a hundred times.
The front door flew open, and Ashley stared at him, tight-lipped. “You’re late.”
“Sorry, Ash.” His cheek was throbbing.
She took one long look at him, her heavily lined eyes going from head to toe. “You were fighting?”
Before he could answer or explain, she spun from the door and started gathering Daniel’s things. The small suitcase hung from her hand, his blanket—no, wait, he was a big boy now and didn’t want anyone calling it a blanket; his tent—draped over her forearm.
Panic set in. “Ashley, what are you doing?”
Daniel looked up from the TV, a giant smile forming on his face. “Rave!” He stood on the couch and jumped into Rave’s arms.
“Hey there, Rock Star.” Daniel hugged him hard and was mumbling about the awesome weekend they were going to have while his mom was gone. Words like beach and park and McDonald’s all flew at him with unrestrained little-boy glee.
Rave nodded at every request while keeping one eye on Ashley. She was mumbling, too. Her voice rising with each word. “Tonight. You pick tonight of all nights to get into a fight.”
“There’re fudge pops in the freezer,” he told Daniel, who squirmed out of his arms to help himself.
“It’s not like I planned it, Ash.” He tried to reach for her hand, but she jerked away from him. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She stopped at his feet, blue eyes blazing. She’d curled her long, blonde hair. “You always have a choice, Rave. And you always make the wrong one.”
A long breath left his lips. “I understand why you’re mad, but please, don’t take it out on Daniel. He’s really been excited about staying the weekend.”
Her shoulders lowered marginally. Her eyes found his. “You left me no choice.”
Usually, he could soften her up, at least a little. But the determination stayed right in her gaze, creating a firewall between them.
“Rave, I can’t leave town wondering if the cops are going to pick you up. They’d call social services. It’s hard enough taking care of him—I don’t need some caseworker breathing down my neck, too.”
A wave of regret washed over him. She was right. He was making things worse for her. She’d gotten pregnant at seventeen and had opted to keep the child rather than abort. Rave had been part of that decision. He’d encouraged her, told her he’d be there for her. She’d become an adult almost overnight, and he’d continued to be a kid. Until last year, when they started dating and went from friends to lovers. He’d started making better choices. For her and for Daniel. But old habits were hard to break. And old friends came around even though you asked them not to, and fights happened whether you were looking for them or not.
Ashley had gathered everything in her arms and was standing near the front door. She pulled a deep breath and stared above her head where the remnant of an old leak still marred the ceiling tile. Her breathing slowed, followed by a long silence as her delicate shoulders rose and fell. He hoped she was changing her mind. But when she focused on him, her face a mix of apology and determination, he knew she hadn’t. And what she planned to say was far worse than missing a weekend with Daniel. “Rave, we need to talk.”
Something cold slithered over his neck and back.
She dumped everything at her feet and moved to stand near him, her long hair a shield, her gaze locked on the floor.
He knew this posture. Knew that tone. It meant nothing good, and Rave tried to prepare himself.
“I don’t want you to see Daniel anymore.”
Shock, followed by anger, then confusion, took turns eroding his remaining composure. “What? Over a fight?”
In answer, she crossed her arms and lifted her chin, a face of flint.
Not see Daniel? That was ridiculous. He’d been part of Daniel’s life since Ashley was three months pregnant and had confided in him. “Ashley.”
She stepped away when he moved toward her. “I need to move on.”
His chest tightened, and he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. His heart hurt, a single hand fisted in his blood-splattered shirt. “Listen, I shouldn’t have fought. I won’t. I swear, I won’t. Just don’t . . .” But his voice gave out.
She shook her head.
“Please.” The word was all breath, a silent plea. And it did little good. Rave shot a glance into the kitchen, where Daniel was happily finishing a fudge pop. He tried to imagine his life without the little blond-headed ball of sunshine in it. He couldn’t. But his gaze went back to Ashley, and he realized this wasn’t a snap decision. She was too resolved, too calm. Too emotionless. “How long have you been planning this?”
That’s when tears filled her eyes. He’d not expected that. She’d seemed so calculated a few moments ago. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
He tried to swallow the cotton in his throat. “Tell me what?” Now it was his turn to sound calm regardless of the runaway train in his chest.
“Do you remember Barry?”
“Yeah, the guy you had it bad for and who left town without even—” That’s when it all started falling into place for Rave. He’d heard from someone that
Barry’s father had reopened his car lot in the next town over.
She lowered her voice. “Rave, I think he may be Daniel’s father.”
Rave swallowed the words, though he didn’t want to. Daniel’s father.
“We were hoping to take some time and—”
“You’ve talked to him? When were you going to mention this, Ashley? You’re dating me, remember?”
There was hurt in her eyes. “Don’t make this any harder. He didn’t know about Daniel. He’s willing to take a paternity test. Rave, he wants us in his life.”
“So do I, Ashley. But apparently that only matters when there’s no better offer.”
She leaned closer and whispered, “Rave. He may be Daniel’s biological father.”
“And that gives him rights why? He walked out on you, Ash.”
“He has money. He can give things to Daniel I’d never be able to on my own.”
Rave gripped her upper arm. “We can. Someday. Together. I can work while you go to school. I know you’d like to.”
She pulled away from him. “With Barry, I won’t have to.” The words were quiet, but their force rocked him from his head to his feet. The punches he’d suffered tonight paled by comparison. This was a real beating.
CHAPTER 2
“Tampa, Florida.”
Tuck cradled the phone against his ear. “Are you sayin’ what I think, Phil?”
The attorney cleared his throat. “Yes, I am. Not really that far from here. A day’s drive.”
“So he’s . . .”
“He’s alive, Tuck. Alive and working in a greasy-spoon café. Single and staying in a rundown apartment with some other youngsters.”
Tuck placed a hand to his heart and willed the world to stop spinning. “If it’s only a day’s drive, maybe I should—”
“Stubborn old man. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. Besides, your doctor would shoot me.”
The edge in Tuck’s voice appeared. “My doctor doesn’t run my life.”
Phil chuckled. “Like I said, stubborn. Let me go alone, Tuck. We don’t know what the reception is going to be. Let me soften things a bit. I’ll invite him here to meet you. If I don’t get anywhere, I’ll come back, load you in the car, and drive you there myself.”
Tuck looked around his ranch house. Stacks of pans littered the kitchen; they were clean, but there was no room in the cupboards for them, so they remained on the counters and table. He didn’t need much room, but if he was having a guest, his grandson, he’d need to clear some space. “He’s alive.”
“Yes. Looks rough around the edges from the photos Vin sent, but none the worse for wear. Looks like you, Tuck.”
But all Tuck could think about was that his grandson was alive. And maybe—if God still listened to the prayers of old men—he was going to get to meet him before he passed from this life to the next.
Tuck got off the phone, surprised by how much energy had seemed to drain out of him from talking to Phil. He followed the path through all the junk he’d collected in the past forty years. He’d always been a pack rat, but after Millie died, it’d gotten out of hand. Stacks of old magazines in one corner, boxes of books in another. Books he’d never read. Books he had no real intention of reading. Boxes and bins of small appliances lined the path to the front door. A retired electrician by trade, he was handy with gadgets and had thought to repair them and then sell them for a few cents. Keep busy. He’d go to the auctions and come home with a new truckload of things, but rarely did he dive into fixing any of them. He’d gotten a good toaster out of the deal and the cordless phone he’d used for several years. And a few other odds and ends. That was about all he had to show for the many truckloads of junk that decorated his home.
And that’s what he’d started to call it. Junk. ʼCause junk was stuff that might be good if someone fixed it. Now it was time to start hauling. If he was lucky—and after all, that’s what the guys in his army unit had called him—he was going to have a houseguest.
He’d need to get a room ready. He glanced around his aging four-bedroom ranch. For a place with more than twenty-two hundred square feet, it looked like a cramped little box. He propped the front door open. An early April breeze drifted into the stuffy living space. He’d open windows, he’d clean. But first, he grabbed the closest box and hauled it out. The withering container was filled with lawn mower parts and odd pieces of silverware that rattled and clinked as he walked. He could store everything in the barn and bring things back one box at a time.
Something about that felt good. Right, in fact. But he needed to conserve his strength because tonight was the memorial. And guest or no, nothing got in the way of that.
“Rave Wayne?”
Rave stopped busing a table near the front door of the café. Marco, his boss, had been mad at him about last night’s fight, and right now, the last thing Rave needed was some attorney drawing attention to him. And the guy in the gray suit with the bad comb-over and sweaty forehead was definitely an attorney. “Yeah?”
The man motioned to the seat across from him. “Could I have a few moments of your time?”
Rave chewed his cheek. “Sorry, all my moments are spoken for.” Dishes clanged together as he took the full bin into the kitchen, then tried to make a quick escape. Rave headed out the front door, still untying the dingy white apron around his hips. The night air was warm but fresh. Early spring in Tampa had temperatures in the eighties, but he didn’t mind. He had parked at the end of the building because his car was a heap, and Marco preferred that it not sit in the front. Or in the light of the street lamp.
He knew, the second the guy rushed out of the café to follow him. At least they could have their conversation outside. “Mr. Wayne?”
Rave nearly laughed out loud. He propped his weight against his car door. The tired old girl groaned a little when he did. “Yes?”
“I was sent here by Tuck Wayne. Do you know that name?”
“Nope,” Rave said, but his heartbeat quickened. Other than his mother, he didn’t know anyone who shared his last name.
“He hired me to find you. He’s your grandfather. He’d very much like to meet you.”
The world swirled around Rave, and he was thankful for the metal car door behind him. He shook his head. “I don’t have any living relatives. If I did, I’d know it.” His hands were sweating, and Rave felt a fight-or-flight instinct coming on. He opted for flight and got into his car before the man could stop him.
Through the closed window, he heard muffled words. “How would you know, Rave? From your mother? She was a sick woman, delusional, even. Isn’t there the smallest chance she could have lied—”
Seriously? This guy he just met wanted to stand at his window and pass judgment on Rave’s mom? No. Rave flew out of the car and grabbed the attorney’s shirt. “You don’t know anything about my mother.” But then a thought struck him, and he let the man go. “Do you? Is there news about her?” He knew there wasn’t. In his heart, he knew his mother was dead.
“No. I have no news of her whereabouts or status. But what I do have is an invitation from the man who raised your mother. He would very much like to get to know you, Rave. You’re all the family he has left.”
The words spiked through his system. Leaving jagged slivers as they went.
The man added, “And he’s all the family you have.”
The pain of knowing there had been someone out there all those years while his mother dragged him from town to town rushed over him. There was someone—someone well—who could have helped them? Rave’s hands clenched at his sides. “You wasted a trip. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”
The man considered him for a long while. Then, he slipped a business card from his jacket pocket and placed it beneath one of the windshield wiper blades on Rave’s car. “I’ll be here in town for a week. Please, reconsider. Tuck is a good man. He just wants to meet you.”
The man walked away, angling toward the roach motel acros
s the street.
Rave took the business card and stared at it. Then he tossed it on the ground and drove home.
Barton, Tennessee
“I did it, Millie. I found him.” Tuck stood in the last room on the second floor. It’s where he’d found her all those years ago. It was the one area of the house he hadn’t filled with boxes from the auction barn.
It’s where he felt close to her. She’d been planning to fix up that room. Turn it into a sitting room where she could invite the ladies in town to come over and have tea. Millie didn’t know much about tea—or about ladies—but she’d always wanted to be one of those finely dressed women in magazines where the room behind them was as impeccable as their hairdos. She’d gone all the way to Gatlinburg once to get one of those hairdos herself and had returned home with what he’d thought looked like a hairy mushroom on her head. She’d stood a little taller, tilted her mushroom head just so, pursed her mouth like a schoolmarm.
He’d had to suffer through manners and decorum for the whole night. By the next morning, while she worked the garden, Millie had cursed the hair and the hairspray that had mingled with her sweat and ran into her eyes.
She’d dropped her fists to her denim-covered hips and told Tuck, “I guess proper ladies don’t till the ground. I guess proper ladies don’t sweat.”
Tuck had rubbed at the scruff on his chin and told her, “I guess I wouldn’t have much use for a proper lady, then.”
She’d showered and returned to her task, clean-faced and with a floppy hat on her wet head.
Memories were elusive things, kissing him with joy one moment, pain the next. Tuck sat down on the armchair. It faced the wall where Millie’s handiwork had been left in process. “So many things I done wrong over the years, Millie.” He rubbed one hand over the other, his elbows propped on the arms of Millie’s favorite chair. He’d been content to sit in that chair and watch her paint the walls. She loved to paint. He hated it.
But he didn’t mind watching her, all excitement and enthusiasm, talking about the great things she could use the room for once it was freshly coated. She’d always been a visionary. Never in his life had he known anyone else with her optimism. No one but her could simply paint a room and suddenly make it become the Taj Mahal. That’s how Millie saw things. None of the brokenness. All the possibilities. It was right here on the floor where he’d found her. A brain hemorrhage had stolen her from him. Ten years ago.
Something Like Family Page 2