by Faye Byrd
My parents were none too pleased to find out that, after obtaining a degree in Business Management, I’d taken a job as a line cook at a restaurant in Atlanta. It was bad enough I’d followed Kennedy there for college, since she had a full scholarship, but then, to “waste my degree” to be a cook, they weren’t happy. But I love cooking. It’s where I find my solace. By the time Blake was born, I’d already worked my way up to sous chef.
When Kennedy walked out, though, I packed up and came home, back to Chicago. I already missed my family and wanted them to be a big part of Blake’s life. We settled in, and it was almost like I’d never left. They didn’t hold Kennedy against me, and they embraced Blake like the grandson and nephew he was meant to be.
When I arrive at Miss Lou’s, I can see all the kids running around in the play yard. Lou Mathews opened this daycare/preschool in the fifties. It was a time when most mothers stayed home with their kids, but for those few that didn’t, she created Miss Lou’s Place.
She was a woman way ahead of her time, and even my dad attended her school. She’s long since passed, but her legacy is still up and running and in the care of her daughter, Shirley. She’s a rotund woman in her sixties and has held onto her mother’s standards. There was never really another option when it came time for Blake to attend.
I watch my little man as he runs in a game of chase with his friends. His hair’s sopping with sweat and his cheeks are flushed. Wide open, he flies around the yard. Miss Shirley notices me and comes over. “Trystan, so good to see you, my boy.” She reaches across the fence and gives me a one-armed hug.
“Miss Shirley, how have you been? Do these kids have you pulling your hair out today?” I chuckle and turn back to locate Blake.
She turns to watch with me. “Of course not. I love making my mark on the world, one young mind at a time.”
I glance at her and raise a brow. “You brainwashing my kid?”
She cackles. “Never, Trystan. Just remember, I was doing preschool before preschool was even cool.”
“True, and I can’t thank you enough. Blake comes home all the time with new things he’s learned during the day.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Blake taking a spill. He puts his hands down in front of him and slides about a foot across the ground. Miss Shirley jumps and starts toward him.
I grab her arm. “Wait a minute, give him a chance. You can’t be babying them all the time. After all, he is my boy, and you know I hated to be babied when I was that age.” Miss Shirley taught my brother and me both when we were young.
We watch as Blake looks around, stunned that he just faceplanted. He simply gets up and dusts himself off before taking off again. “See, my boy’s tough.” I smirk at her.
She nods. “He is. I just don’t know where all that clumsiness even came from. You always ran faster and played harder than all the other kids. Maybe he’s just an intellectual?”
I shake my head. “I know, right? That kid seems smarter than I remember being when I was his age. I guess he got that from his mom, she did get a full ride to college.”
She tsks. “Too bad she doesn’t want to be around. You’ve got an amazing boy there.”
I nod. “Don’t I know it. But we don’t need her anyway. She left and lost that chance.”
She shakes her head sadly. “All little kids need a mother.”
I cross my arms. “Not Blake. He’s perfectly fine without her.”
She hmphs but doesn’t say anything else.
I check my watch. “Blake,” I yell to get his attention. “Come on, dude, we need to get going.” I look to Miss Shirley. “A pleasure, as always.” I give her my most charming smile and go greet my little guy.
After I open the gate for him, I make sure to lock it securely so none of the other kids can get out. Before we can make our way to the car, someone calls my name.
I turn and stop when I realize Gina’s running our way with Blake’s forgotten backpack. “Here’s Blake’s backpack. I didn’t want you to leave it behind,” she says panting and out of breath.
I raise a brow. “Well, I’m sure he could’ve just gotten it tomorrow, Gina,” I say, reaching over to take it from her.
She freezes in her spot and her head snaps in my direction. “It’s Jennifer, my name is Jennifer.”
I meet her eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must’ve been thinking about someone else.”
“No. there’s no Gina here. I’ve been working here since before Blake started,” she says with a fake smile.
I could really care less. You don’t shit where you eat, or in this case where your son eats. I don’t care what her name is or how nice her rack is, I don’t want to know her. “Oh, sorry, guess I forgot.”
She leans over the fence and puts her hand on my arm. “No, problem.” She bats her lashes. “Maybe we could do something to correct that?”
I step back, out of her reach. “No, I don’t think so.” I grab Blake’s hand and turn to leave. “Later, Gina,” I toss over my shoulder, laughing as I walk away.
“So how was school today?” I ask Blake.
“It was good,” he answers.
“Yeah? Did you have fun?” We arrive at the car, and I open the rear door for him to climb inside.
“I hurt my hand,” he says holding it out for me to see.
I chuckle. “Sure did. I saw you eat it out there.” I grab it and bring it closer. “Looks okay to me. Do you think you need to go to the doctor?”
He yanks his hand back. “No way! It don’t hurt.”
I make sure he’s buckled in, and tousle his hair. “I know, dude. How about we pick up some pizza and head to Uncle Coop and Aunt Kari’s house?”
“Shoot yeah!” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.
We stop and pick up two Chicago deep dish and head over to Cooper and Karissa’s house. Cooper is my older brother by two years. Funny thing is, we got married about the same time, only he got lucky with Kari. She’s a great wife and mom. They have two boys, one older and one younger than Blake, with a baby girl due in a few months.
I talked to Coop earlier, and I’m in need of some advice. I’ve gotten a couple messages this week and hope he can help me decide how to handle them. They’re a little cryptic but urgent. I honestly don’t know what to make of them.
Blake starts unbuckling as soon as we’re in their driveway and the car is off. By the time I get his door open, he’s already jumping out of his seat. “Slow down, dude. We still have to grab the pizza.”
“You got it, Daddy. I’m gonna go see Carson and Blaine,” he informs me, already walking toward the front door.
I shake my head at him and grab the pizza from the front seat. When I make it to the door, Kari already has it open. I give her a kiss on the cheek as I pass. “What’s up, Kari. I brought pizza.”
“Mmm, did you get one with anchovies?” she asks, leaning toward the boxes as if she’s going to attack me.
I hold them out of her reach. “Nah, uh, Kari, we can’t be making my little niece sick before she gets here.” I chuckle at her pout. Of course I got anchovies. Nobody wants to come between a pregnant woman and her food.
Blake’s already run off with the boys, so I place the boxes on the dining room table and look around for Coop. “He’s in his office,” Kari answers my unspoken question.
I smile and walk over to her, hands already outstretched. “How you doing in there, baby girl? Mommy treating you right? Don’t you worry, Uncle T didn’t get any of those nasty fish on the pizza. I wouldn’t do you like that.”
Kari laughs and slaps my hands away. “Go find your brother. He says you’re in need of some brotherly advice.”
I snort. “What’s he doing, reading up on how to give it?”
She rolls her eyes. “Go on, he’s waiting for you.”
I make my way down the hall to his office. When I get there, I tap twice before opening the door and peeking in. “What’s up, bro! You hiding out in here or what?”
He
shuffles some papers around on his desk. “Nah, just doing some work and waiting to hear all about this cryptic shit you mentioned.”
I shake my head and take a seat across from him. “Man, I don’t know what to make of it myself. I’m hoping you can read between the lines better than me.”
“Well, let’s hear it then,” he says, waving his hand impatiently.
I pull out my phone and key up my messages. Putting it on speaker, I select the first one I want him to hear.
“Mr. Ashby, this is Dr. Katherine Scott. I’m the chief of staff at Metro University Healthcare. A situation has come to my attention that involves your family. It’s urgent that I speak with you in person. We’re willing to make all the arrangements. My cell number is 404-555-5555. Please feel free to call me at any time of the day. I hope to hear from you soon.”
Coop’s eyebrows rise into his hairline. “Metro University Healthcare? Is that Atlanta? What could they possibly want to talk to you about?” He whistles. “And the chief of staff? That’s the big gun. Man, what the hell did you do?”
Idiot. “I didn’t do anything. I haven’t been to Atlanta in over two years. The last time I was at any hospital was when Blake was born.”
He nods. “Well, she did say family. So maybe it has to do with that?”
“I don’t know what the fuck would cause the chief of staff to call me three years later, though. But, listen, there’s another one, from yesterday. That one was Monday.” I key up the next message for him.
“Mr. Ashby, it’s Dr. Scott again. I’m hoping, since you haven’t returned my call, that you’re already making arrangements. My office is located inside Metro University Medical Center, and I’m available anytime between seven a.m. and six p.m. I urge you to stop by as soon as possible. There are more formal means to get you here, but I’d like you to come on your own. My number once again is 404-555-5555. See you soon.”
Coop looks at me. “What the fuck does she mean, more formal ways?”
“That’s what I was hoping you’d help me with, numbnuts. I mean who does she think she is, threatening me like that? I didn’t lose anything when I left Atlanta. Why the fuck would I go back?” I stand and start pacing, tugging my hair almost painfully.
“Look, man, the simplest thing to do is just call her. Talk to her on the phone and let her know you have no intentions of coming back there,” Coop reasons. “Hell, they’re an hour behind, just call her now.” He motions to my phone lying on his desk.
I stop and plop back in my chair. It can’t hurt, right? I pick up my phone and insert her number before pressing send. “Mr. Ashby, I was hoping I’d hear from you voluntarily.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snap.
She sighs into the line. “It means that it’s imperative that you come to my office. I thought I’d made that clear.”
“You haven’t made anything clear. All you’ve done is left cryptic messages on my phone all week,” I reply, my frustration almost at its breaking point. “And coming to your office requires more than just hopping into my car. I live in Chicago.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be evasive, but our conversation is in reference to a very sensitive topic. It must be discussed face-to-face,” she says seriously.
“Sensitive topic? Why can’t you just spit it out, lady! I don’t have time for more ambiguous bullshit!” I smack my hand on the desk.
“Can I assume that you’ve at least booked your flight,” she asks.
“Booked a flight? Hell, no! I’m not booking shit until you tell me what the fuck this is about!” I demand.
The line is silent while she considers her response. Finally, she speaks. “Mr. Ashby, this is about your family. It’s urgent that you come here as soon as possible.” She pauses. “I can have you subpoenaed if necessary, but I’d rather not. Truthfully, that will make it worse for all of us.”
I sigh, confusion and worry making its way through me. “Make what worse, Dr. Scott? And subpoena? Do I need to consult a lawyer?”
A heavy sigh echoes through the line. “Mr. Ashby, I can’t advise you on legal matters, but you’re welcome to bring an attorney with you if you’d like. You’re not in trouble here, but there are legalities involved.”
“All you’re doing is talking in fucking circles,” I snap, exasperated almost to the point of hanging up the fucking phone. “Why can’t you just spit it out?”
“It’s just a flight. One little plane trip and all your questions will be answered. Can you do that, Mr. Ashby?” she asks quietly, more subdued than she’s been the whole conversation. “I promise when we meet, you’ll understand the sensitivity of the matter.”
My exasperation turns to defeat. Do I want answers? I realize that I do. This has been nagging at me all week. “All right, Dr. Scott, you’ve convinced me. This better be something of grave importance for you to drag me from my responsibilities at home.”
“I assure you, Mr. Ashby, you’ll definitely agree when you hear what I have to say. Metro University Healthcare will reimburse all your travel expenses. When can I expect you?”
“I’ll have to look at flights, but I’d say earliest is tomorrow afternoon or maybe even Saturday. Can you work with that, Dr. Scott?” I ask sarcastically.
“Just phone me when you arrive. And I’m sorry, Mr. Ashby.” The line goes silent and I pull the phone away, only to be staring at a blank screen.
“I take it you’re headed to Atlanta?” Coop asks, eyebrows raised.
I blow out a breath. “Seems that way.”
“What about Blake?”
I run my hand through my hair. “I have no fucking idea. Shit’s all twisted up in my head right now.”
“Don’t worry about anything,” he soothes. “Kari and I have him. Go find out what the fuck’s going on and let us know something as soon as you can.”
The relief I feel of having at least one problem resolved is more than it should be. Somehow, someway, I can feel that a change is coming.
Now I just have to figure out what the fuck it is.
7 NO U TURN
Trystan
I arrived in Atlanta late yesterday evening, and I should’ve met Dr. Scott then, since it turned out I didn’t sleep for shit. My mind churned all night long, making me restless and uneasy.
This bitch better hope her reasons are just, because I might strangle her if it turns out to be nothing worth getting worked up over.
After booking my flight, we set up a meeting for this morning at eleven a.m. It’s barely seven and I’ve already been up for hours. The sleep I did get was filled with nightmares of Kennedy pretending to care about Blake just to get more money out of me. Just thinking about it sends a shiver up my spine.
Dressing in basketball shorts and a tank, I take advantage of the hotel gym. I need to work out some of my pent-up frustration. This meeting has me on edge. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but alarm bells are ringing in my head, causing a burn in the pit of my stomach.
Stepping on the treadmill, I start at a casual pace.
I crave control in every aspect of my life. From cooking, to how my son is raised, to sex—I’m in charge. But here I am in a situation where I don’t know what’s coming. It started with cryptic messages, and now I’ve flown to an entirely different state without knowing a fucking thing.
My feet pick up the pace as I consider what I left at home.
Blake and I have a good life in Chicago. When we first moved back, I landed a job with Bleu. It’s a fine dining establishment right on Michigan Avenue. After working my ass off to prove my ability, the head chef realized my potential and began allowing me to create signature dishes. That lit a fire under me, stoked my passion. Having customers specifically request a creation of mine was an exhilarating feeling and the tipping point that led to the process of opening my own place. While I’m still in the early stages, the buzz has already begun. It’s a daunting process, made more complicated with the concessions I’m unwilling to give.
My undisputed time.
Though it’s important to me, my passion even, my son still takes priority. I refuse to leave him without his father in the evenings. Being a dad is the most important accomplishment of my life, and I refuse to do it half-ass. He needs me to be extra vigilant since his piece of shit incubator skipped out on him.
By now, I’m soaked in sweat, the anger making me want to push my muscles even harder. I move to the free weights. I clear my mind as I exert myself in continuous reps of curls, presses and lunges before the burn in my muscles matches the burn in my stomach. It’s time to stop. Grabbing my towel, I sling it over my shoulder and start for the exit.
“Excuse me,” someone calls as I’m about to walk out the door.
I pause and turn, looking for the person who’s interrupting my retreat. My eyes land on a tall, caramel skinned knockout who’s dressed in yoga pants and a tank. She’s swaying across the room in my direction.
I lift a brow. “May I help you?”
A sly smirk lifts at the corner of her lip. “I was hoping I could help you.”
I allow my eyes to scan her from head to toe. Even with no makeup, she’s a stunning woman; tall, voluptuous frame, highlighted by a nice rack and deep, dark eyes. But even with all that going for her, I can’t muster up a response. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything beyond this burn in my stomach. It’s taken over and won’t be sated until I know why I’m here.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s possible today. Maybe on a different day under different circumstances,” I say, giving her an apologetic smile. With a nod, I turn and leave her standing there with a confused expression on her face.
When I make it back to my room, I shower and head to the hospital. So what if I’m a little early?
I pull into a spot and turn off my rental. Then I just sit there, gripping the wheel tightly under my fingers. Deep breaths help to settle my heartbeat, but the burn still remains.
I make my way to the elevators and up to Dr. Scott’s floor, the tension building with each step I take. When I arrive at the secretary’s desk, she looks up, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Good morning, sir. How can I help you today?”