“I may not know the right words to say it, but the kid’s crazy about you. You’d have to be blind not to see it. What kind of a guy would he be if he didn’t help you out of this mess?”
A typical one, I think.
“So what’s the kid doing for you?” He positions the keg exactly where he wants it, grunting with the exertion of lifting the huge metal drum.
I go back to filling saltshakers and unstacking chairs. “He has lawyers. Lots of lawyers. Which reminds me—do you need anything picked up in Dallas? We’re going tomorrow while Sean’s in school to meet with a custody attorney.”
“Lawyers, huh?” Jimmy scoffs. “Bunch of bloodsucking scumbags.”
I roll my eyes. “I know they took you to the cleaners in your divorce, but I need to have one for this and Colin says he’s gotten the best in the state.”
“Well, if you have to use one, may as well use one who wins.”
We keep prepping the bar, a rhythm between us that’s been years in the making. We don’t even have to talk, we know what the other needs and when they need it. It’s a comfort after a day of changes and surprises. Even when they’re good, I’m not fond of surprises. In my experience, most surprises end up biting you in the ass one way or another.
By ten p.m. the place is crowded and rowdy, the energy pumping everyone’s adrenaline. We’ve already had one fight that Jimmy had to bust up, and there’s a group of rodeo riders passing through town who are drunk and handsy as hell, hitting on every woman under fifty that they can. I’ve about decided I’m going to deck the next one who grabs my ass when Carson walks in the front door. I stop with my hand midway between my tray and the rodeo table, watching him intently to see what he’s up to.
The pause gives the nearest drunk cowboy the chance to wrap an arm around my waist and yank me down onto his lap, spilling the beer I was holding all over both of us.
“Now look what you did.” His friend chastises.
“Aw shit. I’m sorry, honey,” he says, pushing me back off his lap and slapping my ass way too hard to be playful.
I grit my teeth and count to ten as beer drips down my arm. “Tell you what,” I say, bending down to look him in the eye. “You keep your grubby hands off of me and my ass and I won’t get my boss with his twelve gauge over here to clean up the mess. How does that sound?”
He puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Whatever you say, red. I thought this was a good old down-home Texas establishment where the staff is friendly.”
“Yeah, well, I’m from Oklahoma, so you thought wrong.”
“Oh-kla-homa,” a voice says behind me.
I turn and find myself face-to-face with Carson.
“You know what I heard? I heard one of those rock stars is from Oklahoma. A guy from that band Lush.”
The cowboys are all staring at Carson with glazed eyes, having no idea what he’s trying to get at.
Finally one of them slurs, “Lusshh. Yeah, I heard of them guys. They got that one song that’s not bad. What’s it called? Oh yeah, ‘She Snake.’”
All the guys at the table crack up.
“I love that one,” he says before he has another sloppy gulp of his beer.
“Yep,” Carson continues. “And Marsha here knows the bass player for Lush.”
“No shit?” says another cowboy. “I really do like that song. That’s cool you know the dude. That band’s huge. Like the Rolling Stones or something.”
I’m frozen, not sure what to do—bolt or stand here and play along. While instinct tells me to get as far away from Carson as I can, I’m too scared of what might be coming next.
“Yeah,” Carson says, his smile oily and his eyes dark and cruel. “She dated the guy. He was her high school sweetheart, wasn’t he?”
I stare at him, refusing to confirm or deny it. “If I recall correctly, Jimmy told me you’re not allowed in here anymore, Carson. Maybe you’d better get going before he sees you.”
Fast as a snake striking, he slings an arm around my neck as if I’m his girlfriend and we’re walking down the street together. I try to pull away, but he squeezes subtly, and if he tightens much more he’ll be choking me. I’m caught, and even though I’m in a roomful of people, I’m terrified.
“Don’t you dare try to get away from me, little red,” he hisses in my ear. “So you guys want to hear more about Marsha and the rock star?” he asks the cowboys.
“Hell yeah!” they holler, so drunk they don’t really know what they’re agreeing to.
“That’s good. Real good. I think everyone should hear about it. Let’s go on up front so the whole bar can hear.” He pulls me with him toward the stage at one end of the room.
My heart races and I’m consumed by terror. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Jimmy is behind the bar and people are two deep in front of it. He won’t be able to get to me before Carson does some serious damage.
I think of Colin and Sean—sitting together, smiling, laughing, smearing chocolate chips all over their hands. I think of Hawaii—the clear-blue waters and white sand, Sean’s proud face when he stood up on the surfboard the first time, and how excited he was to show Colin. And somewhere deep inside I know I’m going to lose them both in the next few minutes, and it’s going to hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
We get to the stage and Carson pulls me up with him. He switches the microphone on and taps it a couple of times to test it. It has some feedback, which gets the attention of about half the people in the place. The noise level drops and people look at us.
“Please don’t do this,” I hiss.
Carson’s lips curl up even more. “Oh poor, sweet Marsha. You think I’m going to wait around long enough for your boyfriend to sic his lawyers on me? No way. We gotta get this information out there so that the tabloids will want an exclusive interview with the guy who broke the story.
“Well, hey there,” Carson says into the mic, a manic grin on his face. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”
The place quiets down to a low rumble and people start jockeying for positions to see the stage and what’s going on.
“Some new buddies of mine over at that back table”—Carson gestures to the cowboys who whoop and cheer in response—“they wanted to hear this story, and I thought y’all might like it too.”
Jimmy is moving from behind the bar, and he’s shoving people out of his way. His voice carries to where I am. “Get that son of a bitch off my stage,” he growls.
Carson sees him too and he waves. “Jimmy! How’s it going? You should hear this too. It’s about Marsha and the rock and roll guy who’s staying over at the boarding house. Y’all know that dude, right?”
Everyone nods and cheers. “Colin Douglas!” one of the men at the back calls out.
“Yeah. Nice guy, ain’t he?” Carson says.
Jimmy is making progress, but he’s still midway between the bar and this end of the room
“Well, Marsha here used to date Colin.”
“That’s old news!” a woman yells as the crowd laughs.
“Oh, but I got more.” Carson winks at her. “I bet none of you good God-fearing folks knew that when they were teenagers little Colin got Marsha preggers.”
The breath leaves me in a rush, and something like nausea flows through my entire body. Carson finally lets me go and I stumble as he announces, “But Marsha here had an a-bor-shun.”
The entire room goes silent. Completely silent. Jimmy is about four feet from me and he freezes, his eyes pinned to me.
“Yes, our very own Marsha O’Neill aborted that baby like it was nothing more than trash.” He looks at me. “Isn’t that right, Marsha?”
I look around the room and I don’t even see their faces. There’s a rushing in my ears and something is crawling up my throat. Sparks fly in front of my eyes, and I know I have to sit. I bend over and let myself collapse onto the edge of the stage.
Amidst the roaring of my own blood I hear Jimmy’s strong, deep voice.
&nb
sp; “Get your filthy ass off of my stage, you fucking prick. Step within ten feet of my bar again and I’ll put a bullet in you so deep they won’t be able to dig it out with a butcher knife.”
I put my head between my knees and close my eyes. It has to go away. It has to go away.
“Show’s over,” Jimmy says into the mic. “And we’re closing early. Everybody out. If you have a tab running you lucked out. Hit the road. All of you.”
I hear murmurs, chairs sliding, feet shuffling. And then Jimmy is next to me, his arm around my shoulders.
“Come on, girl. Let’s get you to the back and sort this out,” he says, his voice low and sad.
The next thing I know he’s lifted me up. I bury my head in his chest and he carries me like a baby to the office, where he lays me on the old vinyl sofa and tells me to wait.
I’m so stunned, so terrified and sickened, that I can’t move. I lie there, my ears ringing and my heart tearing into a million pieces. I screw my eyes shut and try to block out the echoes of Carson’s words. Over and over.
“A-bor-shun.”
“Marsha? Baby, look at me.” Colin’s voice is raspy and his hands sift through my hair.
I open my eyes to see his worried face hovering over me. “Oh God,” I moan as I slam my eyes shut again and the tears start.
“Shh. Jimmy told me everything. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
He lifts me onto his lap as I break down sobbing, all of those shattered pieces of my heart pouring out of me, dissolving into the tragedy that’s holding me hostage yet again.
“Baby,” Colin croons. “Please. Just listen to me. I’m going to handle this. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but this is all going to be fine.”
Suddenly I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand him telling me that it’ll be fine. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the way these things work for someone like me. I’m a single, white trash mother with an ex-husband who’s a convicted felon. Things don’t “work out” for people like me. The world doesn’t give a shit if I’m trying to do the right thing. People don’t care if I’ve suffered. I don’t matter, and it’s not like the fact that I’ve fucked a rock star is going to change it.
I pull away and stand, boiling over with the rage. Rage at Carson, rage at Jeff, rage at Colin, rage at me.
“It’s not,” I say, venom dripping from my every word. “It’s not going to be okay. And your money can’t fix this. It’s always the same. You can pretend that this affects you too, but it doesn’t. It’s all about me. My choices, my children, my failures. You come out looking like the hero no matter what. You didn’t choose to terminate the pregnancy. You were the victim. The poor guy who didn’t know—”
“Marsha.” He puts his hands out to the sides, pleading with me. “You know I don’t see it that way. It was as much my fault as yours that I wasn’t there to help make the decisions.”
“Not in the eyes of the world. And that’s all that matters. The world is who decides if I win or lose, where I can get a job, where I can live, what kind of food I eat, and what clothes I have to wear. The world is who decides who gets to keep Sean. The world is who tells my child, my little boy—who is only six. Years. Old—that I’m a crappy mother. You can’t fix this Colin. There’s no amount of money that can.”
I collapse into a chair and stare at the ceiling.
“You don’t really believe all of that,” he says, his voice completely lacking conviction.
I sigh and sit forward, my tears burned away by my anger. “You don’t get it. And it’s not your fault. You couldn’t possibly ever understand what it means to be me. I’m poor, I have no family, I have no power, and you can’t change that. You can lend me yours for a little while—hire lawyers to protect me, threaten the bad guys who are after me, whatever. But as soon as you’re gone it all goes back to the same old thing because you’re only loaning it to me. It’s not mine. It never will be.”
He sits quietly, looking at the floor. I’m a million miles away from him when we were as close as two people can be mere hours ago.
“What if we were married?” he asks.
I nearly choke on the breath I was about to inhale. “What?”
“What if we were married? We can have the lawyers draw up a prenup giving you half of everything I’ve got today. It really would be all yours. Half my money, my property, everything. And the courts here would be looking at Sean living with one ex-con or two law-abiding citizens. It could really help your custody case.”
I shake my head, pain spearing through my chest. “You can’t be serious,” I whisper.
In a split second he’s across the floor, on his knees in front of me. “But I am. It’s the perfect solution. We’ll fly to Oregon, sign the papers,and get married this weekend. We can be back before Sean misses a day of school.”
Tears well in my eyes as I look down at this man who I love so very much. This poor misguided man.
I shake my head. “It’s um… It’s very sweet of you to offer, but that’s not a solution.”
“Why?” he challenges me.
I remind my heart that it’s lived through the loss of him before and it can do it again. “Would you have asked me to marry you today if all this hadn’t happened?”
His mouth opens, then closes again when he can’t think of anything to say. Then his jaw clenches tight. “That’s not the point.”
“Yes, it is. It’s the whole point. You’d be lending me your money, your protection, your power, just like you’ve been offering, but with a ring and a license attached. Doesn’t change anything.”
“Of course it does,” he says, frustration pinging around him. He runs a hand through his hair and paces the room. “It would mean that you had that money—and the power that comes with it—forever. If you wanted to divorce me, you’d get half of everything. Once you marry me you’ll never be Marsha O’Neill with no money or family again. You’ll always be Marsha Douglas, even if you get tired of me. You can keep my name, my money, all of it.”
“I won’t do that to you,” I answer simply.
“What do you mean? I asked you to marry me.”
“And you admitted that you wouldn’t have done it if all this wasn’t going on. We just got back together in the last few weeks. We’ve been circling each other for a few months, but most of that time we were thinking about killing each other, not loving each other.”
“But I do love you,” he whispers, his face a blend of sorrow and desperation.
“And I love you.” I hold his hands and look him in the eyes. “But we have no idea if that would have led us to marriage or to a break up in six months. We’ve never been able to have a normal relationship and see where it would go. The first time I got pregnant, and this time the past has torpedoed everything.”
I see it—that moment when he realizes where I’m going, what I’m about to do.
“Don’t do this,” he pleads, his eyes soft and sincere.
“You don’t want to marry me, Colin, and I don’t want to lose my son. I have to do whatever they want—Jeff and Carson. They’re calling the shots now and I have to accept that. I don’t have a choice.” I press up on my tiptoes and place a soft kiss on his lips before I walk out of Jimmy’s office, leaving behind my heart, my pride, and my reputation.
Chapter Nineteen
Colin
IT’S BEEN ten days. Ten days since Marsha walked out of the Bronco, ripping a hole in my chest at the same time.
By the time I got back to the boarding house that night both she and Sean were gone. Mrs. S. looked at me with sad eyes and said she’d promised they could come get the rest of their things in the morning and that I shouldn’t be there when they did.
I sat in my truck the next day and watched the love of my life carry her belongings out the door before she drove away. But even though she’s turned me down, in every way possible, I still met with the custody attorney. I paid his retainer, and his office is preparing a case as best as they can without Ma
rsha’s input. They’re accessing every record they can on Jeff, everything they can gather on Marsha and Sean. The guy has his ways of acquiring information apparently. It’s costing me extra, but I don’t give a shit. I’m not giving up just because she has.
The story broke in the tabloids within twenty-four hours. My lawyers tell me Carson got a small payout from the Daily Star, but then pro-choice groups and even the National Medical Ethics Association came out publicly decrying the whole thing. Not only was it a violation of Marsha’s medical privacy, but her procedures were completely legal. The majority of the country is having a hard time making her a scapegoat for a larger political and moral discussion. And I’m not enough of a publicity draw to keep the tabloids interested for more than one or two news cycles. It’d be different if it had been Joss.
Unfortunately, the town hasn’t been as kind and I keep overhearing the reprehensible rumors that have been circulating about Marsha.
I’m not sure if anyone’s confronted her directly, but I’ve heard the women at the grocery store whispering when they see me. Things like, “That poor man. She killed his baby” and “There he is. Can you believe that monster would do that to such a good guy?” It sickens me, and it’s all I can do not to set them all straight. There’s no one in this town who has the right to judge her for it. Not even me.
But of course that’s not everyone. The town’s divided on the issue, like the whole country is. Ronny, Leanne, Mrs. Stallworth, Jimmy, the Women’s Auxiliary Club—they’ve all shown Marsha support from what I hear. But Jenny Turner’s dad, the Baptist minister in town, spent last weekend sermonizing about the importance of life and a woman’s responsibility to be the vessel of that life. I know this because Leanne was foaming at the mouth over it the next day.
And in the midst of it all, the only thing I want is for Marsha to let me in. To recognize that I want to be her partner, that I want to give her a life where she doesn’t have to feel powerless anymore. I’d gladly give her everything I have if it would help her take charge and be the woman I know she can.
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