Selling the Drama

by Theresa Smith

  "What am I doing here, Jake?" He posed the question carefully.

  "I want you to go over to that house, knock on the door, pick up the girl, and walk away with her. Put her in your car and take her to the police station."

  "That would be kidnapping."

  "No," Jake countered. "That would be rescuing."

  "No." Toby watched as Jake crumpled right in front of him, his head hitting the steering wheel, his fists thumping his thighs. His crying was uncontrolled, the sort of sobbing that leaves a person gasping for breath, unhinged for a long time after. Witnessing it was no less devastating. Toby pulled out his phone and dialled the direct number for the main police station, preferring to speak to somebody he knew, somebody who knew Jake and what had happened. Getting out of the car, he shut the door and leaned against it, listening to the dial tone.

  "Dart," he said, as soon as the phone was answered and he knew who was on the line. "I need you to send some cars around to where I am right now." He rattled off the address. "I have Jake with me and we're sitting outside of the house where the guy who stabbed Ellie lives. I can confirm there is a child inside and I believe it may contain a meth lab." Toby listened for a few moments before ending the call and getting back into the car.

  Jake was no longer sobbing, but he still had his head resting against the steering wheel, his hands fisted at his side. Toby reached over so he could rest his hand on Jake's shoulder, the only comfort he could think to offer.

  "Her life was worth so much more than this," Jake said, his voice thick with tears.

  "I know," Toby replied, not without empathy towards Jake for this injustice he had suffered. "But so is yours. And I'm not going to stand up in court trying to get you out of something that is impossible to get out of."

  Within ten minutes, three police cars drove into the street, lights flashing but sirens silenced. They circled the house, getting into position before two of them knocked on the door. The little girl answered, and one of the police officers picked her up, hurrying away from the house with her, while the other one entered. Seconds later a guy ran out the front door, stumbling on the porch steps before regaining his feet, standing up to look wildly around, his eyes passing over the sight of the little girl over by the police car, still in the officer's arms, crying loudly, her legs kicking furiously for release. There were too many police officers surrounding him for the guy to do anything other than stand right where he was.

  Toby believed after that if it had been any other criminal, they would have waited a few seconds longer, just to be sure. But the sound of gunshots coming from the back of the house, an indication of more than one occupant, threw everyone into a panic. And what was believed to be a gun that the perpetrator was reaching for up under his shirt, wedged into the band of his jeans, turned out to be nothing more than a toy, perhaps a favourite one that would have calmed his daughter down some. Toby wondered as he watched it all unfold, did the guy think he was being arrested for drugs, or did he know it was for the nurse he had stabbed? Did he even remember her, with her bright blond hair and pretty smile, always ready to help anyone who stumbled into the emergency room? Did he know, as that bullet hit him in the leg, taking him down, that he was unlikely to ever see his little girl again? And did he wonder if it had all been worth it?

  Charlotte and Toby sat in the public gallery of court on the day Royce appeared before the judge to answer to the charge of bigamy. It had been almost ten years since Charlotte had last laid eyes on her father. He had aged some, but not significantly. He had lost weight, and looked a bit fitter than he used to. She knew which one was the new wife without needing Toby to point her out. She found herself feeling curiously sorry for her, as she sat there, the object of unwanted scrutiny, so far removed from Iris, who was of course the very definition of poise. Charlotte understood why her mother had felt the need to pursue this, but she could not find it within herself to agree with her. There was really nothing to be gained here, nothing but more pain, and there would come a time, Charlotte was certain of this, that her mother would regret taking this action.

  Royce pleaded guilty and was sentenced to twelve months prison with immediate release. His new wife wept with relief, Iris did not, and Charlotte simply got up and walked away.

  Toby shook hands with the barrister who had acted for Royce.

  "Good outcome," the barrister said.

  "Thanks. I appreciate you taking the case on."

  The barrister shrugged. "I owed you." He looked down at Toby's leg with a brief and pointed glance before turning away. "I think I still do."

  Toby made no response. He watched as Iris stalked past, a look of fury set upon her face.

  The barrister shook his head. "Hell hath no fury," he muttered.

  "Yeah. Didn't work out quite like she'd planned."

  "Enjoy that then, for the next ten years at family barbecues."

  Toby snorted. "She's not going to let it go that soon," he replied, chuckling, despite the gravity of the situation.

  Charlotte watched from the court steps as her father emerged with his wife. They were met down on the path by another woman, his wife's mother, by the looks of her. She held the hands of two identical boys, their little faces lighting up as they set eyes upon their father.

  Their father.

  Her father.

  He turned then, his eyes seeking her out. He raised his hand and gave her a small wave. She stared at him for a long moment before turning away. Maybe one day she would seek him out, meet his new family, introduce him to hers, but for today, she did not want to see him again.

  Toby held the screaming baby boy up against him, kissing his angry little face before looking up at Charlotte with a smile that hurt, he was grinning so widely. "Ashley is going to be so pleased," he announced. "A boy!"

  "At long last," Charlotte added, smiling tiredly. "He will indeed. Until he realises it will be a few years until he can do anything boyish with him and that when it comes to a baby, having a brother is really no different to having a sister."

  "What are you naming him?" the midwife asked, fussing around Charlotte as another nurse began to clean up. "He's a big one; will grow up to be a strapping young lad, no doubt."

  Toby looked at Charlotte, who nodded at him, a sad smile flitting across her face. He turned back, addressing the midwife. "His name is Eli."

  "That's lovely. Is it a family name?"

  "No," Charlotte replied throatily. "But he's named for someone special."

  Toby gazed down, taking in the sight of his new son's face; he was crying no longer, but wore a serious expression that reminded him entirely of Ashley. "Hello there, little Eli," he said softly. Pressing his lips to Eli's tiny forehead, he inhaled deeply, breathing the scent of new life in, the weight of his son insubstantial in his hands but the complete opposite within his heart. Glancing up at Charlotte through wet eyes, he laughed.

  "You'd think I would be used to this by now."

  Charlotte smiled at him, taking in his tears and joy, her own eyes shining. "I'll never tire of seeing you with one of our babies in your arms for the first time. You get this look on your face; it's like hope magnified by infinity. As if you can't believe what you're holding. You've looked that way each and every time. Never any different." Reaching her hand out, she touched Eli on the foot with her finger, stroking it lightly before fiddling with his tiny toes.

  Toby reached down, encasing both her hand and the little foot she still had a hold of, all of them now connected by a single grasp. Standing there, in the still that existed between birth and everyone arriving to meet their new baby, he could say without a doubt, that he had everything.

  And there was not much more that you could want than that.

  ******The End******

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Special thanks goes out to Stephanie Nicholas for her legal expertise, her undying patience, her dedication to accuracy, and her constant friendship.

  To Kelly Waters, for coming up with the title fo
r this novel, and for your ongoing support. I appreciate everything you do to spread the word about my books and I have come to value your friendship dearly.

  To the usual suspects who read everything I send to them, tell me what works and what doesn't, then read again, and again, and again. You know who you are. You all have your roles in this process and I couldn't do this without you. Thank you, a million times over.

  I would also like to acknowledge Sergeant First Class Joseph Kapacziewski of the 3rd Ranger Battalion of the United States, a true hero whose personal story inspired part of what I chose to write about here in this novel. His memoir, Back in the Fight, is a fantastic book if you are interested in reading more about overcoming the limitations of amputation.

  SOUNDTRACK

  Usually, I would incorporate my playlist throughout the novel. This time, I wrote longer chapters and used more music. To prevent interrupting the flow of the story, I decided to simply list the music for you instead. Played in order, it gives an impression of the journey taken by the characters throughout the story.

  Enjoy!

  The Devil Wears a Suit - Kate Miller Heidke

  Tennis Court - Lorde

  Every Other Freckle - alt J

  Wicked Game - Chris Isaak

  Nightswimming - R.E.M

  Dreams - The Cranberries

  Estranged - Guns N' Roses

  Closer - Nine Inch Nails

  Complicated - Avril Lavigne

  So Cold in Ireland - The Cranberries

  Beautiful Girl - INXS

  Boom Clap - Charli XCX

  Ava Adore - The Smashing Pumpkins

  Falling - Verdigrls

  Disarm - The Smashing Pumpkins

  1000 Sundowns - Emma Louise

  Up and Down and Back Again - Powderfinger

  Special K - Placebo

  Dammit - Blink 182

  Lost at Sea - Appleonia

  Bad Day - R.E.M

  Dream Baby - Hootie and the Blowfish

  Cornflake Girl - Tori Amos

  Smother - Daughter

  Selling the Drama - Live

  Alive - Gabrielle Aplin

  I'm Not Coming Back - Husky

  Stolen Dance - Milky Chance

  Hot N Cold - Katy Perry

  Reckless - James Reyne

  Same Mistake - James Blunt

  Hurt - Dean Ray

  Nobody's Fool - Avril Lavigne

  Budapest - George Ezra

  How Does it Feel - Eskimo Joe

  Panic Cord - Gabrielle Aplin

  How do You Feel Today - Gabrielle Aplin

  Home - Gabrielle Aplin

  Winds of Change - Vance Joy

  Hope and Validation - Bernard Fanning

  All I Want for Christmas - Mariah Carey

  The Look of Love - The Jezabels

  Speed of Sound - Coldplay

  Human Touch - Bruce Springsteen

  Stand Inside Your Love - The Smashing Pumpkins

  Angry - Matchbox Twenty

  Tunnel of Love - Bruce Springsteen

  Home - Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeroes

  The Beast - Angus & Julia Stone

  Everybody Hurts - R.E.M

  Mad World - Gary Jules

  Dark Storm - The Jezabels

  Demons - Imagine Dragons

  Feels Like Home - Martha Marlow

  Broken Brights - Angus Stone

  Lego House - Ed Sheeran

  Blame it on Me - George Ezra

  Run Daddy Run - Miranda Lambert

  Monsters - Angus Stone

  Hollywood - Angus & Julia Stone

  High Hopes - Kodaline

  Flickers - London Grammar

  Lifeforms - Daughter

  Nara - alt J

  Goodbye My Lover - James Blunt

  The Hardest Part - Coldplay

  All I Want - Kodaline

  Swallowed By the Sea - Coldplay

  Everybody's Laughing - Alex Lloyd

  Life's for the Living - Passenger

  Not Afraid - Eminem

  Holes - Passenger

  Ho Hey - The Lumineers

  Other titles by this author:

  Somebody I Used To Know

  In The Arms of Sleep

  Yellow Light

  Theresa Smith is an author of Contemporary Australian fiction with romantic elements set against a backdrop of domestic drama. Selling the Drama is her fourth novel. She lives in outback Queensland, Australia, with her husband and three children.

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