Low Country Daddy

by Lexi Whitlow

  Mama glares at me again.

  Maddie peers up at me sheepishly, disappointment clouding her pretty blue eyes. “I just don’t think I can…”

  “What did she offer you?” I ask.

  “Three hundred a week, plus meals,” Mama answers. “That’s better than minimum wage.”

  Rose Ballentine is cheap.

  “Leave the money to me, Mama,” I say. “If you two are done, I want to show Maddie around a bit, so she has the lay of the land.”

  “Fine,” Mama says to me, getting snippy. She turns to Maddie with a surrendering smile. “Can you start tomorrow?”

  Maddie nods tentatively, glancing up at me. I nod back, letting her know it’s alright. Once we’ve escaped the scrutiny of Rose Ballentine, Maddie breathes a sigh of relief.

  “She’s okay,” I promise. “She’ll grow on you and you’ll grow on her. If you’re as good with Emma as you were before, it won’t take long.”

  Maddie’s gone quiet, and I realize for the first time since I met her, she seems insecure – even nervous. All her firecracker is momentarily snuffed out. Mama has that effect on people. She can put you in your place, fast.

  “About the pay,” I say. “What were you thinking?”

  She shrugs awkwardly. “I… I… I was… was hoping for maybe four-hundred a week?”

  I lead her down the front steps, onto the path toward the barns and stables, and then up to Blanc-Bleu.

  “I was thinking around five-hundred,” I say, walking beside her. She doesn’t object, but she remains quiet.

  I show Mattie the stables, where twenty horses are boarded by an outfit from St. Helena Island. She regards the animals with a mixture of awe and caution as we stroll by them, pausing occasionally so I can speak to the one or two I’m friendly with.

  “So… these aren’t your horses?” she asks. “They just live here?”

  “I lease the stables and turn-out pasture to people,” I say, trying to explain it. “They board people’s horses here, take care of them, train them, give riding lessons – to mostly kids – and they ride them on the property. It pays pretty good, and it’s good to have people on the property working day and night. It helps with security.”

  “Wow,” Maddie says. “Do you ride?”

  I shake my head. “Never learned.”

  After the stables, we wander toward the next barn, which is used to store all the big equipment and Timothy hay for the horses. A large load just came in, so the place is stacked to the rafters with hundreds of tightly packed bales. Stu’s tractor is parked in the middle of the barn, along with my big John Deer mower.

  “When Justin’s here, this place is off-limits. Lot’s of stuff he could get into that could be dangerous.”

  Maddie nods.

  “I want to show you the big house,” I say, leading her out, back onto the path.

  Maddie hesitates, slowing our pace. “I really want to see it,” she says. “But the sun is starting to set, and I promised Justin…”

  I forgot. “Of course. Yeah,” I say, turning back. “Sorry. Maybe tomorrow?”

  She smiles nervously. “Yeah.”

  There’s an awkward tension between us as we drive back toward Beaufort. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s real and new. Something about the visit to Blanc-Bleu rattled her, and I don’t think it’s just the encounter with my mother.

  Crossing the bridge in stony silence, I can’t take it anymore. I ask her straight up, “What’s gotten into you? You got all quiet. Did I do something to piss you off?”

  “God, no!” she almost snaps, then catches herself. “I’m… I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

  “Overwhelmed?” I ask. “Why? At what?”

  She fidgets in her seat, looking uncomfortable. “At you. At your place. Your generosity. At how nice you’re being. Everything. I’m not used to it. I’m not used to things going well. It’s never happened before.”

  I’d love the chance to make things go even better for her, but now that she’s working for me, that might be an inappropriate conversation.

  “Just so I can manage my expectations,” Maddie says, “this is only temporary, until you can find somebody real. Right?”

  I can’t help but smile at her. “You look pretty real to me,” I reply. “It’s as permanent or as temporary as you want it to be. As far as I’m concerned, I stopped looking for anybody else the second you got Emma to settle down so fast. If you quit it’s going to suck for me, as I doubt I’ll find anyone else I trust quite as much.”

  She gives me an odd look but has no reply. I wish I knew more about her. I wish I knew what her story was. I decide to press my luck.

  “So, where’s Justin’s father?” I ask. “Is he still in the picture?”

  Maddie stiffens. “No,” she states certainly. “Not at all. He’s back in Indy.”

  “Is he why you left Indianapolis?” I ask.

  “Something like that,” she says, her brevity and tone making it crystal clear she doesn’t want to reveal more.

  I’d like to ask about her parents, or if she has any siblings, but it feels like unwelcome prying. I know there’s a reason this smart, very capable young woman is all on her own, in a strange town, and broke. It’s difficult to believe she’s got nobody at all. Everyone has family somewhere. Everyone has a mother.

  We’re a block from Flo’s, and I’m about to ask where her parents are, when Maddie sits up straight, her eyes going wide as saucers. She cries, “What the fuck?!”

  There are three patrol cars in Flo’s back lot, all of them pointed at her RV with blue lights flashing.

  I don’t even get my truck fully stopped before Maddie is out, running straight into the gaggle of cops gathered around the camper. I call after her, but she doesn’t wait.

  The camper doors are opened wide, and as I head after Maddie, I see a patrolman step out of the RV. Maddie shouts at him, “Where’s Justin!? Where’s my son!?”

  Three policemen surround her. I know all of them, but I know the one who was in the RV better than the rest. His name is Caper and his people are from down near Jericho. He’s a few years older than me, also an Ex-Marine. We were deployed together in the same unit not long after I made Scout Sniper. I saved his ass on a mission once, taking out a pair of Taliban shooters that had his squad pinned down.

  “Are you Madison James?” he asks her, his tone chilly, all business.

  “Yes!” she says. “Where’s Justin?” She’s about to cry. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

  “Did you leave him alone?” Caper asks her. “By himself in the camper?”

  Maddie stops, taking a step back. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in custody,” Caper says. “He’s fine. Now how about you explain to me how you came to leave a seven-year-old boy by himself, in a camper, in a public parking lot, behind a bar? And while you’re at it, I’d like to see some identification.”

  I see Justin. He’s sitting up in the back seat of one of the patrol cars, his hands on the glass, obviously frightened, staring at Maddie’s back.

  I move into the fray, coming up beside Maddie. “Justin’s right over there,” I say to her. She swings around to see and then bolts to the car, dashing fast before the cops can stop her. The back door is unlocked, and in an instant Justin is out, wrapped up in Maddie’s embrace. Two seconds after that, a cop catches up to her, trying to separate them. Justin won’t have it. He won’t let go.

  “So’s this what you guys do?” I ask Caper. “Tear little kids from their mother’s arms?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Hi, Ballentine,” he says, ignoring my comment. He calls the stormtroopers off. “Rick, leave ‘em be. They’re alright.” Caper returns his attention to me. “What’s your part in all this?”

  “She works for me,” I say. “And she works at Flo’s. And if you’d bothered to talk to Ronny, which I’m guessing you didn’t, you’d know she has permission to park here, and that the staff inside were keeping an eye on Justin.”

&
nbsp; Rick, the stormtrooper, pulls Maddie by her elbow back to our circle. She’s holding Justin’s hand so tight I fear she might hurt him.

  “We got a 911 call from the convenience store across the street,” Caper says to Maddie. “The caller wouldn’t identify himself. He said there was a little kid wandering out on the waterfront by himself. He said he thought the kid was living in a camper, parked here. We got here and found the kid inside by himself.”

  Maddie looks down at Justin. “Did you go outside?” she asks him, her tone fraught.

  “No,” Justin says, fighting tears. “I stayed inside, just like I promised. I never go out.”

  Maddie glares up at the cop. “He didn’t go out,” she said. “He wasn’t wandering around alone. Whoever said that is a liar.”

  Caper hauls in a deep breath. “I need to see some ID,” he says. “On you and your son.”

  Maddie fumbles in her pocket for her identification, handing it to him. “His birth certificate is inside the RV. He’s not old enough to have a driver’s license yet.”

  “Easy, Maddie,” I caution her. “These guys are just doing their jobs.”

  She’s pissed, and that’s understandable, but it’s not wise to get smart with cops. Especially when your circumstances are as precarious as hers.

  “Get the birth certificate,” Caper says. “Please.” He’s not amused.

  Maddie takes Justin with her to the RV. Officer Caper regards me with circumspection. “You say she works for you? Doing what, exactly?”

  “She’s the nanny,” I say. “I’m sure you heard all about the newest member of the household. Mom and I needed some help.”

  Caper gives me a knowing smirk. “Perfect,” he says. “She’s so responsible with kids, after all.”

  When Maddie returns with Justin’s birth certificate, it’s without Justin. He watches the proceedings from a window in the back of the camper.

  “Joseph James?” he asks, “Justin’s father. Where’s he?”

  Maddie’s jaw clenches. “In Indianapolis. Hopefully still in jail,” she nearly spits. “I’ve got sole custody by court order. We’re separated. As soon as I can afford to do it, I’m filing for divorce.”

  Caper regards her with curiosity. “I’m assuming that if I run both of you, you’re going to come up clean and he’s going to come up with a string of domestics?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope, we’re both going to come up clean because his brother is a dirty Indianapolis cop with lots of friends in high places. Every charge has been dropped or dismissed. He’s untouchable. And he’s a mean drunk with a vicious right hook who likes to take his frustrations out on anyone weaker than him, even little boys trying to keep him from kicking their mother’s ass.”

  Oh shit. That explains everything.

  Caper nods. “I see,” he says. “Okay… Here’s the thing. There’s no law against being homeless. There is, however, a law against leaving your child unsupervised. There’s also a law against vagrancy. By city ordnance, you can’t park here overnight, even with the owner’s permission. You’ve got 24 hours to make other arrangements. If I come back tomorrow night and find this camper here, we’ll impound it. If I find your kid in it, I’m calling Social Services and charging you with neglect.”

  Maddie listens stone-faced to his threats, showing no emotion.

  “Caper, come on,” I say. “Cut her some slack.”

  He looks up at me. “Don’t give me shit, Ballentine,” he says. “She works for you. She works for Ronny. Between the two of you, you should be paying her enough to live somewhere decent.”

  “Can we talk?” I ask him, respectfully.

  “Sure,” he quips. “I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”

  I walk him out to the center of the parking lot, well beyond Maddie’s earshot.

  “Look,” I say. “I just hired her tonight to be the nanny, and she’s only been in town a few weeks. She was broke when she got here, and she’s trying to save for a place. I’ll make sure she’s settled with the boy in the next few days. She can come to the farm. She’s been through a lot – obviously. Can you work with me here? I promise, I’ll make sure the boy is safe, and her too.”

  Caper gnaws his lip. “Two days,” he says. “But she’s got to move this camper by then. And she can’t leave the boy alone when she goes to work.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” I promise. “You know I’m as good as my word.”

  He nods. “Sorry about the jab, back there,” he offers. “I was over the line and making assumptions.”

  I shrug it off. “Like water off a duck’s back,” I assure him. “You ask anyone who’s ever worked for me, I pay damn good wages and take care of my people.”

  “Most of the people you hire won’t talk to me,” Caper says coolly. “Most of them don’t speak English.”

  Oh, good Lord. “They all speak English,” I reply with equal coolness. “And if you know any locals who want a job on the salt, working twelve hours a day, six days a week, you send ‘em my way. I’m always hiring good, hard-working people”

  He shakes his head at me. “You’re still a bad ass Ballentine,” he offers, smirking. “A bad ass in the Marines and a bad ass back at home. Remind me not to fuck with you. You should run for governor. With the Ballentine name, you’d probably win. You couldn’t do worse that the shit birds up there now.”

  Not happening.

  “Two days?” I ask.

  He agrees. “Not three.”

  Chapter 9

  Maddie

  I hate cops. It’s good riddance when the last one pulls away. Half the staff of Flo’s is watching, and all the customers trailing out of the place are rubber-necking to see what’s going on, looking for some drama to add color to their dust-dull lives. I hate being that color.

  “Let’s talk,” Jeb says, opening the RV door, waiting for me to go ahead.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him, standing my ground. “You don’t need to stay. I’m going to head over to the campground on Hunter’s Island tonight, or maybe just the Wal-Mart parking lot. Those bastards won’t find me back here again.”

  Jeb shakes his head. “I bought you some time,” he says. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask him. He knows everybody in this town, even the cops.

  “Inside,” he insists. “Unless you want to have this conversation in front of half the town.”

  “What conversation?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. I’ve had it with over-bearing men tonight. I want to go inside and be with my kid.

  “Good Lord, Maddie. Go inside.”

  Damned obstinate man.

  Justin looks up at Jeb with barely veiled fear. He looks so small, and Jeb looks so big crouched in this small space, and there’s nowhere for him to sit.

  “I’m good right here,” he says, dropping to his knees in the isle. He looks at Justin. “Hey buddy, I’m Jeb. Your Mom serves me oysters and beer pretty regular at Flo’s, and she’s going to start looking after my baby daughter. I hope that’s okay with you?”

  Justin makes no response. He’s petrified from his ordeal with the cops, and now this.

  Jeb turns his attention to me. “You’re in a jam,” he says. “The cops aren’t playing around. This is a resort town, and they enforce the vagrancy laws with enthusiasm. If they didn’t, the place would be over-run…”

  “I’m not a vagrant and you know it,” I hiss. “I work my ass off.”

  Jeb nods patiently. “I do,” he says. “But you and Justin are legally homeless. Having just had a run-in with Child Protective Services myself, I can tell you from experience, you don’t want to cross paths with them.”

  “They’re not taking my kid,” I say. “Fuck it. I’ll leave town tonight. We don’t need this. We were fine. We’re not bothering anybody.”

  I’m so fucking angry, I want to tear the eyes out of whoever made that call. Lying bastard.

  “I have a better idea,” Jeb says. “You saw the farm
tonight. You’re going to be working there anyway. How about you just come live out there? It won’t cost you a thing. It’s a safe place, wide open spaces, clean air. Justin will have a whole island, not just a yard. Boats, swimming. You name it.”

  He’s completely out of his mind.

  “You don’t have a lot of options, Maddie. You’ve got two days, or they’re hauling out the big guns. Come to Blanc-Bleu. It’s the best thing for you and for Justin. I told the cops I’d make sure you were settled and safe, and Justin wouldn’t be left alone anymore. My mother and I can take care of him at night while you’re at work.”

  “You made a deal with the cops?” I ask, my rage boiling over. “You had no right to do that! What is it with men that every last one of you think you have a right to control women’s lives, like we’re hostage to your demands. You think I’m going to move in with you because some Barney Fife, small town cops are leaning on me? Dude, I’m from the south side of Indianapolis. I know scary cops. I know scary people. Get out of here. Justin and I are dust. This town can kiss my ass.”

  Jeb gazes at me calmly, and that just pisses me off worse. Justin is looking at me like I’m speaking in tongues. He’s not seen me this angry in a long time. He’s scared.

  “Are you finished?” Jeb asks.

  “Screw you,” I spit, lacking any other reply.

  “Are you finished?”

  What do I need to do to get him to leave?

  “A couple things,” Jeb says, his voice low and cool, like he’s speaking to a frightened animal – which really, really pisses me off. “First; I didn’t mean you’d move in with me.” He smiles awkwardly, which pisses me off even more, because it’s so damn attractive. “While I still think you’re the prettiest girl who’s ever come my way, and I still think you’re smarter than any girl I’ve met in a long time, I have no expectations along those lines. You’re Emma’s babysitter, and that’s it. We have guest cottages on the property. We rent them out for weddings and special events. There are ten of them. They’re small, but comfortable. Two bedrooms, a bath, and a kitchen. You and Justin would have your own place.”