CHAPTER TEN
Carrington Olivia Butler
I had a week’s reprieve from having to explain to Jack why were weren’t going to the game. I knew I could take him to the game with the firm’s tickets, but I thought it best to keep him separate from that world for a while. Jack took this my godfather is the starting quarterback of the Arizona Cardinals thing a little too far.
I received a call from another teacher from school and had my guard up.
“Hi, Ms. Butler. This is Mrs. Johnson. We meet at Jack’s parent/teacher conference last month.”
“Yes, how are you?”
“I am great. I wanted to call to see if we can keep an eye on something.”
“What’s going on?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a problem now, but it could turn into one. Jack is a great kid and obviously he is excited about his friend Jackson Mitchell, but some of the other kids are starting to tease him a bit, making fun of him.”
“Is he okay?”
“Oh, you know Jack, he can take care of himself. He has a way with words.”
I smiled.
“But for some of the other kids who aren’t as quick witted, things might get out of hand.”
“Okay. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. This city loves their Cardinals and Jack’s close friends support him. He’s trying to figure out how much he can say. I am sure you can help him.”
“Yes. I will. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I waited until Sunday to talk to Jack about his behavior at school. We set up a little picnic on the coffee table and settled in to watch the game. I smiled during player introductions when they announced Jackson. I couldn’t help myself. He looked good. His flush red face glistened after pre-game warm-ups as he played catch on the sideline with Towson.
I fixated on Jackson’s hands as he threw the ball. I loved his hands. So strong and the things his hands did to me. I shook the thoughts out of my head convincing myself I didn’t miss Jackson.
“Jack, it’s been fun having Jackson around more, hasn’t it.”
“Yeah. He’s so cool.”
“Yeah. Do you talk about him at school, to your friends?”
Jackson stopped eating, looked at me, and then turned back at the screen.
“Why?”
“I was just curious. Do your friends think it’s cool?”
“Not all of them, but I don’t know why. Jackson is awesome, and I like having him as a friend.”
“Yeah, but sometimes, people aren’t happy about good things happening to you.”
“Why?”
“Different reasons. Jealousy or they aren’t nice people or some people, your good friends, might think you don’t like them as much.”
The look Jack gave me was priceless. I wanted to laugh, but as the mature parent, I couldn’t.
“What does jealous mean?”
“They wish they had a friend like Jackson.”
“That’s not my fault that their moms don’t know Jackson.”
“True, but-”
“And Trevor said that I don’t really know Jackson, but I showed him a photo and he said I was a spoiled rich kid.”
“What did you say?”
“I said, if he wasn’t such a dumb head, maybe he could have a friend like Jackson.”
Again, I concentrated on not laughing and nodded my head.
“You understand that Jackson is famous, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, because he’s famous, we have to be careful because other people can get really weird about famous people.”
“Like when the lady screamed and cried when she met Adam Levine?”
“What are you talking about?”
“On the show. The lady freaked out and cried because Adam was there and she said she loved him and went like this.” Jack stood up and flayed his arms around over his head and screamed. This time I had to laugh.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“That’s silly.”
“Yeah, so why don’t you just talk about Jackson when people ask you about him? And if someone says something rude, don’t say anything back.”
“Aww, what if they say something mean about Jackson?”
“Well, you know it’s not true, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And if they say something, just nod, smile, and say okay, and then walk away and come and tell me.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
I may not have handed that well, but it was all I could come up with. I couldn’t imagine how much more difficult it would be if Jackson and I were together.
Ironic that Jackson was the best person to help him deal with this stuff. He grew up the kid of a famous person; he knew what Jack was going through.
I received a text from Jackson the day after the game. He won, threw two touchdowns, and ran for another. He asked if he could pick Jackson up and take him to the driving range after school on Tuesday. I couldn’t think of a good excuse not to let him go. I could handle this. It would be good for Jack, good and harmless.
I worked late that night; when I returned home, Jack had showered and sat in the living room watching television when I walked in.
“Hi, Julia,” I said. I found her in the kitchen fixing Jack’s lunch for the next day.
“Hi, Ms. Carrington. You want me to warm you up something?”
“No, I grabbed something at the office.”
“Okay, I’ll finish up and be going.”
“Thanks, Julia. What time did Jack get home?”
“About seven, Mr. Jackson took him out for dinner, too.”
“How was his breathing when he got home?”
“It was a little stuffy; he took a steam in your shower and sounds better.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I plopped down on the couch. Jack’s attention focused on a Star Wars cartoon.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mama.”
“You have fun today?” I knew I shouldn’t interrogate my son to get information on Jackson, but desperate times call for desperate actions or something like that.
“Yep.” My talkative son seemed a little too mellow for my taste. I guessed I needed a more direct line of questioning.
“How’s Jackson?”
“Fine.”
My face scrunched up, and I stared at him. I wanted to shut off the television and demand he answer me in more than one-word answers, but that would have been wrong. I turned back to the television and waited. I might get more information after the show.
I sat back and watched him. His sandy blonde hair was getting long and his freckles were more pronounced. He spent a lot more time out in the sun lately. His asthma was under control, but any change to his routine made me nervous.
The showed ended and Jack handed me the remote and headed toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed.”
“Excuse me. Who are you and where is my son?”
“What?”
“You never go to bed without me telling you like five times.”
“Golf is hard.” He raised his arms up over his head and stretched and yawned.
“Well, can I get a kiss goodnight or are you too tired for that?”
He smiled and walked over and hugged my neck. I pulled him on my lap and rubbed his back. He let me hold him for a minute, but his foot started bouncing, and I knew I had to let him go.
“Goodnight, sweetie.” I kissed the top of his head and pushed him off my lap.
“Night.”
I sat for a minute and then called Kayla.
“Hi chica, what is up with you?” Kayla asked.
“Nothing, except I just thought about torturing my son for information.”
“What?”
“Jackson picked Jack up this afternoon and took him to the driving range to hit some balls.”
“Really.”
“And, for once, my son was closed lipped about the whole thing which makes me even more curious.”
“Well, why don’t you ask Jackson what happen?”
“I can’t ask Jackson.”
“Why?”
“Because we decided not to see each other anymore.”
Thud.
Kayla’s muffled a curse word.
“Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. What happened? Last week you were doing it on the kitchen counter and now, nothing.”
I wish someone would remind me not to tell my best friend everything all the time.
“It’s not right. It just doesn't feel right. I don’t know how else to explain it. I love him, but it’s too hard. He has so much pressure on him right now, and I don’t want to add to it.”
“So you’re being the martyr …again.” She grunted. “Doing it for the Arizona Cardinals.”
“Don’t be flippant about it. This hurts.”
“I’m sorry. I have to ask. Why do you purposely sabotage the good things in your life?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Whether is fair or not, it’s true.”
We sat in silence.
Kayla knew me better than anyone. When she said something, she had a reason for saying it. It didn’t make hearing it any easier.
“Carrington, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I want to ask you something?”
“Okay.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. What do you mean?”
“What do you want for you? What makes you happy? What do you want out of life?”
“It’s a little late for a therapy session,” I said and laughed.
“Carrington, I have to go.”
“What? I’m just kidding.”
“I know you are, that’s why I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
Kayla hung up without saying another word. I stared at the phone, thinking she would call right back.
She didn’t.
Who wins the award for world’s worst mom in the world? Drum roll, please. Carrington does.
I did not mean to wait until the night before the next home game to talk to Jack. I had to go out of town for two days, and when I got back late on Friday, I didn’t have a chance to talk to Jack about it until Saturday afternoon.
Jack sat on the floor in the corner where the sectional pieces met. He had settled in for an afternoon of college football.
I sat on the chaise lounge with my feet up and wrapped in my FSU blanket, ready to zone out for a while.
The broadcaster compared the Seminoles’ new sophomore quarterback to the FSU legend, Jackson Mitchell. The kid threw three touchdowns, and Jack turned to me.
“Do you go to Jackson’s games at FSU?”
“Yeah, of course. So did you, you were just too young to remember.”
“I can’t wait to watch Jackson throw for four touchdowns tomorrow.” He turned back to the television and said, “What time are we leaving for the game?”
“Jacky,” I said. “We aren’t going to the game tomorrow.”
Jack stood up and sat on coffee table in front of me.
“Why?”
“I told you before that we might not be able to go to every game.”
“But Jackson says we can go any time we want to. I want to go, Mama.”
“Jack, listen. I have been traveling all week, and I am tired. I want to stay home and watch the game on TV. We can cook Sunday dinner and eat in front of the TV.”
“I want to go to the game.” Jack stood up and stomped his foot.
“Well, I’m sorry. We're not going.”
“But I have to go see him.”
“Why do you have to go see him?”
“He’s like my dad, and we should be there.”
I let out a sigh and my shoulders slumped.
“Jack, Jackson is not your dad.”
“Well, he could be if you would let him. He wants to be.”
“Did he tell you that?” I asked as I scooted to the edge of the couch.
“No, but I know he would if you told him to be.”
I shook my head and slumped back into the couch.
Jack headed towards the kitchen. I sat back up.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m calling Jackson.”
I stood up and followed him.
“Jack, hang up that phone. You are not calling Jackson.”
“Yes, I am.” He held the phone out in front of him. His finger hovered over the send button daring me to do something.
Now, I love my son with all my heart, but I didn’t like him in that moment. He reminded me of Josh. Testing my limits. Josh got some sadistic pleasure out of pushing me. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to calm down.
When the phone rang, I snapped. My eyes shot open, and I grabbed the phone and slammed it down on the counter. I stood over Jack, and he looked up at me. His lip quivered and his face turned red. He looked down at his hands and he blinked fast. I softened my face.
Big mistake.
Instead of crying, he yelled.
“You ruin everything. I don’t have a dad, and you don’t want me to have one. No one will tell me about my real dad and you won’t let Jackson be my dad. It’s not fair. I hate you.”
I stepped back and grabbed onto the table for support. Jack’s little checks puffed in and out. I knew he didn’t mean it, but it punched me in the chest anyway.
His eyes were wet, and he swiped at them before the tears fell.
He started wheezing a little at first and I thought he would breathe through it, but it deteriorated quick. His eyes showed panic right before a full-on asthma attack. Alarm bells started going off in my head.
I grabbed one of his inhalers out of the cabinet. I pulled him toward me as I sat at the kitchen table. He leaned up against my leg while I took the top off the inhaler. I reminded myself to stay calm and neutral. If I panicked, then he would panic and it would get bad quick.
I shook his inhaler, held it up. He put his mouth on it, and I squeezed twice.
“Breathe,” I said while placing my other hand on his chest to encourage him to calm down.
I waited a minute, and he wheezed another breath.
“One more?”
He nodded his head, opened his mouth, and I pumped twice.
“Breathe.”
That puff did it. His heart stopped racing and his eyes returned to normal size. I rubbed circles on his chest and took deep breaths with him.
“Okay.”
He shook his head.
“Why don’t you go lie down and finish watching the game?”
He shook his head and went to lie down on the couch.
I stayed seated at the kitchen table willing myself not to cry. Sadness overtook my senses. I wanted to crawl under the covers in my room and not come out for, I don’t know, maybe five years.
My therapist diagnosed it as a form of depression. When I found myself in situations I needed to control and be strong for, once it was over, crisis averted, my mind shut down; my mind’s own version of fight, then flight.
I shook it off, went to the couch, and laid down on the other end.
I spent so much time in this state of avoiding catastrophe. It exhausted me.
Jack wheezed and I sat up, ready for action. His steady breathing continued, so I relaxed. I lay back down and cried into the couch cushion until the FSU game lulled me to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Carrington Olivia Butler
Jackson was mad at me.
Kayla was pissed at me.
Jack hated me, too.
I’d hit the trifecta.
I pissed off everyone lately.
Jack woke me up and apologized an hour later, but when I asked him if he wanted to watch the game together the next day, he asked if he could go across the street and watch it with his friend, Blake. I said yes and tried to hide my disappointment.
Monday morning, Kayla avoided my calls and Jack spoke to me in one-word sentences. I was on everyone’s shit list, . . . except Mr. Griffin.
I finished my to-do list at the office early and packed up to head home. A ding on my computer alerted me to a message. Mr. Griffin’s assistant, Ashlei, sent the itinerary for the Griffin Men’s Annual Hunting Trip. He had mentioned it to me a few times over the last few months.
The trip was scheduled for three days in November in New Jersey, the same weekend the Cardinals played in The Meadowlands. I dialed his number, stood up and stared out the window at the Cardinals facility in the distance.
“Carrington Olivia Butler, I was wondering when you were going to stop avoiding me.”
“I’m not avoiding you, Mr. Griffin. I have been busy. I am raising your grandson, after all.”
He chuckled. He loved it when I refer to Jack as his grandson. Like me declaring it, made it all the more real.
“Yep. You are and doing a fine job of it, too.”
“Thank you.” I placed my hand on the glass warmed by the direct sunlight.
I grew to understand Mr. Griffin better over the years. His ignorance stemmed from his upbringing and from his anger at not living the life he wanted to live. I compared the Griffins to an old English aristocratic family. In 1908 England, Mr. Griffin would be a duke or a lord or something. He would have arranged for his son to marry the daughter of the king. The two families would have joined and become one big stuffy boring powerful family. Mr. Griffin would also have cut the heads off a few of his wives by now.
A black girl with a bastard son would not have been allowed in the manor.
Mr. Griffin divorced his third wife shortly after his son died. I wondered if he dated or had a girlfriend. He would be a good catch because he had more money than he knew what to do with. And, dare I say it, he was a nice guy.
In seven years, he had not done one thing that would make me doubt his word or mistrust him. So, why did I find it difficult to let him spend time with Jack alone?
Jack adored him. They had these weekly video calls and although I leave them alone, I hear them laughing and joking. I encouraged their relationship, but I couldn’t help think it would only take one time for him to do something and devastate our world. He held too much power over my life at the beginning, and as the years passed and I became more successful, I had finally taken back a little of that power.
Hope for Us (Hope Series Book #3) Page 12