Surviving Goodbye

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Surviving Goodbye Page 20

by Morgan Parker


  “Nathan’s wife,” Veronica said, frowning at the frozen image on the screen. “Why are we looking at this?”

  I poked at the screen, not thinking twice about how Veronica might’ve recognized Leanne. “This is why Nathan was at the wedding. He was dating this woman who was in the wedding party.”

  “Leanne.”

  “Who is his wife now,” I said.

  She didn’t seem to care about this nearly as much as I did. I faced the television screen again and, when I blinked, I swore I recognized those narrow cheekbones and big wide-eyes as the face behind that Chrysler’s tinted glass.

  “Elliot?”

  I felt Veronica’s hand slide onto my back, right between my shoulder blades as her face came closer to the screen.

  “Did you talk to Nathan today?”

  I nodded. “He knows who owns the Chrysler that’s been following us. His wife’s cousin, but it’s a he. I swear I saw a woman driving that car, though.”

  She stood straighter, turned to face me. I could make out just enough worry in her face that I realized I might’ve been right about Nathan Darien. “You think it’s Nathan’s wife?”

  I allowed a subtle nod, but added, “I’m just confused about everything.”

  “Why would Nathan’s wife care?”

  Before we could dig into the details, Lena’s elephant feet moved across the floor upstairs and stopped at the basement door. “Dinner’s ready!”

  I forgot all about picking out a bottle of wine.

  After dinner, we moved to the living room, stuffed from one of the most amazing meals I had enjoyed in a long time. Ava played with some of Lena’s old toys that she had pulled from a box in the basement. Lena seemed to relax a little now that dinner was over, having settled in the chair with the reading lamp next to it, a chair where I had spent so much time as well—between those nights when Lena was ill as a younger girl, the nights leading up to and following Karen’s death. It was also known as the interrogation chair where Karen and I had placed Lena when she would get in trouble in her early teen years. It was always minor things like missing curfew, telling a neighbor to fuck off for kicks, skipping class during a power outage, little things like that. Now it felt odd sitting in this room, in this setting, knowing the questions would come from her this time.

  “What do you see in my father?” Lena asked Veronica as soon as there was just enough silence that it started to get uncomfortable. “He’s old, he’s unemployed, he drives a car that’s about as sexy as an adult-sized tricycle.” She shrugged and sipped some kind of guava juice because it was healthier for her unborn baby than Coke. If only she knew Karen had survived on caffeinated drinks during her pregnancy.

  How the times have changed.

  I felt Veronica’s hand on my knee, glanced over at her, and saw the surprise on her face. Like I had betrayed her to the police, and she was now cuffed to a table in an interrogation room.

  I mouthed a simple, “Sorry.”

  “And,” Lena added, placing her juice on the table next to her chair, “you’ve got blue hair and his—” pointing at me, “—is thinning.”

  Veronica didn’t waste time thinking about the right answer. “From the moment I met Elliot, I knew he was different. I mean, what kind of father signs for his daughter’s sex toys.”

  Lena smirked, but her eyes narrowed like I had just read her diary. “Oh, the wedge.”

  Veronica ignored the correction. “I saw him at your obstetrician’s office, too. I know pregnancy isn’t easy. From the miracle of conception all the way to the delivery, then helping raise that child.” She huffed a long, emotion-heavy sigh. “Any man that’ll stand by a woman, whether it’s his wife or daughter, or a friend, when that child isn’t his,” she seemed to emphasize that final bit for my benefit, “well, he’s the kind of man we all look for in our life. Regardless of whether he’s got a streak of blue in his hair, or no hair at all.”

  The response got Lena thinking; her eyes jumped from Veronica’s face to mine. I wondered if she knew—really knew—any of this. That I would stand next to her and do everything I could to help her with this unborn child that, like her, wasn’t mine.

  “Your father was built from a whole lot of awesomeness,” Veronica said, giving a firm nod as if to add some extra emphasis to her statement.

  Lena finished her guava juice and stood. “Damn, Vee. I was really hoping to hate you, maybe scribble some yellow marker into that blue in your hair while you weren’t looking.”

  We laughed as she started back into the kitchen.

  “Don’t laugh yet,” she said without glaring back at us. “You’re up next, Papa Bear.”

  “It’s cute,” Veronica admitted once Lena was out of earshot, her voice a quiet whisper. “She loves you and wants to protect you the same way you want to protect her.”

  I matched her whisper, trying to hide my embarrassment. “It’s not cute. She’s a little psychotic at the best of times.”

  Veronica jabbed me in the side.

  “Listen,” I said, my words a little more urgent now. “The connection between Nathan and his wife’s cousin’s car…If this really is about me and not you or Karen or anyone else, then I’m a little worried that car might follow you home tonight.”

  “Are you trying to scare me into a sleepover?” She kissed my arm through the shirt. “I can’t. Ava has gymnastics tomorrow morning.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  “Why?” she asked with a bit of defeat in her voice. “What’re you going to do to a car that’s following me so far behind we can’t even see their license plate? Run it off the road? Wave at the driver to have coffee with you?”

  Good point. TV and movies made this kind of situation look so much easier. Those people had guns and could make their point simply by pulling up next to the offending car and shooting out a tire or something.

  “I’ll be fine,” Veronica assured me. “I was an addict. I married the worst kind, remember? And I still deal with Ava’s father. I’m sure I can handle myself against some creep who won’t get close enough to give me a close look of his face.” Pause. “Or her face.”

  Before I could offer a response, Lena came back, the color back in her face and a full cup of guava juice in her hand. She sat back down and then asked me, “What’s this really about, Papa Bear?”

  I gave her a sideways glare; she was still my child, and I wondered where she was headed with this kind of question.

  “You bring a strange woman into your life a little over a year after your wife, my mother, died.” She stared at me, abandoning the comedic tone. “Why?”

  I thought about that question because I hadn’t given it much thought. “She’s helping me,” I answered.

  “Helping you, hmm.” She crossed her legs. “With what?”

  Now it was my turn to blush and stumble over my words. “I, um, it’s really not… hmm…”

  “Tell her,” Veronica urged.

  I scowled at her, but she nodded back.

  “Okay, then I will,” she said, facing my daughter and telling her, “I’m here to help him through your pregnancy and young motherhood.” She raised a hand. “I’m not the best role model, I can admit that. But how many other women in their twenties does your father know?” She shook her head. “Not many. And without a female influence hanging around regularly, what kind of resources does he have access to?”

  Lena moved her stare back to me. “Is that true?”

  I shrugged without committing, which happened to have been the same response I had given her to the dreadful “is Santa Claus real?” question all those years ago. “I think it would be different if your mother were around, or if your aunt Jennifer and I had a better relationship. But, Lena, I won’t screw this up. I want everything for your child. And for you, of course.”

  If my words moved her, she gave no indication that they did. In fact, she continued with this odd staring contest for a few more skeptical seconds before sitting back in her chair a
nd heaving a big sigh. She brought her hands together, the interrogation finally over. “It’s settled, then. Who wants to watch a movie?”

  The darkness enveloped us, the porch light offering little more than a weak trail to Veronica’s VW. I carried a sleeping Ava in my arms like the princess she claimed to be, then settled her into the back seat. She hadn’t lasted through the Disney movie we rented through our overpriced on-demand service, but the movie had captured our adult attention, so we kept watching it anyway.

  “You didn’t have to carry her,” Veronica whispered behind me as I pulled the seatbelt across her little chest.

  “Princesses need their beauty sleep, don’t they?”

  After closing the back door, I tried not to study the length of my street for the Chrysler’s front or rear fenders hanging out from behind some bush or fire hydrant. But I glanced anyway and the closest thing to a creeper’s car was Paul’s.

  “Thank you,” Veronica said, her eyes a little glassy, her smile genuine and a little sleepy, or horny.

  I glanced toward the front door and found Lena’s supervisory eyes watching us. She gave an upward nod, almost as if giving me permission to go home with Veronica, before turning and heading back inside, giving us some privacy to say our goodbyes, or non-goodbyes because Veronica thought those were forever.

  “You’ve got one hell of a daughter, Elliot,” she whispered, hooking her fingers into the waist of my new pants and pulling me against her. I could taste the faint spices from tonight’s dinner on her lips and tongue when she kissed me. And I loved it.

  “I’m glad you approve of my non-biological daughter,” I said.

  Her eyes became sad for me.

  “We need another sleepover,” I suggested before kissing her again and savoring the weight of her against me.

  “Mmmmhmmmm.” She reached between my legs and stroked me through my pants. Once I started to enjoy the soft attention, she pulled away. “Don’t follow me.”

  “Okay,” I answered.

  “Don’t.”

  I winked, reaching around her and opening the driver’s door. She slid behind the wheel and blew me a simple kiss before turning the ignition and backing out of the driveway. I watched her taillights disappear as she made her turn, then I retreated to the front porch, reaching inside to flick the switch for the weak porch light so that I could stand outside in the dark and enjoy the quiet. I waited and waited, watching my phone to see if she might text me something about the Chrysler.

  But she didn’t.

  If someone were tailing her, she hadn’t noticed. And that same Chrysler that I had expected to chase Veronica all the way home hadn’t driven past my house either. It begged the question: had Nathan put an end to this insanity with a simple phone call to his wife’s cousin?

  At last, my phone buzzed and the text icon lit up. I opened the chat with Veronica and read her simple message:

  @ home. All good. Night night.

  I tapped a quick response (goodnight <3 ) and retreated inside the dark house, absolutely confused by the lack of action from my stalker tonight. I helped myself to some sparkling water, emptying the last of it into my glass, then retreated to the dark living room, flicking on the reading lamp and discovering Lena on the sofa, lounging with her feet up on one end, her head on the other. Finding her there was a little startling.

  “Geez,” I breathed.

  “You like her,” she observed. “She’s young. Pretty. Seems smart enough despite the fact that she wastes her intelligence inside a delivery truck all day.”

  “She does that because she’s got a daughter to raise,” I added, but Lena cut me off.

  “She doesn’t have the same kind of support that I have. I get it. She’s good for your ego, Papa Bear.”

  I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “I don’t need an ego boost.”

  “Then what do you need?”

  I sipped the fizzy water, opting for silence instead of a response that might tip her off to the truth behind my initial alliance with Veronica.

  Lena spoke. “She’s nothing like Karen.”

  “Careful,” I warned. “That’s your mother you’re talking about.”

  “And she’s dead,” she snapped back. “You’ve moved on, Papa Bear. Now there’s someone new. Your life is lighting up again, you’re meeting people you can love and people who’ll love you right back.” She heaved a deep breath, her nostrils flaring. “But mine, my life? It’s emptying out. Mom died, Joffrey with an ‘O’ for orangutan wants nothing to do with me now that I’m carrying and giving life and sustenance to his child, and now you, Papa Bear. You’re moving on.”

  “I’m not—”

  “But you are. It’s the natural evolution of relationships. And if you don’t do it now, if you’re not moving on, then I’d be doing exactly that in a year. Off to college with a kid on my hip, new friends, new demands, new scenery as I make ends meet. I’d be seeing less of you, unless I needed a last-minute babysitter so I can go out and meet the man of dreams, my Prince Charming with a kiss that wakes me up, and words that are so pretty, they convince me that I haven’t lived my life until I met him, but I’m living now because here he is, this prince and hobby wordsmith.”

  I smiled at just how perfect her vision seemed.

  “And then I’d see you even less and less until me and Prince Wordsworth get married and move to Phoenix, where it’s an entirely different world altogether.” Her nostrils kept flaring up, yet her voice remained surprisingly steady. “So you see, Papa Bear, it’s something we take for granted, this turnstile of relationships, of people coming and going in a process that I can only describe as evolution.”

  Our eyes locked, my head starting to burn from intellectual indigestion. I realized that Lena was the wordsmith here—Princess Wordsworth is more like it, except Nathan’s last name wasn’t that, nor was Eddie’s or any of the other possible sperm donors—the one who picked and chose the right things to say to stir only the most appropriate emotions and introspection. She had chosen each word for a reason, I realized while staring into her eyes. And even though she may have aimed for a casual conversation, or at least something a little lighthearted, the reality was that her monologue carried the weight of the world. It could sink me.

  Karen had done the same thing a year ago—carefully chosen final words that she had lucidly shared for a reason. Those words had been my destruction. Words. They were weapons, the true pawns in life.

  I blinked first. “You’re very bright, Lena. Exceptionally bright, I’d say. But you’re wrong about something.” I shoved a wad of silence between us, letting it get uncomfortable.

  “What’s that, Papa Bear?”

  “You can’t quit your kids. Or your grandkids. When you love someone like I love you—minus the peeing with the door open and your inability to flush a toilet—” she chuckled at that, a good sign, “you can’t quit them. It’s impossible, like putting two positive ends of a magnet together and wondering why they can’t stick.”

  Gradually, Lena pushed herself up, groaning like she had somehow leaped into the future six months and couldn’t stand on her own two feet because of the baby’s heavy weight. She moved off the sofa and came over to sit in my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and squeezing so tight I began to feel tingling in my fingertips.

  “I love you more than anything, Papa Bear.”

  I didn’t respond. Even after she released me and walked away, up the stairs to her new bedroom. I stayed quiet, wondering why in hell I even bothered with this bullshit about her biological father. It made no sense to want an answer. It wouldn’t change our relationship; it couldn’t put a dent in my love for her. Even in my best-case scenario where Nathan Darien won the Daddy prize, I knew he couldn’t love Lena the way I did.

  For the first time since I began this crazy journey, I decided to do what was best for everyone—Lena, her baby, and even Veronica and Ava: I needed to drop this investigation and find a job, replace my lost income so I could be a provid
er to these people.

  Chapter 17

  The text arrived on Monday morning after I dropped Lena off at school, right around the time that my daughter spun around and blew me an embarrassing kiss before disappearing into the big building. I felt the vibration in my pocket and, despite texting and driving being illegal in Michigan, I accessed the messaging app and read Veronica’s quick and simple note.

  Car following. Call me when you’re free.

  I dialed Veronica’s number, and the call came through my Chrysler’s speaker system, loud and clear. I wondered how that happened, then realized it must’ve been one of the many undiscovered features that came with this vehicle. The line rang three times before she picked up.

  “Good morning to you, Elliot Fitch,” Veronica said. Despite the playful choice of words, I detected a mild worry in her tone. “Our stalker is back. I’m surprised he’s out in traffic this early.”

  I swallowed. “Where’s your next delivery?”

  “Oakland Hills Country Club. My ETA is four minutes, I’m coming up Lasher, a few more lights to Maple, then I’m there.”

  “I’m fifteen minutes away,” I complained.

  “No worries, I’ll delay.”

  There was silence as I pushed down on the gas pedal. A speeding ticket at this time of day would completely ruin this chance at learning more about my stalker’s real purpose, so I let up, slowed down.

  “Hey, Elliot?” Veronica said, her tone hesitant. I wondered if she was thinking about my request for another sleepover, maybe hoping to swing by my place for a quickie and some leftovers from the weekend. “I really enjoyed Lena. And I love spending time with you. I, uh, I can’t thank you enough for everything. You’re a good man.”

  Her words, genuine and full of emotion, forced me to take a deep breath and remember my previous commitment about letting this go. About keeping the truth about Lena’s biological father hidden, allowing it to remain a mystery, forever. It really wasn’t worth the heartache or pain. Wasn’t worth endangering Veronica and her daughter, let alone Lena and her unborn child.

 

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