Turning Back (Turning #2)

by JA Huss

  We laugh and follow Rochelle into the kitchen. She’s getting a bottle ready for hungry Adley. When that’s done, she takes her over to the living room and slumps down on the couch.

  “I gotta go,” Bric says. “I need a suit and I didn’t bring anything over. But I will.”

  “When?” Rochelle asks. “Tonight?”

  “No,” Bric says over his shoulder. He’s heading back to the bedroom. Probably to find his clothes. “I have the Club this weekend, Rochelle. You know that.”

  Rochelle makes a face. “What about you?” she asks me.

  “I won’t be by either. You said you wanted weekends to yourself, right? Well, this is the weekend.”

  She frowns, clearly unhappy with that answer. “Are you still punishing me?”

  “No,” I say. I might be. “But I have a different life now. I have plans this weekend.”

  “So Sunday night?”

  I kinda feel bad, so I shrug instead of saying no. “We’ll see.”

  “You have plans at midnight on Sundays now too?”

  “No. But I do have plans on Monday morning with Smith. It’s something we just… do now. And I like it. So I’m just not sure yet.”

  “OK, then.” She takes her attention back to Adley. “Last night was good, but I guess we’re back to real life.”

  Bric comes out of the bedroom, tying his tie, his wrinkled suit coat over one arm. “I’m gonna be late,” he says, leaning down to kiss Rochelle. “Come by for breakfast. Or lunch, if you want. Dinner. Whatever you want, Rochelle.”

  She nods, but he’s already on his way to the elevator.

  “Catch you later,” I say.

  The elevator must be waiting on our floor, because it opens as soon as Bric calls it. He disappears inside, saying, “Yup.”

  “When do you have work?” Rochelle asks.

  “Now.” I laugh. “I have a nine o’clock conference call.”

  “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Drinks with Robert. You remember Robert?”

  “Sure.”

  “We go out on Friday nights.”

  “Oh,” she says. Clearly she was not expecting to be alone this weekend. But she asked for it. I guess I am still punishing her. “So breakfast in a couple hours?” she asks.

  “Can’t.”

  “Lunch?” She’s really annoyed with me now.

  “Sorry. I’m just really busy today.”

  She sighs.

  I grab my suit out of the coat closet and take it back into the bedroom.

  Rochelle follows a little while later. I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving with a new disposable razor and shaving cream I found in one of the drawers. She cocks her hip against the door, Adley resting her head on her shoulder, looking at me with wide eyes.

  “She doesn’t have your eyes,” I say, rinsing off my razor.

  “Nope.”

  “Or your lips.”

  “Nope.” Rochelle sighs.

  “But she does look like you.”

  “I think so too. Everyone thinks so.”

  “Have your parents met her?”

  Rochelle shakes her head. “Nope.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “I’m estranged from my family.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Because…” She pauses to inhale. And probably think through her answer. “They hurt me.”

  I just stare at her for a moment. “Like… physically beat you?”

  “No, not like that.”

  “Like the way you hurt me?”

  She huffs loudly, like my question pisses her off. “No, not like that either.”

  “Are you going to tell me about it?”

  “Maybe one day.”

  “But not today?”

  “Not today.”

  “OK,” I say, grabbing a hand towel and wiping my face. “Another time.”

  I place my hands on her shoulders as I scoot her out of my way so I can get dressed. She lets me, moving aside amicably, and then watches me as I strip and start getting ready for work.

  “It’s just a long story,” she adds, like we’re still having this conversation.

  “I said fine, Rochelle.”

  “You never asked before.”

  “I figured it was something you wanted to put behind you.”

  “It is. So why are you asking now?”

  “Because we have a kid together now. And like it or not, we’re in this forever.” I nod my head towards Adley as I sit on the bed and start putting my shoes on.

  “You don’t know that she’s yours,” Rochelle says.

  “She’s mine,” I say, standing up and grabbing my suit coat. Rochelle rolls her eyes. But when I walk over to kiss her, she kisses me back. “She’s mine,” I repeat, whispering the words into her mouth. I place a hand on Adley’s blonde head of fluff. “Be good, Adley.”

  She’s mine. There is no doubt in my mind that kid is mine. I’d like a DNA test, but it can wait until the whole threesome thing wears off with Bric. He won’t want a real relationship. Hell, his mind is already on the weekend at the Club.

  I give Bric a month before he gets tired of Rochelle’s objections with the Club. She won’t put up with it. Not this time. Not with the baby involved.

  Bric might not want rules, but Rochelle will.

  She’ll get tired of his half-assed commitment. He’ll get tired of her expectations and questions. And then Rochelle and I will have a real talk about what’s going to happen going forward.

  Chapter Fourteen - Rochelle

  We’re in this forever. Not, We’re in this together. Which is how that saying usually goes.

  I sit quietly in the small sitting area in front of the elevator, just staring out the window. Wynkoop Street is busy at night. And during the day as well, I guess. But not in the same way. I can’t see the street unless I stand right up next to the window and look down. So from my chair I can just see the mountains peeking over the not-so-tall buildings.

  Adley is sitting on the floor playing with some brightly-colored plastic blocks that she likes to taste instead of stack, perfectly content to explore her new world on her own terms. She’s very easy-going as far as babies go. Easily satisfied, easily entertained, and a champion sleeper. This probably means she’ll be a wild teenager and I will be forced to reflect back on my own wild teenage days, consoling myself with stupid mom-isms like, Just wait until you’re a mother. Or, Paybacks are a bitch, sister.

  The buzz of the elevator startles me out of my introspective thoughts and I look quickly over at the security panel. Someone is in the elevator coming up. I don’t stand to greet him, not even when the doors open and he steps into the loft.

  “Well,” Smith says, wearing his trademark dark suit. “This place is quite nice.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, annoyed. Why does he bother with me? I never understood it.

  “It’s my day, right? Fridays? They still belong to me?”

  I stare at him, open-mouthed. “Are you joking?”

  “I am the one who kept paying. I still have a stake.”

  “You want me to fuck you—”

  “No,” he says, a disgusted look on his face. “Hell, no.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “It is still my day, Rochelle.”

  “The game is over, Smith.”

  “You came back, Rochelle. I might need a refund.”

  We stare at each other for several long moments. His eyes narrowed in… I don’t know. Hate, probably. He has always hated me. I could feel his hate even before he started ignoring me. He was never interested in anything. Bric is also like that with me. At least he was. But Bric’s indifference is based on selfishness and ego. Smith’s indifference is based on… dislike. I’m a bad taste in his mouth. A foul smell or that grossed-out feeling you get when you’re walking barefoot in the dark and step on something… squishy.

  Disgust.

  “How did you get up
here with no code?”

  “I have the code. I just told you, it’s my fucking day.”

  “So Bric gave you the code? He knows you’re here?”

  “Quin gave me the code.”

  I turn away and find the mountains on the other side of the window again. What the hell is going on? “Well,” I ask, “what do you want to do?”

  I catch a shrug from the corner of my eye. “Talk, I guess.”

  Whatever.

  “Adley,” Smith says, getting down on his hands and knees and crawling over to my daughter. “What are you doing?”

  She smiles at him. Like he’s a nice person. And then she waves a red plastic block in the air before putting it back in her mouth.

  “She’s very cute, Rochelle,” Smith says.

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  “So you really don’t know who the father is?” he asks.

  I don’t even bother answering that stupid question. “What did you want to talk about?” I ask, trying to find a polite way to move this along so he’ll get the hell out.

  Smith chuckles as he gathers up all Adley’s colored blocks and starts stacking them. Adley watches him intently. Her eyes follow each move from the time he picks up a block, until the time he stacks it. She never loses focus. “It’s not me who needs to talk.”

  “OK,” I say. “What do you want to know?” I have found it’s far easier to give Smith Baldwin what he wants than it is to fight with him. Giving in makes him go away.

  “I want to know,” Smith says, placing the last block on top of the swaying tower, “who that guy was you were arguing with on the corner of Fifteenth and Champa the day before you disappeared. Because I was stuck at a red light that day and I saw you.”

  I stop breathing.

  “And as a follow-up,” Smith says, standing up and then sitting back down in the chair, “I want to know if that guy is the reason you don’t want a DNA test.”

  I inhale and then let it out with a chuckle. “Get the fuck out.”

  He ignores my order. Just absently rubs a palm across his scratchy jaw. “I know what you are, Rochelle. I might not know anything about your past, but I saw enough of you while we were together to form an opinion. You’re an opportunist. You got yourself invited into the game. You played until you got what you needed. And then you left to go get something else. So why are you here?”

  My stomach tightens up. I feel sick for exactly three seconds as I internalize his characterization of me. “I know what you are too. And we’re not so different.”

  “Is that so? Do you think we’re equals, Rochelle?”

  “Well.” I laugh. “We’re both playing the same game, Smith. So I’d have to say yes. We are equals.”

  He thinks about this for a little while.

  “Do you know why I decided to give my money away?” he finally asks.

  “I have no clue. And I don’t really care. I’m not here for anyone’s money. Certainly not yours. I’m happy to pay back what you gave me. In fact, I insist on it. I will have that money—”

  “Because rich people are weird, you know?” He looks at me with one eyebrow raised, like that question was not rhetorical and he’s expecting me to agree.

  “Oh, you guys are weird all right. Bric and his game. Quin and his revenge. I get the picture, thanks.”

  “We grow up segregated from the real world. In my case, it was the good kind of segregation. Up in Aspen—”

  “Yeah, because Aspen is not a microcosm of rich assholes. Not at all.”

  “—in the fresh air. All that nature shit people are into up there. The hiking, the kayaking, the skiing. Whatever. It’s a good life for a boy. But you, Rochelle. You didn’t get Aspen, did you?”

  I say nothing. He has no idea what he’s talking about and he’s certainly not going to be the first person in Denver who gets to hear my story. No way.

  “Anyway,” he says, waving a hand in the air. “It took me a long time to figure you out. But I did figure you out. Can you guess when I figured you out, Rochelle?”

  “Hmmm,” I say, putting a finger to my lips like I’m pretending to think. “When you stopped coming by the apartment on Fridays?”

  So what if he sees through me? I don’t care. I don’t have to care about his opinion. I’m not even here for him.

  “Yes,” he says, pointing his finger at me. “That’s exactly when I figured you out.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say more. But then reconsiders and stays silent. But as the moments tick off, his face changes. His whole expression, really.

  Anger, I realize. He’s silent right now because he’s angry.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  His jaw is clenching. And those eyes… they are filled with hate. He hates me. I have never understood that, but it’s always been there. What the fuck did I ever do to him? Nothing. I’ve done nothing to him. I don’t deserve this asshole’s scrutiny.

  “I want you to listen, Rochelle Bastille. And I want you to listen good. I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to. I don’t know why you came back. But I will give you two million dollars, right now, in cash, if you pack that adorable baby up and get the fuck out of my town.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m here for Quin.”

  “And Bric?”

  “I’m not the one who wants the game, Smith. They are. They want it. I want Quin. I came back for Quin. I’m not leaving until we at least have a conversation about it. And he’s not ready for that yet so I’m going to stay and wait it out. So you can take that money and shove it up your ass. I don’t need your fucking money.”

  He smiles at that. Lets out a breath of air… like he’s… relieved. “So you’re just gonna what, Rochelle?” Smith’s voice is lower now. Not as agitated. Maybe even sympathetic. That stupid offer might’ve just been another one of those fucked-up tests he’s so fond of. Let’s dangle money in front of desperate Rochelle and see if she takes it. Pathetic. “You’re just gonna let Quin pretend that child is his?”

  I am so beyond exasperated. “This is not my fault,” I say, huffing out some air. “I keep telling him she might not be, OK?” I look at Smith and study his reaction. What is he thinking right now? Why is he here? “I do. I swear. But he won’t even consider it. He just says, ‘She’s mine,’ every time I bring it up.”

  “I could end this any time I want. Just remember that, Rochelle,” he threatens again. “Quin trusts me. I can change his mind about you any time I want. I can make him love you again. I can also make him hate you. But you know what?”

  I can barely meet his eyes as he waits for my attention. “What?” I whisper.

  “I’m gonna let it ride for a little bit. To see what happens. But if you fuck anything up with me and my friends, I will ruin you.”

  He gets up, kneels down in front of Adley, who smiles at him—again, the tiny traitor—and says, “See you later, Adley,” in a very sweet voice. His words come with this huge smile he must reserve for everyone else but me. I can only assume this is the side he shows Chella, and that’s why she likes him.

  He walks back to the elevator, presses the button, and then straightens his tie in a small mirror hanging above it, like he didn’t just offer me two million dollars to break his best friend’s heart.

  He looks at me. My eyes meet his in the mirror. “I hope you don’t think this is me giving up. Because that would be a serious mistake.”

  I’m just about to reply, but the elevator doors open, he steps in, and then smiles at me as they close and take him away.

  When we lived in Pagosa Springs, Adley and I spent our Saturdays lounging in the hot springs along the river on the resort property. There was little traffic noise from the main street and the rushing of the San Juan River drowned out the playful voices of families there for a weekend away.

  It’s something I miss right now.

  Our condo in LoDo is a place for young people. Mostly people interested in partying and not new mothers interested in�
�� well, mothering. But I’d like some new clothes and Adley could use something too—shirts that don’t say Pagosa Springs on them—even though right now I’d really like to get in my car and drive us five hours south to our little tepid pool. So we brave the streets.

  The 16th Street Mall intersects my new home on Wynkoop Street, but it’s blocks and blocks away from the trendy shops, so Adley and I take the mall bus down to the more populated section to get breakfast and spend money.

  Saturday mornings are busy, it seems. I feel like my life in Denver was a lifetime ago. I feel like a stranger. An interloper. Adley is agitated. Not cranky. Yet. But it’s clear we are on the same page about the traffic, noise, and bustle of city life.

  I’m having doubts right now. Lots and lots of doubts.

  Things with Quin are not going the way I imagined. I had pictured a warm welcome. Which, I admit, was pretty naive on my part. I left him with no explanation. But I was, in my defense, upset. Hormonally upset. Everything that seemed so rational at the time just appears thoughtless and crazy right now.

  And all I keep thinking about is Smith’s visit last night. Will he really try and mess things up with Quin?

  Yes, I decide. That’s something he’d enjoy.

  After I get a muffin at Starbucks, Adley and I claim a window table and stare out at the gray day as we absently eat. She is chewing on one of those baby cookies, the kind that come in a box in the baby aisle and have no taste whatsoever. I tried one. I try all her baby food. The organic peaches are my favorite. But her gums are sore from the threat of teeth and she gnaws on it until her mouth is lined with mush and I’m lost in thought as I drink my coffee and wonder how I can make things better.

  I called Chella to invite her to come with us, but she’s working today. Something about her tea shop having a soft opening next weekend and problems with a pastry recipe.

  OK, I sigh. I get it. I left and everyone else moved on. I’ve been alone for a year, I can manage a few more weeks as they try to figure out how I fit into their new lives.

  Eventually I drag myself up out of the chair and we head out into the cold windy day to shop. I used to enjoy shopping, but that was then. Back when shopping meant thrift stores and whole afternoons wandering the long aisles of antique stores.