by Amelia Wilde
I reach for the door at the same time that it flies open, hitting me in the forehead. I whip my head back, making it more of a glancing blow, but I still reel backward.
“Shit,” says Ryder, coming in after me. “Oh, shit, Valentine, are you okay?”
I pull my hands away from the line of pain on my forehead and check for blood. His hands are already on my face, pulling me close so he can look. The worry in his eyes makes my chest feel warm. The last time I saw Conrad, he looked at me with such a cold gaze that it scared me. Conrad’s never been worried for me. He’s always worried for himself.
“I’m sorry,” Ryder says and draws me in for a kiss. First on the forehead, then on the lips.
But something is off. I was right.
I pull back. “Wait. Are you okay?” It’s only then that I notice that he’s ashen, his skin a terrible pale color underneath the tan he must have gotten from working outside. “Ryder, what’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry I did that to you,” he says, staring at my forehead. I wonder if there’s a mark. It’s not bleeding, at least.
“It’s really okay.” The pain is already receding. “It was more surprising than anything else. But you don’t—” I don’t want to say he doesn’t look good, because even pale and worried, he looks good. “You look like there’s something wrong.”
He looks past me, toward the window, and his jaw works. A strange desperation rises in my chest. I really want to know what’s wrong with him. But can I press him? Is that part of this deal we’ve got going on? Or do I need to get my possibly wet clothes out of the washer and go back to my house while he deals with…whatever this is?
Ryder presses his lips together, and I think he might be getting ready to tell me to leave. I’m already leaning toward the doorway, thinking I’ll head to wherever the laundry room is and get those clothes, when he speaks. “I got a call.”
I pull back. His voice is flat, but still tense somehow, and it’s making me nervous as hell. “From who?”
“A police officer in the city.”
This is making no sense unless Ryder is secretly a criminal. But no. They don’t go around calling criminals. That’s…not a thing. “What did he say?” I take Ryder’s hand in mine and squeeze it, gently, until he looks at me. “You don’t have to tell me about this if you don’t want to. I can just go if that’s bet—”
“No,” he says fiercely, his eyes flashing. “Don’t go.” He takes in a breath that looks like it’s supposed to steady him, but he’s still so pale. “They—they found Angie’s body.”
Angie. Angie, Minnie’s mother. Angie, his ex-girlfriend, the one who walked out on him not that long ago. It didn’t sound like a good situation from the beginning, but I can’t imagine…I can’t imagine.
“They need me to go identify her.”
At that moment, Minnie wakes up, her small voice piercing the air. “Good morning, Daddy! Hey, Daddy? Where are you?”
32
Ryder
We both stand in the bedroom, listening to Minnie call out to me, and my heart shatters for her. It feels like it’s dropped out of my chest and onto the floor beneath my feet. I’m not even sure why it’s tearing me up like this right now. I never expected Angie to be a good mother. When she was pregnant, I hoped she’d be able to pull it off. Once Minnie was born, I gave up on that fantasy.
I guess I didn’t give up on it completely.
It’s not like I was expecting her to walk through the door and just pick up where we left off. I wouldn’t fucking want that, anyway. Angie and I were a disaster from the start. But as long as she was in the world, Minnie had a shot at someday getting to know her. As long as there was a chance, I didn’t feel like such an unbelievable fuck-up.
Now she’s dead.
Valentine’s eyes are locked on mine, but I’m having trouble seeing her.
“Oh, God, Ryder.” She squeezes my hand again and I look down in surprise like it’s the first time. I feel like I’ve left my own body but I’m still here. “Do you want me to get her?”
For a second I think she’s offering to go identify the body and I don’t know why she’d even try to offer that. She’s never seen Angie. This isn’t a thing that she can do for me.
When I don’t answer, Valentine lets go of my hand and touches my face. The gentleness makes me want to burst into tears. I’m not mourning Angie. I never loved Angie the way I love Valentine.
The way I love Valentine.
It’s just so fucking complicated that I can’t begin to think about it right now.
Valentine looks into my eyes a few moments longer, her cool palm against my cheek. I give in to the urge to lay my hand over hers and press it close, just for another breath or two. It’s not the kind of thing you do when you’re just having a sexy fling with a woman. What you do in that scenario is send them away with the dawn, maybe after another quick fuck in the early morning light. But Valentine is still, steady.
Then she moves past me, her hand brushing my shoulder and down to my arm as she goes.
I stand there like an idiot and rub my hands over my face.
Valentine gets to Minnie’s door a moment later. “Hello, sweet girl!” She sings out the words like she’s done this a million times, and it makes my heart ache…but in a way that’s almost pleasant. Definitely didn’t expect that. “Good morning!”
“Hi!” Minnie cries out the greeting. There’s a muffled squeaking—she must be jumping up and down in her Pack ‘N Play—and then a giggle.
“Oh my goodness,” says Valentine. “It’s morning! Did you know that?”
“Morning!” says Minnie.
“What would you like to wear today?” There’s a pause, and I can imagine her eyes flickering around the room, looking for Minnie’s clothes. They’re in a dresser I found at the thrift shop last week, and sure enough, there’s a sound of wood against wood. “Oh, this shirt is so cute! It has a dinosaur on it. And these blue shorts would be great!”
“My dinosaur shirt is so cute,” echoes Minnie. Then their voices blend together, Valentine’s leading the way.
I should go in there and tell her that I can handle this. I can handle this. I’ve been handling it mainly by myself—even when Angie was around—for Minnie’s entire life. But something about this moment is almost too much. I let the sound of them chatting wash over me, and then I step into the shower. I’m going to have to go to the city, and I probably shouldn’t look like some kind of hobo when I show up to…wherever it is I’m supposed to show up. Everything about that phone call has blurred together into a meaningless fog, so I’m going to have to call back and ask what I’m supposed to do.
God. That’s going to be a hell of a phone call. Who has to call back the police to ask about their dead ex-girlfriend? Who has to do that? A spike of anger runs hot through my chest. What the fuck, Angie? You couldn’t even stay clean for the hope of seeing your daughter grow up?
I’ve never felt so torn apart in my life, and it’s not because I have any fond memories of her. I have a few, but they’re like looking at pictures of someone else. They were so fleeting, and so rare, that it’s like they never happened at all. The front she put up when we first met was a good one. It didn’t last. By the time I realized it was all fucking fake, it was too late, and I didn’t think—
I turn on the shower as hot as it will go and step in. I didn’t think I had a real chance at someone else. At a better life. Not once I moved to the city with her.
I shower robotically, clean hair, clean body, and pull out the first available clean clothes from my dresser. Jeans. A black t-shirt. It’s hot, but I don’t want to wear shorts. I have no idea if my outfit is appropriate for identifying a body. I mean, what the fuck? Who has to think about this? I thought I left all that death and destruction behind in Afghanistan. Or at least behind in the city. No dice, though. It’s still following me here.
It must have taken longer to shower than I thought, or maybe Valentine is an efficient angel, becaus
e when I come out to the kitchen, Minnie is in her high chair, eating pancakes. Valentine stands at the stove, making faces at Minnie while she flips pancakes.
A smile comes to my face in spite of…all the other bullshit. “I thought you were a waitress.”
Valentine sticks her tongue out at me. She’s wearing my clothes. I didn’t notice before. Hers are still in the washer. “Gerald taught me a thing or two.”
“The chef at that restaurant?” I move behind her and wrap my arms around her waist from behind, pulling her close.
“Yeah.” She leans back against me. This is not casual fling material, but neither of us wants to say it out loud, apparently. Not in this kind of a moment. “He used to be in the Army, too. Did you know that?”
“No,” I murmur into her ear. “I don’t care about anybody there but you.”
“You’re terrible.” She pushes back against me just as Minnie finishes another bite of pancake.
“Daddy? Hug?” When I turn around, she’s reaching her chubby little arms toward me, and my heart breaks all over again.
“Sure, baby.” I kiss her cheek and then reach for a washcloth in the door next to the sink. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.” My throat tightens. “We’ve got to get ready to—”
“Go to the park!” Valentine claps her hands. “We’re going to go to the park.”
I shoot her a look. “You don’t have to do this.”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I do. This is better for everyone. Plus, it’s my day off.” She waves the spatula she’s holding at the door. “Get going,” she says, finally. “Leave the car seat. And hurry back, okay?”
I hug her tightly, again, kiss Minnie’s forehead, and head off to the worst job assignment of my lifetime.
33
Valentine
Ryder hardly seems to hesitate about leaving Minnie with me, though it’s clear he has a ton of shit on his mind. I’m still reeling a little bit from the news myself, and I never knew Minnie’s mother. I’m not sure I would have wanted to. I’m not sure I ever would have had the chance, anyway, from what he told me.
The main thing is, Minnie is only halfway done with her pancake. I was hoping he would let her finish. But if I were in his shoes—and God, I hope I’m never in his shoes—I wouldn’t want to put off the task at hand. Or maybe I would, but what good would that do?
I grin at Minnie, who claps her hands. “I’m excited to go to the park!” I tell her, flipping another pancake.
“Go to the park!” Minnie cries. “Go down the slide?”
“We can definitely go down the slide.”
We linger over pancakes for another thirty minutes, and I think about Ryder driving alone toward the city. I honestly can’t imagine what it would be like to go to the morgue, wherever that is in the city, and have a body pulled out and—
I shake my head. This is not the time to focus on the gory details of today. This is the time to take Minnie to the park.
“My name’s Minnie,” she tells me for the tenth time as we walk hand in hand across the front yard. I pick up her car seat—a pretty robust number with a handle on top—and carry it with us. We have to get across to my house, to my driveway, to my car.
Plus, there’s the issue of clothing.
Minnie’s content to dig through my clean laundry basket while I run a brush through my hair and get dressed. I’m dying for a shower, just a little, but it can wait until Ryder gets back. At least this way I can leave the scent of him on my skin a little while longer. Minnie chatters, telling me her name and asking me what mine is. “Valentine,” I tell her, again and again. “My name’s Valentine.”
“Balontine,” she says, dumping out the laundry basket. Before I can ask her to put it away, she’s already moving the clothes back to the basket, piece by piece.
We put on sunscreen—the morning is full morning now, and less of the haze before dawn—and pack a lunch bag filled with snacks. I guess my instincts from my babysitting days are still with me because I’ve always kept buying kid-friendly snacks. Minnie almost loses her mind when she sees the container of blueberries in my fridge.
“Bwuebewwies!” she cries, clapping her hands, and then she clasps them to her chest. “I love bwuebewwies. I’m so happy! I’m so happy!”
I like this kid.
But looking at her, my heart aches. She’s never going to know her mother.
I can’t think about it too long because even if Angie wasn’t a good mother, even if she wasn’t a good girlfriend, she was Minnie’s mother. And it sucks that she’ll never have a chance to ask her questions. Even if they’re hard, painful questions.
It’s a long, lazy morning. I don’t feel any rush, any need to hurry her, because what are we hurrying for? Ryder didn’t tell me what time Minnie naps, but I’ll just play it by ear.
I install the car seat while she plays in the grass, picking the little white flowers that grow in my yard. I probably trampled quite a few of these in my mad dash away from Ryder the other night. It seems like a lifetime ago. Once Minnie is buckled in, we drive back across the street to pick up her nearly forgotten diaper bag. It’s just a gray backpack, and it takes me a couple of minutes to realize it is a diaper bag, but when I open it, I find it stocked with diapers and wipes.
Back in the car, Minnie’s ready to go. She holds one of her baby dolls in her arms and beams at me. Before we pull out of the driveway, I look in the rearview mirror. Not for the first time, it startles me how much she has of Ryder in her—especially those big, blue eyes.
He could have taken her to daycare. He could have done any number of things, but he left her with me. My entire chest gets warm.
He trusts me.
It’s something more then, for sure.
For sure, right?
I don’t have any more time to dwell on it.
“Playground?” Minnie says.
“Playground!” I say, and she kicks her legs, her sparkly shoes glinting in the sunlight, casting beams of light like little stars all over the interior of my car. Nothing could ruin her day.
I’m glad for that, at least.
The playground is deserted this early in the morning, which is nice. The beach, however, is not. There’s a crowd of early morning swimmers, and they mostly keep to themselves. It’s a plus, actually, because Minnie loves to point them out.
“Peoples swimming,” she says before she goes down the slide, every time. And on the swing.
It’s not a bad way to spend the morning.
When she gets tired, around eleven, we go back to Ryder’s house. She finishes off the last of the blueberries and eats most of the grilled cheese sandwich I make her. I tick it all off in my mind in case Ryder wants to know. Lots of parents do, when they get home. Some don’t. What kind is he?
Minnie goes down easy for a nap in her Pack ‘N Play after lunch, and I do the dishes in the quiet house and watch the dust motes floating through the sunlight streaming in the windows. The entire world seems calm, but somewhere, Ryder can’t possibly be.
I think about texting him.
I don’t.
I sit in the reclining chair in the living room and rock back and forth, listening to the squeak of the hinges beneath me. When I can’t stand it anymore, I pull a book off the shelf at the side of the room and read it. It’s a mystery novel. I never see the ends of these things coming.
I get almost a third of the way through the book before Minnie wakes up.
“Balontine?” she calls, and I put down the book with a smile on my face. She has just the sweetest little voice. “Playground?”
I’m tired from the sun, but what am I supposed to do, turn her down?
Not a chance.
Besides, what could go wrong?
34
Ryder
It’s probably one of the longest and most fucked-up days of my entire life, and I did two tours in Afghanistan, for God’s sake.
I have to go to the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in Brook
lyn, which was roughly where our last apartment was located before I gave up the lease. There was no damn way I was going to be able to afford the rent and childcare for Minnie without at least some help from Angie, and she was gone. Now she’s really gone, and I have to sit in some random office that could be any office in the entire city. It looks nothing like I thought it would look. I’d imagined some kind of, I don’t know, medical facility. Instead, it’s just an office building from the seventies.
Another thing that surprises me is the wait. I have to wait two hours in a little queue of people because apparently today is a busy day for dead bodies. It sounded urgent on the phone, so the fact that I have to sit in a little office chair outside some guy named Edward’s door for two hours of my life is jarring, to say the least, and fucking ridiculous, to say the most.
It gives me lots of time to wonder if I’ve done the right thing by leaving Minnie with Valentine.
I’m pretty certain that I’ve done the wrong thing the more I think about it. Valentine didn’t sign up for a too-hot-summer-spicy-fling to end up babysitting my daughter while I identify my ex-girlfriend’s body. I can’t even think that thought without a shiver running down my spine. It’s a thought that has no business in anyone’s head.
But the main thing is Valentine.
She didn’t seem to have any hesitations about staying with Minnie. I just left the both of them and drove away to the city.
I try to berate myself for it while I’m sitting there outside the office, but I can’t bring myself to do it. If Valentine’s not trustworthy, I don’t know who is. Plus, Minnie seems to be into her. A day out of daycare won’t do her any harm.
I sit and stew, hands folded in my lap, and try to keep my heartrate under control. It’s been at least a few months since I’ve seen Angie—maybe even six, it’s hard to say now—and part of me is afraid of what might have happened to her. I don’t want to have to tell Minnie some horrendous story one day about the state of her mother the last time anyone bothered to say her name. Lying doesn’t seem like the best option either, for future Minnie.