by A. J. Norris
“Oh yeah. There he is.” Mikey pulled at the center of his white Hanes and let it snap back into place a couple of times. “It’s hot in here,” he said, hoping that would encourage Brayden to move along more quickly. Beads of perspiration rolled down Mikey’s temples.
His son looked up at him. “Yeah, I'm dying too.”
Leaving the humid building, Brayden spotted the aardvarks across the path and grabbed his dad's hand. Three of the species of animal played follow the leader in an oval pattern around and around.
“I wanna be an anteater,” Brayden said, putting his fists up to his nose creating a long snout.
“Yeah, okay, but you’d have to eat ants the rest of your life.”
“How do you know ants aren't good? If I were an anteater, ants would taste fine to me.”
Mikey laughed. “Well, I can't argue with that.” The logical mind of his son always made him smile.
After the penguin house and a visit to the gift shop, they were both ready to leave.
“Where are we going now?” Brayden asked once they were in the car.
“I figured you might be hungry. Cocoa?” Mikey asked.
Brayden grinned. “Can I get dessert?”
“Yep.”
Mikey and his son took a seat at the bar tended by Brad's wife, Andrea. Her face brightened when she looked up and saw them sitting at the corner of the counter. Brayden waved at her and she came over.
Her short brown hair was highlighted with blonde. The pixie cut was new since the last time his son had seen her. Brayden gaped at her. “What did you do to your hair?”
“Bray,” Mikey warned. “Sorry, Andrea. That wasn't a very nice thing to say,” he said, looking at his son.
Andrea put a hand up and shook her head. “It’s okay. I don't like it either. I let the stylist talk me into it.”
Mikey eyed the new do. “I like it. Looks good on you. Not many women can pull off short hair, but you can.”
She chortled. “Thanks for trying, but you're such a liar, Hardin.” She looked at Brayden and mouthed liar. He grinned back.
“I wasn't lying.”
“Uh hmm. What can I get you two devastatingly handsome gentlemen?”
“Crab cakes,” the gentlemen said at the same time.
Andrea giggled. “He’s your son all right.” She walked away to punch in their order at the touch screen point-of-sale computer.
“Is everything all right at home with your mother?” Mikey asked casually. “You usually don't run out of the house like that.” He wasn't sure if that were always true. When he'd picked up his car last week, he'd run out to greet him like the house was full of monsters.
“Yeah.” Brayden shrugged.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” Brayden studied the top of the bar.
“You know you can tell me anything. I won't be mad.”
“I know.”
Andrea returned and set two glasses of ice water in front of them. “Just the way you like. Mostly ice.”
“Thank you,” Mikey winked hoping she would understand they were having a private discussion. “Bray, you'd tell me if something were wrong, right?”
His kid slumped on the stool. “Yeah.” He sat mutely for a moment, then said, “It’s just that you and Mom—I don't want you to fight. I love Mom and you did too. Once.”
“I did, you're right. I know you won't understand this, but that was a long time ago for me.”
“I wish you wouldn't fight so much. I don't like it because I love you both the same. It makes me feel bad. Makes my stomach hurt.” Brayden put a hand over his belly and pitched his head forward with his tongue out and made gagging noises.
“All right, enough. I get it. Thanks for telling me.”
Andrea served two plates of crab cakes. Brayden easily turned his focus onto the task of devouring food.
“Dad, your phone made a noise.”
Mikey picked up his phone from the top of the bar. He had no idea how Brayden could've heard the message alert with all the noise of the restaurant.
Cynthia.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
What the hell did she want? The screen only showed part of the message. He swiped a finger across the glass, typed in his password, and went straight to his texts.
The message read:
Going back to 1 wknd/month per agreement.
Mikey: What?
Cynthia: Our agreement says u get 1 wknd/month.
Mikey: What agreement?
Cynthia: Written agreement.
Mikey: Why?
Cynthia: Since ur arrest, I've decided it's in our son's best interest to limit his time w/ u.
Mikey: Did you ask him how he feels?
Cynthia: I'm his mother
Mikey: I'm his father
Cynthia: Sure about that?
Mikey glanced at his son, who looked exactly like him. He swore under his breath. Brayden was his, he had no doubt. What a psychotic bitch. He face-palmed then rubbed his forehead.
“What's wrong?” Brayden asked. His face crinkled up, like he had a terrible taste in his mouth.
“Nothing.”
“That was Mom,” Brayden announced, wiping his hand on his pants.
“Yep. Use your napkin.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How'd you know it was your mother?”
Brayden shrugged then took another bite of crab cake.
“She says we can only see each other once a month now. But listen, I don't want—”
“Dad, don't fight. I hate it when you fight.” He put his fork down.
“We're not fighting, but I don't want to wait a month to see you again.”
“It'll be all right. I'll be okay.”
Yeah right.
So much for finishing his dinner. Mikey wanted to throw up for real.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Grace
Grace’s father pointed out the front windshield of her car. “Eyes on the road, honey.”
“Oh my God, how old am I? I know how to drive.”
She worked her jaw, her father’s passenger-seat driving only adding to her irritation. Harry had shamed her, not only into celebrating her deceased mother’s birthday again, but now they were on their way to pick up the damn cake.
“Dad?” Grace had meant to ask him to promise her again that this would be the last time they marked this day, but lost the energy.
“Did you have a question? Because it sounded like you had a question.”
“No. Never mind.” Grace glanced over at her father. He contorted and twisted his body at the flow of traffic as if he were bracing for impact, his feet pushing imaginary pedals into the floor. Rolling her eyes, she continued gripping the wheel with one hand on the bottom to annoy him. “Please stop doing that.”
“What?” he asked, pressing his foot down on his invisible brake. The light up ahead turned red.
“That.” Grace gestured in the direction of his feet. “My foot is on the brake. You’re making me crazy. Gawd. This is the absolute last time I’m driving with you anywhere. And this is the last time I’m celebrating Mom’s birthday with you. I’m so sick of this.” The words flew out of her mouth. She couldn’t even stop them. Pacifying him all these years not only kept him in the past, but her too. She was done.
“I’m sorry.”
A car horn drowned him out. The beep wasn’t for her but the noise got her eyes back on the road. A bright red sports car whipped in between her and the car ahead of them. Grace laid on the horn while she slammed on her brakes, the vibration and grinding sound of the anti-locks kicked in. Harry’s coffee went flying.
“Aw, dammit!” Harry brushed at his pants.
“Oh, what are you so upset about? Your bad habit is going to stain the carpet,” she breathed.
“No it’s not…it’s black.” He set his Styrofoam cup into the center console holder.
“It’s going to stink up my Lincoln.”
“It’s not
going to…well, maybe.”
“Dad,” she groaned.
“It’s not my fault. You should pay attention.”
“I was. I can’t help it if someone pulls out in front of me. Don’t you have some napkins or something to mop this up with?”
Her father reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad. Using the sole of his loafer he pressed the napkins into the carpet and soaked up the spill the best he could. However, what they needed was a wet vac.
Grace turned into the strip mall parking lot where the bakery was located. When her dad started to get out of the car, she stopped him, consumed with guilt. “I’ll get the cake, Dad.”
Harry looked at her like he was about to protest, but kept his mouth shut and closed his door.
After paying for the cake, she placed it on the floor of the back seat. The buttercream frosting aroma filled the car. It smelled delicious. The confection was the only thing she enjoyed about this day. Her mouth watered as she started the engine.
Silence hung like smog in the car. Grace knew her father would eventually choke on the silence between them. She was right. He ran a finger along the inside of his collar and buzzed the window down even though the A/C blasted cold air.
One. Two. Three…
“So, are you getting out much?”
I knew it.
“Getting out?”
“Yeah, you know? Dating anyone?”
Grace grinned. “Really? Do you really want to hear about my sex lif—?”
“Grace.” Harry grimaced and sliced a hand through the space between them. “Ehhh.”
She stifled a giggle.
“I don’t want to know about that. I’m only curious how you spend your time away from work. That’s all.”
“Hmmm…well, since you brought it up, actually, I have met someone. He seems pretty cool and kind of the opposite of me. Which isn’t bad. I like it, I guess.”
Her father exhaled loudly. “He isn’t a weirdo is he?”
“What? What do ya mean, weirdo?”
“I mean is he normal?”
“Harry, I told you he’s not. I mean, he is normal.” She sighed. “He’s free-spirited.”
“Okay fine. I’ll trust your judgment, and don’t call me Harry.”
Grace thought the investigation was over. She relaxed into her seat for a few minutes. When they turned into her father's subdivision he spoke again.
“Did you run a background check on—?”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You know what. This subject is closed. Discussion over.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mikey
With her arms folded across her chest, Cynthia stood in the frame of her front door. Brayden leaped from the car as soon as Mikey could put his Escape into park.
“Wait! You forgot your…”
Bag.
Mikey needed to speak with Cynthia anyway. He glanced at the time on his phone. Collecting his son's belongings from the back seat, he started for her porch. Brayden slipped inside. The door swung shut as he hit the steps.
“Cynthia!” he shouted louder than necessary and winced. The neighbor across the street was a busybody. His ex-wife yanked the door open and came outside.
“What?!” she said, narrowing her stare on him with her hands on her hips.
“What’s with the bullshit you texted me Friday night?”
“You’ve been arrested as a murder suspect,” she spat. “What did you expect me to do? I have a responsibility to protect my son.”
Mikey snorted in disbelief. He glared at her. “I didn't do anything and you know it.”
“Really? And how would I know that?” Cynthia looked over his shoulder. Mikey wanted to follow her line of vision, however, he knew she was peeking at her overly curious neighbor.
“Are you serious? Have I ever done anything to you that would make you think I was capable of those things?”
“No, but people can change,” she whispered so the neighbor couldn't hear.
“That's a load of shit!” He stepped closer to her. God, this woman… the exhale he forced out of his mouth made the wisps of hair around her face fly. He couldn't see Brayden, although Mikey knew he was lingering behind the door.
Cynthia sneered. “I'm within my rights, you know. The order states you get one weekend a month of my choosing. And I'm not discussing this any furth—”
“What about Brayden's rights? Did you ever think of that? How does he feel about only seeing his father once a month?”
“I don't have to. I decide what's best. Not him and certainly not you.” She poked him in the chest after each point.
Mikey willed himself not to hit her, even though he never had. He glanced down at his clenched fists and took a couple of steps backward. “Cynthia…”
She refocused her attention on his hands for a moment. Then her eyes landed across the street again. This time he threw a glance over his shoulder. “Why do you keep looking over there, huh?”
“I'm not looking anywhere.” She dropped her eyes to the cement.
“Then why is ‘nosy’ out on her porch?”
“I don't know, why don't you ask her?” She edged closer to him.
Mikey stared down at her. He hated her being so close to him; he wanted to shove her back but kept his hands at his sides.
“You don't like the order the way it is, get a lawyer. And here's a tip; call a family law attorney, not your criminal one!”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Somebody ought to punch you in the nose! I don't have an attorney, you crazy-ass—God—you make me so—God!”
“Well, you’re going to need one, probably two!”
“What? You—”
Two cop cars sped up the street with sirens blaring.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Mikey
Mikey threw his hands up in the air. Awesome. This wasn’t how he pictured the conversation with his ex-wife ending. Of course, why should he be surprised? This was their normal and it sucked. Mainly for Brayden.
Cynthia snuck back inside the house and closed the door. He stood on the porch with his hands at his sides. Two police cruisers pulled up, one to the curb behind his car and the other in the driveway. Should he assume the position now or wait for them to tell him? He rubbed his forehead.
Two of the four officers approached him, each with one hand on their gun.
Mikey started the conversation off. “Evening, Officers.”
“Whatcha doing here?” the cop on the right, ‘E. Roberts’ according to his badge, asked.
He jerked his head toward the house. “I was dropping off my son at his mother’s.”
“Turn around and place your hands behind your head.”
“What for?”
“For your safety.”
Mikey turned around slowly, praying Brayden wasn’t looking out. Naturally, he was and gaped at him. Mikey squeezed his eyes shut for a second. After the other cop cuffed and patted him down, Roberts knocked on the front door.
“Mom?” Brayden called, his voice sounding muffled.
The other cop ushered Mikey off the porch and over to the patrol car parked in the driveway. He craned his head over his shoulder and smiled crookedly at Brayden on the way. His son disappeared from the window and the curtain fell back into place.
Instead of putting him into the car, he was told to plant his ass on the grass, which proved difficult with his hands hooked behind his back. Cynthia answered the door like she was surprised. Roberts nodded at whatever she told him. Mikey couldn’t hear their conversation. Right before she shut the door, Brayden yelled, “Dad!” ripping a hole in his chest.
Roberts strode over with a tight-lipped expression, his brows kitted together. “Want to tell me what happened here?”
“I came to drop off Brayden.”
“That’s not what your wife alleges happened.”
Mikey shrugged. “We had a discussion about visitation.”
&nbs
p; “She says you threatened to beat her up.”
Mikey recoiled. “What? No. No, I didn’t. What I said was that someone should punch her in the nose. But I didn’t mean me. I didn’t touch her, man.”
“She also said you were arrested recently.”
“Not for threatening her. For murder.” Yeah, that was stupid. “I didn’t do it, though.” He smiled because there was no way he could erase what he’d admitted.
“Get up.” Roberts motioned with his hand, indicating Mikey stand up.
“You know, there are actual criminals out there. I didn’t do anything other than yell at her. Is that a crime?”
“Check your attitude. You’re taking a ride with us.”
“Are you arresting me? For what?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Harry
Someone peered through the sidelight of Harry's front door. A stab of fear panged his heart. When the woman turned around and smiled, he cursed mildly under his breath. He hadn't recognized Natalie McGregor from behind.
Did she change her hair?
She waved at him and Grace.
Harry motioned her over to join them in using the garage entrance. Natalie's hair was definitely different.
“Changed your hair,” he grumbled.
“Oh, yes,” she said while fondling her hair. “Do you like it?”
“Eh.” Grace kicked the side of his foot. “Oh. Sorry. It looks fine.” The right words didn't roll off his tongue, it felt like he was being unfaithful to Annie. If she was any other woman he wouldn't care and didn’t, but she had been his wife's best friend. Natalie broke the eye contact and looked around.
“I think it looks great. Really freshens up your look. Where did you get it done?” Grace gushed.
Natalie shook off the wooden compliment from Harry and responded to Grace's question. She avoided looking in his direction when they entered the house.