by Ivy Jordan
“I understand. If you change your mind,” Clinton offered, obviously disappointed at my decline.
I didn’t even bother going inside. The list was accurate, even though I didn’t want to believe it. There was enough to keep me busy outside for the next few days, so I headed to the hardware store to pick up supplies.
Old man Frank still ran the hardware store in town, but just a little slower. “I’m sorry about your father,” he consoled, but left out the part of him being a good man like others had added. He’d seen me in the store with my old man before, him drunk, cursing at me, and smacking me in the back of the head. I was certain old man Frank wasn’t too keen on my father, but he never spoke poorly about anyone. “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all,” my eighth-grade teacher’s voice sounded in my head. I held back the chuckle as I remembered sitting in her classroom with Akoni, the kid who was the size of a sumo wrestler. That’s what I called him, not realizing how hurtful my words were at the time. I was a kid, a punk, and I didn’t know any better. It wasn’t like I had the best role model.
“Elijah?” a familiar female voice caused me to turn. Kellie Kamaka stood in the aisle near the bin of nails, a little girl, maybe three years of age gripping her hand.
“Kellie,” I greeted, trying to sound excited, even though I wasn’t. She was prom queen, head cheerleader, and queen bitch. We’d hooked up last time I was on the island, maybe four years ago. She looked good, long black hair, big brown eyes, and lips so voluptuous and plump they could suck start a truck. I barely remember the hookup, but I hadn’t forgotten her endless calls to my phone afterward. I didn’t need that kind of needy in my life, not then, and not now.
“It’s good to see you,” she smiled. The little girl attached to her hand looked up at me with a smile. She was cute, like her mother, and probably just as high maintenance. “What are you doing home?” she asked.
Home? This wasn’t my home. Miami was my home. “Tryin’ to get the old house fixed up and sold so I can get back to the states,” I explained.
“I heard about your dad. So, you’re not staying then?” she questioned.
“No.”
“Maybe we can get together before you leave?” she suggested, her eyelashes batting in my direction.
“I’m gonna be busting ass at the house. It’s in pretty bad shape, so not sure I’ll have a lot of time,” I responded.
“I’m Bailey,” the little girl let go of her mother’s hand and took a step towards me. “I’m three,” she held up three fingers.
I knelt down. “Nice to meet you, Bailey. I’m Elijah,” I introduced myself.
She stuck out her hand towards me. I took her little fingers into my palm; they were sticky as I shook them gently. Kellie’s eyes were on me, filled with that same clinginess I’d seen when I was here last. I quickly stood back upright, “I better get the rest of these supplies. It was good seeing you,” I rushed her off.
“Maybe I’ll stop by the old house,” she warned with a wink, and then turned to walk away. Little Bailey looked over her shoulder as her mother pulled her little arm towards the front door. She smiled at me and waved as they exited the store. Cute kid, but probably a handful. I was glad I only hooked up with Kellie once. I didn’t see a ring on her finger, but I was certain there was some poor bastard out there kicking himself for knocking her up. She was the type that would grab him by the balls, owning him for the next eighteen years. No thanks. That was a dodged bullet for sure.
I pushed a pressure washer to the front of the store and then ordered a five-gallon bucket of paint for the pool, new gutters, and the wood for the windows that needed to be repaired. “Getting the place fixed up to stay or sell?” old man Frank asked as he rang me up.
“Sell,” I replied.
His eyes were kind and soulful as he nodded in my direction. “Can’t say I blame ya,” he smiled.
I nodded and passed him my card.
“It was good seeing you,” he said as he handed me my credit card back.
“I’ll be back, a lot,” I chuckled nervously, realizing this was just a drop in the bucket of what was needed to finish the old place.
Chapter Fourteen
Taylor
It was obvious the weekends were rough on Milton. As I sat across from him listening to his stories of the war, how he lost friends, watched them die, and wondered why he was spared, it was obvious his depression was worsening. “Why don’t we start talking three times a week?” I suggested, figuring the long period of time without human contact was a contributor to his progressed depressive state.
“I’d like that,” he perked up.
I showed him to the door and went back to my desk to decompress before leaving for the day. He was my last patient, and I knew his stories had dredged up some old feelings I’d pushed down deep inside of my heart. He reminded me of my father. That I couldn’t deny. The stories he told made me wonder how my brother died, if anyone was with him, if he had any last words. I’d never asked, and at the time, didn’t want to know. It was too painful, and the fear of finding out he was alone, or that his death was long and torturous, was more than I knew I could bear.
A part of me wanted to know. Elijah would have the answers, but after how I reacted Saturday night, I wasn’t sure he would be up to seeing me, or that I was up to seeing him.
I left work with the nagging need for answers. Madison’s bakery looked abandoned, without any cars besides hers in the parking lot. I knew she wasn’t busy, so I stopped in to see her, possibly talk to her about my feelings.
Her smile made me feel better as I entered her store, and she instantly noticed something was bothering me. “It’s a patient; he just reminds me of my dad,” I admitted. I couldn’t give her any details, but I explained that he was depressed, a war vet, and that I wondered if his depression was similar to my dad’s before he took his life. “I just don’t want to make a mistake and lose him,” I sighed, realizing I was connecting him to my own loss.
“I’m sure you’re doing everything right,” Madison consoled me with a gentle stroke to my arm.
“His stories got me thinking about Tommy, and how he died,” I confessed.
Madison was compassionate as she leaned in for a hug. She had been there with me at Tommy’s funeral and knew how badly it affected me. I hadn’t talked about him much since, to anyone. As a therapist, I knew that wasn’t healthy.
“Have you thought about asking Elijah, now that you’re ready to know?” Madison suggested what I’d already considered.
“After the way I acted?” I sighed, rolling my eyes at how childish I’d reacted after our night together.
Madison giggled. “He stopped by here earlier.”
My heart started to race at the mention of her seeing him. “Did he say anything?”
“No, of course not,” she assured me. “But, he may have been hoping to run into you,” she hinted.
“I doubt it,” I mumbled.
“Pfft,” Madison wrinkled her nose. “That man has it bad for you.”
There was no way she could know that, and I knew she was just being a good friend by encouraging me. Elijah Grant had always been somewhat of a player, making his way through all the hot, popular girls in high school, and then back around for the ones he missed while stationed on the island. I’d heard my brother talk about him, the way he charmed the ladies. I knew part of it was to deter me from approaching him, my crush on him obvious, but some, if not all, of what he said was most likely true.
My God, what would Tommy think about me hooking up with Elijah? He’d roll over in his grave, that’s for sure.
“Why don’t you call him?” Madison suggested.
“Maybe,” I agreed, and thanked my friend for listening.
I hadn’t even asked about her and Joey, but now felt obligated. After thirty minutes and two donuts, I wished I would’ve avoided the topic.
Finally, at home, I pulled out Milton’s file and started looking over
the notes I’d made over our two weeks together. I knew adding another session to his schedule was a good solution, taking note of the past session notes from Mitchell that Mondays were always bad days. He had been scheduled for Mondays and Wednesdays, and Mondays were highly depressive days, whereas Wednesdays were always better. It was that four-day gap that left him alone with his own demons too long, creating a serious risk for him to hurt himself.
I wished my father had sought out assistance with his depression. When I first started at the practice, I searched for a file with his name, hoping for some answers, but he’d never been in for a session. Maybe Mitchell could’ve helped him, or at least encouraged him to reach out to me so I could’ve helped. I hated that feeling of helplessness that surrounded me when I thought of my father’s death.
I stared up at the picture of me, dad and Tommy hanging on the wall. There were so many things I hadn’t dealt with, and I knew it was time. Maybe Madison was right; I needed to talk to Elijah, ask him about Tommy, and finally put to rest all the unanswered questions in my mind.
Chapter Fifteen
Elijah
The inside of the pool looked like new with the coat of paint dried and sealed. The water truck beeped as it backed into the yard, nearly taking out the one good section of fence still standing. I waved frantically until he turned the wheel, avoiding narrowly the damage.
The young kid climbed out of the truck and attached the hose to the tank of water he hauled. There was no way I was running the hose for a week to fill the giant pool when one load would do it in thirty minutes.
I worked the pressure washer on the last spot of stained concrete as the pool filled with clear water. The kid handed me the receipt for his services and pulled out, taking patches of grass from my yard with his tires. Fuck.
“Wow, it looks great.” I turned to Kellie standing at the back gate. Just what I need.
“Thanks,” I smiled, trying not to let my irritation ring in my voice.
She was right; it did look great. The concrete was spotless, and the pool sparkling, just like what I dreamed about as a kid.
“Can we talk?” she asked, her eyes narrowing on me.
“Sure,” I said, confused by her nervous demeanor. I had the dirt from the concrete all over me from blasting it with the pressure washer. “I just need to clean up a little,” I excused myself to the side of the house where I hosed off.
Kellie was sitting on one of the lounge chairs by the pool when I returned to the backyard. She was wringing her hands like wet washcloths as she stared up at me. Something was obviously wrong. I just had no idea how it could concern me.
“What’s up?” I asked, taking a seat across from her on another lounger.
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, but only a long deep sigh escaped. This must be serious. Is it about my dad?
I laughed nervously, staring into her dark eyes with anticipation and concern. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. I just… I never thought I’d see you again,” she confessed. Oh hell, was she ready to confess her love? No way, not even if she hadn’t given birth to a life sucker.
“If this is about what happened between us,” I started, only to get interrupted.
“It is, but it’s not us, but what that night created,” she hesitated with a pause. “Bailey, she’s your daughter; our daughter,” she claimed.
What the fuck?
I couldn’t speak. My throat swelled, making me feel as if I was choking, and I was certain the fear was evident in my eyes. Is she serious, or was this some kind of game?
“I don’t want you to be in her life if you’re not ready, or if you’re just going to leave again,” Kellie stated with a mother’s firmness. No, I’m not ready; how could I be?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I finally gasped.
“Elijah, we both knew that night wasn’t anything more than a quick thrill before you left for the States,” she smirked.
“I didn’t think it was that short,” I teased.
“I’m serious,” she warned.
“I know. I’m just stunned. What do you want me to do, to say?” I questioned.
“I want you to think about whether or not you’re ready to be a father; really think about it,” she insisted.
Kellie’s hand extended towards me with an envelope. “My number’s inside, just call me and let me know what you decide,” she finished, and then got up and walked away.
I held the envelope in my hand; I was trembling as I pulled out the contents. A baby picture of Bailey and one of her now, along with a number: Kellie’s, I assumed. I stared at the little girl’s face, into her eyes. Is this really my daughter? I had a daughter.
The time frame added up, and I was drunk that night with Kellie: probably one of the five times in my life I’d had sex without protection. Fuck, fuck, fuck…
I rolled the pressure washer into the shed and started working on the windows on the side of the house. My mind was reeling over the news of being a father; me, a father.
“You stupid little prick,” I could hear my dad’s voice as plain as day as I tore the old rotten wood from the window of his bedroom. “You’re the biggest mistake I ever made in life. I should’ve pulled out and squirted you on your momma’s ass,” he slurred through sloppy drunk lips. I cringed at the aroma of Jack Daniels wafting under my nose and angry spit blasting onto my cheeks as he screamed at me for something, nothing.
Was Bailey a mistake in my life, did I really want her growing up thinking so? I wasn’t sure I was even capable of being someone’s father. What if I was like him?
“Hey, you’re really working hard.” I turned to see Taylor standing behind me.
I stepped down from the ladder, in shock that she was there after her three-day silent treatment.
“Yeah. There’s a lot more to do than I thought,” I confessed, wiping my hands on my jeans.
“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” she stammered, her eyes staring at her feet as she spoke. As they lifted, my heart shook with an ache I didn’t find familiar, or comfortable.
“It’s okay. I understand,” I smiled.
She seemed distressed, uncomfortable, and anxious as she shifted her weight from left to right.
“Everything okay?” I questioned.
“Yeah. I’ve just been thinking about my father, and Tommy,” she sighed, the stress in her tone relatable.
“I get it. I just got a shocker that’s made me think of nothing but my father,” I confessed.
“A shocker?” she asked, her voice filled with the compassion I needed at that very moment.
I unloaded everything onto her as if she was at work and I was her patient. She listened, her eyes never breaking contact with mine. “What are you going to do?” she asked. That was the million dollar question.
“I have no idea,” I admitted.
“You can’t believe you’d be like your father. He was a mean drunk, that isn’t your fault,” she caressed my arm gently as she spoke.
I could feel the lump in my throat growing, and tears struggling to escape. Men didn’t cry, not real men. I choked them down, swallowing the lump as well, and freeing my breath into a deep exhale.
“I’m sure you’ll do what’s right,” Taylor smiled.
What was the right thing to do, and right for who: me or Bailey?
“I guess. I’m sorry for dumping all that on you. You came here to say something. I didn’t mean to distract from that,” I apologized, realizing that I’d just bombarded her with an overload of shocking news.
“No. It’s nothing that can’t wait,” she maintained.
I felt bad for not being there for her, for whatever it was she needed from me. I wanted to pull her into my arms, to feel her heart beat with mine, to taste the sweetness of her arousal on my lips again. She was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, even with her hair pulled into a tight bun, and glasses covering her dark eyes.
What would Tommy think of me sleeping with his sister, especially knowing that
I was just going to leave in a few weeks? Am I now, leaving? Fuck, my life was turned upside down.
“Do you want to grab dinner later? I just need to clean up,” I offered.
“No. I’ve got a lot to do tonight; maybe tomorrow. I’ll call you,” she promised, and then leaned in for a quick hug.
Her vanilla perfume soothed me as it wafted under my nose, and I didn’t want to let her go as she pulled away quickly. I watched her walk away, wondering if she would really call. Why would she after what I’d just dumped on her?
I picked up the tools and carried them to the shed, placing them neatly on the shelves my dad had built. A large box in the back caught my attention: a solar cover for the pool that we never used. I pulled it out, figuring it would help turn the frigid water to a tolerable temperature quicker so I could at least get to take a dip in the pool before the place was sold.
I slit the box with my pocket knife and pulled the blue cover out onto the concrete. “You need some help?” Clinton called from over the fence as I struggled with the large cover, unsure which end was which.
“Sure,” I agreed, figuring if I didn’t he’d just stand there and watch me fight with the plastic.
He gripped an end, stretching it towards him, “Yeah, this is the shallow end,” he declared.
I’d noticed the pristine pool in his own backyard, so I assumed he knew what he was talking about. I followed his directions, and within just a few minutes, the pool was covered. “Don’t forget to put chemicals in the water,” Clinton mentioned.
“I knew I was forgetting something,” I grumbled, hating the thought of returning to the hardware shop before hitting the hotel mattress face first.
“I’ve got everything you need. Let me take care of it for you tonight. It’s best to wait until the sun goes down anyway,” he offered.
“I appreciate that,” I patted him on the back.