Like Father Like Son

by Lennon, Leigh

  I don’t care if he doesn’t like me saying that word. I laugh, knowing how I can get under his skin a bit. And hell, there it is, all these emotions about Scott and Maguire emerging.

  He doesn’t know I’m awake, not a bit when he quietly opens the door to go pay. I sit, waiting for him, as I think of this adventure I’m on. It’s different and I hate myself because I’m excited—working in design along with going to school to hone my craft. I take in a deep and pained cleansing breath. The guilt is eating at me. It has to be the reason I’m so sick. As Maguire had said, the stress has gotten to me.

  He emerges from Norman Bates’ office and I hurry to him, grabbing my key, running up the outdoor stairs, barely getting the key in to open the door. As I dash to the toilet to dispel my guts again, the only thing I can think is, do they still make keys for motels? This place is older than dirt.

  A knock on the door is the only reason I pull myself off of the floor.

  “Darlin’?”

  Of course, it’s Maguire, who else would it be? Grabbing for a towel, I don’t have time to look at it to judge its cleanliness, I wipe the puke from my lips and fall onto the bed.

  “Shit, Holland, you’re still puking? I’d think you’d have nothing else in your system.” He kneels next to me. His touch is on my head, checking me for a fever like Scott had done if I got sick, which was seldom. It’s still a tender memory I cling to. And this is so eerily similar to my husband’s touch. “I’m heading to the store; you must be dehydrated. Let’s get you some saltines and Gatorade.”

  “Wait, don’t forget my sewing machine.” He had brought it up to his room last night.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I got you.” Somehow, I believe him.

  Chapter 9

  After she drinks a quarter of the Gatorade and takes a Dramamine, she’s asleep. I’ve been hovering over her like a mother hen. But I can’t ignore the hunger pains in my own stomach.

  I leave a little note—explaining I’m heading to the diner up the road. I have this sixth sense to sniff out the best little diners to get supper whenever I happen to be on a trip. Walking into what most would think is a hole in the wall, I can smell the grease that makes this place what most miss.

  Ordering a bland turkey on wheat for Holland and the juiciest bacon cheeseburger for myself, my text alert gets my attention. Grabbing it quickly to check for a possible message from Holland, I see it’s from Kat.

  Kat was ready to drop everything to be here for me when I called her from the airport. But, neither one of us signed on for this. Sure, if everything had been local, it would have been different.

  I try to find that little smile that normally comes out just for Kat. Under normal circumstances, the smile had always appeared because I knew I’d be getting some. She’s great in bed. I do care for her, but her ex messed her up as much as Christine had with me. I open up the text and read it, wondering if what we have will change now with Holland in my life.

  Kat: Hey, babe. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I know this isn’t what we do, but if you need to talk, I’m here for you.

  I don’t know what to do with her words. She still has parent status and mine’s gone. It’s not her fault, nor can I go through life ridding myself of friends based solely on the fact they still have their kids and I don’t. I reply the only way I know how.

  Me: Thanks. I’m dealing, little by little.

  The bubbles appear under my last text.

  Kat: I figured. Shit, Maguire, I have no idea what you’re going through. I wish I could take this pain away.

  Oh, if it were that simple.

  Me: I know, I appreciate it, I do.

  The bottom line, she doesn’t understand. Soon the next text comes through.

  Kat: I saw Ned at the grocery store. I’m glad he was there for you. But he said you’re bringing Scott’s truck home. I hate you’re driving cross-country by yourself. I would have come out to help you.

  Well, shit. I wonder if Kat will get all territorial? This is an issue I can tackle when we get home. She and I aren’t exclusive, though she’s been my steady friend with benefits for a while now. I send her a simple, non-descript message.

  Me: Driving it cross-country—it’s a great way to heal. I’ll let you know when I’m back in town.

  I pocket the phone, grabbing our dinner, putting the truck in drive, and getting back to the Bates’ Motel as Holland kept on calling it through her puking fits. I don’t think she realized she had been complaining.

  There are ambulances and a couple of squad cars when I pull into the motel parking lot. I’m out of the vehicle the second I place the truck into park. One ambulance has shut the back doors as I rush to it. “Sir, are you Maguire Parrish?”

  My heart falls, how’d they know my name unless… I nod my head up and down. “Your daughter called the ambulance—pain in her stomach caused her to double over. I think it scared her when she couldn’t find you.”

  I don’t correct him. “If you’d like, sir, you can follow the ambulance, I don’t need a statement from you.”

  I run to my truck, still able to see the flashing lights. I’m sweating and it’s not from the summer of the hot, humid fucking south I’m trapped in. My mind is on my son and his last words, “you’re the only one I can trust.” Yep, I’m not making him proud. First, the sensations of Holland near me is so impossible to resist. Then I leave her to what, wake up with some horrible illness.

  It’s a small county hospital and I don’t have far to go to park. Running in, I’m stopped by the nurse as the door to the ER closes. “I’m her only family,” I say.

  “I know, sir. Let the doctor look at her first. She’s an adult and I can’t let you back right away.”

  I sit down, wanting to kick something—anything — but getting booted from the ER is not what I need right now.

  An hour—sixty minutes, I’m going out of my ever-loving mind. No matter how many times I ask Nurse Ratchet, she basically tells me to sit my ass down. I’m about to bug the cranky nurse again when my name is finally called. I almost run to the doctor.

  “Mr. Parrish?”

  I shake his hand, waiting for the details. “Is Holland okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, she’s fine. Severely dehydrated and in her condition, I’d suggest you make sure she’s getting enough fluid. It’s not uncommon to feel queasy. But for the baby’s sake, we need to make sure she’s drinking water often. Even if she’s losing weight, it’s okay. The baby will take what she or he needs from the mama.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Um, what are you saying?”

  He looks at his clipboard and then back at me. “Well, shit. I got Holland and another patient mixed up for a second. My other patient’s parents know—whereas you apparently don’t.” He turns a ghostly white.

  “Are you telling me she’s pregnant?”

  He turns away. “Well, hell, officially, I can’t tell you anything. And please, this could land me in quite the pickle along with the hospital…it’s been a hell of a night.”

  “Can you unofficially let me know if the baby is okay?” He nods his head yes. I can’t breathe. Yet, I’m about to jump up and down with excitement. My heartbeat is racing and I’m sweating. I lost Scott—nothing can ever replace my son, but he has left me a part of himself before he left this world.

  “Mr. Parrish?”

  I look up at the doctor—the poor tired man thinking we’ll sue him. “Yeah, Doc, no problem. I won’t say anything. I’ll wait until Holland tells me. But at least I understand now.” I continue, “Can I see her?”

  “Sure, but we’ll have to keep her overnight. I understand y’all are driving cross-country. Try not to push her if you have the ability.”

  My smile doesn’t fade from my face. A grandpa, I’m going to be a grandpa. “No problem, whatever Holland needs, Doc, she’ll get it from me.”

  When I enter the room, Holland is asleep. I take a look at the overstuffed chair in th
e corner, trying it out since this will be my bed for the night. Holland is filling the entire room with her loud snores and I’ve never been so happy to hear them.

  Chapter 10

  I wake with my eyes adjusting to the sunshine filling the room. It all comes back to me, second by second. The ambulance ride, the pain, and the diagnosis. Hell, it hadn’t been a blip on my radar. How did I not know? I’m turning into quite the parent already, never noticing my missed period.

  I attempt to sit up in bed. Whatever the doctor gave me last night to stop the vomiting did me in. I’ve not slept so deeply since before finding out about Scott. Looking down, I notice my stomach, something I can’t for the life of me get out of my mind. And why would I?

  I’d been so mad at Scott for leaving me and yet he left me with something to forever remember him by. Something we made in love, one of the last things we’d done.

  When he was home, only weeks before he died, we’d talked about starting a family. He wanted me to get through school first. And where I agreed with him, I wanted babies early, too—because a combination of Scott and me together made something incredible. It shouldn’t surprise me that I’m pregnant. We barely left our bed. And through it all, I forgot my birth control on a couple of occasions.

  Something in the room gets my attention and I turn to see the sleeping form of Maguire, for the second night in a row, snoozing in a chair. I’m watching him intently—how in the world does his neck turn that much to one side? Hell, he looks so uncomfortable.

  Do I wake him or let him sleep where he’ll cause irreversible damage to his body? I don’t think about it long when I try to lower my voice—though many have told me in the past, I can’t whisper to save my life.. He pops up from his chair, trying to adjust to the light and the fact he has forgotten where he is.

  “Shhhh, Maguire, it’s okay. We’re in the hospital.”

  He’s on his feet, at my bed, looking me over. “Oh, yeah, it took me a second to get my bearings, darlin’. They wouldn’t tell me anything—what’s going on with you?”

  Oh, good, he doesn’t know. I can wait to share all this with him. I need time to come to grips with this first. Is he going to be like me viewing this as my one solace to get me through my grief? Will he be pissed because he’ll be saddled with another responsibility for what Scott asked of him?

  “I feel like an ass wipe for worrying you.” His eyes widen, his brows furrowed. “What, I didn’t say the f word, at least.”

  He displays a wide grin as Scott had when I had amused him. “But no curse words seem right coming from your sweet lips.” I’m waiting for him to understand his words and tone are delivered with a little more flirtation than is acceptable. But, fiddlesticks, what do the deities above know about my situation? It’s messed up in one giant ball of gasses that make up this earth. I’m pregnant with my dead husband’s baby and my father-in-law, the grandpa—makes my heart pitter-patter.

  I skip over the little remark and smile because what can I do? Call him on it? It’s probably the hormones that are making me oversensitive. But I’m not overly sensitive. I miss the one-on-one attention. I continue to smile, wondering how or what I should say.

  “What did the doctors tell you?” he asks, rubbing my forearm.

  “They are guessing it’s stress.” Sure, I’m omitting the obvious, but the truth is the ER doc did say under normal situations I probably wouldn’t have let my body get so dehydrated. Plus, I certainly would have noticed a missing period. I’m always one for timeliness and my cycle takes after me on this attribute.

  “Um, well, good to know.” He stands, leaning over to give me a peck on the forehead. I still at first, isn’t this odd? He’s my father-in-law. He did this to me the first time I met him five years ago, though I’d only seen him a couple times since then. But why does my own breath hitch when his lips touch my skin? Can he sense the goosebumps as my skin pebbles? Can he see the sweat starting to form at the top of my head? Does he sense I stop breathing?

  “Listen, darlin’, I’m running to the hotel to pack up. We’re slowing down our trip.”

  My hand, without thinking, is in front of him, attempting to stop him.

  “No, darlin’, you listen here. I have part of me that wants to take you to the nearest airport and fly you to Redding and have Ned, who you met at the funeral, pick you up and house you with his wife, Elise, and him. But you are too fucking stubborn, and I don’t have it in me to fight you.” He stops when my mouth is on the edge of forming some witty comment. “And quite honestly, apparently I can’t let you out of my sight.”

  “Fuck, Maguire, I’m not some kid you can order around. I don’t need to be watched like I’m helpless.”

  “Holland,” he deadpans.

  “Maguire,” I return, my tone matching his.

  “You know how I feel about you swearing.”

  I scrunch my brows together. Is this man for real?

  “Yeah, yeah, but the last time I checked, you’re not my daddy and I can take care of myself.”

  He walks to the door and turns around. “And how is that working out for you—since you landed yourself in the ER?” I think he’s gone when he pops his head back in. “I’m packing up at the hotel and my main goal is to get out of fucking Georgia today since I feel like we’re never leaving the south.” He leaves and I look up like I’m talking to Scott.

  “Shit, Scott, you never told me your dad was as moody as a girl on her period.” I wait for a reply, but I get none. That won’t stop me from still talking to my husband.

  My dickishness came out full force. Am I really upset that she’s not been taking care of the baby, the one she had no idea existed? And the last comment, how is that working for you? What an ass thing to say.

  The grandpa in me wants to drive back to Atlanta and put her on a plane. I’d be doing it with her kicking and screaming. Yeah, that’s what is best for the baby. The baby I already love with every fucking breath I breathe. But then I’d miss that mouthy and unreasonable woman.

  And it can’t be what’s best for the baby when the mother is so pissed off, she’d turn into some sort of villain who’d be mad at me for the next several months.

  As I pull myself out in Scott’s truck, my heart is in competition for the peace that Holland gives it, the brokenness of losing my child and the healing it feels at the idea of Scott’s child in this world.

  I’m back at the hospital, she’s sitting there with tears falling down her face. “Okay, Sarge, I’m here, waiting for your arrogant ass.”

  In my arm is a small suitcase, I’d grabbed her a change of clothes and toiletries. “Listen, darlin’,”

  I begin, and she stands quickly, grabbing her clothes and disappearing into the bathroom.

  But, it’s not before she says, “Save it, jackass.”

  This girl is so full of spunk, I let it go and sit down, rehashing our trip since we’re only driving six hours a day. With my head in my phone and the atlas I’d brought in, I hear, “Hell, that stupid atlas, you know what I’d like to do with it?”

  “Um, no, what would you like to do with it?” I stand, walking toward her, jokingly challenging her.

  “Yeah, Maguire, you can shove it up your…”

  She doesn’t have a chance to finish her sentence when the doctor from last night walks in. “Miss Parrish?”

  Though I’m indeed trying to joke with her, she’s not returning the sentiment but turns to the doctor. “Yes, but I’m Mrs. Parrish, by the way,” she begins.

  “Um, I thought he was your father,” he clarifies, looking between us.

  “Father-in-law,” she adds, and his look can’t be avoided. I did lead everyone to think she was my daughter to get more information. “My husband just died, and this man somehow thinks he’s my keeper.” Oh, she’s still pissed from earlier.

  “Um.” He leans into where he thinks only Holland can hear him. “Mrs. Parrish, do you feel safe with him?”

  I
laugh. This is the most ridiculous question ever and Holland giggles at him. “Actually, I do, Doctor. Thanks for your concern. The fact that he’s an asshole from time to time doesn’t mean that I don’t feel safe in his presence plus he’d never hurt me.”

  Her words hit me, but I can’t help but stop at her language.

  “And yes, Maguire, I cursed, get the hell over it.” This only makes her laugh and our little fight from earlier is over. The doctor asks for privacy. I’ll keep up the illusion that I don’t know about my grandchild she’s carrying. I’ll wait for her to tell me.

  Chapter 11

  He’s acting weird, getting the door for me. Saying we’re slowing the trip down. We’re still in Georgia, mere miles from Alabama. We’re three days into this journey of ours and we should be somewhere in Arkansas. And this trip will last for years if we’re not able to get some miles between North Carolina and us.

  Two hours into the trip, we’re on the outskirts of Birmingham, pulling into a Waffle House. This man and his need to eat at diners for every meal makes me crazy. “Tell me, do you eat like this normally?”

  He twists his lips into a small smirk. “Oh, fuck no! I’d be the size of a house if I did. And for the next month, I’ll be pulling double duty with my workouts.” It makes me happy thinking of him working out.

  The second my waffles are placed in front of me, I jet from the booth as quickly as I can, barely making it to the bathroom to vomit, like I have food in my system. This’ll be a long nine months at this rate.

  I’m gone for ten minutes and when I look at the booth, I can’t find Maguire. He’s at the doors, his cell phone in his hand, texting someone. He juts his chin toward the exit.

  “Did you eat?” I ask.

  “Quickly, I didn’t figure you wanted to sit down with food again, so I tossed it back.”

  With my purple unicorn purse Scott bought for me off of some vendor in Bahrain, I toss a couple Lemonheads in my mouth. He holds the door for me as I adjust, passing me the seat belt to make sure I’m secure.