by Maggie Thom
Guy snorted with laughter. “Could be.” He shifted his stance. “Look. Is there somewhere we could go to talk about this?”
She glanced up barely taking note of him. “Can I keep this?”
He nodded.
She turned away and started walking. Could this really be my great-grandma? Wow. Her fingers traced the face. How old was she in the picture? How many kids did she have? What kind of man did she marry? What kind of person had she been? Had she ever smiled? Not that they did that often in pictures back then. Whoever decided it was bad to look lifelike in a picture? They were always so stern.
She studied the woman’s dimple in the picture and then touched her own. She’d always thought it was unique. Had anyone teased her about it way back when? Many times she’d wished it hadn’t existed; it had been too damn cute. Now it connected her with someone. It meant she had family. Who was she? What was her name? Were there more pictures of her? Where was the rest of her family?
Bailey jerked to a stop. She hadn’t asked any of that. What an idiot. She glanced behind her. There was no one there because she was already at the next door neighbor’s blue house. She wasn’t sure whether to return to the guy who had given her this gift or wait until he found her again; but something told her he’d be back.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bailey hugged her arms around her waist. The warm, fuzzy feeling was so new to her that she almost staggered under the weight of the sensation. This had been her Christmas wish for twenty-nine years. Perhaps she was overreacting and there was a lot more to this story, but she wasn’t ready to hear it yet. She wanted time to absorb the good feelings coursing through her. Hanging onto this new sensation, she walked the last twenty steps home.
Head bowed, she unlocked the side door and stepped through to find it all come crashing back—her mom was gone, there was packing to do, stuff to get rid of and she had a job she wanted but felt guilty about. Her mother’s voice flooded her mind, telling her to stop wanting more—she didn’t need relatives, she had her. Why couldn’t that be enough?
“Don’t do this Bailey, don’t do that; someone will notice you. Don’t make noise; someone will hear you. Grab your Miss Piggy, we’ve got to leave, Bailey. Stop crying; there are more important things than that ratty old stuffed animal. I’ll get you a new one as soon as we find a place. I’ll get you new shoes too. Things will change soon, Bailey. Smile for Mom.”
She wanted to scream, 'They never changed, Momma’.
Her mind was consumed with the torn, isolated feeling of being alone—only she didn’t need to be lonely anymore. How could her mother have excluded the rest of their family? What could they have possibly done to be cut out of her life?
She tucked the picture of her great-grandmother in her bag before heading across the hall into the bathroom. She drenched her face with cold water; it felt jarring but also somewhat reviving. As she grabbed the peach towel hanging off to her right, the nicely folded lace facecloth fluttered to the counter. She looked at it and then at the spot where it had been hanging. Another matching towel and facecloth hung on a second peg. The water ran down her face and dripped off her chin as she stared at that spot. Everything had always been just so. Nothing had ever been out of place. Certain things were put in certain spots. She was sick and tired of it.
She mopped her face, tossed the towel on the counter and stepped out of the bathroom. She stopped in the hallway, dimly lit from the late afternoon sun filtering in through the front window. It looked dark and dingy, so much a reminder of what her life had been.
“It’s dark, Momma.”
“Shh. Be quiet, Bailey. We’re playing hide and seek. Remember you have to be very quiet.”
“No, Momma. I don’t wanna play that again. No, Momma. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Momma!”
Bailey shivered at one of many memories she’d rather forget. One of the many, when they’d snuck out in the middle of the night. Snuck away like really bad people, always in the dark. That thought stopped her for a moment. She ran into the living room, grabbed the middle of the drapes and yanked them wide open. A peeping tom would never have gotten a glimpse into this house. She yanked open the front door and quickly shoved the window up on the storm door, leaving only the screen. In the kitchen and both bedrooms she pulled up the blinds and parted the curtains to slide open the windows. Shooting out of her mom’s bedroom she nearly tripped over the bag of toiletries from the bathroom. Grabbing it, she dropped it at the end of the hallway.
She stepped into the living room and pulled open drawers, flipping through the meager things she found there. She pulled open the bottom cupboards on the china cabinet to find newspapers, stacks of them, always the precious news. This stuff had to go. She grabbed several garbage bags from the kitchen and proceeded to fill them. She grabbed and stuffed, grabbed and stuffed.
Every now and then a date would catch her eye and she’d remember what was happening in her life on that day.
July 15th, 1990. The year they had moved twice—once from a cute little house in a dinky little town in northern B.C. to a dinky little town in Southern Saskatchewan to...
Bailey couldn’t remember where to after that. She shoved some more paper in the bag.
December 23, 1993, the year they skipped Christmas because they were on the move to Lethbridge, Alberta.
September 5, 1995, yanked out of school the second month to move again and leave behind the one friend she’d finally made—someone who’d moved almost as much as she had.
Bailey started shredding the pages as she went. Pieces were flying as she worked like a mad woman, ripping and filling.
July 14th, 2000. Bailey stopped. She had no idea where she had been on that date—living in Vancouver, maybe? But what had she been doing? She frowned. It wouldn’t come to her. After a few moments she realized how good it actually felt not to know where she was on a certain date. Due to their fluctuating lifestyle, Bailey had kept a diary. Every day had meticulously been marked down, the events recorded, because there had always been something to note. She’d always felt the need to record how she felt about each ugly move. Never allowed to whisper a word of it, she’d written it down; writing had been her solace, her friend.
She paused for a moment wondering where she’d put her diaries. Some had gotten lost over the years. She hadn’t always had time or the opportunity to grab them when they’d moved. Her mom had shown up at school on three occasions to whisk her away to the next place.
February 14, 1989. Valentine’s Day.
Hmmm. We lived in a trailer park. What was the name of the town?
Shrugging, she tossed it away.
June 23, 1985.
At some point she realized there were only certain newspaper dates in there. She wondered how many years’ worth were in the shed.
May 1, June 1, July 1, 5, 6, 7, 10... August 1, 3, 6, 7, 8... September 1, 5, 6, 10... October 1 and many more in1983.
How come so many that year... the same year I was born?
Tired of the game and the vagabond feelings it brought back, Bailey shoved all the papers into the garbage bags. Most of them, she absently noted, were the national conglomerate papers.
She stood and looked around. Her mom had been so excited when she moved into that house. It was one of the few times that Bailey had seen her almost giddy. They’d had fun filling the house with finds from garage sales, second-hand stores and even newspaper ads. Then one day a truckload of boxes had arrived filled with things her mom had said she’d put in storage a long time ago. Bailey had become so angry that she’d left. There had been too many times there hadn’t been enough money for food and yet she’d found enough to pay for storing belongings that Bailey had known nothing about.
Looking at the mess she’d made, the bits of newsprint scattered about and the large garbage bags flopped over like sumo wrestlers, she bet it had been the damn newspapers. Stepping over the bags, she grabbed some empty ones and headed for her mom’s bedroom.
Bailey grabbed the bed
ding off the bed and stuffed it all in one bag, pillows and all. Looking from the bedside stand to the dresser she realized she couldn’t do either one yet. Too private.
The closet was next. She pulled open the tinny metal doors and grabbed clothes. Meant for a figure of 5’3” and slightly rounded, Bailey knew they wouldn’t come close to fitting her 5’8” athletic build. Besides, they were old-fashioned, dowdy cotton dresses like Lucy used to wear on I Love Lucy, her mom’s favorite show.
She yanked clothes off the hangers when most of the hangers were swinging empty, she reached up for the last few dresses. Other than the first one being ugly, she paused as she caught sight of a red silk dress her mom had worn only once. Beside it were two other very stylish, expensive-looking outfits. Where had they come from? She’d never seen her wear them. What were you hiding, Mom?
She shoved them, along with several pairs of shoes into another bag. From the top shelf she pulled blankets, a few sweaters and a down filled winter coat.
None of it had any meaning for her. She kept up a steady pace, not looking at anything she threw out. Nor did she allow herself time to think. Next she walked into the tiny bathroom off the bedroom. The medicine cabinet was full of prescription and OTC meds. Paranoia had been her mom’s best friend. Maybe she should have pushed for her to get some professional mental health intervention.
There was too much stuff.
Bailey kept tossing everything into garbage bags that were now overflowing. Everything was getting thrown out.
The phone rang. Jumping over bags and scattered garbage, she raced into the living room to grab the phone on the fourth ring.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
Bailey’s hand tightened on the receiver. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Guy. We talked—”
“What do you want?”
“I hope you’ve had enough time to go over what I told you this morning. We need to meet and discuss the rest.”
Bailey clutched her hand to her churning stomach. She couldn’t meet with this man; there was no way. How hard would it be for a stranger to find an old picture that looked like you? “Look, there’s no money and nothing of value. And how’d you get this number?”
“Give me the chance to show you what I have. Meet me at six at Stella’s Bar and Grill in Shaughnessy. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. But what’s the hurry?”
A surprised guffaw was her answer.
The silence stretched. Bailey bit her lip, working her teeth from the right side to left and back again.
“All right. I’ll meet you there at six-thirty.”
After a brief pause, he said, “I’m really sorry about this, Cassidy.”
The distinct click let her know there was no use in responding.
Cassidy? Who the hell is Cassidy? Just like I thought, he has the wrong person.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hello?” He reached for the remote and flipped off the sound to the six o’clock news.
“She met with a guy in the park today. He gave her a picture or something, from the way she looked at it.” Payme drew in a deep breath before spitting on the ground.
“You have to get that photo from her.” Fear clawed its way up his throat and clung there, fluttering like a cave full of bats. Someone else seeing it after all this time made him sick to his stomach. He’d gotten greedy, too high on himself. Thought he was really above it all. After all, he was the son-in-law of the filthy rich, the Filmores. It occurred to him that embarrassing his rich in-laws might have been a stronger motivator than he’d previously considered. Perhaps there had been a part of him that had wanted them to be humiliated. But now he knew he’d be the one to lose everything. They’d see to that. The only saving grace for hiring Payme had been that he could have him imprisoned and the guy knew that. And since he had a few enemies in prison, the odds of him surviving were highly unlikely.
“Do it now. I want it today.”
This has to end. Twenty-nine years. I make the rules. No one is going to change that due to one miscalculation.
He’d relished being in charge. Now, however, someone had changed the rules. “Do not harm her.” He had plans for her. There was so much she didn’t know about her mother but she might know enough to help him make money in the future. “I don’t think she knows anything about what her mother was doing, or to be able to recognize who’s in the photo. Get it.”
After hanging up the phone, he collapsed onto his leather sofa. He knew if anyone saw that picture he was finished. He’d no longer be the middle-class kid who’d made it into the filthy rich club. He’d be finished. Worse, he’d be a joke—all the way to the jail.
The thought of being sent to prison, where he had helped send many he was supposed to have defended, was not something he could stomach. He wouldn’t last a day behind bars. Bile rose in his throat. He jerked forward and ran out of the room, barely making it to the bathroom sink across the hall.
He splashed cold water on his face and rinsed his mouth, ignoring the mess he’d made. It would be good if his wife Betty thought he was ill, then maybe she’d take care of him like she had in their early years together. Knowing that was highly unlikely, he braced his arms on the edge of the sink. It had never really occurred to him what people would think if they knew about him. He’d never planned on it coming to light. The worst part would be what his dear father-in-law would do; he still held all the purse strings.
There was no way he was going to lose it all. He lifted his head and stared at the wall three feet away. He’d worked too hard for the prestige he now enjoyed. The game had taken a twist he’d never believed would come, a twist that almost had him wishing he’d never helped Donna escape her husband. He should have cut his losses a long time ago. But it provided me with so many people to screw over.
The thrill the game had given him had been so exhilarating. He’d played Donna and her ex like pawns in a chess match. Shuddering, he realized he was being called into check. This is my game. I’ll be the one calling checkmate.
He hated this feeling of fear, of no longer being in control. It was so foreign to him now. But there was one thing he knew would make him feel better—something that had been caught in a photograph, the one thing that would bring him down.
Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice making it sound like a heavy smoker’s as he picked up the phone and dialed a number he knew well. I will not be beaten at the game I invented!
****
Bailey snatched the ringing phone off the hook just before heading out the door.
“All right dammit. I said I’d meet you.”
A raspy, breathless sound greeted her.
“Listen dammit—”
“No, you listen.”
Chills shook her body.
“Your mother got cocky and demanded too much. You’re going to give me what I want—her little cash daddy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have the wrong number.”
“No, Bails. You are the one!” His raspy, echoing laugh slithered over her like slime.
Bailey slammed the phone down and rested her head on her arm, waiting for the shakes to subside. The only person who ever called her Bails was her mom.
Pushing away from the wall, she squared her shoulders and headed out the door. She was going to find out what the hell was going on.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bailey whipped into the parking lot of Stella’s Bar and Grill and pulled into the first stall she could find.
With a quick glance at her watch she noted she was right on time, not her usual ten minutes to half an hour early, but then she usually was going to a meeting that she knew what it was about. This one she wasn’t sure but she had a sense it was going to give her some answers but a whole lot more questions.
She jumped out of the car. Her next rental would have GPS. With the new job she was starting, she’d be able to afford it. As she approached the front of the restaur
ant, she hesitated. To her right was the entrance to the palm and vine sheltered patio, the foliage blocking her view of all but a few patrons. To her left was a formal front entrance large enough for Paul Bunyan to enter. The massive, intricately-carved mahogany double doors made a bold statement against the gray stone wall.
The patio appeared less intimidating so she strolled through the black wrought iron gates and up two steps. She slowly wound her way around the high tables. There weren’t a lot of people—four people occupied a table off to her right, two sat in the middle of the restaurant and two were at the bar. None, though, were her guy.
She shivered, pulling her spring jacket tighter around her as a cool breeze seemed to have followed her. Ahead was an additional area enclosed with a waist-high lattice fence and pergola with vines interwoven throughout.
She climbed another two steps. The back of her neck started to tingle. She peeked over her shoulder to discover, lounging back in a cushioned chair, her guy. He tipped his beer toward her. Her gaze met his. She’d never worked in a grocery store but she felt scanned, weighed and priced. He came to his feet as she approached the table. She raised her hand in protest before he decided to do any more gentlemanly deeds, like pull out her chair.
“I’m not Cassidy. I’m really sorry you’ve gone to so much trouble only to find the wrong person.” She dropped her arm to her side. “I just want you to know I’m done playing your game. Too many nuts are coming out of the woodwork.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you,” she stared pointedly at him, “and the nut case who called me. I don’t know how many others and frankly, I don’t care. I’m done. I’m going home. So leave me alone.”
His eyes never wavered from her face but he stayed silent.
Her whole life she’d been told what to do—do this, don’t do that. He wasn’t telling her anything; he was leaving the decision up to her. But his eyes were also letting her know he wouldn’t leave her alone. Not until they’d talked.
She had no idea how long they stood staring at each other while her instincts warred inside her, but at some point she gave in and sat down. He ordered her a drink.