Jack Who? (Silver Strings G Series) (4 page)

Jack? please call me when you can.

Sent 11:32 AM

Hey if this number is still Jack, please call, It’s really important. If it’s not, text back. Let me know? Thanks, this is Marissa

Sent 12:21 PM

Ring: Ring: Ring:Ring:Ring

“Heh, voicemail suckers. Try again”...BEEEP

“
Hi, Jack, it’s Marissa, can you please call me at your earliest convenience, it’s
important.”

Hacking with a spatula at the ground beef browning in a skillet, she intently watched through the window contemplating her next inevitable move. It had to happen. There was no getting around it. Dread rose like bile in her throat every time she thought about it. The meat cooked, and she drained it before pouring in the spaghetti sauce then strained the noodles from the other pot.

Was the waiting the hardest part?

Her focus remained beyond the patio doors to the tiny backyard as she turned the sauce on low and then snatched her phone from the counter top. With a few clicks, she found the number and pressed send.

“What?”

The realization that a real voice and not a ‘sucker voicemail’ had answered stunned her into initial silence.

“Jack? It’s Mar-”

“Marissa who?”

“We need to talk.” Ignoring his cool detachment, she prodded on and even contemplated a quick swig of the vodka atop the fridge.

“We fucked once. I can’t think of anything we have to talk about.”

Words colder than January gave her pause, and she wondered why she was being treated in such a hateful way before she dropped her bomb. “Actually, it was twice. And that’s what we need to talk about.”

His end was so silent through a few beats of her heart, and then his words seemed wary. “I’m listening.”

“I got pregnant.”

The laugh roaring through the phone, in all of her scenarios, was not a possibility she had imagined. Because he wasn’t speaking, she took it as an opportunity to press on.

“And I need to talk to you about your–”

“Do not even say my kid. Because there is no way.”

“The second time, in the shower, we didn’t use anything.” It felt wrong to bring such sweet memories into a hostile, hateful conversation, and she squeezed her eyes closed for a second willing the actual image away before it became tainted.

“We didn’t DO anything.”

“We did enough.” Angrily, she forced the statement through gritted teeth. Was he really going to pretend ignorance and argue the notion that pulling away at the last second was adequate birth control?

“I don’t believe you. I don’t believe this.” The words were still chilly, but the hardness left his tone, and she couldn’t get a grip on the new emotion.

“Believe it since I’m looking at your child right now.” Continuously, she stared through the glass drawing strength from the tiny figure playing on the patio.

The seconds ticked by, and only background sounds came through: the light pound of music, the whip of wind on the phone mic, the rumble of traffic. She didn’t know whether to imagine him in his car or standing on a porch at his home. Then he spoke, and both images dropped away.

“Not mine, you’re not. You are not looking at my kid.” The denial was firm, and she wondered if he was willing it to be true, or if he actually believed it so.

Dropping to a chair, she took in the brown eyes, large and innocent. Thick dark hair waved around his cheeky face, and she twisted a strand of her lighter strands. “You’re wrong.”

“And you’re just now telling me? Three years later?!
Bullshit!”

“I NEVER wanted to have this conversation.” She didn’t correct him that it was now five, not three, years later. “I never wanted to bother you–” Here she stopped at the very idea that her child, the best thing to ever happen in her life, could be a bother. “I’m only calling you now because–”

“Because?” he prompted, not as patient when she was the one letting the clock tick.

“Because of–”

“Money.” His tone was disparaging. “You are wanting money aren’t you?”

“No!” Even though she had envisioned that deduction from him, it stung. “No. Well, sort of. But it’s –”

“That’s what I thought.” Matter of factual was the retort. That drawl, even from hurtful words, still had the ability to tease her eardrums.

“No it’s NOT what you thought– think. You see, our son–”

“This conversation is over. Continue it with my legal guy if you must.”

“Jack–” But the disconnect tone rang in her ear.

Angry and embarrassed, she dropped the phone on the table and again squeezed her eyes closed, this time against the threat of tears. Once before, she had the task of explaining ‘Mommy crying’ to a toddler, and it had been enough to keep the water works at bay through even the most heartbreaking times. And, there had been a lot of those in his young life.

Straightening to her feet, she slid open the door and forced a smile to the tot who was intently humming out car sounds. A massive collection of Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars were strewn about the wading pool. Kneeling beside him, she randomly picked one out and rolled it around for a few seconds before fiddling idly with the tires.

“You ready to eat, sweetie?”

When he nodded, she plucked him from the couple of inches of water, draping a towel on him as she settled him in a chair. A brown lab rose from the patio and plodded over to sit down again. The pet was never more than a couple of feet from his young master.

Pulling at the Velcro straps, she slipped tiny braces on each leg before tightening them again.

“Okay.” Helping him from the chair, she passed his crutches over. “Let’s get out of this sun and get into some spaghetti!”

“Momma?” Mere minutes later, he was looking up at her, his face slightly smeared with marinara sauce. “Does surgery hurt?”

“No. You will be asleep. Then, you will wake up and feel sick for a few days. But that won’t matter because you will know that soon you will be able to throw those crutches away.”

“Will Bally sleep with me in the hospital?”

Looking over the laptop and the bills she was paying, she frowned at the dog and hurriedly snatched her son’s utensil from his hand. “Tristan Jack Duplei! Do not feed Bally from your fork!

Tossing it into the sink and leaning back on her bar stool enough to reach a clean one, she passed it over. “Bally will stay home, and Aunt Liv will take care of her. Because we will only be away a few days, and a pup wouldn’t be happy without a backyard.”

“Because Bally can’t use the potty.”

“Because Bally can’t use the potty,” she agreed with his logic and with a sweep of her pen signed the first hefty check sum– the down payment for the procedures that would eventually allow her son to literally stand on his own two feet.

“
MARISSA! HOLD UP
!”

From punching the clock upon arrival, all through breaks, through every minute of the workday, she had worked to avoid Clayton. Now, just seconds after punching out and slipping her time card into its slot, he caught her.

Physically caught. Narrowing her eyes into a glare, she flicked his hand from her arm using only the tips of her fingers. “What’s up?” Unable to act a total bitch, she phrased the polite inquiry but did not meet his attractive eyes.

“How about a drink?” The invitation came from his mouth while his eyes strayed to the stretch of the monogrammed black blouse hugging her chest.

Pretending not to notice the direction of his gaze, she turned while declining. “Sorry, no. I’ve got to get home to my little guy.”

“Later?” From behind, she heard the time card stamp, and he rushed to match her strides. “We can make it late, like, last time.”

Fishing her keys from her purse, she stalled hoping for any type of interruption.

“Still hard to believe you have a kid.” His gaze roved over the body that spent at least an hour daily on the stair master or some other exercise contraption, and no doubt, he was also pulling from his own up close and personal memories. It was an oddity, but the same things that would turn her on prior to dating these guys, turned her off after knowing them in a biblical sense. Right now, she just wanted to mace his roving eyes.

However, she realized the creepy compliment could be turned into the diversion she longed for. Shining her sweetest smile, she gushed, “That’s why I like you Clayton. You keep us girls feeling good about ourselves!” Deliberately, she brought his constant flirtation with every other female in the casino into play. “Look, there’s Gina. Her dice were cold all day. Go work your magic!”

The brush off was clearly unexpected, but he quickly recovered upon getting an eyeful of the tight skirt their coworker had exchanged her black uniform slacks for.
Because most women vied for Clayton’s attention, she felt no guilt when he deviated his course directly to Gina and she alone made her way to the employee parking garage.

Less than twenty minutes later, she let herself into the tiny suburban home she had managed to finance a couple of years ago. The ability to pay the mortgage would be jeopardized within a few months– once the medical bills began rolling in.

Dropping her purse and tote to a chair in the hall, she remained in the shadows of the hallway while unwrapping the light jacket from her waist. The den was at the end of this corridor and as usual, Tristan sat in his mini sized recliner avidly watching his favorite shows. Behind him, Olivia lay on the sofa swiping on her tablet. The volume on the television was loud enough that neither had noticed her arrival, and she lingered going through the mail on the narrow console table.

Tossing a couple of bills aside exposed a large cardboard priority mail envelope at the bottom of the stack bearing Olivia’s signature on the receiving line. The addressee was herself, and the return address, a law firm in–

California.

Uneasily, she recalled the conversation with an attorney from the legal department that represented Jack. Upon hearing her story, the lawyer’s attitude had not been any better than Jack’s demeanor had been that day on the phone. Thinking back on it always saddened her because, at least, Jack had not heard the entire situation before hating on her. The lawyer, even after being enlightened that the existence of a child was not the only issue, continued his rudeness to the very close of the conversation.

“Hey!” Olivia sat up with a welcoming smile and raised her voice over the t.v. volume for Tristan’s benefit, “Guess who’s home!”

“Momma!” Tristan scrambled for his crutches.

Shoving the thick envelope back to the mail pile, she crouched, sprinting at the same time to swing him up, and twirl him around. “Gotcha!” It was a race every evening to see if she could reach him before he situated his crutches enough to walk. Sometimes, he beat her, but either way, they both ended up on the couch in a tickling match.

Olivia cleared his meal mess from the sofa table and returned from the kitchen with a rag to wipe it down.

Shortly after Tristan’s first birthday, he began exhibiting problems walking. When tests concluded a medical diagnosis, several long-term plans changed, including childcare. Olivia valiantly moved to a different work shift since Marissa couldn’t afford a one on one caregiver, and her son needed special attention that would be difficult in a group of children.

With one last kiss, she let Tristan get back to his show, and with an appreciative sniff, she inquired of Olivia, “What smells so good? Did you cook?”

Busting with laughter, Olivia denied the ridiculous, and Marissa found the Chinese delivery spread across the stovetop.

“Made my bonus this month.” While handing over a clean plate, her friend shrugged off the slight cost that was never in Marissa’s tight budget.

Olivia could say what she wanted to say, but Marissa knew her friend’s income had always been subsidized by her parents, both during and after college, and up until her marriage to a successful stockbroker who now did the subsidizing.

Marissa’s own family was not so well off. Briefly, she had gone to college on a scholarship that she lost due to a lacking grade point average during the third semester. That part of her past held too much partying and too little studying, something she regretted now as she seemed stuck in a poverty level income job.

“And,” with a flourish, her friend opened the freezer and extracted the blender jar, “I made margaritas.”

“Why does everyone think I need a drink tonight?” Marissa wondered aloud. Olivia questioned this random speculation, and as she watched her glass fill to the rim with the slushy lime drink, she filled her bartender in on the latest Clayton gossip of this afternoon.

“You knew what you were getting into!” Simpering, Olivia poured herself a drink as well. “I just hope he was worth it.” As usual, her friend never missed an opportunity to try and pry any dirty details.

Nothing had changed over the years. Olivia was still far too controlling of Marissa’s love life. Yet, everything had changed. Olivia had grown out of her wild ways, and Marissa had grown into them.

Once a month or so, Olivia would keep Tristan overnight, and Marissa would meet a date somewhere. Date in this definition was liberal. She went out to hook up, and did so on a holy grail search for that special chemistry found with only one man ever– Tristan’s father.

Never had she told anyone the identity of her child’s father. Not even Olivia.

After much pestering over many months, just before Tristan was born, Marissa had finally appeased her inquisitive friend with a half-truth, implying a hook up with a guy who could not commit to a family. Once, when the subject came up, she had even let Olivia guess and believe that the one night stand mystery guy was married.

Tonight, regarding Clayton, Marissa caved at last. “He really wasn’t worth it.” She muttered the confession with a sad sigh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t him. I just wasn’t into it I guess.”

Her job as a gaming supervisor required her to stand all day, and her knees suddenly felt the strain. Sinking to a bar stool at the counter, she tiredly stared into her drink.

“Rissa, I wish you would let me set you up with Michael’s friend Joel.” Olivia spoke of her husband of two years, and his friend already mentioned to Marissa several times. “Hot, and rich.” Coming to lean on her arms over the bar, her friend’s sympathetic eyes skittered to Tristan who was popping open a fortune cookie with his gaze still glued to the television. “You need rich...”

The envelope in the hall flashed to mind. Marissa was afraid to read the reply. Would she have to get her own lawyer? Spend money she didn’t have to acquire the money needed for Tristan? Where would she come up with the retainer amount for her own legal counsel? Would Jack continue making her feel like some slutty schemer who set out from the get go to shake him down?

Wouldn’t it be easier to abandon this plan of getting the money from Tristan’s father and instead get Tristan a new father? Could she give up this fantasy of finding another spiritual and chemical connection?

Would the details of Jack’s skin against her, his hands, his mouth, his everything, ever fade into simply a fond memory?

“Did you say you had a picture?” Her voice felt small, and she gulped a few fortifying drinks as Olivia flew to the sofa and returned, just that fast, clutching her phone.

After sliding her finger across the face a few times, Olivia slid the device across the bar to Marissa. Delaying a few uneasy seconds, Marissa instead reached for a straw from the colorful straw dispenser that Tristan had begged to buy during a dollar store excursion.

Lifting the phone, she studied a more than average handsome face, and since the picture had been snapped by a pool, an extremely fit, shirtless body. Intently watching her reaction, Olivia let a few seconds tick by then exploded, “Well?”

“You’re right. He’s hot. But, I need to think about it. And I can’t go out with anyone until after Tristan’s surgery.”

Unconsciously, both of their eyes went to the calendar on the fridge and the large notation
on a date exactly a week from the day’s date.

“Oh! The mail! You have a certified delivery!” Surprisingly, Olivia abandoned the subject of Marissa dating Joel to inform of the envelope she did not know had already been seen. Then, she went so far as to take it upon herself to fetch it, mumbling about the return address being an attorney.

Once, over mixed drinks in the past, Olivia had asked why Marissa wasn’t solving the money problems concerning her son by involving his father, and after explaining what she could, Marissa had begun keeping her friend slightly updated. At this point, Olivia knew only that Marissa had appealed to this man through an attorney.

With her drink now drained, Marissa felt the courage needed to rip open the cardboard casing. Olivia busied herself filling the glasses again and then nonchalantly leaned against the fridge after returning the pitcher to the freezer.

Marissa’s eyes scanned the posh letterhead and then the letter itself before beginning to silently read:

‘Ms. Marissa Duplei,

Regarding our phone conversation on the date of
blah blah blah
; here she began to skim; ‘after much consideration, on behalf of Mr. J. L. Storm, enclosed is what he feels is a fair sum pending the outcome of a paternity test,’
blah blah
. ‘By cashing the enclosed check, you are entering into a legal commitment to obtain a paternity test no later than,’
blah
. ‘The paternity test is to be conducted at one of the following facilities,’
blah blah
. ‘If a paternity test meeting these specifications is negative, you will abandon all claims of Jack Storm as the paternal parent of your child, Tristan Jack Duplei. If said test proves positive, you agree to sign a disclosure agreement, and in addition to the enclosed monies, a new financial agreement will be drawn up, pending a custody settlement.

Custody settlement?