So Close (28 page)

“What do you mean?”  Ray Lynne furrowed her brow.  “Why are you saying that?”

“We’ll go out with you,” I said quickly as Cheyenne sat up.  “So you can make us a copy of the report while my sister gets dressed.”  I grabbed Ray Lynne’s hand.  “To give to his daddy.” 

To avoid giving Cheyenne’s ID I charged the visit on Pax’s Amex.  Back in the car  Cheyenne secured her seatbelt without taking her eyes from her Galaxy as if her concentration could make the device morph into Tom.  We rode silently, me squeezing the wheel, Cheyenne squeezing the phone, Ray Lynne asking us what was wrong.  “We’ll talk about it later,” I repeated, which was as effective as not answering at all.  Two more months?!  September would be the
earliest
Tom could get that paternity test—wait—seven months ago would mean the baby was conceived last . . . January.  When I started travelling with Tom again.  I was the last person he saw every night and the first person he saw every the morning.  We were never separated by more than one very flimsy Hyatt wall.  I had to hum to avoid evesdropping on his phone conversations.  So he was either having silent motionless sex between midnight and five am or he had Cheyenne stashed in his garage because that was the only place I lost sight of him before Lindsay caught it. 

Spinning to call her out, I saw Ray Lynne from the corner of my eye and bit my tongue.  The doctor’s report was folded on what remained of Cheyenne’s lap.  As soon as we pulled up to the resort I was going to snatch it and fax it to Michael.  I almost felt sorry for the boot-kick coming her way.

As we crossed the bridge to Kiawah Cheyenne lowered her window to take a deep breath of the marsh air—then flicked the paper out.  My head spun to see it flitter to the guardrail then get sucked beneath the wheels of the car behind us.  It was gone.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” Ray Lynne, knowing this much, informed her.

“It’s biodegradable.”  Cheyenne turned over her shoulder.  “And you’re not in charge of me.”

Returning to the suite, Cheyenne slammed the door to her room and I steered Ray Lynne to hers.  “Billy,” I called to the lump under his duvet.  “Watch her for a few.”  He didn’t budge. 

“I don’t need to be watched!”  Ray Lynne slapped her arms at her sides. 

I tugged open the curtains, circling back to shake our brother’s sun-peeled shoulder. “Billy.”

“Sleeping,” he groaned.

“Mandy talked to Mommy,” Ray Lynne said furtively.  That woke him.

“You found her?”  He sat up.

“Almost.”  I paused at the end of his bed, my hands on my hips, my mind on the woman across the hall. 

              “Almost.  Like, a piece of Mom?  Her arm?”

              Ray Lynne’s eyes widened.

“No!  Jesus, Billy!  Just that her phone is back on.  Look, it’s been a hectic morning.  Could you please just—” 

“Is Mommy coming to get us?”  We both looked to Ray Lynne, who’d grabbed up her ragged raccoon.  She seemed afraid of my answer.  She was too young to be afraid of an answer. 

“I’m sorry.”  I sat down on the bed so we could be eye-level.  “I’m sorry this morning has been so weird.  Please don’t worry.  I’m going to talk to Mommy and it will all be awesome, I promise.” 

“I’m starting to think that word doesn’t mean what you think it means,” Billy said to his sheets.  Ray Lynne looked equally unconvinced.

“Guys, please.”  I took her hand and led her to his bed. “We’re moments from unloading Crazy.  Take yourselves to the beach or the driving range.  Anything.  I just need an hour to get her packed up and we’ll finally be done with her.”

He reached for Ray Lynne and she climbed up to snuggle into him.  “I used to hold you like that,” I said softly.  Billy nodded his chin against her hair.  Then something clunked loudly in the other room, followed by a clatter.  “Change of plans.  Don’t come out until I say.” 

I found Cheyenne half-undressed in the middle of her room and closed her door behind me.  The dress she’d been wearing was on the floor where I stood, along with her cardigan.  Her bra flew toward me and I ducked.  “Hey!” I cried as it hit down the door.

“Where is he?”  She hurled her phone and I leapt out of the way as its rubber case bounced off the mirror. 

              “You’re scaring the kids.”  The flat screen across from her bed was on CNN, but the story was about Lanier.  It was an hour earlier in New Orleans.  Tom would have just finished the local morning shows and be enroot to the rally.  “Can you please keep your clothes on for a minute while we talk?”  I picked up the bra and tossed it back at her. 

              She glared at me, making no motion to catch it.  For a moment I thought I should wait for Pax to do this, but he wasn’t due in Charleston for a few hours.  Standing there in her underwear, devoid of her usual costume, Cheyenne looked momentarily like a normal, albeit distraught, woman. 

“Look.”  I took a step closer, dropping my voice.  “Don’t you think you should start making a realistic plan for your baby?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re seven months along, which puts conception in January.  You and Tom weren’t even in the same country last October.  You told us yourself you were in Paris.  And I know where he was.”  

“It’s you.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “
You’re
the one in his ear. 
You’re
the reason he’s not calling me.  What are you telling him?  I want to know right now.”

“I’m not in his—look,
when
I talk to him I will tell him what I saw with my own eyes on that report.  I’ll tell him the truth.”

              “I want to be on that call.  I don’t trust you.”

              “
You
don’t trust
me
.”  It bore repeating.

              “It’s been two hours since I left him that message,” she said, her face quivering with desperation.  “Did you tell him our baby might have been dead?”

              “He was doing press all morning.  I just told you, I haven’t talked to him yet.”

              “So he didn’t call you back either?”  She twisted her lips, wrapping her arms under her protruding belly. “
Why
isn’t he calling us?”

              “There is no us and oh my God—” I wanted to shake her by her tiny shoulders.  “—Tom Davis is not going to call you, Cheyenne.  He’s never going to call you because
that is not his baby
!”

              “Stop!”  Her hands flew in front of her.  “Just stop that,” she said as she went to yank open a dresser drawer and dig in the mess inside. “I may be a rare spirit,” she muttered as she tugged out what looked to be a handful of copper colored string.  “But I am not . . . ”  She stepped out of her thong and pulled the bikini up around her.  “The Virgin Fucking Mary.  Your attitude is wearing on me.”  She flipped her hair down, scrunched her face as if about to plunge under water and then sprayed a foot around her head with Ellnet.  Dropping the can, she whipped up, threw open the balcony door and took a deep breath of aerosol-free air.  “I won’t have it,” she gasped as she marched back.  “I won’t.”  She swiped on gloss, stepped into towering heels and picked up her phone.  “Not from a drone like you.” 

              So.

Over her. 

“Fine.”

              “Excuse me?” she cocked her head.

              “I said fine.  I don’t give a shit what you will or won’t have.  Your jig is up.  I’m going back to the campaign and I won’t ever have to see you again.”

“Oh, right, what day of the month do they process checks?” she asked like we were in the middle of putting away groceries. 

              “Excuse me?”

              “The campaign.  They owe me for my last invoice.”

              “Invoice?”

              “For my styling services.  Or, Miss Immaculate Conception, do you think those Charvet ties Tom wears just sprouted out of the ground in
Florida
,” she sneered. 

“You’re styling Tom’s ties.”   I almost laughed.

“His ties, socks, pocket squares.  They sure as hell aren’t from
her
.  That woman couldn’t appeal to a younger demographic if—”

“That woman,” I snapped, “had
three
children with Tom, who is her
husband
.  And I will endure hearing about every blowjob you gave him in your fucked up mind, but I will not listen to you trash talk Lindsay Davis.  Are we clear?”  My heart was pounding. 

We stared at each other.  She pulled the triangles of her suit-top forward and shimmied her bulging breasts into place.  “He’ll call.  And he’ll come.  And I promise you’ll be sorry you ever took that tone with me.”

I watched her march out of the suite, for all intents and purposes, naked. 

Pax was in a meeting.  Jeanine was in a meeting.  Michael was in a meeting.  The whole fucking world was in a meeting.  I texted them all a coded SOS and then stood in her room.  Just stood there, among half-drunk bottles of Fiji, scarf-draped lamps and spilled-over candles.  Fluorescent and animal print and fluorescent animal print fabrics spilled from opened drawers—Delilah’s mess, only bankrolled.  My phone rang.  “Michael.”

              “Hey, Amanda.”

              “She’s
working
for the campaign?”

              “Well, that’s overstating it.”  I could hear the whistles and shouts of the rally behind him and turned to the TV.  Tom was about to take the podium.

              “But she’s his
stylist
?”

              “I don’t know about that.  She sent him a few things.  Look, did you calm her down?”

              “How long have you known about this?  About them.”  CNN’s camera panned the huge crowd.  I studied the screen as if I could spot Michael.

              “Same as you.  Where is she now?”

“Swimming at the pool.  Stripping in the bar.  I don’t know.”

“Is she still worked up?”

There was Tom, taking the stage in his shirtsleeves and a solid blue tie that told me nothing of its origin. “She wants to talk to him.  But they did an ultra sound—there’s no question that this baby was conceived in January and we all know where Tom was then.  There weren’t any holes in his schedule, that’s for sure.”

“Holes?”

“Michael.”  I waved my hand.  “The point is she knows she’s caught.  She threw the doctor’s report out the car window, but I’m sure if you call the office and say you’re her husband—”

              “Amanda!”  He was angry with me.  It was the last thing I expected.  “We cannot afford to antagonize the woman right now.  You get that, right?”

              “But she’s lying!”

              “She’s left some very upsetting messages for him this morning,” he accused as if I was her ventriloquist.

              “Well, she was scared,” I balked.  “Look, can’t you get the police to talk to her?    She has nothing on him.”  Billy came to the doorway.  I gave him a one-minute finger, but he didn’t budge.

              “I hear you.  And that’s a huge relief.  But a transgression occurred at some point.  That’s a fact.  We can’t know who might have seen something and put it together.  We can’t have her out there making any kind of a scene.”

              I went to the balcony.  “What makes you think she’s going to let anyone test this baby after it’s born?”

              “First we deal with the known’s,” he invoked his favorite saying as Billy followed me out.  There was nowhere else to go but down.  “How’re you set for cash?  Can you front a few more months?”

              “A few more months!”  I spun to the waves crashing below.  “Michael, I have my whole family here!  I can’t—we have to get home already.  I need to get back to the campaign—”

              “Yes, right.  Of course.”

              Billy came to stand at my side.  “So you’ll send someone out to relieve me?”

              “Yes,” he said emphatically.  “We will.”

              “When?”

              “Soon.”

              “Tonight?”  I sounded like Ray Lynne. 

              “It’s going to take a day or two to find the right person to let into this circle, Amanda.  I don’t have to tell you we have our hands full.  You’re doing an incredible job, okay?  Your loyalty and discretion have not gone unnoticed over here.”

              I closed my eyes against Billy’s stare.  “What do you want me to say to her?  She knows I know.”

              “
Whatever.  She needs.  To hear
.  We’re going to take care of you, Amanda.  Sit tight and we’ll talk shortly.”  He hung up.

              “You okay?”  Billy studied me.

              “Yeah,” I managed.

              “So what’d Crazy pull now?”

              “Turns out that it’s not my boss’s baby.”  I slid down the railing to a crouch. 

              “So, then you’re done.  You’re off the hook.”  He sat on the end of the nearby chaise.

              “Right.”

“You got Ray Lynne all worked up,” he chastised.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded.

“But it’s a good sign Mom’s phone’s back on.”  I tried.  “Maybe her boyfriend’s job started and she’s making plans for you guys.”

              “Maybe you’ve been with Crazy too long.”

              “Billy.”  I reached my hand to his knee.  “They just told me that in two days we’ll be leaving.  We have to get back to real life, right?  What do you want me to do?”

              He jerked up to stand.  “Whatever you have to.  Call her.  Don’t call her.  Just keep it to your damn self.  Ray Lynne doesn’t need your bullshit on top of Mom’s.”

              “I’m not bullshitting.”

                “Really? ’Cause you’re there for Ray or you’re not.  Just rip the fucking Band-Aid off already.  I’ll take care of her.  It’s not like I don’t know how.”

              I squinted up at him, standing backlit by the midday sun.  He was tall and certain and dead set on taking charge.  For a sickening moment I recognized the temptation Delilah had been unable to resist when I was the one looming and she’d been the one crouched.  The terrifyingly ease of letting a child’s desperation for order seem like an ability to restore it.  I dropped my head to my hands to get my bearings and when I looked back up, he’d left for the pool and taken Ray Lynne with him.