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“I’d much prefer it stay a surprise.”
“I don’t think I can take any more surprises.”
“That’s a shame, but if you must know, we’re going to Las Vegas.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Jonathan
I fucked up. I lied to Kierra, and now nothing feels right. The guilt is eating me alive, and I know the right thing is to come clean, but I don’t want this to potentially ruin our trip.
I’d spent the last ten minutes with a smile plastered on my face, periodically checking my phone and answering text messages as Kierra zipped through the house I rented for us. It was comical how much she reminded me of an adult version of Kiyah as she pointed out various features of the house she loved—the infinity pool and hot tub, fire pit, pool table, home theater, and the California King bed in the primary suite. I should’ve been joining in on her excitement, but as always, Eliza had a knack for ruining things.
Can’t I have 48 hours with the woman I love without having to put out dumpster fires? Honestly, it’s my fault. I can turn my phone off and walk away. Eliza will do what she wants to do, and if she scars our children in the process, then that’s on her. I don’t owe her anything—not my money, time, energy, concern, understanding, or sympathy. However, I owe it to Kierra to be present in the moment.
I was in the middle of texting Eliza back when Kierra approached. I hurriedly shoved my phone into my pocket, which ultimately struck suspicion in her.
“Jon…what’s going on? You said you don’t have a caseload, and you’ve been leaving Cara instructions for your extended leave, but from what I know, Cara is a very competent woman and doesn’t need that much guidance. We called and checked on the kids, and they were playing at the park. So, what’s up?”
I sighed heavily as I tapped my password into my phone and forked it over. I watched as Kierra’s face morphed from stunned disbelief to anger and disappointment.
“What is the address?”
“What are you—”
“What…is…the…address?” she seethed through clenched teeth.
“509 Hillside Ranch,” I replied without further provocation. Kierra had never taken that tone with me, and I was unsure if I’d be able to salvage our trip.
“Hi, this is Kierra Houston,” she said after dialing 9-1-1. “I’m calling to report an individual experiencing a mental health crisis. I believe she may be an immediate danger to herself. Mhm. Mhm. Her name is Eliza Baker, and she’s located at 509 Hillside Ranch, San Antonio, Texas. I have no knowledge if she has a mental health diagnosis. I’m her children’s nanny, and for the pastseveralhours, she’s been messaging non-stop, threatening to unalive herself. Yes, with a gun. She’s sent photographic evidence of her having access to a firearm, including a picture with the gun to her head. Mhm. Mhm. Will a mental health officer be sent? Okay…how long? Recently, she has been experiencing some hardships. She went through a divorce and doesn’t have contact with her children. She indicated that not having access to her children was her current distress. Okay. Can the mental health officer call when they get there? We would check on her ourselves, but there is a restraining order, and we are currently out of state. Thank you. Yes, this is a good number to reach me. I’ll forward the picturesand text messages in case they’re needed to determine if a 5150 is necessary. Thank you so much. We’ll be on standby.”
Kierra hung up the phone and took a deep breath before addressing me.
“I think I’ve beenveryunderstanding and patient when it comes to Eliza, but at this point, I’m seriously wondering if you’re enjoying the chaotic back and forth with her. Call the cops and get that crazy bitch some help—that’s all you had to do, but noooo, that’d be too fucking easy. All this ‘don’t do this,’ ‘why are you doing this,’ and ‘think about the kids’ bullshit is exactly what it is, bullshit. That woman has been playing in your face for the last five hours, and you’ve been letting her. And I know this because if you truly wanted to get her help, then you would’ve made the call. Not only that, but you lied to me. You get one get-out-of-lie free card with me, Jonathan Warner Baker!”
I winced when Kierra said my full name.
“I-I understand that you and Eliza have history, and you may still care about her in a platonic way because she blessed you with three amazing children—as you should, but this fucked up back and forth has to have an expiration date. At this point, her behavior is escalating. She went from recklessly running her mouth to busting the windows out of your truck to physically attacking you, and now she’s playing fucking Russian Roulette. Someone is going to get hurt if you don’t get serious, and I’ll be damned if it’s me or Kiyah.”
My cell phone rang.
“Hello? Yes, this is Kierra Houston. Mhm. Mhm.”
My nerves were frazzled as Kierra spoke to the mental health officer. She told me in not so many words that she would leave with Kiyah if I couldn’t get Eliza under control, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d do anything to prevent that, even if that meant writing Eliza a fat check to disappear and never return.
“I can forward you the messages now. Let me know if you get them.”
Kierra wandered to the backyard, leaving me panicked and unsure where we stood.
She’s right. Eliza’s behavior is becoming increasingly erratic. Should I consider cooling things off between Kierra and me until I get my baggage under control?
Kierra
“Thank you so much, Officer Burrows. We’ll be able to rest easy this weekend knowing that she’ll get the help she needs. Goodbye.”
I can’t even be whisked away on a romantic getaway with my boo-thang without Eliza acting a got damn fool.
“Fuck!” I yelled, frustrated that my earlier positive mood had tanked phenomenally. I needed to blow off some serious steam if we were going to salvage this trip.
