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It all started when I was released from prison, I read something about a little town in Oregon. I don’t remember much about the news article, but the idea that the world had a little town with the name of Cherry Falls both made me laugh and, deep down, made me think that life may have new possibilities. Even for a fuck like me. I worked my ass off on construction jobs and anything else I could manage until I had a down payment and then headed west. I bought the property with the twenty-grand I had saved and a contract for the rest.
It was my fresh start and fuck if life didn’t repay me for my vision and hard work.
I turn and take a long look at Layla and Arianna as Carter steps next to me, doing the same.
“Who would’a thought?” He elbows me before crossing his arms over his chest. We’re about the same size; oversize, that is. Both scraping up on six foot five inches, but over the years I’ve thickened up a bit while he’s hit the gym. “Two ex-cons gone legit, with fatherhood thrust upon them out of thin air.”
I shake my head. “Not me, that’s for sure,” I manage, still working to keep my filthy thoughts about Layla at bay.
I sidestep over to the tall cabinet between the windows, outside of which are the two most precious things in the world to me. My daughter, of course.
And Layla.
“You want one?” I nod at Carter as I pull out a bottle of Wild Turkey and pour a fingerful into a glass, watching him shake his head.
“Naw.” He takes a long breath, looking around the living room, then tips his head to the front door. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I can’t stay tonight.”
“What? Why the fuck not?” I throw back the shot and pour another. I need to calm my nerves and Carter telling me he’s not staying tonight as planned isn’t helping. Because maybe Layla isn’t either…
Or she is.
Both scenarios twist my insides around and the muscles in my neck harden into knots.
Carter walks over and takes a seat on the back of the sofa. “Gotta drive out to Bend tonight instead of tomorrow night.” He scratches his forehead. “One of the other trainers got in an accident so they need me there sooner. Sorry man, I wanted to spend time…but duty calls.”
Carter and I met when we both were sent up to Marquette Country Correctional in northern Michigan. We weren’t hardened criminals, just two guys on the wrong side of shit at the wrong time.
He was paroled a month before me and one of the promises we made each other while we did our time, was to never come back. He was in for a drug charge, only he took the fall for his own father, who showed his gratitude by continuing a downward spiral into drugs, dealing and other various dangerous behaviors. Two months after Carter was released, his father died of an overdose. Layla’s mother had raised her on her own since birth. She and Carter had different fathers. His was pretty useless and hers…well, he never wanted to be a father, so he signed away his rights and disappeared.
Their mother did her best. Which wasn’t that great. She let Carter stay with his father for most of his life while she poured her efforts into Layla trying to live vicariously through her. Pushing her to be everything she wasn’t. Poised, talented, beautiful, desirable…those were the things Marlene valued.
She pushed her hard, then one day, called Carter, said she needed a break and off she went saying she’d be in touch soon. Two months later, Layla got a letter. Her mother ended up in Mexico and she said she was living the life she always wanted and wouldn’t be back.
Carter took custody, her mother signed the papers without a protest, phone call or any more explanation.
So, a much older Carter took on the father role to fifteen-year-old Layla.
I’d recently been released from my own charge of grand theft. I’d slid into a friendship with a guy who dealt in luxury autos and parts. Obtained in less than legal ways. I’ll admit, I was seduced by the money and the rush of the life he showed me, but at the first sign of trouble he threw me under the bus and copped a deal. Before that, I’d never had as much as a parking ticket. The criminal life wasn’t for me.
Prison taught us both a lot. Hardened us, sure, but opened our eyes as well.
About six months after I got out, on my thirty-third birthday to be exact, I get a phone call.
‘Hi, my name is Arianna. My mother is Annie Thibideau. I have reason to believe you are my father…’
