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“Back in his motel room, probably thinking I’m a freak…or he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Swear to God, Dar. I open my mouth and the craziest shit comes out of it. I thought I couldn’t lie, turns out I can and I do it in style!”
“I’m afraid to ask. You’ll have to tell me sometime when I’m not at work.”
“How is work?” I ask, only marginally crying now because hearing Daria’s voice helps me get control—at least a little.
“I work at the money center at Walmart and I work the nightshift. How do you think it is?”
“Fair enough,” I sigh, because I think it’s shit and I’d be right. She hates her job, but it pays the bills. There will probably be a day very soon when I wish I could get a job at Walmart, even the late shift and it will never happen—because I doubt even Walmart will hire women who have been in federal prison or locked up in an insane asylum. “Oh…”
“What?”
“Do you think pleading insanity would get me out of serving hard time?”
“I don’t know, but I can definitely vouch for the insanity part. You’re going to have to tell him, Hope.”
“I know. And soon, because I can’t have Jack getting really attached to him…”
“Yeah, that’s why you need to own up to the lies.”
“Sarcasm is not a good look for you.”
“Aren’t you afraid he’s going to find out your lies tonight?”
“How would he do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. He’s back in the motel and around his own clothes and belongings…his wallet?”
“Oh. I already have that taken care of. I went through the motel room before I left to pick him up. All his personal items are locked in my desk in the reception area. There wasn’t much. Just his wallet and it only had a few pictures in it…I couldn’t even find his driver’s license. Who travels without those?”
“Did you check his vehicle?”
“No…but I got his keys and parked it at the McDonald’s parking lot the next county over. I’ll check it out later.”
“McDonalds? Uh…why?”
“Because he’d wonder why he had a fancy car and I drive…”
“A junk heap?”
“It’s well aged,” I sigh.
“It’s a rolling wreck on wheels.”
She’s not wrong, so I don’t correct her. In fact, it’s so bad I didn’t even go get Aden in it today. I took Dar’s car and she kept mine. She swapped back out when she dropped Jack off.
“Okay, I’ve got a customer, but you need to prepare yourself woman. Come clean with your guest in the morning. Stop this madness before it gets worse.”
“I will,” I tell her, but even as I hang up I know it’s not that simple.
I’ve seen Aden angry. Even with no memory his first instinct was to sue. Can I really come clean and risk him destroying my life? Mine and my son’s? And besides that. Aden Smith is an asshole. He’s been an asshole since the moment he walked through my door. If you think about it, this is probably just karma biting him in the ass. I’m actually an agent for karma. Dishing it out and keeping the balance of the universe all good, really.
It’s a good pep talk….
I just wish I believed it.
twenty-seven
aden
“Good morning,” I call out, my voice gruff as I walk into the small house quarters where Hope and Jack—my family—are staying. It feels weird. Fuck. Everything about all of this feels weird. I barely slept last night. I couldn’t get things out of my head. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the fact that this is my life. I still can’t.
I have a million questions and I’ll need to get some of those answered. I refuse to accept all of this. I can’t. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something inside of me that screams this is not me and that it is all wrong. I found myself praying that the clothes that were in the closet didn’t fit me. That something was off—anything—so I would have hope that the man that Hope described was not me.
They fit perfectly.
Jack is the first to look at me. He doesn’t run to me this morning. He looks almost bashful. He grins and then he holds his head down as if he’s embarrassed. It’s adorable… but it makes me feel like a bastard. I have no attachment to this child at all. If he was mine, shouldn’t I? I mean isn’t that something that is programmed in when you create a child?
“How did you sleep?” Hope asks, and she looks pale. Is it because she’s worrying about me? I don’t know why. From everything she tells me, you would think she’d want to scrape me off. Hell, in her place I would.
“Okay, I guess. I didn’t notice any snoring,” I shrug.
“Well, I mean, you wouldn’t. You were sleeping,” she says, and she’s right. Still, her answer annoys me.
