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“Hey, baby.”
“Stop, Marilyn. I’m just calling to tell you I got the appointment set up.”
“Yeah?”
“They were booked solid, so it’s in two weeks. On Monday at ten-thirty.”
“Where?” Her tone had changed. It was like she didn’t want the DNA test to happen, which made him skeptical about the whole situation.
“The free clinic on the highway. Be there on time, Marilyn. Let’s get this done. Allow me to be a father to him if he’s mine.”
“If he’s yours,” she scoffed. “He is yours, Mikey. Stop saying that. Once you see him, you won’t even need a fucking DNA test.”
“I need to know for sure. We weren’t in the best frame of mind back then. We weren’t making the best decisions. I’m different now. And I just need to be completely certain. Just do this for me. Do this one thing for me, Marilyn.”
“Oh, prison rehabilitated you, huh? Yeah, right, Mikey. Don’t forget where you came from.”
“Be there, Marilyn. If he’s mine, it shouldn’t be an issue. And it won’t cost you a dime.”
“I gotta go. My husband is home.”
The call ended and he slid the phone into his pocket, exhaling a long line of cigarette smoke from his nose. He had mixed feelings – being a father was something he always thought about. Being tied to Marilyn forever due to a child made him sick to his stomach. He’d man up and do what he had to do, even if it meant having to deal with the woman he once loved and no longer wanted anything to do with.
Chapter Seven
“Thank you all for coming this evening.” Haize made her way from the podium, assessing how many donuts were left. The later crowd didn’t eat them as much as the early birds, and she figured she could squeeze another day out of the pastries. They weren’t picky when it came to free food and coffee.
Backing up, she smoothed her hands down her skirt and smiled at a couple of regulars who were leaving. She bumped into someone and immediately turned around.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was go…” She stopped when she saw who it was. The man on parole who had made it clear he was here solely to get proof for his parole officer. The man she had made it her personal mission to crack his thick exterior and truly help him. “Hello, Mr. Brennan.”
“Please, call me Michael.” The corners of his eyes squinted, on the brink of a smile, or maybe some kind of realization Haize couldn’t pinpoint.
“Have a paper for me to sign, Michael?” She extended her hand.
“I do.” He scratched the back of his neck and slid a folded paper from his back pocket.
She scribbled her signature and printed her name on the same line. “At least you’re consistent.”
He took the paper and stared at it a bit longer than normal. “Thanks, Ms. Mullen.”
“Haize.”
“Huh?” His thick eyebrow arched.
“I’ll call you Michael. You call me Haize. No need to be formal. After all, you’re just here to get a paper signed, right?” She told herself to stop with the sarcasm, but she couldn’t help it. Some people responded well to it… some didn’t, and she didn’t know him well enough to know his sense of humor.
He folded it up and patted it in his palm. “I mean… I was, yeah.”
“Was?” Haize stacked up the donuts in their container, noticing they were the only two left in the room.
“I admit I was going through the motions Ms. Haize. Truth be told, I feel like the parole board is beating a dead horse with my case.”
“Yeah?” She wiped her hands with a napkin and poured herself a cup of coffee, offering him one, which he gladly accepted.
“I’ve had my intake with a counselor. I check in with my P.O. And then I come to these meetings.” He spread his hands and looked around. “Is that normal? Do you see that a lot?”
“I’m not sure there is a normal, Michael. And as for beating a dead horse, it seems you need all the help you can get. Let me ask you something.” She took a sip of coffee, cringing at how strong it was. “How much is all this costing you?”
