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Something about Layla puts me on edge, but the fact that Ruby liked her instantly was a factor I couldn’t overlook.
“When are you going to be home, Daddy?”
“I can’t say for sure, pumpkin.” I kneel to ruffle her hair and kiss her on the forehead
She straightens her hair with her tiny palms and pouts. “But you’ll be back today?”
“For sure, baby.” I smile at her. “In the meantime, you’ll spend time with Layla, and she’ll draw with you, right?” I look up at Layla.
She’s wearing a white floral gown that stops just above her knees. Her black boots match the black in her hair, and the white dress fits the white in her hair. Her dimples are deep and evident on her round, tanned face when she smiles—a nervous smile that almost makes her seem like she’s hiding something.
I can’t remember who I imagined was under the mask that night a month ago. Still, she’s even prettier than I imagined. I remember what she told me about someone ruining things for her, but I decided not to push her for it. It’s her secret, and I have no right to it—at least, not yet.
“Of course, Mr. Jackson. She’s in good hands.” She takes Ruby’s hand to drive home her point.
“Tristan,” I finally say. “Call me Tristan.”
“Tristan.” The name rolls off her tongue with an unpracticed familiarity.
I stand and nod politely. They escort me to the door of my substantial home and wave me off. Now, I am on my way to the construction site with them on my mind—my lovely daughter and the nanny I slept with.
The ride to the construction site doesn’t take long. The piece of land is around three acres and is declared a town ancestral land. The land agreement deals with the town’s mayor took a bit of lobbying and bribery, but my lawyers got it done. My words to my team were clear: I want that land no matter what.
Factions in the town opposed my procurement of the land, and it took a bit of work to settle them, but one by one, we are here.
I get out of my car and familiarize myself with the construction crew. Many of them don’t know who I am, and I don’t bother rectifying that. I am simply the guy in the blue jeans and white shirt who looks like he belongs.
I spend some hours at the site, then return to my car to eat a cheeseburger I’ve gotten.
It’s amazing what you can get done with enough money in your account. I smile as I watch them break ground from behind my dark-tinted window. Work’s underway, and everything’s going according to plan.
However, money cannot get me the one thing I want, the one thing I need the most.
Deanna.
Her name rings in my head like a church bell, incessantly calling for mass. Sometimes, the grief is still too strong—so intense that I want to double over from the pain. This is one of those times. I close my eyes and try to think of something else—anything else, I don’t care what it is. I fail as her face remains on my mind, a ghost haunting me from the greater beyond.
“Mr. Jackson!” Someone taps on my window and thankfully provides me with some distraction.
A small bald man in a suit hangs outside my window. His tie is poorly knotted, and his suit is two sizes too small. I wonder what he wants. I roll down my tinted glasses, and the cold air hits my face.
“How can I help you?”
“I thought I might find you here.”
“Yeah? You checked my home?”
“Yeah, I did. Someone directed me here.”
“So, you didn’t think you might find me here; somebody told you I was here.”
The man looks at me like I have two heads. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s lies. I always want things to be said the way they were. Don’t bullshit me, just tell me how it is.
“Uh….”
“How can I help you?” I ask again, eager to close my window. I didn’t appreciate being accosted by a stranger. My annoyance must’ve been reflected on my face because the man hurried to deliver his message.
He rummages through a battered suitcase I didn’t notice he had. He looks up at me as he searches, his expression concerned. Despite the December cold, I see the sweat on his forehead.
