Eye of the Storms (Eye of the Storms #1) (7 page)

Olivia could spin it how she wanted, but I knew my friend’s income had always been subsidized by her parents, both during and after college, and up until her marriage to a successful stockbroker who now did the subsidizing.

My own family was not so well off. Briefly, I had gone to college on a scholarship, which I lost due to a lacking grade point average during the third semester. That part of my past held too much partying and too little studying, something I regretted now as I seemed stuck in a mediocre job.

“And,” with a flourish, my friend opened the freezer and extracted the blender jar, “I made margaritas.”

“Why does everyone think I need a drink tonight?” I wondered aloud. Olivia questioned this random speculation, and as I watched my glass fill to the rim with the slushy lime drink, I filled my bartender in on the latest Clayton gossip of this afternoon.

“You knew what you were getting into!” Simpering, Olivia poured herself a drink as well. “I just hope he was worth it.” As usual, my friend never missed an opportunity to try and pry any dirty details.

Nothing had changed over the years. Olivia was still far too controlling of my love life. Yet, everything had changed. Olivia had grown out of her wild ways, and I had grown into them.

Once a month or so, Olivia would keep Tristan overnight, and I would meet a date somewhere. Date in this definition was liberal. I went out to hook up, and did so on a Holy Grail search for the special chemistry found with only one man ever– Tristan’s father.

Never had I told anyone the identity of my child’s father. Not even Olivia.

After much pestering over many months, just before Tristan was born, I had finally appeased my inquisitive friend with a half-truth, implying a hook up with a guy who could not commit to a family. Once, when the subject came up, I had even let Olivia guess and believe the one-night-stand mystery guy was married.

Tonight, regarding Clayton, I caved at last. “He really wasn’t worth it.” I muttered the confession with a sad sigh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t him. I just wasn’t into it, I guess.”

My job as a gaming supervisor required me to stand all day, and my knees suddenly felt the strain. Sinking to a bar stool at the counter, I tiredly stared into my drink.

“Rissa, I wish you would let me set you up with Michael’s friend, Joel.” Olivia spoke of her husband of two years, and his friend, already mentioned to me several times. “Hot and rich.” Coming to lean on her arms over the bar, my friend’s sympathetic eyes skittered to Tristan who was popping open a fortune cookie with his gaze still glued to the television. “You need rich…”

The envelope in the hall flashed to mind. I was afraid to read the reply. Would I have to get my own lawyer? Spend money I didn’t have to acquire the money needed for Tristan? Where would I come up with the retainer amount for my own legal counsel? Would Jack continue making me feel like some slutty schemer who set out from the get-go to shake him down?

Wouldn’t it be easier to abandon this plan of getting the money from Tristan’s father and instead get Tristan a new father? Could I give up this fantasy of finding another spiritual and chemical connection?

Would the details of Jack’s skin against me, his hands, his mouth, his everything, ever fade into simply a fond memory?

“Did you say you had a picture?” My voice felt small, and I gulped a few fortifying drinks as Olivia flew to the sofa and returned, just that fast, clutching her phone.

After sliding her finger across the face a few times, she slid the device across the bar to me. Delaying a few uneasy seconds, I instead reached for a straw from the colorful dispenser that Tristan had begged to buy during a dollar store excursion.

Lifting the phone, I studied a more than average handsome face, and since the picture had been snapped by a pool, an extremely fit, shirtless body. Intently watching my reaction, Olivia let a few seconds tick by then exploded, “Well?”

“You’re right. He’s hot. But, I need to think about it. And I can’t go out with anyone until after Tristan’s surgery.”

Unconsciously, both of our eyes went to the calendar on the fridge and the large notation on a date exactly a week from today’s date.

“Oh! The mail! You have a certified delivery!” Surprisingly, Olivia abandoned the subject of me dating Joel to inform of the envelope she did not know had already been seen. Then, she went so far as to take it upon herself to fetch it, mumbling about the return address being an attorney.

Once in the past, over mixed drinks, Olivia had asked why I wasn’t solving the money problems concerning my son by involving his father. After explaining what I could, I had begun keeping my friend slightly updated. At this point, Olivia knew only that I’d appealed to this man through an attorney.

With my drink now drained, I felt the courage needed to rip open the cardboard casing. Olivia busied herself filling the glasses again and then nonchalantly leaned against the fridge after returning the pitcher to the freezer.

My eyes scanned the posh letterhead and then the letter itself before beginning to silently read:

I skimmed a moment, then picked up…

Custody settlement?

Custody settlement! A pulse began to loudly pound in my ears, and the sudden lightheartedness was not due to the ingested alcohol.

“Rissa? Are you okay?” Olivia stooped to recover the sheets, which had fluttered to the floor, and swore, although cursing was something we never did around Tristan. “Shit! This is, this is…”

Jolting to my senses, I snatched the paper from my friend’s hand. Protectively, I folded Jack’s name from sight, although, if the swearing was any indication, it sounded like my secret was out.

However, it was the smaller sheath that had Olivia gaping–the mentioned check. I almost fainted in shock.

The amount was generous beyond belief. As dictated by legal jargon, the money remained mine to keep no matter the outcome of the paternity test. Fortunately, it was drawn on the law firm account, and there was no ‘Jack Storm’ signature exposing a secret I was legally bound to keep.

The money was enough to pay for his doctors, surgery, hospital stay, and allow for a top physical therapy program. Yet, if I cashed the check, did that create an obligation to go through with a custody hearing when the paternity test proved Jack to be Tristan’s father?

“Rissa, this is wonderful!”

Was it?
It seemed like a curse in disguise of a blessing.

Olivia was dancing around, and she griped because she wanted a celebration drink. Responsibly, in preparation for the drive home, Liv put her glass into the sink, ran water into it, and then turned. One hand settled determinedly on her hip. “It’s past time you give the deets on Russ.”

“What?”

My exclamation did not stem from ignorance of the slang. Olivia often used deets for details and totes for totally, along with other talk that kept her a popular dealer with the younger crowd in the casino.

“Give it up, Rissa. Is he the, you know,” dropping her voice to a whisper, she continued, “sperm donor?”

“You read my texts?” There was no alternative way anyone could know that unspoken name.

“Surely you’re not going to go ratchet after all this time!”

I continued to stare my friend down.

“Alright, yes! A long time ago, I read your texts. You were asleep at my house and got a text really late. I was still awake and looked at it just in case it was a schedule change. It said, ‘Hi.’” Liv waved her hands. “Big deal.”

Having committed those texts to memory, by reading them to myself so many times over the years, I breathed a little easier. However, the relief I felt at thinking the snooping had stopped before the next text exchange, months later, was short-lived.

“Then you clammed up about the, ah, sperm donor. You were napping one day, and I looked at you all huge and prego, and I couldn’t stop myself. I checked your texts and calls for the month it would have happened, and I found that you and Russ had texted, and he sounded personal with you.”

“Liv!” The intrusion of privacy was horrifying, only because of the situation. It wasn’t as if we had never spied in each other’s phones for one reason or another.

“I’m really sorry!” In my friend’s agitation, both hands raised simultaneously tucking loose strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Finally, bringing her eyes to mine, she whined, “I’m your best friend. Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

Looking away from her gaze, which suddenly made me feel guilty for keeping such a secret, I quietly asked, “Why Russ? Why is that your guess?”

Continuing to stare dead on, Olivia solemnly returned, “Because you always tell me about every guy. And never, ever, have you mentioned Russ.”

Or Jack
. My mind silently retorted.

Jack who?
The text replayed in my head, but for some reason, the ‘Jack’ texts in the Russ conversation had gone over or out of Olivia’s head. Maybe my friend had been skimming and had missed that crucial clue. It certainly didn’t sound as if Liv had looked at the dates in the text series since the fateful month would have contained only two from ‘Russ’ and the intimate texts had come months later. Five fat months later to be exact.

From the den, Tristan’s high-pitched laughs while watching his shows became the only break in the stretching silence.

Rounding the bar to the sink, I dumped my glass in and stared after it. Without turning, I spoke, “Liv, if I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a living soul. Not even Michael.”

“Okay.” The response was immediate and bordered on reverent.

“I mean it. I signed a legal agreement swearing myself to silence.” Pivoting, I saw my friend’s eyes had slightly rounded at the seriousness of my tone and words.

“Okay, I promise.”

“The day we went to the Hang Fest, the dog I told you I found…” Picking at a fingernail which was badly in need of a manicure before my job wrote me up over it, I considered one last time whether it was wise to confess. “The dog belonged to the Russ that you saw on the phone.”

“So who is Russ?” Olivia prompted when I didn’t immediately continue.

“He was one of the musicians that day. I’m sure he's Tristan’s… that it’s him.” Nervously, I stuttered and, like Olivia had minutes ago, avoided the word father. Cautiously, I sent a look to the den where Tristan was fitting together a Hot Wheels track. “But that’s all I can tell you right now.”

The evening had become stressful enough without adding to the chain of events, and I halted the attempted confession when envisioning Olivia’s typical overblown reaction.

My eyes locked onto my best friend’s fake eyelashes, imploring her to understand. “The letter that came with the check stipulates a paternity test. I’ll tell you everything soon. And, I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I don’t know what I would have done, or would do, without you. And you, of all people, deserve the truth.”

Nodding in acceptance, Olivia moved around, gathering her things in preparation to leave. Bending for a hug and kiss, she said her goodbye to Tristan and then spun about to me.

Even from across the room, I could physically feel my friend’s mind spinning like the hamster wheel that had held such fascination for Tristan on one of his shows.

Slowing, stopping, full speed, again and again.

Olivia’s brows puckered. “He was in a band? Or with a band?”

The question was predictable from Olivia, but the reasoning behind it had changed over the years.

Five years ago, Olivia would have asked to determine banging status. Tonight, it was to aid her in her Google search later. I almost smiled but felt too guilty at the thought of Olivia wasting the rest of the night attempting to cross-reference ‘Russ’ to the band appearances of that fateful year.

Closing the space between us, I hugged my friend, much tighter than in the usual girly greeting or goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

The letter and check weighed on my thoughts, and I knew a crying jag would come later in the shower, muffled from tiny ears.

“Momma? Did you eat your fortune cookie? You can have it if you want.”

Olivia waved a last goodbye as Tristan spoke, then let herself out the door.

“No. Do you want it?”

Excitedly, he nodded in confirmation and added, “But you can keep your fortune.”

“Cool! I need a good fortune!” Oh how I needed two different definitions of fortune.

After having his cookie, we adjourned to the spare room, which over the years had evolved into a mini gym.

Following a series of stretching exercises, Tristan began on the exercycle, sized for him, and I reclined on the weight bench. The workout ritual was something we did together. The main reason I participated was to encourage my son who was forced by circumstances to make it an everyday part of his life. However, the results in the mirror also pushed me on.

I was never sure if the quest to keep a trim and toned body was for the overweight adolescent girl who had once sat home dateless during those first awkward school dances, or the twenty-something year old ‘Mariss’ who secretly hoped to one day be a family with Jack Storm.

The eating disorder of adolescence had returned with a vengeance five years ago, and I knew stress was the root of the problem. The only times I didn’t struggle with weight was during times of being content with my life.