Hold On

Within seconds, she returned, Good to hear, Cher. But what your mother wants to know is why he was holding your hand last night or just why he was with my baby girl.

I hated doing it, but I didn’t want my mom to know just how incredibly stupid I was. She knew I could be stupid because I’d handed her a lot of stupid for twenty-five years before I started to get smart. She was now living in a world where her daughter was a little less stupid. She didn’t need to think I was sliding back.

So I lied.

He was just tweaked, I sent. Then added, He happened to be at the bar when he got the call. Worried that the dude was at large in our neighborhood. You know he’s a good guy, Mom.

I know that. I’m glad he’s OK, she returned, and in her first three words, even through a text, I actually felt her disappointment that a good guy like Merry wasn’t holding her daughter’s hand in the way she hoped he would.

Then again, he was.

And I’d fucked it up.

Shit.

Two words. I knew Merry would accept them. Easy to type them out.

I’m sorry.

I turned my attention back to my phone, hit what I had to hit, and put it to my ear.

It rang three times before Vi answered, “Hey, babe.”

“You got lunch plans today?” I asked.

“I do now,” she answered. “Frank’s? The Station? Feelin’ like Chinese?”

“My pad,” I told her.

“Cool,” she replied. “What time?”

“Noon good for you?”

“Yeah. And hey,” she went on, “Bobbie’s got mums on sale for half off and I got my tradesman discount. You want some for your outside pots?”

“That’d be good. The usual. Purple and white.”

“Hmm…not sure she has white. But she has cream.”

“That’ll work.”

“Right. See you at noon.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause before she asked, “Hey, you okay?”

“Not even close.”

“Oh shit,” she whispered, then asked tentatively, “Merry?”

“Just come at noon, Vi.”

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Later.”

“’Bye.”

I hit the screen to disconnect and tossed my phone on the table. I grabbed my cup of coffee, took a sip, put it to the table, and looked unseeing out the window.

I did this a long time, eyes dry.

When I finally snapped myself out of it, I realized I had just enough time to shower, slap on my makeup, do my hair, and get to the grocery store so I could make Vi a decent meal that didn’t involve microwave popcorn, chocolate, or Funyuns.

But before I headed out of the kitchen, I turned off the oven, grabbed a potholder, and pulled out the plate of waffles.

They looked amazing.

I wanted to freeze them and keep them forever.

I threw them in the trash.

*

Violet Callahan sat across my kitchen table from me, silent. The sandwich of shredded, fake crabmeat, mayo, and avocado that sat next to a stack of Pringles on a plate in front of her was untouched.

Cal, her husband, had their kids, Angela and Sam.

Cal was a bona fide badass of the scary variety, regardless of how much he loved his woman, his kids, and her daughters from her first marriage to a man who, sadly, was murdered, or how easily he showed all that. He still was scary in a way that Ryker, who looked like the maniac he only partially was, couldn’t be.

There was no way to explain it. If you met Cal, you knew that was just his way.

Which made it sweet as all get-out that he took their two very young children pretty much everywhere he went. They even had playpens and cribs at his office. It was crazy.

Then again, his first wife was a strung out junkie who didn’t pay attention, and thus, his baby boy had drowned in a bathtub. So it wasn’t that surprising he kept his kids close.

See? Life sucked. For everybody.

It was just that for some, they made their way to happy.

That just wasn’t for me.

“Vi,” I prompted when she didn’t say anything. She’d barely moved, hadn’t taken a bite, even though I’d been blathering for the last twenty minutes about all that had been going down with me.

Except for Ryker’s warning about my neighbors, I didn’t leave anything out.