“He’s a Black Stone Indian.” She cuts the air with the caustic sound of her voice.
“Yes, I do know that.” The Black Stones were an offshoot of the Cherokee nation that splintered off when they managed to escape the Trail of Tears. They were later disenfranchised from their roots completely and something akin to a turf war ensued and all hell broke loose. Len told me that much, and I remember being fascinated by it. It turned this man, this mere mortal into something almost mythological in nature. Len was already larger than life in my eyes, but this bolstered him to some kind of a hero—orgasmic hero to be clear, but that’s neither here nor there. It was a rebound relationship, and like all rebound relationships it did not last. And tragically, no sooner did I break up with Len than he passed away in that horrific accident. I’d like to think he would be pleased to know that a piece of him lives on through our beautiful daughter—the one I no longer know the whereabouts of. On second thought, he would be markedly pissed.
“What’s new with this?” I motion for her to go on.
“His family hailed from Idaho.” She nods as if it should strike a chord, and horrifyingly enough it does. “They all died some gruesome death.” She pretends to gag. “Isn’t that freaky? All of them?”
“That’s just a terrible coincidence.” It feels as if I’m reading off a cue card. All my mind wants to do is ruminate over the fact everyone in my husband’s family has met an equally ironic fate. It can’t be related. It’s too weird. “It happens. Anything else?”
“I’m going to drive out to Saginaw County tomorrow. I did some research and the librarian there is a Black Stone herself. She said I was welcome anytime to ask any—”
“No!” I reach forward and bind her wrists in a fit of fury. “If you tell her my name, she’ll know who I am. And if she says anything at all, the media will eat this up. I have to be the one to tell James that Reagan isn’t his biological daughter, not you, not some smiling librarian from Saginaw.”
“Fine. I’ll tell her I’m asking for a friend.” Her hands fold over mine, and I’m quick to free myself from the vise.
“Anything else? Anything about James?”
“James, James the cheat,” she chants as she pulls out her phone.
More Monica news no doubt. I don’t fear her. In fact, if I wasn’t such a public interest at the moment, I’d probably beat her senseless.
Heather snickers. “Caught again, this time at the market. I’ve made it a habit to camp out at night in front of the house. The midnight hour seems to fit his perverted schedule, if you know what I mean. Looky here.” She cues up a photo of him at that police station.
“He mentioned something about seeing Rich. His cousin works there.”
“Don’t I know it. That boy is C-U-T-E.” She gives a quick wink and tosses the lesbian theory right out the vaginal window. However, a part of me is well aware she’d swing both ways for me. “But did he tell you he went to the store?” She shows me a picture of James walking into the Sunshine Market.
“Who cares?”
“Maybe this woman cares?” Her thumb swipes erratically. “Here’s a good one.” She shoves the screen in my face and I back up as I struggle to make out the image. And then I see her, like some foreground background mindfuck portrait, a familiar face begins to take shape in the dark.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “Hailey Oden—that little b”— before I can properly address her, I spot something on her lap, something voluminous and circular at the base of her belly. “No. Is she?”
“Preggers.”
I hate that word, and at the moment I hate Hailey far more than I hated her before. And suddenly, viscerally I hate James. “You don’t think…”
“Oh, hon, I’d bet every dollar I don’t have that your cheating manwhore of a husband is the daddy. You’ll have to leave him, of course. Nobody does this to you and gets away with it.” That crazed look in her eyes assures me she would gladly take care of James if I asked her to. Good God, if Jane doesn’t beat her to it, James is as good as dead.
“He can’t be the father.” I pull the phone from her and flip through the pictures. The one with Hailey’s hands dripping off his face leaves me shaking my head. “Women cannot seem to keep their hands off my husband.”
“That’s because he keeps meeting up with them after dark.”
“You got me there.” Holy hell does she ever. One of the pictures clearly shows some kind of confetti raining from the sky. “Is that?”
“Money. He must have gotten it from the ATM. I’m no idiot. That man has a thing for hookers, and if you keep doing the nasty with him, he’s going to give you the clap!”
I try to take it all in, absorb these pictures, memorize them for later so I can ruminate over how angry I am during all those irate hours that sleep eludes me.
She leans in panting. “So what are we gonna do?”
“We’re not going to do anything.” I push the phone away as if it were the source of nausea. “I’m going to take care of the bastard myself.” As if my life hasn’t taken enough heartbreaking turns in the past few weeks, I have to worry about James and the whereabouts of his dick once again. “Yes, leave him to me.” I bleed a black smile, short-lived but dangerous. “I’d better get going.” I wince at the opened suitcase lying in the corner. “Heather, don’t you miss your family?” My stomach tightens because McCafferty let me in on the fact her husband left her—not that I’m placing blame. “Your girls?”
She gives a solid blink. “How did you know I had another one?”
My fingers claw at the Formica table as if begging to dig their way out of this one. The last thing I’m going to tell her is that I stalked her on social media, that I spoke to my sister. “I don’t know. I just guessed. You used the word kids the first day I saw you.” I can’t remember if it’s true, but the important thing is that she doesn’t remember. Then it hits me. “College. You came to visit. You said you met a boy and you were knocked up again.” Thank God for the sparse brain cells I have left.
“That’s right!” She lets out a bleating laugh reminiscent of a dolphin. “You’ll never guess what I named her in a million years!”
“California?” I frown because I should at least get one answer wrong.
“Allison!” She jumps a foot in her seat. “I named both of my babies after you! My very best friend in the whole wide world!” Heather springs to her feet, clapping and spinning in a circle like the loon she’s always been, but in this moment it feels harmless. Her hair is matted in the back, and her sweatpants are dripping off her body as if she’s starving herself to death. I don’t know how she has the money to stay here night after night but if her choices are helping me or food, I think I know where her loyalty lies.
“Wow.” I feign enthusiasm. “That’s pretty amazing. I’m so very flattered. Thank you. I really don’t know what to say.”
She settles back into her seat, giggling like a schoolgirl who just landed her first kiss. “You’re amazing.” She leans in close, her entire face smooths out as she gazes at me with a marked level of admiration. “I couldn’t have done it without you. My girls know all about their favorite Auntie Allison. They love you so very much.”
My heart wrenches to hear her talk like this. Those poor girls have to recognize the fact their mother isn’t sane. Even at a young age behavior like this sends up a red flag.
“How is—big Allison doing with you here in Idaho?” I figure I’ll work my way to the younger version, the one I suspect might be Ota.