Embracing Everly (24 page)

Telling Mick may not have been the smartest idea, but it wasn’t something I couldn’t very well keep from him either. I lie next to him wondering if he would have been better off not knowing. Wondering if I was being selfish wanting to share my pain with the father of my baby. Mick had barely grieved yet. If he had, the only sign was his refusal to be away from me. I wasn’t complaining since his presence calmed me, but I hated watching him suffer in silence. We had made love twice since he came back to my bed, both times he regarded me like I was broken. Both times he wore a condom. I knew why and it was okay that he didn’t want to risk another unwanted pregnancy. At least I thought that was why—he didn’t want a baby, and I convinced myself that he knew what was best for me. So I stayed quiet, taking him any way I could get him.

I tugged softly at the curls that had grown longer around the nape of his neck, twirling his hair with my finger. I watched him breathe in and out for several minutes completely fixated on the fact I had barely squashed the anguish from my own heart. I’d been too busy obsessing over his feelings and trying to put it all down on paper with a song. Dawson stayed on even though Mick told him daily to leave us be. Dawson had been my saving grace. He was helping me cope, helping me write down the words that I still couldn’t with my busted arm. He helped me gain my strength, while Mick wallowed in self-pity in my room day after day, night after night holding onto me like I was his lifeline.

Dawson left to run some errands and still had failed in gaining any information about my father. I heard a conversation that was most definitely not meant for my ears that had me on edge for the last forty-eight hours. I knew my father’s job was dangerous, but him dying never really crossed my mind. In my head, my dad was a total badass who would never fall into the hands of a criminal. But, I heard Dawson, and that was what it sounded like. My dad was in trouble.

Not wanting to cook, I ordered in pizza. Dawson promised he’d be back for dinner but since he hadn’t returned, I assumed he wasn’t coming back in time. The doorbell rang. I ransacked my bag looking for twenty bucks, but came up short. I grabbed Mick’s jeans off the floor for his wallet. The bell sounded again. “Coming,” I yelled. Mick flinched but didn’t wake. I pulled out a twenty to pay for the food. Once inside, I took out a slice and put the box on the counter.

Curiosity and doubt screamed at me that I had a chance to snoop while I nibbled on my pizza.
Screw it!
I discarded the crust. Even though I knew this was so wrong of me, I couldn’t help myself. I sifted through his license, his credit cards and then stopped as I pulled out his bank card. The name was wrong.
Who the hell is Matthew McGee?
I flipped through and studied his license, Mickey James O’Malley—1989.
What?
I added up the numbers quickly in my head knowing he had lied about his age. Okay, it was only three years. But why lie?

Without hesitation, I searched every single crevice in the leather wallet. A business card slipped out between a few receipts. It was Dawson’s business card with scribble written on the back—the address to our apartment building. Everything became crystal clear as soon as that last bit of evidence fell onto my lap.
That asshole! That lying asshole!

I still wore the cast on my arm and the boot on my foot, but I was more mobile day by day thanks to Dawson’s personal rehab. While Mick slept and Dawson stayed occupied doing whatever it was he did, I packed a bag. I didn’t even care about finishing the last twelve credits that I needed to get my degree. Besides, I hadn’t been to class since the accident. Screw it! Screw him! Writing music didn’t require one anyway. I was only here for my dad.

I spared Mick one last glance wishing he had come clean, wishing he had believed in us enough to tell me what he was really doing here. Wishing he had the guts and the faith I had when I told him about our baby. Knowing he had lied to my face tore my heart and all the love I had for him out. The fact that I now knew I was just another notch, another job, hurt more than anything I had ever had to deal with. Even the loss of my own mother. The loss of our baby. I had no one to run to. No home to go to except an old lonely hideout, one I loved, but still. I felt completely abandoned. And all I wanted was my father who was still missing to make it all better.

A quick train ticket was the only thing I had going for me. Every ounce screamed go to New York and start a new life and forget about Mick and his lies, but I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself standing in my old house hours later, just outside of Clearwater looking for a key to get as far as possible from all the deceit. Once I found the key, I took all the cash hidden in a fireproof box that dad kept safe behind their wedding picture. It was over five thousand dollars, but I knew that it was enough to keep me off any pipeline that they’d use to find me.

When I was a little girl my father bought a place, he called a safe house. Something off the grid, something no one knew about except my mother and me. It was the only thing he’s ever asked me to keep quiet about. It’s our special place to find one another in if anything ever went to hell. I could only think of making it there for my dad to come find me. Hoping maybe he beat me to it, and I’d find him sipping a Mai Tai on the porch.

It wasn’t long, but it felt like it since it took forever for me to get my ass in gear. If I had a hacksaw, I’d cut this cast off and wing it the rest of the way. And the boot—it was gone. I traveled all night long just to get far enough away before they could put two and two together and find me. I was sure they knew I was gone at that point, but I didn’t care. I was there and hopefully undetectable.

I was struggling to walk at a decent pace, but it was manageable. I held my hand over my eyes to block the blaring morning sun beating down on me. I tugged at my shirt feeling the heat getting to me.

‘Our little piece of heaven,’ the sign read. My hope was this house, the only safe haven I had would be untraceable. They’d have to be in the damn CIA and looking deep in order to find me. I came here hoping slimy, lying bounty hunters didn’t have the pull to find my little retreat.

I strolled up the sandy driveway once the cab dropped me off. Unable to believe that I was really here in Key West, a place I missed immensely. I paused to take the small 2-bedroom studio home in. I made a quick note of things that needed attending to, things to keep me busy. The aqua blue paint needed restoring; the huge tin sea turtle looked like it was hanging on for dear life. I grinned noticing the tiny key lime tree on the front lawn we planted over ten years ago had grown into a big one.

Everything was the same as it was the last time. The small porch out front still led to a covered Jacuzzi in the back with a small little Tiki hut bar with stools. Not wanting to wait I slipped the key inside hoping to find some clue he was here or at least had been. “Dad,” I yelled out for him. I tried again and again as I made my way through the small house. I frowned not finding any sign he had stopped here recently.

My phone beeped again. I looked down to the sixty-fourth missed call from Mick since I had left with no note—no nothing. I didn’t think he deserved to know where I was. The journey was long enough to think everything through. I felt so gullible, so absolutely moronic that I let myself fall for a guy who was a self-proclaimed man whore basically. Not to mention the fact, that I fell so damn hard, and he had me convinced that he loved me so quickly. Never again. My father hit the nail on the head when he preached about men being assholes. I thought Charlie to be the biggest, but Mick won the grand prize. I could deal with the jerks like Charlie in my life, but Mick had been something I had never been trained on before. I could fire a gun. I could hunt with any man and make them proud. I could do almost anything a man could do, my father made sure of that. But, he never warned me about snakes that crawled into your bed and wrapped themselves around you so tightly that you felt like you couldn’t breathe without them.

My mother was no better. The only lesson she taught me was how not to be like her whether she knew it or not. Dad never seemed to make her happy no matter how hard he tried. I think she stayed for money, security and the knowledge she didn’t have to lift a finger to get what she wanted out of him. He gave her the world and she gave him a cold shoulder. But, he had me. I made sure I did everything to please him. And I did.

I still do.

Thirsty, I stepped across the terra cotta tile taking a peek around. The fridge was unplugged and hot, so I reached into the cabinet where we kept supplies. Before I did anything I needed to hydrate, so I reached up and grabbed a six-pack of water and then plugged the old brown heap that looked like it was around in the seventies and popped the rest of the bottles inside.

A bang outside caused me to knock my water over. Careful not to hurt my foot, I crept over to the large window, covered with old wooden hurricane shutters. I looked through the louvers to see Mrs. Cranston standing at the front door carrying a pie. She had lived here for almost thirty years and was our one and only nosy neighbor. My dad loved her for her spunk and constant meddling while my mother thought she was annoying and unwanted. Me? I enjoyed her and the conversations we’d had shared over the years while visiting. Of course, we couldn’t go by our real names, so she knew me as Jane Smith.

“Jane, honey was that you I saw sneaking in without saying hello to me?” she hollered, as she knocked again on the door.

I took a deep breath, plastered on a megawatt smile and opened the door. “Mrs. Cranston how good it is to see you.”

“Oh, my goodness just look at you and call me Sara. You’re all grown up and so beautiful. I always said you were a beauty, but your mother, well…”

“She passed a few years back,” I told her not wanting to deal with how much she detested my mom.

“Oh, child, I didn’t know. How’s your father? Is he coming to join you? It’s been years.”

“I hope so. He’s a little busy with work right now.” I held the door wide as she hustled in carrying one of her famous key lime pies.

“I just baked a fresh pie this morning. If memory serves me right, you have a birthday coming in a few days.”

“Your memory is right as always. Thank you for the pie. Would you like to talk over a slice?” Normally this was what I would do, so I didn’t want to change the path that felt normal to me. My head just wanted her to go home until my heart stopped hurting.

After an hour, and now into a bottle of wine she smuggled over while I ate, she finally stood to leave. She grabbed the plates.

“I got those,” I told her but she continued to make her way to the sink.

“Nonsense, you’re injured.” I had lied and told her I had been in a car accident and came here to recover.

My phone started up again. Here I thought he’d given up a half hour ago. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

“No, that can wait. He’s not important anyway.”

She poured a hefty glass for herself and one small one for me. “He must be a little important since you look as a depressed as a man in a whore house who can’t get a hard-on, honey.”

“Sara,” I scolded but couldn’t contain my laughter. “How would you know about a thing like that?”

“Well, I used to know one, honey.” She took a large gulp like it was water and not Chardonnay in her glass.

“A whore?”

“No, silly, a limp dick.”

I sat on the couch, nestled up in a blanket suddenly interested in this conversation. “Who?”

She smiled widely and came to sit next to me, carrying the bottle with her. “My ex-husband. He couldn’t get it up for the last year of our marriage. You never met him.”

“You broke up with him because he couldn’t get hard? What if it was a medical problem?” I asked, wondering how shallow this sweet woman could be.

“He didn’t. He just had a problem getting hard for me.”

“Oh,” I grimaced, taking a small sip not knowing what to say to that.

“Don’t worry about it. A prostitute named Danielle fixed him right up.”

“He told you this? What a jerk.”

She shook her head telling me I was wrong as she added more wine before she even finished the first glass. “I followed him one night. It turns out Danielle was really a Daniel. All my questions got answered that night. He’s happily living with his partner. I’m just glad I found out early enough and didn’t have kids.” At her mention of kids, I tried to smile but my heart cracked open again. And I could tell she picked up on something amiss.

“Do you want to talk about something?”

“I’m kind of tired and I don’t want to talk about me if that’s okay?”

She pulled my good hand into hers. “Of course you don’t have to talk about it, but I hope you will when you feel like you need a friend.”

“You will be the first to know, I promise.” I appeased her knowing she’d keep at me if I didn’t give her something. “Can you leave the bottle?” I asked. She placed the half-empty bottle down on the table and caressed my face with her hand. “You come by tomorrow.”

After she had left, I opened the window wanting the sounds of the night and the ocean to lull me to sleep. I settled down on a freshly made bed of white crisp sheets after polishing off the last of the wine. I glared down at my phone seeing Dawson calling again. Wanting to end this, I gave in. “Dawson.”

“Everly, Jesus girl where are you? I’ve been calling for hours.”

I rolled over, settling in on my good side. “I’m fine.”

He sighed. “Sweetheart, why did you run?”

“Could you please tell Mick, the man that works for you to stop calling me? I found your business card, the fake I.D, his license. I only answered this time because I’m sick and tired of the pair of you tying my phone up.”

I heard a scuffle and him shushing someone on the end, and I figured it was Mick. “Angel, where are you?” Mick asked, panting like he had just run a mile.

I didn’t answer.

“Angel, I can hear you breathing. It’s not what you think. I mean, it is, but not all of it. I promise.”

Tears betrayed me as they sprang into my eyes. “You lied to me, Mick. I can’t trust you ever again. What we had, fake or real is done. I won’t take someone back who lied to get me into bed and then lied to my face every day to keep me there. But well done, you had me fooled. Now, if you two could go about your lives and leave me alone, I’d appreciate it.” I wiped the blubber from my nose.