Chapter 15
Layla
“Sorry, man. Wrong apartment,” my brother says when Russell opens the door. It’s a shock to the system, hearing his voice in person after years of mostly texting.
I slide in front of Russell, my chest tightening when I take in the sight of my brother. At twenty-three years old, tall and lean with a neat, dark mustache and freshly shaved jaw, wearing blue jeans, square-toe brown cowboy boots, and a black hoodie, he looks even more like Dad than the last time I saw him before Steven and I moved away from our hometown.
“No, you’ve got the right one. Hi, Max.” I give him a short wave instead of throwing my arms around him like I want to, unsure if he’d be receptive to it since we didn’t part on the best of terms last time.
I’d hoped he’d eventually want to visit when I texted him my new address. Now that he’s here, I also hope it means he’s forgiven me for not co-signing on another car he wanted to buy after his first was repossessed. I wanted to. I really, really wanted to, but I couldn’t afford another hit to my already low credit score.
Max’s brows crease for a moment when he slides his eyes from me to Russell, but then a smile lights up his face, and he holds his arms out. “Come here, girly.”
I launch myself at him, close to tears when he squeezes me tight around my ribs.
“Man, I’ve missed you. Should have come to my senses and visited sooner,” he says, setting me down on my feet after a long minute. He holds me at arm’s length while he looks me up and down. “Could have put on a few more clothes before answering the door, though.”
I wince and curve my shoulders, drawing my robe tighter around me. “Sorry.”
My brother fixes his gaze on Russell after Russell pulls me back into his chest with his arm hooked around my waist. “So, it’s true,” Max says, shaking his head. “You really kicked Steven to the curb for a man old enough to be our grandpa.” He tsks and sets his hands on his hips. “Have to say, Dad would’ve been mighty upset.”
My mind spins, not sure where to start first. “I didn’t—who told you—he’s not that old.”
Russell huffs, drawing me back into the apartment and to the side, his hand on the door. “You’ve got some nerve showing up out of the blue and accusing Layla of shi-oot you know nothing about. So, either you apologize, or I get my gun.”
“The fuck? Who is this guy, Layla?”
Shocked to the tips of my toes by Russell’s jump to conclusions and defensiveness, thinking the worst of my brother, I’m rooted to the floor briefly. But since I don’t want the first time I’ve seen Max in so long to end on yet another sour note, I push between them once more.
“No. No guns.” I give Russell a pleading look to calm down, then gesture to Max. “Please, come inside. I’ll explain.”
“I don’t know.” As if he’s considering leaving, Max roughly combs his loose, curly brown hair back on his head, and he looks off to the side at his car parked next to Russell’s truck. With its mismatched red and gray parts, his car is in as bad of shape as mine, the front bumper hanging on by duct tape and a prayer , as Davis would say.
“Please. I’ll talk to him,” I say, as if Russell isn’t standing right next to us and can’t hear me.
Max takes a long moment to answer but eventually nods. He waves to someone in his front seat, and my brows shoot up when a young woman with nearly-black hair pulled into a high, messy bun slides out of the front seat in leggings and one of Max’s hoodies, then opens the back passenger door.
Max waits for the woman on my stoop, and he waves her over again, sliding his arm around her shoulders. It’s the tiny bundle in her arms that has hot tears welling in my eyes, and I stop breathing, trying to hold them back. “You had a baby?”
Max gives me a solemn nod. “This is Cora and our son, Gauge.” Gauge . It’s the name our dad wanted to name Max, which Mom hated, saying it was—ironically—a ridiculous name. “We didn’t find out she was pregnant ‘til a few months before she gave birth.”
Trying unsuccessfully to mask the hurt evident in my voice, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Honestly, I was trying to protect you and didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You know, because of your…” Max trails off with a sympathetic smile, tiptoeing around my struggles.
“Of course I would want to know.” I don’t know what else to say, still trying to keep strict control of my emotions.
In tune with my inner spiraling, Russell tells Max and Cora, “ We just woke up, and Layla has to get to work soon, so how ‘bout we meet up later tonight? Grab dinner close to wherever y’all are staying.”
The corners of Cora’s lips turn down when she glances at Max. “I thought you said she’d let us—”
Max clears his throat, cutting her a hard look reminiscent of our dad.
That’s what reminds me of my familial duties, and I force myself to repeat, “Please, um, come inside.” I can’t look away from the tiny infant in the white onesie and little fuzzy socks when they step past me into my apartment.
A muscle works in Russell’s jaw when Max stands in the middle of the room and spins in a slow circle, appraising my apartment, Cora doing the same. I take the opportunity to quickly clean up and get changed into my diner uniform for my early lunch shift, pull on my GRANNY’S GIRLS hoodie for modesty, and blot the corners of my eyes with a hand towel so I don’t ruin my eyeliner.
When I rejoin them, Russell has at least pulled on a shirt, and Max says, “Well, it’s certainly cozy in here.” It’s his nice way of saying tiny .
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not sure why.
Russell grunts, dropping his arm over my shoulders. “Don’t apologize.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’m going to hop in the shower real quick.”
“Good idea,” I whisper, my cheeks turning warm when he taps my bottom discreetly before grabbing his duffel bag.
Cora takes a seat on the edge of my bed, cradling Gauge on her lap while she pushes the heel of her palm into her tired hazel eyes. Max sits next to her, leaning back on his hands. I cringe internally, wishing I knew they were coming so I could at least change the bedsheets, hoping they don’t notice my teddy bear in the corner.
“So, that guy…” Max tips his head toward the bathroom when the shower kicks on.
I drag a kitchen chair closer to the bed so I can take a seat, tugging on the hem of my dress to cover my thighs, wishing it were longer. “Russell.”
“You really traded Steven in for an old guy like him ?” He tsks with disapproval. “He have money you’re after or something?”
“No, it’s not like that.” I may be two years older than Max, but right now, I feel like the younger sibling. I don’t tell him that Russell does have money since that would give him the wrong impression—make him think I’m like Mom, which neither of us would want. “And I didn’t ‘trade’ Steven in or kick him out if that’s what you’re thinking. He kicked me out.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Oh, yeah? And who’d you hear it from?” Russell must have sped through his shower, dropping into the middle of our conversation, wearing dark blue jeans and one of his nicer light-brown button-downs tucked in at the waist. He stands like a sentinel behind me, with one hand on my shoulder and the other lightly gripping the back of my neck.
“Steven,” Max answers as if it should have been obvious.
Russell asks, “Before or after he was arrested for drunk driving?”
I’m more interested in why Max was talking to Steven. “I didn’t know y’all kept contact.”
“Well, sure we did. He’s family, and you don’t abandon family. You know that better than anyone else,” Max says, bunching his brows, a gaping pit forming in my stomach. “ Though he had to have some chick call me. Let me know his fiancée was running around on him behind his back. Said you even lied about how much he’d been drinking so he’d get arrested when he confronted you.” He reaches for my hand. “To say I was concerned my sister could do something like that to the man who took her in when she was down on her luck, did so much for her, is an understatement.”
“None of that is true,” Russell says through clenched teeth, controlling his temper, tenderly caressing the length of my neck with his thumb. It’s a normally calming gesture, but I’m too upset by my brother’s lecture and lack of faith in me for it to do much good. “And frankly, I don’t appreciate the fact you think Steven was some kind of white knight when—”
Max interrupts, saying softly to me, “I want to hear it directly from you.”
Hoping Max will take my word for it and not Steven’s, I tell him, “He’s telling the truth. Steven got drunk, threw a bottle at the wall, then kicked me out. It had nothing to do with Russell. And I had to call the police before Steven killed someone. It was the right thing to do.”
“Alright.” Max gives me a slow nod. “I’m choosing to trust you,” he says as if trusting me doesn’t come naturally.
The pit in my stomach deepens and yawns wide.
Gauge whimpers from Cora’s lap, severing the heavy conversation, and Max pats my hand before dropping it. With dark circles beneath her eyes, Cora sniffs the air, then releases a long sigh and tries to pass the baby to Max. “Can you change him?”
Max doesn’t move to take him. “I did it last time. It’s your turn.”
“Here, let me do it.” I lunge out of my seat, a small, wobbly smile on my face when Cora hands Gauge over. I cuddle my nephew close, studying the different parts of our mom and dad in his little face with his dark peach fuzz hair.
Max leaves the apartment when I ask where the baby’s things are, then returns with a black backpack and two large rolling suitcases. Russell catches my eye. He’s locked in on me and Gauge, a yearning in his expression I never expected to see—one I’ll likely never be able to satisfy.
I take the backpack Max hands over and head into the bathroom, juggling Gauge in one arm while I search through it, finally coming up with the last remaining diaper at the bottom and an almost empty packet of wipes. I have Gauge cleaned up in no time, blowing strawberries on his chin to keep him happy while I change him.
Blinking back tears, I bring him close to my nose so I can smell the baby shampoo in his hair. “You’re the cutest little bub I ever did see. If I ever have kids, I hope they’ll look just like you.” Gauge grips my hand when I tickle his neck. “Already got your auntie wrapped around your little finger, don’t you? Yes, you do.”
My heart is in my throat when I exit the bathroom, Gauge rooting at my chest. “I think he’s hungry.” Neither Cora nor Max, who is seated at the table now, pinching the bridge of his nose with a lengthy yawn, rises to take him from me. “Um…” Looking from one exhausted parent to the other, I offer, “If you want, I can feed him.”
“Thank you,” Cora says, dropping her eyes to her lap. “His formula is in the backpack.”
Max tsks again, upset when he says, “I wish you had tried harder to breastfeed him instead of giving up so quickly. If you had just— ”
“You know I couldn’t produce enough,” Cora says quietly, interrupting what sounds like a recurring, heartbreaking conversation.
Though I have no business butting in and that my opinion probably doesn’t hold much weight, I touch Cora’s knee and say with all sincerity, “There’s nothing wrong with formula feeding.”
Max’s face twists at my interference, but Cora gives me a twitch of a grateful smile, then lays back on my bed, bizarrely making herself at home, even though we’ve only just met.
Somehow having missed the formula, I go back into the bathroom to double-check and find the canister and a clean baby bottle. “Hold on, bub,” I say to Gauge, bouncing him in one arm when I duck my head and swerve around Russell into the kitchen.
When I try to open the bottle with one hand, Russell touches my lower back, leaning over me. “Let me.” He kisses the top of my head and fills the bottle with water, then pops off the top of the canister. “Don’t think there’s enough for a full bottle. Got any more?”
“You’re out of diapers, too,” I add.
With a groan, Max drops his head in his hands, his elbows propped on the table. He rolls his head toward me with the kind of puppy-dog eyes he used to give me as kids. “I hate to ask this, but think you could spot us a few bucks so I can run to the store? I spent the last of our money on gas, and that”—he points at the canister—“is so gotdang expensive.”
Happy that I can do one thing right this morning, I move toward my tote bag hanging on the back of the other kitchen chair. “How much do you need?”
A handsome smile tugs up the corner of Max’s mouth. “Fifty bucks should cover it.”
Russell stops me when I dig out the envelope of cash he gave me yesterday. “Whoa, now. Put that away. You shouldn’t—”
“Yes, I should. They’re family.” I fumble with pulling a one hundred dollar bill out, in case Max needs anything extra, and pass it to him across the table before Russell can physically stop me.
“We’re family, too,” Russell says low, his gaze challenging when he pulls more cash from his wallet in his back pocket, then slides it into the envelope, dropping it into my tote bag. I don’t utter a single word of protest or offer to clean anything.
Oblivious to our monumental breakthrough, Max jumps up and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek, then disappears through the front door.
* * *
Russell
I’ve been in some pretty awkward situations in my fifty-two years on this planet, but this is gearing up to be one of the worst when Max leaves Cora—a stranger—behind, half asleep on Layla’s bed.
“Dangit.” Layla silences the alarm on her phone. “I have to be at the diner in an hour.”
“I think Harold will understand if you want to take the day off.”
She shakes her head, her curls brushing her collarbone.
I push her hair back behind her shoulders before grabbing her slim waist and pulling her closer. “You sure you don’t want to stay and catch up with your brother?” I ask, even though I don’t like the way Max is treating her, showing up as he did with a couple of suitcases as if he’s moving in, along with a woman and baby Layla didn’t know about and has already asked for money that Layla does not need to be handing over. Alarm bells are ringing, but my gut tells me Layla won’t be too happy with me if I voice any of my concerns so soon.
“No, I don’t want to put them in the lurch if I call out, what with the after-church folks coming in.” Layla switches Gauge to her other arm, swaying back and forth when she feeds him the half bottle I was able to make. “How old is he?” she asks Cora.
Cora kicks off her tennis shoes, rolls over, and scoots up the bed, stuffing the pillow Layla had been biting last night under her head. “Six weeks tomorrow,” she mumbles, pulling the comforter up over her head.
Layla tips her chin down to kiss Gauge on his forehead when he opens his mouth, his cries ramping up when he finishes his bottle, still hungry. “I know, bub. Your daddy will be back soon.”
Cora groans and grabs another pillow, shoving it down over her head. I bet she hasn’t had more than an hour or two of sleep at a time since Gauge was born if Max has been as unhelpful for the last six weeks as he has been today.
I bend low to whisper in Layla’s ear when a tear trails down her cheek, “Are you ok, darlin’? I know…I know it’s hard. This.” I cup the baby’s head, still one hand on her waist. Though we’ve never spoken outright about the infertility rates with her condition, it doesn’t take a detective to see how much it affects her in her day-to-day life, especially with our friends’ families growing year over year, seemingly as easy as br eathing.
“Yeah,” she lies, keeping her eyes down. “I’m fine.”
I bring Layla into me, both of us swaying with Gauge between us. Layla drops her forehead in the middle of my chest, granting me the gift of holding her together.
She’s slow to pull away when Max returns, carrying two plastic shopping bags. He holds them both up for Layla, and I take them for her. He toes off his boots and gazes at the bed with longing. “I haven’t slept in ages.”
I want to roll my eyes at his obvious tactics to get Layla to babysit without actually having to ask her…That is, until it works, and the pleading puppy-dog eyes he gives Layla has her tripping over herself to say, “I’ll watch Gauge until I have to leave for work if you want to take a nap.”
“Thanks, sis. Knew I could count on you.” Like a child, he does a running jump onto Layla’s bed, rolling onto his side to throw an arm over Cora, who pushes him off and scoots closer to the wall.
Since there’s nowhere to go other than the bathroom so we don’t wake the sleeping couple, we tiptoe outside. It peeves me off that Layla even feels the need to leave her own home, but I unlock my truck so she has somewhere comfortable to sit while she feeds Gauge the new bottle I made. I have half a mind to finally buy a new truck, one with a bench seat like Davis has, wishing I could slide Layla over. Have her sit on my lap while Gauge eats and eventually falls asleep in her arms.
She turns off her second alarm a minute before it’s set to go off, and I follow her back into the apartment. “Max. Hey, Max.” She shakes his shoulder. “I have to go to work.”
“A few more minutes,” Max pleads, then scoots closer to Cora .
“Max,” I say louder than Layla. “You need to get up.” My annoyance with the man-child peaks when he pretends to be asleep like Paul used to when it was time to get up for school. I reach over him to poke Cora. “Up, up.” She doesn’t react, either. “You gotta be shi-ooting me.”
Layla lays her hand on my arm. “It’s ok. I’ll call Harold. See if I can switch shifts.”
Just because I’d rather she quit all her jobs doesn’t mean I’m ok with her having to rearrange her schedule to accommodate her brother after he dropped the responsibility of taking care of his son squarely on her shoulders.
“You can take my truck, and I’ll stay and watch him,” I say, motioning for her to hand over the baby. It’s cute and heartbreaking how she holds onto him tighter, half-turning away, not wanting to part with him, pinching her eyes shut.
“Ok, how about this…” I grab Max’s keys he left on the kitchen table, spinning them on my finger. “I’ll put his car seat in the truck. We’ll come with you and stay for your shift.”
“Really?” There’s that hope in her voice again, and I know I’ve made the right choice. “Thank you.”
Figuring out how to remove the car seat from Max and Cora’s beater, which has more luggage piled inside, is a lesson in patience and controlling my temper. It looks as if they’ve packed up everything they own, and more alarm bells go off in my head.
It’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve had to install a car seat, and they sure have changed quite a bit over the years, so I have to look up the instructions online. Afterward, it takes me a second to move away from the truck, my heart thumping hard in my chest. It’s silly how affected I am by the sight of it when that part of my life is long over.
* * *
Old Freddy is already holding his palms up, smirking at the other old-timers when Layla and I walk into the diner, my hand on her lower back while carrying Gauge in his bucket car seat. “Pay up, boys.” They groan as they start slapping cash down, and he counts out a cool four hundred twenty-five dollars, then folds it and stuffs it in the front pocket of his vest. “The baby, though…didn’t see that coming. Where’d he come from?”
Several guys eye Layla’s middle, and she crosses her arms over her stomach. Even unable to see her face from behind, I sense her mood sinking lower. “He’s my nephew,” she says without emotion, then moves on, leaving us behind, crossing behind the counter and into the kitchen.
“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Freddy says with regret, and several guys nod in agreement.
I clap him on the shoulder twice. “She knows. She’ll be ok.”
“You sure?” Pete asks.
I don’t have an answer for them, so I tip my invisible hat before moving toward my usual table, the only one available in the packed restaurant. The raucous noise cuts in half when I set the car seat on the tabletop.
Faye approaches with a sad smile, bending to shift Gauge’s baby blanket from the hospital lower to see his tiny face. “He looks just like Layla.”
I nod. It makes it all the more heartbreaking. A mug shatters on the floor behind Faye, waking Gauge, and the customer who dropped it rushes to apologize. I hum to Gauge as I unclip his belt and carefully lift him from his seat, holding him in the crook of my arm while I wait for Layla to return .
Her brows twitch when she forces a smile and drops off my egg omelet, fruit, and coffee. Though we don’t exchange more than a few words throughout her shift, watching the clock impatiently until I can get my woman alone again, I catch her eyeing us every few minutes. Everyone is generally courteous with Layla and the other staff—if they weren’t, they’d be thrown out on their butts and banned from Granny’s—yet today, they’re all extra nice despite Layla’s absent bubbly customer service personality.
“There you are,” Sheriff says when he comes into the diner with Deputy Cooke, removing his cowboy hat and walking toward me. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you. Mind if we sit?” He motions to the empty chairs, pulling Cooke’s out for her before they settle in.
“Must’ve left it at Layla’s apartment.” I really am crap at remembering to keep it on me.
He waves to Layla, who goes to the counter to collect two more mugs and a pot of coffee. “Are you staying with her now?”
“Yes, sir.” And I couldn’t be more thrilled.
Cooke accepts her steaming mug with a mumbled, “Thanks.”
“I take it you have news if you were looking for me. What’s up?” I ask, curling my arm around Layla’s back when she leans against me, smoothing her hand over her nephew’s head.
“We caught the guy who vandalized your house and Layla’s windshield,” Sheriff says. “Allen was partially right.”
“Joel?” Where I am, houses are spread out, and neighbors generally keep to themselves. Other than Elliott, the one neighbor I know well is Joel, seeing as how he’s been working off and on for me since the start of BT and lives within a few miles of us.
“His twin boys, Jake and Jack. Sixteen years old. Got a full confession out of them, too. Says one dared the other to do it when they were bored and didn’t think they’d get caught. Promised it had nothing to do with their pops or Steven.”
I click my tongue as I think it over. “That’s hard to believe. The boot through the windshield seemed personal.”
Sheriff shakes his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve had the boys at the station. Seen plenty of Joel back when he was a teenager before he straightened out. Like father, like sons.”
“What about the tires at BT? Are they responsible for that, too?” Layla asks, eagerly taking Gauge when he squirms in my arms. She’s wearing the first genuine smile of the afternoon when she holds him upright to nuzzle his cheek and rocks her hips side to side.
Sheriff leans back with his own warm smile, though it’s bad news he delivers. “The boys swear up and down they didn’t do it, but we’re still looking into it and a few more angles.” He nods at Gauge. “Heard your brother was in town. Glad to know you’ve got family around while we sort out this mess.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how fast news spreads here,” Layla says, sliding her doe eyes my way. Compared to the big cities in Texas, her hometown is a speck on the map, but it’s easily three times the size of ours, if not larger. Not everyone knows each other where she’s from, as they do here—whether we like it or not.
Sheriff wags his thumb in my direction when he answers. “Oh yeah. Half the town is wondering if Russell has already popped the question.”
Layla goes still, laughing nervously. “Careful, or you’re going to scare him off, Sheriff.”
“I’m not scared.” I pull her closer, sliding my hand up her spine. “Are you?” I try not to let my old heart shrivel up and die when she doesn’t answer.
Cooke sniffs like she’s smelled something rotten from my periphery, which pricks an awareness at the back of my mind. I stare hard at her until she catches my eye, her expression neutralizing on a dime.
Changing the subject, now that the serious business is out of the way, Sheriff asks, “How old is Paul now?”
“About to turn twenty-two and graduate at the top of his class,” I say with overwhelming pride, wincing mentally at the fact that my son is only three years and a bit younger than Layla. “He’s thinking of moving to Florida for graduate school afterward. Chemical Engineering. Might even pursue his PhD.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a smart boy on your hands. Wonder how that happened?” Gibson jokes.
“Like father, like son,” I joke right back.
I should have expected his next question. Braced for it. Steered the conversation away before he could ask it. But I’m caught unaware, distracted by Layla’s tense body language when Sheriff asks, “Is he seeing anyone? Any grandbabies in the near future?”
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my tables,” Layla says quietly, kissing her nephew on his forehead before handing him to me, taking my bruised heart with her when she walks away.