Chapter 12
Hendricks
“Daddy, who’s your valentine? Daddy?”
I crank one eyelid expecting to see a glimmer of morning light, but I see nothing. It’s pitch-black.
“Daddy?”
It’s when I open both and shift back slightly that I can make out the silhouette of my son lying inches away from me on the pillow. “Max, why are you out of bed? It’s not morning yet.”
It’s definitely not morning. My words barely croak out of me.
“I know, but I’ve been thinking,” he continues, like it isn’t the middle of the night, though I actually have no idea what time it is. “Who is your valentine? I don’t have a valentine.”
Turning to my side, I scoop my son up and twist us both around until he’s snuggled against me. “You’re my valentine, Maxy. Now go to sleep, and we’ll talk about it more in the morning.”
Heaviness overtakes me again. My eyelids close, and I think I’ve won him over because he stays silent. He relaxes into my arms, and his breath settles down enough that my own steadies, and I’m right there, on the verge of sleep again.
“Daddy?”
I jolt from the faint whisper. “Shhh, Maxy, sleep.”
“Just one more question.”
“What is it?”
“Did you have a valentine before I was born?”
I kiss the top of his head, breathe in the soft, sweet scent of his shampoo, and calm my heart before it starts racing.
“Just one.”
“Who was it?”
“It was a long time ago, Maxy. She was my friend, and I kept it a secret. Let’s sleep now, please. We have a busy day tomorrow.” Holding him tight to my chest, I whisper, “I love you beyond the hills.”
“Love you beyond the hills, Daddy.”
Satisfied that he has the answer he was looking for, it takes seconds for Max to fall asleep again.
I’m not so lucky this time around. Twice, I hear the grandfather clock in the great hall chime the hour as I lie there thinking about Story.
Old memories resurface. I replay every interaction we’ve had since she returned.
I go over our conversation at the town hall meeting a couple of days ago.
Suggesting the kissing booth was stupid. Reckless. Pointless. And given the look on Story’s face when I did, it was hurtful.
What did I think it would achieve? What did I want it to achieve?
Between the calls from Sienna that morning and the surprise of seeing Story later, my head was not entirely screwed on.
But being that close to her—enough so I could make out each lash framing her big brown eyes and the fast-fading freckles scattered across her nose and breathe in the soft, earthy scent that always surrounded her—did something to me.
When I watched her slump down next to Agatha, there was a defeat to her I hadn’t seen in a very long time.
I intrinsically knew I was the cause. I wanted the fire to return, the spark of annoyance that flashed across her face when she turned around and found me standing in front of her holding the urn, the one that she was struggling to bite back.
When I sat next to her later, pulling the stunt with the coffee and wine was nothing more than an attempt to remind her I still knew her better than most people.
But when she looked at me, scanning my face in confusion, all I could think about was the pain of her leaving and how I would feel if she left again.
And so when Max wakes up, full of his usual beans, I’m incredibly groggy and in dire need of caffeine and more sleep.
It doesn’t help that he’s singing at the top of his lungs. I wouldn’t mind so much, but he inherited my inability to hold a note, and I can’t even tell what it’s supposed to be. Neither could the dogs, by all accounts, given that all three of them walked out the moment he began.
“Hendricks, you want me to drop Max again this morning?” Birgitta’s head pops around the doorframe of Max’s bedroom while I’m laying out his school uniform, as Max climbs up the side of his bunkbed wearing his Spider-Man costume.
Some mornings are just . . .
“Yes, thanks.” I’m heading over to the farmyard to check on the pregnant heifers, but not until ten, so I can squeeze in another hour or so of sleep if I’m lucky. But on the other hand, I haven’t been to the school all week . . . “Actually, no. I’ll do it. Can you take over here?”
“Sure.” She marches in, authoritative. Way more than I can summon this morning. “Max’s breakfast is ready downstairs. Let’s hurry up and get dressed so we can eat . . . His bag is packed, and there’s a clean uniform on the side too.”
The gratitude I have this morning is nothing short of immense. I have more than most people, more help than most people, and I still find it hard to cope. I don’t know how single parents manage.
“Thank you. I’ll see you downstairs. Max . . .” But he’s not listening, so I slip out and hear him yell, “Birgitta, watch this.” It’s followed by a thud, and I know he’s jumped from the top of his bunk—something he’s not allowed to do.
I wait for the sound of crying—anything—but nothing comes except a stern warning from Birgitta not to do it again, so I rush back to my room and jump in the shower.
“You look nice. Smell good too.” Clementine smirks as she passes me on her way into the kitchen, twenty minutes later.
It’s the smirk that stops me from responding. There’s an implication there I don’t appreciate, much less want to acknowledge.
“Max, hurry up. We can’t be late this morning,” I yell, hoping that he’s somewhere close by, but who knows. He inhaled his porridge and ran off. I pray he’s not back in his Spider-Man costume, or we will be late.
“Boo!”
Dropping the bags, I clasp my hands to my chest and feign surprise at my son peering from behind the stone pillar in the great hall. “Oh! You got me.”
It’s a move that never fails to have him doubled over with laughter. I’m not even sure at this point whether he realizes I’m mostly playing along, but I do know that he usually only plays hide-and-seek when I’m distracted. It’s his way of getting my full attention.
“I got you, Daddy.”
“You did, bud. Now get in the car, please.”
“Daddy, do you think we should get a puppy to keep Hamish, Maud, and Dolly company?”
The aforementioned dogs are all sitting by the front door, not giving off the slightest impression they want more company.
“They look fine to me, Maxy. C’mon, car—”
“They told me this morning they would like another puppy.”
“Did they now?” I reply, scooping Max up because otherwise we’ll be here all day.
Tossing his bags in the boot, I strap him in and slip into the driver’s seat. I nearly weep when I see Birgitta’s left me coffee in the cup holder.
“Okay, ready?”
“Ready, Daddy.”
“Music?” I peer at him through the rearview mirror, expecting a thumbs-up, but he shakes his head instead.
“Actually, not right now.”
We slip out of the driveway and along the winding road heading out of Burlington, past the fields with Thunder and Sunday. Max is uncharacteristically quiet, and I’m about to ask him if everything’s okay.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, bud?”
“How do you pick a valentine?”
I’d forgotten about our middle-of-the-night conversation. I’d ask him where it’s coming from, but I know they started rehearsals for the Valentine concert, so they’re obviously talking about it in school. From the sounds of it, they’re talking a lot.
“Um, well, you think about someone you really like and go from there.”
“What if I really like two people? Or three?”
“Three?” My eyes flick up to the rearview mirror again. Perhaps Max is taking after Miles more than I realized.
“I don’t want anyone to be left out.” He shrugs, breaking my heart in the process.
“That’s very kind of you. If that’s the case, you can have as many valentines as you like.”
“Should I keep it a secret like you did?”
Reaching the Burlington gates, a large tractor approaches, and I wait to let it pass before pulling out. I also use it as an opportunity to distract Max because I don’t want to get into a conversation about secret valentines. I don’t even want to think about them.
“Look, Maxy. Say hi to Frank.”
Max lowers the back window and waves frantically at the tractor driver. “HI, FRANK.” He acknowledges Max with a salute.
There’s another thirty seconds of silence.
“Daddy, why did you keep your valentine a secret?”
I should have stayed in bed. “Because . . . I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to know.”
“Did Uncle Miles know?”
“I think Uncle Miles guessed.”
“Can I guess?”
“Maybe later, bud.”
Max returns to peering out of the window again, past the herd of Aberdeen Angus bulls, past the fountain, past Uncle Alex’s house, to which we both wave and shout hello, until finally we reach the school and get into the long queue of cars at drop-off.
“I think I’m going to keep one of mine a secret. And one of mine not a secret,” Max announces as I unbuckle him.
“That’s a good idea. You can do whatever you want.”
He jumps out, loops his arms through the straps of his school bag I’m holding, and takes my hand.
We fall in line with other parents and his classmates and play the usual dance of head nods and acknowledgments while I dodge the mothers who like to linger a little too long until we turn the corner, and Story is standing there.
“Good morning, Max.”
“Good morning, Miss MacIntosh.”
“Good morning, Hendricks.”
Suddenly, I’m parched, desperate for water.
She’s so pretty. No, that’s too basic. Stunning. Beautiful. Luminescent.
Every time I see her, I have to reconcile that this woman, currently dressed for business in a crisp, fitted white shirt, navy trousers, and a blazer hugging her in all the right places, with glossy, blunt ends tucked behind each ear, is the one I used to chase through the fields behind her house.
Roll down the hill with. Sneak to the fountain after dark to swim and drink beer with. Watch movies under the blanket with.
But this morning, it’s the full mouth painted red that renders me speechless. All I can think about is kissing it off. Fuck everything else.
“Hendricks?”
Clearing my throat, I blink away the stirrings of lust and haze of fantasies about what I’d do with that mouth. “Sorry.”
She frowns. “Are you okay?”
“I am.” I nod.
She’s still frowning but turns to Max. “How are you this morning?”
“Very well, thank you. I’m deciding on my valentine.”
“Oh well, that’s exciting to hear, and we have our singing to practice today. Two new songs—”
“My daddy has a secret valentine.”
Fuck.
How did I not predict this would happen? Kill me now. Perhaps the look Story is shooting my way will do it for me.
I glance down, half expecting to see a chalk outline of my body.
“I’m sure he does.” Story smiles, though it’s miles away from her eyes.
“He asked me who my valentine was . . .” I begin, though totally unsure where I’m going with it. It’s stopped by Story’s hand.
“You don’t have to explain.”
“I—”
“Seriously, don’t.”
“Right. Okay.” I finger-gun the door, which is quite possibly the worst part of my entire morning. “We’re going to head inside. C’mon, Maxy, let’s hang your bag up.”
Thankfully, I don’t have to go through the awkwardness of saying goodbye to Story because once I’ve been through the process of getting Max into his classroom, I’m caught by one of the dads who asks me to go for a beer one evening. By that time, Story is in and leading the charge.
When I get back to the car, my phone is flashing through the car window. Sienna. That she keeps ringing is making me increasingly nervous, and I need a game plan to stop it. I dial the only person I know who could help.
“Morning, Arthur, it’s Hendricks.” I greet our family solicitor. He’s the one who drew up the various offers and settlements for Sienna to accept. He’s dealt with every legal aspect of Max’s birth and future.
“Hendricks, how are you? To what do I owe this call?”
I get straight to the point. “Have you heard from Sienna’s solicitors in the past few weeks? Or Sienna?”
“Max’s mother?”
“Yes.”
“No. Should I have?”
My head falls back against the headrest. “I don’t know. She’s been calling me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t answered.”
His silence says the obvious way to find out would be to answer. But I don’t want to speak to her, and Arthur knows that.
“I’ll let the office know to be on alert. If anything comes in, I’ll call you immediately.”
“Thank you.” I go to hang up, then stop. “Wait, Arthur. She can’t take Max, can she? Legally?” Even saying the words out loud makes me feel sick. Panicky. Lightheaded.
“No. You have full custody. But . . . if she decides she wants to fight that. Well—”
“Got it.” If she decides to fight, that’s a different matter. “Thanks.”
“I’ll let you know.”
This much is true. I’ll tear the earth apart before I let anyone take Max from me. He is my son, born to a mother who abandoned him for the pursuit of fuck-knows-what and a payday. She will never be part of his life. I will not have him suffer because of my mistake.
My grip tightens around the steering wheel while I try to figure out what to do.
The school entrance has emptied. All the 4x4s have gone, and it’s quiet when I make my way back into the main school building. This time, I turn left toward the administration offices and the head’s study.
Which is when this morning’s total and utter shitshow is cemented.