23. Lincoln
After Lil stoppedmy heart and then started it again, we went to check on Grace. She was right where her mom left her, playing on Lil’s phone in her room.
Her cheeks and nose, both still rosy, were lit up by the bright phone screen. It was mid-day, but with the blinds drawn, hardly any light filtered through the window. Both Lil and I asked if Grace wanted to do anything fun today: bowling, board games, at home karaoke. All we got was a shake of her little head.
Instead, we coaxed her out to the living room, threw on the first Disney short series we saw, and all sat together on the couch for the rest of the day. It gave me time to pull out my laptop and get some work done. Lil was on her phone a lot of the day, too, with Grace’s head in her lap and stroking her hair back.
After I finish work, my stomach grumbles. With a glance at the time on my laptop, I realize it’s close to six, and we haven’t eaten in a while. The laptop makes a soft thump on the sectional as I toss it aside, but Lil still doesn’t look up from her phone.
“Hey.” I nudge her with my foot. “Anything important?”
The exhaustion in her face tugs at my heart. Like someone reaching into my chest and trying to pull it clean out.
“Just texting my sister about stuff the lawyer said,” her words are distracted.
“Like what?” We haven’t done much talking about how things are going with the lawyer I chose. I hope that means she likes him, or that she would have told me if she didn’t, so I could find a new one. Maybe get other recommendations from my friends.
“The little stuff. Silly things, but Jim is saying he’s wasting time on them when he should be helping Grace,” Lil explains. She sets the phone down and gives me her full attention. “You’re a lawyer. How important is the way I dress or wear my makeup? He said not to use my phone while we wait. Why would a judge care about that? My being a good mom to Grace should be what matters.” The way she fiddles with her fingers after she finishes talking is her nervous tell.
“It matters. Granted, in my job I’m almost never in court, but everything matters when you do. The first thing a judge will see about you is how young you are. A good lawyer will say you’re too young to properly care for a child. Minimal makeup, hair up, smart clothes, all help make you appear older. More mature, capable of raising a toddler. Courtrooms are also not what they’re like on TV. You’re going to be in a room with other people, hearing other cases. You don’t want to be on your phone, to appear at all distracted or distract other people. I’m sure he told you all the basics. Be respectful, answer the judge’s questions clearly, don’t get overly emotional, those things?” The last bit is more of a question to see if the man I hired for her is on top of things. It’s still almost two weeks out, but better to be over prepared than underprepared.
She nods.
“Good. It sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Are you happy with him? Aside from what Jim says, I mean.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, I really do. But I guess his frosty reception when I met him still rubs on me.
It makes Lillian grin. “What’s that tone for?” she goads. “This isn’t because he didn’t immediately become your best bro, is it?”
I huff. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need a best bro. I’ve got bros.”
“Oh, sure. Those four meatheads from your office you mean?” Maybe I should be offended…but they really are meatheads.
“No,” I lie automatically, not wanting her to be right. “Other meatheads.”
She laughs back at me, and I can’t help my own small smile. When she stops, she looks at me with a twinkle in her gorgeous eyes and says, “Jim will come around. He’s just gotta spend some time getting to know you. Besides, I like you. Is that not enough?”
This feels like a trap. While I’m silent, thinking through the correct response, she snorts. “I’m kidding. I’ll be your bro, and Jim will come around soon; then he’ll be your bro, too. And yes, I like my new lawyer.”
My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “My bro, huh?”
Before I get to tease her anymore or tell her I certainly can’t bend my ‘bro’ over the kitchen island, Grace lets out a few wet sounding coughs. We both stop talking to look at her, but she’s sound asleep.
“She never sleeps this much. It’s been almost half the day,” Lil sighs. “I don’t want to wake her up, but she’s due for more medicine and really should eat and drink something.”
“We should, too, honestly. None of us have eaten much today.”
“To be honest, your dad pretty much ruined any appetite I had,” she says sullenly.
“He does have that effect on people,” I agree. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
The shrug I get back is entirely unconvincing. Something is still bugging her. Something about my dad, no doubt.
“What he said…” she starts.
I cut her off. “Was uncalled for. And hateful and–”
“Not entirely untrue,” she whispers in a sad voice, cutting me off this time.
I flinch back. “What? Nothing that asshole said is even remotely true.”
“Lincoln…”
“Lillian,” I mock in the same tone, having none of this.
“Kids do change your life. They are a drain financially and emotionally. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. It’s one thing to want to be back in my life, but you couldn’t have anticipated that I would come with a toddler now.”
“First of all, the first time I saw you again, you had Grace with you. I’ve wanted you—both of you—in my life since that day. Second, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not exactly strapped for cash.” I make a show of looking around my very comfortable penthouse. “Third, the emotional stuff, I’m sure it’s hard. That’s why we have each other to lean on. Don’t try pushing me away now. It’s only going to piss me off, and I’m not going anywhere.”
She tilts her head at me and frowns. “I’m not trying to piss you off.”
“Good, then we’re on the same page. I’m in this for the long haul. Two point five kids and a white picket fence,” I declare, grabbing her free hand and twining our fingers together.
Another unconvincing tilt of her lips. I sigh. “Spit it out.”
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, deciding whether it’s worth it, maybe. “I’m not sure what your parents’ relationship is like…but you know it would kill me if I found out you were sleeping with other people, right?”
My hand stills in hers as I realize what she’s worried about. I could fucking kill my father for putting these kind of thoughts in her head. For making her doubt not only my fidelity toward her, but my intentions with her and Grace. “Yes, my dad is a bastard. He steps out on my mom all the time, and I’m sure she does the same. But I will never need anyone but you. You will always be more than enough personality for me, Frasier. That, you can trust.”
I can’t help making a little joke out of it because the thought of cheating on her is honestly so ridiculous it boarders on fucking funny.
“I hate you,” she whispers, laughing slightly.
You love me, I mouth back.
“I do.” She shrugs, staring at me again with that infuriating searching look.
“Woman, if you don’t stop looking at me like that.” The brat smirks.
“I was just thinking…that I feel like I know you, right? I mean, four years ago, you were my best friend. You knew everything about me, and I thought I knew everything about you.”
Ouch. But fair. “But?” I prompt, moving past that.
“But we don’t know each other, do we?” I feel like I still do know her, but I play along. Also, I don’t want to admit how much I was able to learn from my PI. That could get a little dicey.
“What do you want to know, Lil?”
A lift of her shoulder. “I don’t know. Tell me something.” She pauses, then adds, “Tell me something from the last four years that I don’t know about you.”
I think back to what I’ve done since we broke up. Embarrassment washes over me as I realize I haven’t done a whole lot of anything. “Work.”
Her blank stare makes me even more embarrassed before she breezes past it. “Okay. Tell me something you didn’t tell me when we were together before. A secret.”
“A secret?” I repeat. She nods, playing with my fingers still in her hand.
“Okay…” From my childhood, maybe? That’s pretty much the only topic I avoided with her years back. It takes me a minute to think of a good one. But then, when I have one, I have three. They might bring the mood down even more, but fuck it. Love isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it’s messy. “When I was young, I used to dream about having different parents. Like mine died in a car accident, so then our nanny took me and Becca in. And the fucked up thing is that those were good dreams.”
Her face is neutral, not outwardly damning me for my confession, so I go on. “A year before we met—Becca was thirteen and I was twenty-nine—she was starting to show behavioral issues. For days, it was getting worse and worse. I thought it was just hormones. Typical teenager things, I’m not sure. She’d fly off the wall, get overly emotional, about the smallest things. If you even so much as teased her about the way she wore her hair that day, she’d dissolve into a fit of tears that were so gut-wrenching, I used to think they were fake. Like she did it for attention. I had no idea what… It wasn’t until days later that I found her in her bedroom with a bottle of my mom’s Valium. A new prescription, and all the pills were gone.”
It was the scariest night of my life. One I’ll never forget. I wasn’t even living at home at the time, but for some reason, I came back for the evening. There was this feeling in my gut, I can’t describe it. Almost like nerves, I guess. But it felt like a bad omen. With the way Becca was acting and the text she had sent me that morning telling me she loved me, I listened to the voice in my head, showed up with takeout for two knowing Mom and Dad wouldn’t be there, and that’s when I found her face down on her bed. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse weak but there.
The doctor said I must have gotten there right after she lost consciousness, and that it saved her life.
A firm grip on my hand brings me back to the present; my gaze had gone distant without me realizing it. Silver lines Lillian’s eyes and she looks at a loss for words, so I try to lighten the mood with my third confession. “And when I was sixteen, I adjusted the grip on my dad’s golf clubs right before a big charity golf tournament. Made all of them from thinner, cheap material. Got my ass handed to me that night, but he lost, so I think I was still a winner after.”
The laugh I get at that is a little watery, and I feel like shit for bringing the mood down. But I wanted to put myself out there. Make up for lost time. Lay myself bare. Still, I don’t want to be the reason she cries tonight.
“Your turn,” I decide.
“My turn?”
“Yes. Tell me three things from the past four years.” Please, dear fucking God, let there be no intense dating history. I might be driven to drink.
“Hmmm,” she starts and looks at the TV as she thinks. And thinks for a long time. But I sit there patiently, watching the way her eyes unfocus, the way she bites her lip, the little freckle under her eye. “Okay.”
“Finally,” I tease her, and she smacks my thigh. The feeling like a feather brushing against me.
“Let’s see. When I first moved in with Kim and Jimmy, it was a rough transition while I applied for my foster license. We butted heads about parenting styles, cleanliness, groceries, you name it. But the day that Grace and I moved out, I cried on my bed in my new house all night because I felt so alone without my sister. I suppose I got kind of attached.”
“That’s understandable. You were alone for the first time in a while. And with a baby under one to keep alive by yourself. I probably would have cried too.” My words are meant to be understanding, but I get the added benefit of hearing her addicting laugh.
“Right,” she agrees. Then goes on to her second admission. “I joined an adult softball league one summer.” Her cheeks turn a little pink, and my curiosity is piqued.
“What’s wrong with that?” I brush my thumb across her cheek where the color intensifies.
“Nothing is wrong with it. I just happened to not be very good.” She shrugs and holds up a third finger like she’s going to move on.
“Uh uh. No way. There’s a story there, Frasier.” My smile is wide as she glares at me. “Tell me.”
“There may have been an incident at first base. But it wasn’t my fault!”
“Whose fault was it?” The mirth in my voice is hard to hide.
“Becky freaking Summers. First baseman for the other team. I was running through the base after my hit, and I swear she tripped me.”
“You tripped running through first?”
“No! She tripped me. I swear I saw her foot kick back.” The ‘v’ in between her eyebrows and little twist in her lips is adorable.
“Why would she trip you?” I snort.
Silence. A sinking feeling in my gut.
“Frasier,” I start slowly. “Why did she trip you?”
Lillian looks into my eyes for a second, maybe deciding where my mood is before answering. “I might have hooked up with her ex.” I try not to let any emotions show on my face—even though it feels like a punch to my gut—because she’s still staring at me. Why the fuck am I even upset? Lord knows I wasn’t celibate while we were apart.
Lillian waits for me to say something, looking worried. It’s not fair to be upset, so I go for humor. “What a bitch,” I say lightly.
A breath punches out of her, and she chuckles nervously. “Seriously,” she agrees.
“That’s not bad, though. So you tripped.” I shrug.
“Well, the really embarrassing part is that I broke my wrist. I took a hard fall and tried to catch myself, but my wrist twisted. I wore a cast for almost two months.”
“What?” My mouth drops open. “What’d you say her name was?”
“Becky S–” she starts, then looks at me suspiciously. “Wait. Why?”
“I’m just curious.” Because physically assaulting someone for dating your ex is uncalled for. But especially Lillian, one of the most kind-hearted, empathetic people I’ve ever known.
“What are you going to do?” The way she’s staring at me, the wary look in her eyes, makes me bark out a laugh.
“For fuck’s sake, Frasier. I’m not in the mafia. I’m not about to beat the girl. I just think a nice little care package is warranted.”
Her cheeks heat again. “What kind of care package?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet. Maybe a bag of flaming dog shit on her porch?” I run a hand along my jaw, thinking.
“Summers,” is her quick response to my idea.
“Hmm?” I ask, distracted with all the possibilities.
“Becky Summers. And she lives in Flagstaff. I can write down her address for you if you’d like.” The minx bats her eyelashes at me. Devious little shit.
“I love you,” I say, smiling at her faux innocent look.
“I know,” is her jaunty reply. She leans into me, her head tilted back, and I lean down to meet her lips halfway. Our kiss is slow, deep, sensual. When I feel my dick start to stir, another hacking wet cough comes from Grace, and I’m reminded we aren’t alone.
We pull apart and both look at her, still sleeping. This is so surreal. The feeling hits me out of nowhere. I have a kid now. The rest of the apartment is quiet, everything about this Friday night is typical. Sitting at home on the couch, finishing some work, no plans to go out. But so different at the same time. With Lillian and Grace here, my usual boring weekend feels so full now. I’m…well, happy. In a way I haven’t been for a long time.
“You still have one more confession,” I say in a low voice now that I’m reminded of the sleeping toddler.
“My third thing is kind of a piggyback off my last one...if you want to hear it.” The hesitance tells me it’s a piggyback off the dating portion and not the bone breaking.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I need to hear it. I squeeze her hand and nod.
One big breath in; one fast puff out. “I didn’t really do a lot of ‘dating’ over the years,” she starts, and my heart lifts. Maybe this’ll be easier than I thought. “I tried. To date, that is.” Just as fast, it stalls. “But it wasn’t very long before I realized that I was just trying to replace you. And to get rid of the feeling of not being good enough. There was always something—with each guy—that reminded me too much of you, so I’d end things. Or they did when they realized I wasn’t going to be able to commit to them. It made it hard to form any kind of real attachment with someone.”
I stare at her for a second, shell-shocked. “I don’t know what to say to that…” I admit. On the one hand, it kills me to know she dated enough to have had multiple partners. But then again…some sick part of me is happy that I was always on her mind. With every man, it was always me she was thinking about.
“You don’t have to say anything.” She shrugs. “I just wanted you to know. It’s always been you for me.”
A big, smug smile starts to spread across my face, and she smacks my leg. “Shut up,” she grumbles, embarrassed.
I have no qualms reciprocating, though. “I have one last confession.”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t do a lot of dating,” I start, and she scowls at what I mean by that. Jealousy looks fucking good on her. “Let me finish, Frasier. What I’m trying to say is, when I was with someone, I compared them to you. It was always you for me, too.”
The scowl drops, replaced by a small, shy smile. “Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay,” I laugh.
Just like that, the mood lightens again. Until Grace lets out another hacking cough.
“I need to get her more medicine,” Lillian worries aloud.
“I’ll get it. We need to order food, too.” She nods, and that’s how the rest of the night goes. Food is ordered, Grace takes a few bites and then says she isn’t hungry, and Lillian makes her drink a whole glass of Pedialyte before she disappears back to her room. She gets another round of medicine before Lillian puts her to bed, but she isn’t looking or sounding much better by the time Lillian follows me to our own room for the night.
“I need to get her in to see her primary care physician on Monday.” Lillian slides under the covers and molds her body against mine.
“We can get her into a 24/7 place here in Phoenix if you want? Tomorrow or Sunday?” I offer, I don’t offer to pay someone to come here in the morning because I know she’ll veto me spending another large amount of money on them. But I like being able to take care of her and Grace.
She thinks for a second and shakes her head. “It’s okay. Her doctor knows her already. I’ll feel more comfortable taking her there. I’ll call her in the morning.”
“Okay,” I agree and then kiss the top of her head. She tilts her head up, lips puckered, and I laugh but oblige. The kiss is slow and deepens after a second. I spend the rest of the night buried deep inside her, showing her how much I fucking love her. Telling her how I’ll never let her go again, and she promises the same.
I want endless days like today, I think before I fall asleep. And if only wishing made it so.
I walk into work on Monday completely exhausted. Lillian and I were asleep maybe an hour or two Friday night before Grace crawled into bed with us and coughed half the night, keeping us both up. Grace still slept through the night, though. Which, in hindsight, was a blessing, because Saturday night her coughing worsened and kept her up crying for most of the night.
During the day she was fine. Well, not fine, but she wasn’t in so much pain that she cried. Lillian was able to keep her pumped full of water and Pedialyte, but Grace wouldn’t eat anything. All of Sunday was spent trying to convince Lillian to let me take them to a doctor in Phoenix. During one really bad bout of coughing, I saw her almost cave.
But then Grace ate a whole bowl of soup and got some energy back Sunday afternoon, so it made us both feel marginally better. They went home last night, and I stayed on FaceTime with them once they got home. For half the night, we were on the phone until they both fell asleep, Grace in bed with her again.
Lillian text me this morning to let me know it was an okay night. Grace still has the wet cough, but she was able to sleep for several hours at a time, but she stayed home from school today so she could take her to the doctor.
That text was several hours ago, and I keep checking my phone, anxious for an update. There’s a knock on my door, and I glance up to see an unfamiliar face. It’s a young man, maybe early to mid twenties with a bike helmet under his arm and a backpack on his shoulders.
“Can I help you?” I frown, standing up, walking around my desk, and meeting him halfway in my office.
“Lincoln Walton?” he asks, and I nod.
“That’s me,” I confirm just as something clicks. Shit.
“Great. You’ve been served.” He produces a manilla envelope, pulls it out, and hands it to me. “This is a legal document notifying you of your date to appear,” he states and then tells me I may need to respond by filing legal paperwork, and then he rushes out the door. If I wasn’t confused as hell, I might laugh.
Poor kid probably has PTSD from this job.
My thumb slides under the lip of the envelope, opening it, and I pull out the paper. I scan the top page where my name is front and center under ‘writ of summons.” Then my eyes bounce up to the top left where my heart stops.
Plaintiff: Mr and Mrs. Jack T. Walton
Defendant: Rebecca L. Walton
What. The. Fuck.
They’re suing Becca? I hurriedly look over the rest of the document, wondering at the fucking nerve of them. That’s when I catch a word out of the corner of my eye.
Conservatorship
They’re trying to put Becca under a conservatorship because, of course, they are. How dull will their lives be when they can’t control either of their children anymore?
Blood pumping, I toss the papers on the coffee table in front of the couch and pull out my phone, thumbing through my contacts.
I’m going to need a fucking lawyer. A good one, too, because God knows they’re going to get the best one money can buy.
I leave a voicemail for a friend who will have a recommendation for me. When I hang up, I sit there stewing in my anger, ready to walk across this floor to my dad’s office and beat the shit out of him.
But that’s what he wants. A scene. To know he’s getting to me. Instead, I stand up and grab my gym bag. Maybe a run will clear my mind.
As I’m heading out the door, a new thought hits me, and I pull my phone back out to make another call.