Chapter 19Cody
19
Cody
By the time I reached the docks after my B&E, it became glaringly apparent that my plan to break into Miss Barb’s burnt house and make off with a truck bed full of mementos was not a flawless story of redemption and heroics.
Exhibit A being that the houseboat had no good place to store such a quantity of evidence.
I sat in my truck and glared at the boat in the small harbor as if all watercrafts were the root of my problems, but ya know what? The casinos on the Gulf partially floated on water, and I’d spent six months on a cruise ship competing for the title of worst cruise ship employee and even worse boyfriend, so maybe there was something to that.
Eventually, I formulated a half-assed plan of procrastination that included buying a tarp from the closest hardware store and covering everything in the back of my truck bed with it.
Once that one small hole in the plan was plugged, I went inside the houseboat to stew for the rest of the day—and night —while pretending I hadn’t just put a bright blue beacon on my truck that practically yelled, “Stolen items here!”
But maybe that was just my paranoia being an intrusive little bitch.
The twin to my anxiety, that one.
By the time I woke from sleeping off my feelings and regrouped, I was sore as hell and beyond hungry. I unlocked my phone and noted two missed calls from Bree and a text asking if I wanted to come to the cottage for lunch.
Welp. I’d missed that, and it would be shitty to ask her to feed me dinner instead.
When I thought on everything that’d happened yesterday, it really had been the perfect representation of my life. A tornado blowing through town, terrorizing the innocent citizens in its path, like that poor barista at 7th Street Coffee. My various failures and the broken pieces of my relationship with my mother, and even with AJ, were the shards of debris spread throughout the funnel—inescapable, jagged, and debilitating.
I was the black-and-white moo cow caught up in the tornado, mystifying and almost whimsical—if you didn’t think too hard about what would happen when gravity eventually reclaimed it.
Heaving my achy body out of bed, I rolled my eyes at my inner dramatics. I stretched my arms above my head and, catching a whiff of myself, cringed. Still a little smoky, even after showering last night.
Once I’d scrubbed myself raw again, I left the houseboat, got back in my evidence-filled truck, and drove straight to my dad’s house, forgoing a courtesy call.
I blamed the hanger I was battling—I really needed a snack—for my inability to see how dumb it was to surprise visit my other parent after the fiasco of doing the same to the other.
But that’s show business.
Fifteen minutes later, I parked in Dad’s expansive driveway in front of his open garage and creaked open my truck door, freezing halfway out of it as a scream pierced the air. I listened intently as an answering scream sounded, and then two child-sized blurs came into view as they raced through Dad’s backyard, just visible above the short white picket fence that enclosed the space.
A third child fell behind and had apparently given up the race in favor of ripping open a pack of fruit snacks and upending the entire bag into their mouth like a savage.
My stomach roared. I wanted to be that savage, and no one was here to keep me from taking some fruit gummies from an almost-baby.
After slamming my truck door, I beelined to the backyard, planted my palm on the post, and jumped clear over to the other side. I gritted my teeth against my sore shoulder as my gaze flitted around the space, trying to make sense of what, exactly, I was seeing. The smell of burnt hot dogs—my preferred way to cook them—wafted into my face, and all conscious thought abandoned me. Groaning like a starving man just back from months at sea, I stalked across the lawn.
Zeroing in on my prey, I went right for the table covered with a pastel-yellow vinyl cloth, grabbed a pastel-pink plate, and loaded it up with three hot dogs from the disposable foil pan, put them in buns, and traced a line of mustard on each. I eyed the table intently, wondering if Dad had brought any sauerkraut.
For the probiotics.
My campaign for gut health was interrupted when I locked in on three sets of eyes staring at me from the other side of the table.
Staring right back at the tallest kid in the group, the one who was giving off alpha kid energy, I took a giant bite of one of the hot dogs, maintaining eye contact and therefore establishing dominance.
He cracked a grin, displaying a few missing teeth, and his eyes lit with recognition before he wrapped his arm around his brother beside him—the resemblance was unmistakable—and leaned down to whisper in his ear, “See that, Sully? Cody made it to your party!”
Bewildered, I watched and chewed as the middle one relaxed at his brother’s words, but the youngest didn’t seem convinced yet, eyeing me shyly.
The oldest—Jaxon, I remembered now—squeezed him again before adding, “Remember the pictures we saw of Mr. Frankie’s son yesterday?” The kid squatted down to his brother’s height and pointed at me. “That’s him, all grown up, just like we will be one day.”
Mr. Frankie? I would definitely be calling Dad that from now until the end of time.
The rest of his words registered one by one, and I glanced up to see a giant blow-up Easter bunny balloon, its string anchored onto the table in front of me by a dirty rock. I hoped an adult showed up soon because I was not up for the task of deciphering these clues.
Something slapped my toes—I was wearing a pair of raggedy slides—and I glanced down in surprise to see Sully emerging from where he’d crawled under the table. Raising his dirty hands in the air, he looked at me with his pleading ice-blue eyes—Jeanne’s eyes, I realized—and said, “Cody play?”
My soul softened at his earnest gaze, and I abandoned my hot dogs on the table before lifting the boy into my arms. “Is today your birthday party, buddy?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed and then pointed past my shoulder at the back of the yard where a toddler-sized bouncy house was set up. It wasn’t huge by any means, but it was big enough to beg the question of how the fuck I’d missed that when I’d jumped the fence.
“You wanna go bounce, buddy?”
He slapped the sides of my cheeks with his sticky hands and squished, making my lips purse like a fish’s. “Not my name, silly! I’m Sully Bear!”
I was no longer king kid in this yard. All hail Sully Bear, first of his name.
Speaking through mashed lips was difficult, but I rocked it as I answered, “I’m so sorry Sully Buddy Bear, can we go play now, pleaeeease?” I drew out the word, and he squealed in delight, but before I walked us over to the blow-up castle, I turned my attention to his siblings. Sully’s hands fell from my face, and until either Jeanne or my dad showed their faces, they were the authority on their brother’s dance card. “I’m guessing you’re Jeanne’s crew?”
Jaxon frowned. “No. That’s our mom. And you’re Cody.”
I nodded seriously. “I am. Are you both okay with me taking Sully to jump in the castle?”
He puffed his chest out in pride at being asked such a thing, and I instantly wanted to adopt all three of them.
Or have Jeanne adopt me, perhaps.
“Yes, you’re allowed. But…,” he trailed off, eyeing me seriously but seeming hesitant to continue.
I held his gaze and dipped my chin. “Speak freely.”
“Don’t let him do flips. He’s not four yet, and that’s how old you have to be for big tricks.”
Putting my hand over my heart, I vowed, “I’ll keep him safe.”
The middle kid, whose name I hadn’t gotten, took the opportunity to poke his brother with a whispered “ Tag,” and they both took off like little screeching, rabid hyenas.
I smiled after them and then turned back to Sully Buddy. “Do you want me to carry you, or do you want to chase?”
“Chase!” he yelled, and then his body was suddenly akin to Jell-O that I couldn’t hold for anything as he got himself to the ground and took off toward the bounce house.
I kicked off my slides and ran after him. I caught him under the armpits just as he made it to the little entrance to the house and hoisted him inside. He immediately started to tumble around, demanding for me to “Watch this” and “Look at me ,” and it was roughly ninety-two of those later that my dad—or excuse me , Mr. Frankie— appeared in the yard with baby Maggie nestled over his shoulder.
He even had a yellow burp cloth under her chin, protecting his button-down from potential spit-up.
Glancing wildly around the yard, he looked absolutely panicked for a moment as he obviously performed a head count of the kids. When his gaze finally landed on me and the bounce house that was shaking violently under Sully Buddy’s cool tricks, I wasn’t sure what I was bracing myself for, but it definitely wasn’t his massive face-splitting grin. His relief.
Jaxon and Jaxon’s unnamed other brother ran up to him and starting cooing at Maggie. I knew I’d met all these kids at some point, but it’d been in passing and more than a couple of years ago, so they’d changed enough for me to not recognize them. And my brain leaked information freely enough that I’d never quite kept their names in permanent storage.
“Cody! Cody, look! Cody! Look!” Sully’s desperate cries drew my attention back to the inside of the castle, where he had his hands planted on the floor and one leg kicked into the air.
“Woah!” I exclaimed, sensing that there was a reason this kid was literally begging for attention. I clapped my hands and hooted in encouragement, and he lit up like a Christmas tree and then started spinning around the bounce house with no rhyme or reason.
“Wow, Sully!” Dad joined in from behind me, still smiling widely. “Show me one more spin move, and then guess what we get to do ? ” he asked the toddler excitedly—and rhetorically—and though I could sense some strain around his eyes, he seemed genuinely excited as he announced, “We get to have your birthday cake!”
And that’s how I found myself sitting on Mr. Frankie’s nice backyard patio furniture with grass stuck between my toes and baby Maggie in my lap, shoveling caramel cake my dad had imploded his macros for to make for Sully into my mouth.
For a long moment, everything but what was right in front of me had dissolved to background noise. I forgot my stresses, my failures, my fuckups.
My tornado dissipated, and a miniature bouncy house broke my fall.
The boat, Austin, AJ, my truck of contraband mementos—they were pushed far away, out of my mind. But all it took was the scent of the salty breeze and finding a stray colored pencil on the kitchen island for Liem to be there.
Taking up space, demanding my attention.
Pulling out my phone, I looked over at Jeanne, who had appeared not long after Dad came out of the house, looking more than a little harried. She and my dad had shared a long, knowing look when she returned, and it didn’t escape my notice that his eyes never wandered from her for long.
Was I actually getting a new mommy? Please, God above, say yes.
As long as she got rid of her deadbeat husband first.
“Jeanne, do you mind if I take a selfie with Maggie?”
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “As long as you’re not putting it online.”
I raise an eyebrow back. “I would never.”
Dad sat beside her and then handed her a small pastel-green plate with a fresh slice of cake on it with a smile. She thanked him as she took it and then waved her free hand. “Selfie away. Especially if it means I get more time to eat this.”
In fact, I took dozens of shots of me and a dozing Maggie and then surreptitiously turned the camera around and took some of everyone around me as evidence that the feelings I had in this moment had existed.
That I didn’t merely exist right now. I was wanted.
There hadn’t been an opportunity to talk at length with Dad about what exactly was going on here in his backyard today, but he did give me the rushed, hushed CliffsNotes.
Jeanne’s estranged husband—the father of the four kids—was supposed to be in charge of Sully’s party. He’d “forgotten.”
Jeanne had some Easter decorations in storage and had made do with that, Sully being too young to really understand that they weren’t actually birthday decorations.
Even without this information, I was happy to pretend I was attending a kid’s birthday party that I’d been enthusiastically invited to, where Jay—the middle child—looked at me like I was his hero when I did a handstand. Where my dad looked at me with pride after I talked my Sully Buddy down from post-boo-boo hysterics.
Where Jeanne had no reservations about letting her baby doze in my arms.
Eventually the sun began to set, and the improvised party came to a close. I gave Maggie back to Jeanne for her next bottle and grabbed a trash bag from Dad’s pantry, making quick work of party cleanup with Colin, who’d become my little shadow. We were just about done when we walked back into the house and into the end of a hushed argument between my dad and Jeanne.
We all stared at one another for a moment before Dad sighed, pasted on a bright smile for me and Colin, and picked up a bag from the couch.
Hoisting the backpack diaper bag over his shoulder, he looked at me hopefully. “Are you sticking around?”
Mostly out of habit, I opened my mouth to decline, closed it, and then nodded instead. If I left now, I was afraid I’d be swept up by the tornado again. Or become one.
Dad nodded back, and I followed them out to say goodbye to Jeanne and the kids, giving the little creatures high fives and patting Maggie gently on the back. After a brief unexpected hug from Jeanne, I left them to it and went back inside to fish around Dad’s cupboard for some decaf coffee.
After finding the beans, I poured some into his grinder and called upon all my years of barista-ing to make two perfect decaf cappuccinos. One with whole milk for me, the other with hemp milk that absolutely did not froth right for Dad. So, not so perfect, but he must’ve thought it was, based on the way his eyes brightened before he thanked me and took a savoring sip.
We occupied our usual spots at the marble island—the thought making me pause just for a moment when I realized that we truly did have such a routine—and let the silence of the Sunday night settle. The door to the backyard was open, leaving just the screen door between us and the outside. The chirp of night insects and calls of animals grew louder as time passed.
Dad scooped up our finished cappuccinos and washed the mugs by hand, and I grabbed a towel from the drawer and silently dried them and put them back on their shelf.
It was now or never, I supposed, and I tried to not think—or overthink—as I spoke.
“Jaxon knew who I was when I broke into your backyard and crashed his brother’s party. He said he’d seen pictures.”
Dad opened a drawer, took out a lens cloth, and started cleaning his wire-framed glasses. “That’s true. I’ve been helping Jeanne with the kids lately, and they’ve seen your pictures hanging in the halls. Jaxon even looked at your school yearbooks.” He held up his glasses and inspected them in the kitchen’s light, then resumed cleaning, glancing at me briefly. “Also, you can’t break in. There would never be….”
He paused his cleaning and tossed the lens cloth onto the marble countertop and drew his shoulders back as he put his glasses back on and looked at me, presumably in ultra-clear definition, based on how long he’d cleaned them. “Cody, there would never be a time when you wouldn’t be welcome here.”
I stared at him for a long moment, and he held my gaze, stern and unyielding. He won this time, and I collapsed back on the stool, then nodded dumbly for several long moments. “Thank you for saying that.”
“You don’t—” he started, but then he frowned and glanced down at the counter. “I’m not just saying it. I mean it.”
When I made no reply except to nod again, Dad busied himself around the kitchen, blessedly keeping the kitchen bar between us as he did, giving me just enough physical distance that I didn’t feel suffocated. I was now sure this move was deliberate.
An awkward silence descended between us, but we were both tired from the day, not to mention whatever else was going on with him. The quiet wasn’t abrasively awkward. Just more… stilted.
So, in the name of drawing this day—and weekend—to a close, I cut to the chase.
“I need to store some stuff in your garage.”
He tilted his head but didn’t sound at all suspicious as he agreed. “That’d be fine. There’s plenty of room.”
It made me feel a bit guilty, so I rubbed the back of my neck and added, “Full disclosure—in doing so, you’ll become complicit. Or an accomplice. Or something.”
“Complicit,” he repeated slowly, his eyebrows rising as his gaze traveled to the door that led to the garage.
“Complicit,” I confirmed. Standing up from the stool, I twirled my bracelets around my wrist. “I did a… thing yesterday.”
“Do go on, son, and tell me what I’m about to get involved in.”
Warmth spread through my chest as I realized that he meant it. He was in, no matter what I was about to reveal. Which meant I might as well speak plainly.
“I broke into Miss Barb’s house and took stuff out of Bree’s old bedroom closet as well as a few pictures from the hallway.”
Dad stared at me blankly for several seconds.
Then his mouth opened and closed. And then opened again.
“You’re okay?” he asked as his gaze flicked over me like there might be an injury he couldn’t see or wasn’t obvious. “You’re not hurt?”
I shook my head but then paused. I’d had so much fun with the kids today that I hardly noticed the aching around my shoulder and in my hip and ribs. “No. I’m not hurt. Just a bit of soreness from a small fall.”
Dad visibly paled. “Cody, there is no such thing as a small fall, especially when it comes to your kids. For the love of God, please promise me you’ll never do anything like that again. And that you’re being honest, and it doesn’t need medical attention.”
A shitty retort was faint in the back of my mind, an echo of something I would have clapped back with before.
Before.
Before I’d understood more. Before I’d lived a little more life and started to see more layers to the people around me.
I let that edge dull and rolled my lips inward before agreeing, “I promise.”
He watched me closely—for what, I wasn’t sure—but then he eventually seemed satisfied with that and nodded, gesturing to the garage. “Well, let’s see what I’m involved with now. Maybe I can use some old law school knowledge to make whatever is about to happen a bit less….” He made vague circling gestures with his hands as he trailed off and then dropped them with a huff.
I clapped him familiarly on the back as we walked out to my truck. When I lifted the tarp back, we both wrinkled our noses at the smell of smoke. He stared at it all, his eyes seeming to catalogue every piece of it.
“It’s not so bad, right?” I asked.
He looked for one more moment before meeting my gaze with a smirk. “Not for me. But I’m also not the one who has to tell Bree what you did. She’s not here, so I’m guessing you haven’t told her.”
My stomach sank, and I stared at my dirty feet.
“Hey.” He clapped me on the back. “It’ll be okay. But I do have one stipulation to helping you with all of this.”
“Oh?” I frowned at him. I shouldn’t have been surprised. This was also the man who made me promise to work toward a degree while also working at Fortuna before he put in a referral for my jobs there.
But then again… that promise was the only reason I’d taken that art class last year.
It was the only reason I’d met the angel-voiced LL.
Liem.
Ti Bet.
My Little Beast.
There really wasn’t anything about Liem Lott that broadcasted little, despite his shorter height and lithe frame.
He was all-encompassing. Unmissable.
And I’d still managed to miss him.
A waft of acrid-smelling air brought me back to the present as Dad lifted the tarp fully off the bed, making us both grimace.
“It’s been a long night,” he started as he began folding the tarp, speaking loudly over the annoying sound of the material being manipulated, “but if we get this unloaded and sorted quickly, you should get home well before nine.”
I frowned at him. “Seems specific.”
His answering smile was almost… savage. “Well, that’s when you have to get home and go to bed in order to get a full eight hours of sleep. Which you’ll need, since you’ll be meeting me for a run at half past five.”
I gawked at him. “In the morning? Why would I do that?”
Dad finished folding the tarp into a tidy triangle before he answered. “Because, son,” he said as he tucked the tarp into an empty storage shelf in the garage. “That’s what we’re going to do every weekday until summer. Deal?”
I watched him for a long moment before nodding. “Deal.”
“Do you have a preference where you’d wanna run? We can go up the beach or just make a circuit around the neighborhood.”
Humming, I made a show of thinking it over, but I knew there was only one place I would be that close to sunrise.
“Downtown Bay Springs?”
He smiled broadly. “Perfect. I’ve been wanting to see your new town.”
I cut him a look and challenged, “Don’t act like you’ve never been there before.”
He shrugged before tossing me a pair of work gloves and tugging his own on.
Damn. These would’ve been handy yesterday.
He pulled one of the bigger frames from the back of the truck as he replied. “Sure, but it wasn’t my son’s town then.”
By the grace of a manual labor task, I was able to busy myself instead of finding a response to that.
In fact, we both seemed to fall easily into quiet-work mode until the task was complete.
Nothing was settled, and no real answers were discovered.
But still, I drove home with an empty truck under a stormless sky.