18. Poet
18
POET
Sex with Zoe the first time sent me into an overthinking mess.
And now I’ve done it again.
This time is certain to kill me.
Trudy and I rarely slept together, and the woman still managed to break my heart when she wheeled those two suitcases out of the hallway. If a platonic love has the power to spiral me into a midlife crisis, how the hell is my body gonna react to the day Zoe leaves? It’s coming. I don’t know when, but the day will come and no forewarning will be issued. We’ll share one last conversation and it’ll be about something mundane like the weather.
It was the same with Trudy—she didn’t bring up a conversation about the divorce. Just dropped it on me, the way someone randomly shoves a bag into your chest and tells you to carry it. News of Mom’s death was delivered the same brutal way. She had a stroke one Thursday afternoon, 5:17 PM to be exact, and didn’t make it. Over. That’s what the hospital told me. I was riding out of the city that day, heading back to the clubhouse. To my knowledge, she was enjoying Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? on the couch with an English breakfast tea, not lying dead in a hospital morgue.
I can’t even remember our last conversation.
And probably, it’ll be the same with Zoe when she exits my life without warning. It’s like I’m destined to lose loved ones this way.
I tuck Zoe into bed the same gentle way she did with Sammy earlier, and I plant a kiss to her forehead.
She chuckles a tired laugh.
I told her I loved her because I know one day I won’t get the chance. She’ll find a way to leave, one way or another. Either she’ll get bored and quietly exit like Trudy did, or she’ll get taken from me by Felix, because we failed.
“Goodnight, princess,” says Wrangler as he and I walk to the door.
“Come back before you leave,” she says. “Please?”
This brings warmth into my chest. Red hair falls loose around her face, shaping it like a heart, and her eyes shine in the half light like two green “go” signals.
My stomach folds in on itself. What if this is the last time we’re in the same room? What if Felix returns and tears our hearts from our chests with his bare hands? What if the cops uncover Venom Vultures and sentence us all?
To define “life” using only one adjective, I would say: unpredictable.
My skin grows cold as soon as we close her bedroom door.
Standing on the other side, I picture that overdone movie scene where we’re both staring at the door from opposite ends, waiting for the other to reopen it. My imagination runs wild sometimes—that’s why I taught literature for nineteen years, not linguistics.
“You’re scared you’re gonna lose her,” says Wrangler.
I tense my jaw. Nod curtly.
We never discuss emotions.
“Don’t be. We’re Venom Vultures. We’re survivors and know how to fight better than anyone.” He pats me on the shoulder, motivating me forward like I’m a horse from his ranch. “Let’s go and see what Bullwhip has found.”
We journey back through the long corridor and take the grand staircase that snakes down to the lobby. This place is fucking ridiculous. Too many diamond chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Polished marble—or quartz, I can’t tell—tiles the floor, and it echoes our footsteps. That’s because there’s barely any furniture in here.
An L-shaped couch sits at the bottom of the staircase, but it looks untouched. The teal blue color boasts no marks or creases, and white, fluffy pillows are propped up against the backrest, each one placed the same, straight way as the one before it.
I turn behind me to check that no marks from our shoes have been left behind.
“Shit.”
A smear of mud stands out against the white floor behind us.
Wrangler turns to look over his shoulder. “Better clean it up, and quick. The front entrance is just there.” He points at the large door directly in front of us that could open at any moment and ruin us for good.
I wet my finger, retrace my steps, and scrub the quartz-marble floor until it’s clean.
“Better double-check the staircase too,” whispers Wrangler.
“Didn’t Zoe say it’s the second floor to cross the drawbridge, anyway?”
“Drawbridge?” scoffs Wrangler. “We’re not in fucking Game of Thrones .”
“Feels like it,” I say, climbing back up the stairs. “He’s like an aged Joffrey.”
We clear up more boot prints and make it onto the correct floor, where the mahogany door leading out onto the bridge has already been opened by Bully. Hopefully he’s already stashed away enough evidence for us to get the hell out of here. The giant clock on the wall reads 10 PM—we’re really pushing our luck here.
Wrangler slips through the door, and I’m about to close it when a child’s voice makes me jump out of my skin.
“Hello?”
I whip around.
Sammy stands in the middle of the corridor, holding a toy platypus by its beak. She’s too small for this place. The corridor alone threatens to drown her.
I lower my voice. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Who are you?” Her blue eyes flicker between us both.
And fuck, it melts my heart.
Wrangler turns to me with a knowing look.
“Your real father,” isn’t something I should be saying to an innocent three-year-old.
“Can you keep a secret, darling?” I hold out my hand.
To my surprise, she takes it. I wrap her tiny hand in mine.
“We’re your mom’s friends.”
Wrangler approaches.
“Only Grandpa comes over,” she says.
“I know.”
Her plump, infant features crunch my heart. She’s Zoe’s daughter alright—they share the same hair and nose. I might’ve only seen Felix a couple times on TV, and briefly the other day in Paul’s casino—back when he was alive to own it—but it’s enough to confirm my earlier suspicion. Felix and Sammy share none of the same chromosomes. Felix’s face is shaped sort of like a rhombus, and from the wrong angle it looks two-dimensional. Sammy would be an ugly baby if, biologically, she was his.
And that’s not to toot my own horn.
Could she be mine, or is that too much of a stretch?
Another guy could be Sammy’s father. Lots of people have blue eyes. One hundred and fifty million or so in the entire world.
Maybe it’s just that I want her to be mine.
I’ve always wanted to bring a child up in the world. Trudy and I spoke about it a few times, but it was always me that brought it up. Honestly, I don’t think she was done living her own life yet.
And turns out, neither was I.
But at thirty-six years old, I’m ready. These past few years have run away from me. I’m aging prematurely. A guy in his mid-thirties shouldn’t be full gray.
Yet here we are.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Why are you awake?” Wrangler dips his head so they’re the same height. “Can’t sleep?”
Sammy nods her head.
“Want us to tuck you in?”
Another head nod.
“Alright.” I squeeze Sammy’s hand, and all three of us walk to her room. A night-light glows from the wall outlet, shining pink light out into the room. It smells good too, the room, of roses or something. I realize why when I see a bunch of pink ones bunched together in a glass by the dresser.
Wrangler lifts her back into the bed, and her tiny hands bring the blanket all the way up over her face.
“Careful, sweetness.” I lower the blanket slightly. “You’ll suffocate.”
“I like hiding.”
Wrangler and I share a look.
“OK!” I smile. “How about this? Just under your nose.” I demonstrate. This time she allows me to lower the sheet. Her cute nose and ice-blue eyes are like a dagger to my heart.
I studied for a teaching qualification so I could ramble on about literature all day, but the work ended up introducing me to a new passion. Seeing kids progress swelled my chest with pride. The kind that money can’t buy, and the kind I feel Felix could never understand. The job itself got repetitive, and helping others day to day causes you to lose touch with yourself.
I don’t regret leaving, but I do miss having something to work for. Making a difference. The last day before summer always brought bittersweet feelings as I waved goodbye to the kids I brought up for four years. You get attached and become fond of them, and then they go. It’s a sad feeling, but also the best. You bring them up, and then watch them to go on and do great things.
I always thought four years was too short.
But what about a whole lifetime?
From three to eighteen?
“Can you come again?” Sammy asks.
It’s like the wind has whistled the most pleasant song into my ears.
Wrangler elbows my side, smiling.
“Uh. We will try our best, darling.” I rake my hand through her red hair.
“Please?” Her eyes are closed at this point, her voice barely above a whisper.
I continue stroking her hair, and she drifts off to sleep.
Nothing comes close to two people in love sharing a child. Owning something that’s both equally yours and theirs…nothing greater tops it, and there’s no word powerful enough to describe the feeling.
If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more…
Having a child isn’t the same as “owning,” though.
If the inkling is right, if Sammy truly is my daughter, then I treat her not as property, but as her own individual. Mom single-parented me into this world, and she did a damn good job of it, always encouraging me to shape my own path because the “journey is always the best part.”
Sammy needs room to understand herself. To figure out her own path in this world.
Soon, she’ll be sucked into Felix’s world and she won’t know how to get out.
It’s crucial we get back Zoe’s spark, and guide Sammy to find hers.
A crashing sound downstairs disrupts me from my thoughts.
Sammy doesn’t wake.
But excruciating fear rises in my chest…