Chapter 30 Montana
montana
. . .
Man went ghost for years, and now he rolled up, talking about We family. Family where? I missed the reunion episode. Sir, I’m Big Country, LLC—not Big Charity. Closest Ezekiel was getting to my wallet? The family resemblance in my jawline when I clenched it shut. I took a step toward him.
Dude was about to beg for his life.
Zuri zipped around me, moving faster than she ever had. The bébé was slower than a turtle in high heels. Today, though? Her Nikes could’ve moved in step with a brass band.
“Mr. Babineaux …” She stuck out her hand halfway and did this awkward jog for about five feet past busy wooden tables.
“Mr. Babineaux?” Ezekiel frowned. He better fix that face—
“I thought …” She began smiling.
“My momma had me and Wash’s names changed after she remarried. A real man.”
“Ezekiel Landry.” He shook her hand.
“Oh?” she said. “We do hugs here.” She pulled him in a hug, and I shook my head. Even Ezekiel appeared confused. But I understood her innocent intentions.
“How are the twins papa? How is … can I mention your—?”
“She’s good. The love of her life died after I got signed.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Funny, my papa never asked for a dollar, and I never called him Papa until his funeral. I’d give half my money to bring him back. Make her happy.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Ezekiel said.
“Mm-hm. That’s how things happen. Good people die. Dudes who don’t deserve air in their lungs … don’t.” I shrugged at the travesty.
“I don’t want your money, Montana.” Ezekiel sighed. “If you need proof, I got the bill.”
“Coulda fooled me. And nah, I got it.”
“No. No. It was a joke—your pop a couple bucks? That meant I’m proud of you, boy.
And … maybe”—he shifted his stance—“I did need to get from Cali to NOLA. But I didn’t want money, money.
You know what I mean? Just help with the Greyhound.
Maybe a train ticket.” When I said nothing, he said, “I started working at the Dollar Tree.”
I stepped toward him. “You. Sued. Me.”
He thrust his hands out. “I needed to get your attention. Half of your family has burned bridges by asking you for money, Montana. I learned that when I asked around for your number. The other half? Loyal. Washington and I was never as close.”
“He knew you was abusive!”
He nodded. “I admit that. But I filed that lawsuit to get your attention. C’mon. Sit. Eat. On me.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “Don’t want a damn thing from you.”
“Alright,” Zuri huffed. “This girl will be the bigger man. I’ll pay. Please tell us more about yourself.”
“I don’t think Big Country will survive.” Ezekiel winked at her.
She laughed. I didn’t even blink.
A little while later, we sat around a table of food.
Ezekiel pulled out a court document. Reminded me of some of Washington’s paperwork. I glared at it.
“Dropped my court hearing request just yesterday, Montana. The clerk said they mail all parties. But I’m glad you let me tell you in person before you got a piece of paper in the mail.”
I took the paper. Scanned it. Set it down.
Ezekiel sighed, sitting back. By now, neither of us had touched the spread. When he left, I’d get at it. Might eat the plastic to-go containers—call it extra NOLA seasoning. This place could throw down.
“Montana,” he said, “you were my Little Dude.”
He’d called me that? Mental note: rename Darius.
“Washington didn’t care about Fontainebleau State Park. He was too ‘fraid to paddle with us in the bayou.” He glanced at Zuri and smiled. “Not just gators and snakes. The boy read too much! Barely five and Wash muttered about microorga-smorshma in the water.”
“Microorganisms.” I rolled my eyes, then a smile cracked through. “Man, Wash was a trip.”
“That uppity-ass name. I said name the boy Tennessee.” He hummed a line from “Tennessee Whiskey.” “She got a state-naming fetish but gave our son that dry-ass name. Later, she has a kid named Tennessee. He still fights those fires?”
Really? “You know all about my family.”
“The twins are your brothers, Montana. You are my family.”
I rested my forearms on the table, fists clenched. Addressed him like Martinez and all the others at Guggenheim Management. “Whatchu wanna accomplish?”
“A relationship.”
I sipped my cold drink.
“Montana, check this. You, this sweet bébé here, Wash and his wife meet somewhere like this once a month. Actually eat.” He picked up a fork and sliced into the bread pudding.
“Nah!” My growl slammed through the café. Side chatter stopped, and the server gave me a pleading look.
“Montana,” Zuri whispered at my side.
“He’s got old facts,” I said, “trying to act like he’s been around. Washington and his wife divorced. You know her name?”
Ezekiel lowered his head.
“You know his son?”
“Elijah.” The man nodded, like I gave him something to sink his teeth into. “Now that’s a solid name.”
“Should I”—my jaw flexed—“bring Elijah the next time I come? Even if Wash ain’t interested?”
After a moment, Ezekiel said, “If you can get my eldest son to agree, I’d love to—”
“Wrong!” I slammed a hand on the table. Crap. My voice raised loud enough to tell everyone their meal was on me. I glared at him again. While my nephew’s name had become obsolete in our family, folks too afraid to say Elijah, I just used that bébé. I felt foul. This was wrong.
Being here?
Wrong!
I got up and cocked my head. “Zuri, let’s go.”
Her eyes pleaded with me to stay. Panic flashed in them. What was she thinking? Man, this whole situation was a mistake. I’d rather pay up. Give him a few funky-ass millions to ghost me, same he’d done almost all my life.
But I knew where her head was.
Her past.
The foster parents who did a number on her. I raised my black card, and a server grabbed it. She rushed off to pay for all the patrons’ meals while I sat and ate lunch with my father.
Zuri gave me a look of appreciation. My mouth, already flexed in anger, tugged into a grin. No. Thank you, chère. Coz you gonna pay up when we get home.