Chapter 22 #2
She pursed her lips and weighed her phone in her hand before blowing out a trembling breath. “As long as I’m alive, you don’t have to worry about becoming the CEO of Fontaine Energy.”
Her screen lit up as another notification came in. I looked from the screen back up to her face as she fought back tears. All the air instantly left my lungs as my mind took me back to high school graduation when I read that email from the CEO of Fontaine Energy.
“Someday you’ll understand, buddy.”
My throat trembled as I tried to gather the air to speak. When I got that message, I thought my father was teaching me a lesson about duty, responsibility, or a love greater than I could comprehend.
Instead, I came to understand how far a mother was willing to go for her child.
“Y-you…” I stammered, “…you’ve run the company this whole time, pretending to be him.”
Mom slipped her phone back into her purse. “It’s easier than you would think. None of the managers ask questions if their salaries are high enough. I can keep the ruse going for decades.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “Mom, no. I’m an adult now. You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Mom said firmly. She gently placed her hand on my cheek and smiled. “You have one shot at a family, baby. Focus everything on them…I’ll be happy to take care of the rest.”
She dropped her gaze and took in a quick breath. “And…you don’t have to keep looking for your father any more.”
My face fell as her words carved themselves on the insides of my ribs.
Dad…was never coming back.
My knees weakened. My vision swam and I slammed my eyes shut. The finality of my never-ending search for my father, my hero, crushed me like a giant had his fist wrapped around my chest.
But when I opened my eyes, the nursery looked brighter and more crisp. The giant’s fist released me and I could breathe more easily than I had in years. I didn’t feel the need to run away, or hide beneath the neon lights of a club, or push my body to its physical limits.
I…I didn’t know what to make of it.
I swallowed and looked at my mother. “Mom…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said just now. If I had paid better attention, I would have known that you—”
“Oh, hush,” she scolded. “That’s just what parents do. You’ll find that out soon enough.”
Mom lowered her hand from my cheek and shrugged her purse onto her shoulder. She gave me a pointed look. “Now, take a shower! I’d prefer you after two-a-day football practices than whatever—” she gestured to my pajama pants “—this is. You’re a Fontaine, damn it. Have some pride!”
I gave her a soft smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mom started to walk out of the nursery, but then she stopped and tossed me a look over her shoulder. “It’s not too late with Olivia, you know.”
My heart skipped a beat. “How can you be sure?”
She paused in the doorway and gave her purse a pat. “Like I said…Olivia doesn’t guard her secrets that closely.”
I swallowed, but that fledgling hope that had awoken in my chest didn’t go away.
With a cautious first step, I walked to my bedroom. The tips of my fingers tingled in anticipation as I rifled through the drawers of my old desk.
What I was planning was risky, but I had to go for it.
The night after Olivia left, I had dragged my carcass into the kitchen after staring at the flames in the backyard fire pit and found the keys to the Mustang on the island.
Seeing the keys nearly crushed me—I would have let her keep the car, or even one of my kidneys if she wanted—but the note next to the keys had given me hope.
The note scrawled on graphing paper wasn’t from Olivia, but from Tyson, leaving his address and phone number. Olivia might have run away, but I knew exactly where she was.
I pulled out an old red notebook from high school and started flipping through the pages.
I’d jot down a few practice proposals until I got it right, and then I was getting in the car.
I didn’t care if I had to get on my knees and beg like a worm in front of Tyson Copeland, I couldn’t let Olivia slip away.
As I tore through the spiral-bound notebook, my confidence began to wane. What if she was going to reject me again? Mom said I still had a chance, but I wasn’t that lucky. Hell, the entire reason I was even with Olivia in the first place was because of how incredibly unlucky I was.
I got her pregnant with an IUD after one night together. Then she lost her job and we both struggled with her loss of purpose. We had hated each other so much in high school and now we were irrevocably bound through parenthood.
The portraits of my grandfather on my shelf bore holes into the back of my head. I’d never have anything good happen in my life again, ever. What made me think Olivia would actually accept my pathetic proposal?
I picked up the notebook and sat on the edge of my bed with a dejected sigh. My eyes slowly traveled down the beginning of an essay from junior-year English class.
“The purpose of this essay,” I had written, “is to analyze the author’s choice of certain colors of clothing on the characters as a signal of their intentions. Over the next few paragraphs, I intend to show—”
Oh, dear Christ.
I might have aced the class, but I had been shit with words back then and I was scarcely any better now. How could I possibly win her over when I still didn’t know what she was really thinking?
My hand slipped into my pocket and pulled out the note Olivia had left in the study. Thanking me for taking care of her and assuring me that I would be a great father felt too fake, like writing “Have a great summer!” in a yearbook.
The Olivia I knew would have left a note wishing I would choke on a dick after the fight we had. I tapped the edge of the note on my knee. After all this time, Olivia was still holding back the truth.
Just as I was about to abandon the proposal plan all together, I thought back to Mom’s confession in the nursery. Women had lied to me before, but no one had ever lied for me until now. Who could say Olivia hadn’t done the same thing?
I absently flipped through the notebook as I chewed on the thought. As I turned a page, Olivia’s name caught my eye.
“Why won’t Olivia Adams shut the hell up?” I had written. “If she answers one more question, I’m throwing my desk. I hate her voice. I hate her grungy sweatshirts. I hate her glasses that make her look like a bug. I hate…”
The whole page was full of her name. I couldn’t tell if I had written it in one red-eyed frenzy or if I had frequently returned to add more vitriol. After reading every line, I turned the page to find even more on the back, the paper embossed from the rage behind a sharp-tipped pencil.
I had only hated a few people in my life, like Anthony Dauphin’s cheating ass, but I had never noticed if his shoelaces dragged on the ground like Olivia’s had.
I had never kept track of an exact grade he had earned on a test, either.
I certainly would have never paid attention to if he had printed fanfiction on 16-point font and read it in class.
But with Olivia…I had noticed everything.
“When is Olivia Adams going to realize no one cares about that long-dead department store owner but her?” I had scrawled into my notebook. “She’s going to die a virgin if she never learns to shut her mouth. I hate her so much. I hate, hate, FUCKING HATE HER!!!”
No, young Beau Fontaine, you don’t hate Olivia Adams at all. You never did.
I set the notebook down and turned to look at my shelf full of memories.
My eyes roamed from my folded football jersey to my prom photos until I found the open yearbook on the bottom shelf.
On the glossy yearbook page was Olivia, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses frames as she smiled for the debate team photo.
I looked at everyone else I had kept within my shelves.
First, the cheery, breezy version of my mother that hid her sharp wit behind coral lipstick and teased blonde hair.
Then, the photo strip of Katie and I kissing at my fraternity formal.
Finally, I found my father, the man who would never come back.
None of them would ever come back. My mother was the CEO of Fontaine Energy now. Katie was invisible to me. And Dad…
…I didn’t need him to learn how to be a man and I sure as hell didn’t need him to learn how to be a father.
So, with a long exhale, I let all of them go. Everyone except her.
I wouldn’t memorialize Olivia when she was still out there, still carrying our babies, and still within arm’s reach.
I flicked my eyes up to the picture of Grandpa who sternly looked back at me as he gripped the cold platinum handle of his cane.
“You were wrong, old man,” I said with a smirk. “I didn’t use up all my luck by being born with your name—Olivia already came back to me once.”
I turned from my shelf and flipped through my notebook until I found a blank page. I clicked my pen and began to write.
One shot. One draft. I wouldn’t beg or plead, nor would I give her sugary prose. My proposal would be short, truthful, and I wouldn’t hold back.
I wasn’t afraid of the risk—luck was on my side.