Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
brOOKS
Nothing happened exactly as I thought it would. Probably because my plan came together under great duress in the short amount of time it took me to drive forty-seven miles to a remote location outside of Payne County.
I knew that even if I was able to get away from my father, others would inevitably follow.
The stranger who kept showing up was likely one of many.
And if I turned in the money myself, I’d constantly worry that I’d be labeled a snitch by people I’ve never met.
Whoever truly owns that money would come looking for me to pay it back, with interest. As it is, I worry about my last name being the same as his.
I’m connected to it no matter how hard I try to sever the ties.
Jared Callahan had only one son. And fuck me, I’m him.
I’m sure my fears sound like wild conjecture to Lindsey, but I know better.
I’ve seen horrible violence play out for a few thousand dollars.
I can’t fathom the horrors someone would be willing to commit in the name of millions.
It’s enough for a father to hold his son at gunpoint.
Not that he’s much of a dad. Or that I consider myself his son.
Blood, that’s all we share. DNA. Everything else I’ve scrapped together from life.
Good and bad, it’s been built on the acquaintances and friends I’ve made along the way.
Nobody has made me a better human than Lindsey. And that’s why I have to walk away.
Drugs and money. I grew up in that life, without any of its riches.
Even at the end, my dad had a mouth full of rotten teeth and drove a car with a rip in the front seat and bullet holes in the trunk.
I’m still not sure whether those bullet holes were there because of him or whatever sad sack he got the car from.
It doesn’t matter. It’s merely a symbol of a life not worth much in the beginning, middle or end.
“Okay, Mr. Callahan. I’m sorry to ask, but one more time, can you walk us through what happened?”
I take a big drink from my bottle of water and nod, straightening the story in my head to make sure the details align. The same story I’ve told three times in a row. Some things are exactly like they are on TV. Police interviews are one of them.
“My client is tired. Is this really necessary? His father died today.” The lawyer my agent hired for me is a shark. He’s going to walk away from this day fifty grand richer, so he better be. But if it ends this all, here and now, then it’s money well spent.
“It’s okay. I can go through it one more time.”
“Okay,” my lawyer says, folding his hands over his notebook but keeping his pen ready.
“My father first contacted me around the start of my season. Late spring, around the time I found out I had a daughter.”
“Go on,” the detective says, reading along as I talk. He’s taken notes on each version I’ve told. I haven’t veered once. I also haven’t slept in two days. And in that time, I’ve done nothing but brand this story in my mind. This is how it went, even if it’s not quite the full truth.
“He sent a few emails at first, then text messages. I ignored them because I wasn’t sure if they were real or someone phishing. And even if they were from him, my father and I haven’t spoken since he went to prison.”
“And that was . . .” The detective looks through his notes, but I finish it for him.
“Ten years, seven months ago.”
“Right.” The detective nods.
“He showed up at the home I’m renting in Sweetwater on June first. We had a brief exchange, and I told him to leave and never come back.”
The detective pushes his glasses down his nose and meets my gaze over the gold rims. We’ve been through this part three times too.
“I did not know he was breaking parole when I saw him,” I say.
It’s no surprise that my father lied about getting out early for good behavior.
He evidently never checked in with his parole officer, either, when he really was free.
He fled, finding out where I was after tearing through the last shithole my mom lived in before she died.
I guess when he didn’t find the money hidden in any of the usual places, he came looking for me.
I walk the detective through the series of events before that final visit, when my father showed up at my house with a gun.
I explain how we met for breakfast and he demanded money, but I cut him off from my life.
Then I relive the terrifying phone call Lindsey made, my walking in as he held my daughter and her hostage.
I never say a word about the buried money, though, or that I knew where it was.
This is where the lie begins, because I never want that money linked to me.
“He had a bag of something; I figured money and drugs because . . . well, my father is a drug dealer. I thought I saw some cash. He demanded I drive him somewhere, so I took the keys to my nanny’s van since I wrecked my car racing home.
I drove at gunpoint where he told me to go.
We got on Highway 183, and then he started to get paranoid.
He made me pull to the side of the road, so I did.
He got out of the van, and I took off. He shot out the front tire as I sped away, and I nearly lost control of the van, but managed to turn it around and head the other way. ”
“You were going back home,” the officer says, reiterating what I’ve told him twice before.
I nod.
“I wanted to get to my daughter, and to our nanny. I wanted to make sure they were safe.”
“And you called nine-one-one at that point.”
I nod again.
“Yes. I was in a panic, and I said everything I could remember about where he was when I left him. I lost the grip on my phone, though, so I kept driving, hoping I gave them enough information.”
“And you told the operator he was a man. You didn’t say father.”
I nod. Upon reflection, that could be a miscalculation. I wanted to build distance between me and him. And I didn’t want a public record that linked us together other than the birth certificate filed in California.
“Like I said, I panicked. And I was ashamed. That’s my fucking dad. I’d rather nobody know that. You know what I mean?”
I hold the detective’s gaze for a beat, and while the first time I walked him through this part, he scrutinized every detail, this time he seems to take my word. Good. Because this part is the truth.
I finish out my version of events, about the trooper finding me while I was changing the tire, and him bringing me to the substation where Lindsey and Holly had been taken. He turns the camera off this time, and I exhale as I push my chair away from the table.
I still don’t know the details of what happened when I left my father in the field.
I know what I picked up from local news, that police seized a great deal of drug money after a lethal shootout with a man named Jared Callahan.
He was forty-six years old, and his wife died of a drug overdose while he was in prison.
He appeared to have been acting alone, trying to bury the cash to come back for later.
Anyone looking for that money will see this story when they search online.
The stranger likely knows already. That cash is being transferred to the feds, and my father will be cremated at the expense of the state once the medical examiner makes her final report.
I am nothing but a footnote, a local ballplayer making league minimum, and the unfortunate son of a really bad man.
The sky is gray when I leave the substation for what I hope is the final time. It smells like rain is on the horizon. Maybe a tornado will rip through this land and erase the bad things that happened here. Too bad a storm can’t erase the images in my mind.
I shake my lawyer’s hand, and he reassures me that he doesn’t see any reason they’ll need me for further questioning.
The lede died in that field with my father.
I’m sure his past connections will take them somewhere else.
What’s important is wherever the story goes from here, it will be far away from me and my daughter.
Lindsey is waiting for me in the rental car, a modest sedan with heated seats and tinted windows. She doesn’t know this, but I’m going to buy her a new van before I leave. And maybe I’ll get a car like this when my insurance comes through. I don’t need much. Just a safe ride for Holly.
Lindsey steps out of the driver’s side when I approach, and slides her arms around me, pulling me into a hug.
I want to squeeze her and never let go, but that will only make it harder when I have to.
I’ve been holding back, and I know she can feel it.
We’ve both blamed the trauma. And truthfully, that’s all there is to blame.
Trauma, and Jared and Rachel Callahan. If I were anyone else’s son, maybe I’d be free to have love in my life.
Once she’s in the passenger seat and buckled, I pull us out of the substation lot. Holly is in her new car seat, still reversed but growing fast. Her feet nearly reach the back seat as it is.
Lindsey moves her hand to the center console, her fingers curled up and waiting for mine to fill in the gaps. I do, because I won’t be able to tomorrow.
Lindsey called Brandon and asked him to pick the boys up from pre-school when shit went down. He hasn’t used it against her yet, but it’s only a matter of time. We both know that. Nothing needs to be said.
I knew we couldn’t hide everything from him, but I really hoped to limit the damage done. Instead, inevitable decisions have been moved up in my timeline, and hers. And it seems she’s made the first one already.
The moving truck is waiting in the driveway when we pull in. It isn’t mine.
I squeeze her hand and roll my head to meet her eyes. She isn’t crying, but I know she will. The tears are waiting in the queue.
“Are you going to your parents’ place?”
She nods.
“They’ve already made room. My dad can get upstairs now, so his office will be where the boys stay. If I’m even allowed—”
“Shh, don’t think that way. You’re not the one putting them in danger.”
Her first tear falls. I touch the side of her face and catch it with my thumb.
“You don’t put us in danger either,” she says, and we both laugh out pathetic, breathy sounds.
“Really, Brooks. None of this is your fault. I have never felt safer than when I’m with you.” She swallows hard, and her lips form a trembling smile.
“You must have walked through life terrified all the time,” I joke.
She shakes her head, not even bothering to laugh.
“I felt stifled, and diminished. And betrayed. You make me feel beautiful.”
“Because you are.”
She leans her cheek into my palm and closes her eyes for a moment.
“Maybe I can come back when the season starts. I need to get through the court date, and then perhaps . . .”
I shake my head, and her mouth hangs open, but her expression doesn’t show surprise. She knew I’d do this. She shakes her head anyway.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Your ex lost his mind when I was his sons’ tee ball coach. You think he’ll be fine with me being your boyfriend?”
“He doesn’t get to say who I love,” she says, and my heart stops. It’s the first time she’s uttered that word. I tremble as she grabs hold of my wrist.
“I love you, Brooks. So much. I love us. Our weird little family. It’s what I want.”
My chest quakes, because me, too. It’s all I want.
“Where will you go?” she finally asks.
I draw in a heavy breath and shift my gaze to the windshield, glancing up at the mirror to catch the reflection of Holly in the back. She’s chewing on her fist, drool coating her chin and soaking the front of her shirt. She’s teething.
“Texas, maybe? I can think there, see what the future holds. And if baseball is still a part of it—”
“Baseball will always be a part of it. You’ll be back in spring. Just a few short months.”
I look her in the eyes, and it kills me to see how much hope is suddenly in them.
“We’ll see,” I say.
She shakes her head, then leans over the console and pulls my face to hers. She presses her lips to mine, then presses our foreheads together.
“You’ll see, you mean. You’ll be back. You’re meant to be here, and to play this game. And you’ll be one of the great ones. I feel it.”
I smile as she strokes my jaw with her thumb, and close my eyes to picture the future she sees. It feels impossible, and the truth is, I’m not sure I want that life if she’s not in it. Everything about this place and this game reminds me of her. But she probably thinks I can be with her, too.
Maybe. In another time.