Chapter 47
forty-seven
GREER
The insistent pounding on the door breaks through my sleep muddled mind. The doorbell follows, accompanied by Hank’s peevish barks. “Coming,” I groan, tossing the comforter off my body.
Swallowing the nausea rising in the back of my throat that comes with too swift movements this time of day, I stumble down the stairs in a daze. Hank trails behind, ready to inspect our guest because, apparently, navigating the steps is acceptable if I’m leaving him alone.
Directly in front of the peephole is one of Parran’s few police officers. What in the world? Cracking open the door, I say a sleepy, “Can I help you?”
The cop unfolds his arms from around his body, then scoffs. “Ma’am, we got a request for a welfare check.”
Are you kidding me? My father’s voice draws my attention from the officer to Dad. “You had your mother worried, pumpkin.”
My parents are waiting on the sidewalk, Dad’s arm is around my mother’s waist. He is wearing his favorite jeans and holding the ever present coffee cup in his free hand. The first thought my drowsy brain forms is to wonder how Dad got away from the base.
“I’m surprised to see you. I thought you weren’t going to visit for another month.”
“The landlady wouldn’t let us in,” Mom says as if she’s been wronged.
I can’t believe my parents bothered Fern while she’s busy running a business. I’m lucky to have gotten such a nice, affordable place in such a prime spot. The last thing I need is to lose it because of Mom’s behavior. “You aren’t on the lease. Of course, she didn’t let you in.”
“Well, you weren’t answering the door.”
“I was napping.”
“For two hours?”
“Three. Besides, I could have been out with someone and taken their car, or walked.”
My father, who’s been silent until now, swings the door wider. “Why don’t we go inside and talk about all of this?”
Is this for real? Did my parents really show up on my doorstep with the cops?
Mom needs to find a hobby.
I should have expected her to show up, but I’m still shocked Dad got away.
He can’t leave on a whim, meaning this has been planned.
Over the last twenty-two years, Dad’s missed more than a few special occasions serving our country.
Birthdays, Christmas, first days of school.
Yet he drops everything to schlep to the bayou.
Because I’m setting boundaries with Mom. Dad feels so guilty she’s had to deal with it all alone that he gives in to her every whim.
Not that I have a lot of room to preach there. Most of my life, I’ve been a gigantic daddy’s girl.
“It’s nice to see your apartment. Marcel says you’re all settled in,” Mom says, as if she doesn’t know I’m pissed.
Storming up the stairs ahead of my parents, I swing open the interior door and show them into the foyer. “I was going to invite you over for dinner when you came into town next month.”
“You know your mother. Once she gets a bee in her bonnet, she doesn’t settle down,” Dad says in a blasé tone.
“We’ve talked about all of this,” I accuse, my focus on Mom. “Gone to therapy even, and still you’re crossing boundaries.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“You came into town unannounced, then bothered my landlord while she was busy. When that didn’t work, you called the police!”
“You’d have told me not to come,” Mom says with a wobbly chin.
Exactly.
Dad says with a false laugh, “She lasted longer than I thought she would.”
I stare down at the floor, trying to cool my temper.
“Well, look at the light in the room,” Mom says in an attempt to divert.
“Why are you here, Mom?”
She turns towards me, purses her lips, “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
“I’m doing better than ever. Something I’ve told you on the phone.”
“I wanted to pop in myself. Plus, I want to spend time with Marcel. She’s not having an easy time with everything going on with Allie.”
“What’s wrong with Allie?”
Mom gets her correcting the misbehaving child look. “Don’t play dumb. God knows the two of you are thick as thieves. It’s not at all a coincidence you’re both pulling this at the same time.”
Pulling what?
“She’s in a dander about your boyfriend,” Dad admits with a huff.
Mom shoots him a furious expression, then turns back to me. “I find it a little strange you have a new man, and you aren’t discussing it with us, is all.”
“It’s called privacy. I’d have introduced him to you when you came into town for your normal, scheduled visit. And I have mentioned Jude.”
Going to the fridge, I pull out one of the ginger ales Jude’s stocked for me, and twist off the cap.
Mom’s used to the younger me telling her all about my life, rattling on for hours about everything from boys to friendships.
Those weren’t real relationships with men though, though, not like I’m in now.
I speak about Jude, but some things I feel should be kept between us.
Plus, I never, ever talk about the club. It’s best that it's a non-topic.
My parents share an expression, and Mom stares bullets at Dad. He clears his throat and says, “He’s a little bit older, isn’t he?”
“By eight years,” I confirm.
Mom lifts Jude’s wallet chain from the counter as if evidence for the prosecution and remarks, “Lyla Mae Arceneaux told Marcel his bike’s been over here every night for weeks.”
“That’s our business. Not yours, Lyla Mae Arceneaux’s, or Aunt Marcel’s to repeat. Would you mind telling me what exactly your problem is?”
“You packed up and left home less than ten weeks ago, and here you are shacked up with a man who used to serve under me,” Dad accuses.
“When you know you know,” I say flippantly.
“Were you dating when he was on active duty?” he demands.
My jaw drops. “You think Jude and I met in Georgia, and I moved here for him?” While not technically against the rules, it’s extremely disrespectful for a soldier to date his C.O.
’s daughter, adult or not. It’s not taboo in the “fun to do” kind of way.
It wouldn’t happen because nobody is that stupid.
There’s no real privacy when you’re living on a military facility.
Without a single doubt in my mind, my parents would have found out if I was seeing Jude.
With Dad’s rank and position, it would ruin a soldier’s entire career.
I’d be painted as the Colonel’s unruly wild child daughter.
How could they even think this is possible?
We never would have gotten away with the relationship.
”That never would have happened. I didn’t lay eyes on Jude until I was living here. ”
Anger boils in my blood at the accusation. This stings.
“Then why are you hiding him?” Dad prompts.
Mom is far from the voice of reason. “It would all make sense, especially since you haven’t brought home a boy in quite some time.” A coincidence at best. Jude would never stand for us to be a secret.
“Do you really think any soldier would be stupid enough to look at me? Or that I’d be selfish enough to go along?” My patience with my parents is hair-thin, ready to snap any second.
Angry words flow back and forth. Theirs is from a place of love and concern, mine from frustration.
“Okay, conversation over,” I say, already moving away. “I love Jude. I’m sorry you don’t like his age, the fact he once served under you, or that he’s living here, but you need to get used to it.”
“Think about things,” Mom urges.
Time to burn down this entire narrative. I’m a redhead. As much as I usually keep my temper in check, I know how to become a huge problem. “I’m having his baby,” I say, purposefully throwing fuel on a fire.
Dad’s expression turns blank, but Mom's face pales. With a whisper, she says, “You wouldn’t be that reckless.”
“I’m due in May.”
Trembling hands cover her shocked face. “I never should have let you move away. You’re not ready for this.”
“Let me? You don’t decide that.”
Tears start to well up in my mother’s eyes as she turns and storms down to the first floor.
I understand where Mom is coming from in some ways. I once saw an online meme that said, “God gives special children to special parents.” Sweet concept, but no. Parents become the person their child needs.
Mom’s had to fight for me more times than I can count—at the school for appropriate accommodations, at the pharmacy for my insulin.
She’s the gentle voice reminding me to check my glucose before I go out to play, and the person who restocked my supply bag before leaving.
She kept me alive until I was grown up enough to do it for myself.
But it’s taken a toll on her. It’s time for Mom to focus on herself.
I’m an adult and capable of doing whatever the hell I want to do.
I’ve spent much of my life feeling like my health issues are a burden on my family or that it’s too much for anybody to take on.
It’s one of the things I love about Jude.
It’s a non-issue for him. We just handle it.
Shooting daggers at Dad, I press, “You have got to stop enabling her.”
“She’s your mother. It’s her job to look after you.”
“What happened today has nothing to do with my safety. It’s Mom refusing to deal with her own fears. Any time I try to do anything that scares Mom, I have to fight the two of you on it. I couldn’t even go on vacation to Mexico with my friends because she said the emergency care is subpar.”
“Be patient with her. Doctor Sanders says…”
“Mom picks and chooses what to listen to when it comes to her psychiatrist.”
There’s a long silence, both of us cooling off enough to filter our thoughts.
“Please tell me you were baiting your mother with the baby stuff.”
“Nope.”
Dad pulls out one of my new barstools and sits with his ankle crossed at the knee. “Okay, so this is what we’re going to do. Mom and I will get you and the baby an apartment near the base…”
“I just moved here. Why would I need a place near you?” I answer crisply.
As if it’s a topic that’s been misunderstood, Dad explains, “So we can help you through all of this. We can’t if you’re all the way across the country.”
“I have an apartment. You’re standing in it.”
Loud booted thumps on the steps announce Jude’s arrival. He calls my name in an anxious tone and jerks the door open. A confused look crosses his face as he looks from my father to me and back. “Someone said there was an emergency call to this address. I raced to get here.”
Dad’s body is still as he takes in the man I’d burn down my whole life over.
I don’t give a shit what Dad sees, I only care about what I do.
A man who’s worked hard all day, one who rushed home after an emergency call.
Dad doesn’t judge tattoos… not while being a career Army man, but as he scans his eyes over Jude disapprovingly, they stay steady on his forearm, where my name is scrawled in fresh black ink.
“My parents decided to pop in,” I say, deadpan. “When I didn’t answer the door, they called the police.”
“You needed to rest after work,” Jude grouses.
“She wasn’t answering the phone,” Dad says in his commander of the whole base voice.
“I call once a week,” I point out.
“And that’s not like you at all.”
The two most important men in my life face one another, Jude half a head taller and broader. “She’s not been feeling well.”
“I’m aware.” The ‘you knocked up my daughter’ rings in the air, the first punch thrown.
The side of Jude’s lips tugs up. “I thought I heard you say something about the apartment?” Jude asks.
“Dad thinks I should move back in with them. I was just about to tell him I wouldn’t make it to the state line.”
Jude tosses his head back with a laugh at the preposterous idea. “You wouldn’t make it to the city limits.”
Dad folds his arms, lips pinched as his eyes go from Jude to me.
His movements are way too casual as he sits on the couch, then drapes his arms on the back of the sofa, facing us.
“So, you’re staying here and having a baby together.
Let’s talk about your plan. Word is, your family threw you out of the business.
Have you found another job yet? And where are you going to live? In a second story rental with a baby?”
My father doesn’t ask a question without already knowing the answer. He knows Jude works at White Dog. But then again, his sources are shitty as hell if he’s been told Jude was kicked out of the charter company.
“Are you trying to completely alienate me?” I warn.
Jude takes slow, metered steps towards the sofa. “I have a job, and plenty of money saved up for emergencies. Greer wants a house, we’ll buy a house, but for now, she likes it here.”
My father blows out a furious breath, “You can gloss over this all you want, but you are still diabetic. What happens when you start having complications? Who is going to help you in the middle of the night when your blood sugars are too low to crawl to the kitchen for a juice box?”
That one stings, a kick below the belt. My heart squeezes like it’s locked in a vice.
Last year, I was out of sorts with classes and the mandatory clinical hours required for licensing.
The severe low came out of nowhere. I was too disoriented to think straight, my vision was blurry, and I was so weak it was hard to lift my head, never mind walk to get help.
Mom heard the CGM beeping nonstop and found me in my room.
It’s the only time it’s happened since I was first diagnosed.
Jude appears at my side, a palm comes to rest on my back, making soothing circles.
“Sir, Greer holds a Bachelor of Science in Nursing and has been diabetic for half her life. Pretty sure she knows her own body. In the meantime, as you are aware, I’m trained to handle emergency situations with live gunfire going off overhead.
Since the hospital is so far away, we’re keeping all intravenous medications and fluids Greer might need in stock at the clinic.
Glucagon rescue injections are in our room, the clinic, and a backup in her purse.
There’s candy in her desk, insulin in the fridge, and I just picked up her continuous glucose monitors from the pharmacy.
We’ve got this.” Jude takes a long breath, hands balled into fists at his side, before he adds, “And while I’d never keep Greer a secret, if I had met her while I was still enlisted, nothing would have stopped me from having her. ”