In the Land of Milk and Honey Read online

  “So, what do you think?” I asked tentatively, lacing my fingers together on my lap. It came out loaded. I suddenly felt cheesy, like a salesman who’d just asked ‘now that you’ve had a test drive, are you ready to sign?’

  “It seems enjoyable,” he answered carefully, and I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the party or if he’d just called Tristan an ‘it’.

  “Yeah, it’s not so bad,” I replied, really unsure where the heck we were going with this. I shook my head and looked up with a watery smile. He turned to me and took a moment to study my face, then turned away.

  “August informed me you made the cake,” he commented after a moment, his voice deep and clear.

  “I did,” I said, re-lacing my fingers.

  “It’s lovely,” he complimented politely, and I followed his line of vision towards the mutilated remains of the pastry that was formerly in the shape of a race car. I chuckled because at no stage was my bakery effort ‘lovely’, and he seemed to relax beside me.

  “I didn’t bring a gift.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I can write a check if you’d like,” he offered.

  I chuckled. “That’s probably not a good idea. He’d just shred it and use it as bedding for Herman,” I mused. He cocked a brow above a curious green eye.

  “His lizard,” I expanded. “He loves that reptile.”

  “I can make it out to you, then,” he reoffered.

  “That’s okay,” I said mildly. “This is enough.” After a pause, I noticed a pinch in his forehead seemed to smooth away. I wondered if it was suspicion. And then I wondered if he’d been testing me.

  I stared at the blank television screen.

  “I mean that, you know,” I said honestly. I turned to him again and although his gaze was focused on me completely, I had no idea what was going through his mind just then. His hand reached upward and I stayed totally still as his thumb brushed across my lip in a gentle stroke. I opened my mouth to object, because that door was closed, it had to be, but he seemed to understand before the words formed and dropped his hand.

  “Don’t you fucking touch her,” Zack snapped, suddenly standing on the other side of the coffee table, chest heaving. “Don’t you look at her like that.”

  Daniel didn’t move from his relaxed position on the sofa, but I sensed the leather accommodate more weight, as if the tension strung him heavier. He assessed Zack.

  “What business is it of yours?” he asked, civilly.

  “She’s my business,” Zack rebutted, pointing a long possessive finger to me. “In fact, I’d like to show you how much of this mess you left behind is my business right now. Outside.”

  “Zack, calm down,” I said nervously. His eyes went back to Daniel, who was undaunted.

  “I should kill you, you know that?” he hissed furiously, but I saw the pain behind his eyes. “You scumbag. She was mine and you had to take her. You took advantage of her.”

  Daniel’s tone raised hairs on my neck. “You shouldn’t speak of things of which you know nothing,” Daniel said in the chilling tone and rose to his feet. I followed suit after unsuccessfully trying to keep him down by pulling his forearm. Zack stepped forward, breathing hard, and we were drawing a crowd.

  “Shut your mouth! I don’t care who you think you are, you pompous prick. You took advantage of her. You preyed on the weakest thing you could find,” he erupted. “She was just a girl! She was fresh off the turnip truck who didn’t know shit about predators like you. She didn’t know shit about the world! And you used her up!” he spat. I winced, partly offended, partly saddened by the truth in it.

  “She was no girl,” Daniel said, simply, but taking his time, letting his words sink in. “Perhaps if you’d realized that, you would have gotten there first.” His lip twitched up, ever so slightly. Zack nostrils flared, along with my eyes.

  “Shut your mouth right now! Bree wouldn’t go near a guy like you in a million years. I know what you did. Did you get her drunk first? Did you drug her?” he accused. “Did you rape her, you prick?”

  August and I both gasped. “Zack,” Jill said slowly.

  Daniel’s eyes only flickered at the insult then drilled down into Zack. “Do not mistake it, she was willing,” he said, slowly, savoringly. “She begged for me. And when I was done, she wanted nothing else.”

  My mouth fell open. Time stood still for a moment.

  Zack looked horrified then something wild took over his eyes. A muscle twitched involuntarily in the corner of Daniel’s mouth; a smile.

  “Motherfucker,” Zack snapped, cocking back a balled fist filled with fury and rage. Zack had the poise of a prized fighter, but there too much baggage in that fist, and too much warning. There was a quick movement from Daniel, so fast it was a blur, followed by a gruesome cracking sound. Then Zack crumpled to the floor.

  “No!” I gasped, leaping over the table. Jill and August rushed over as well.

  “Zack, oh Zack,” I pleaded as I cradled his head. He groaned as he reached up limply and wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. I turned back. Daniel flexed his hand, just barely.

  “He needs ice,” I said quickly to Jillian. She swiftly returned with the icepack we kept in the freezer. I laid it against his face, covering both his lip and cheek.

  “Cheap shot,” Zack mumbled, his eyes fluttering open at my voice.

  “You’re welcome to try again,” Daniel said.

  “What is wrong with you?” Jill burst out. Daniel had snapped out of whatever self-satisfied trance he was in as he looked from Zack’s bleeding face to my wounded one. Anger flashed in his eyes. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut once, and turned his back to the scene.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” he said.

  “I think that’s a tooth,” Jill observed. August crouched beside me and laid a hand on my shoulder. I nodded and we switched places. He cradled Zack and began a more thorough assessment.

  I found Daniel sitting on the sofa. He was bent over, his head held by his hands. I sat down beside him, reeling from the exchange.

  “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t invite you here for confrontation. That wasn’t…” I stopped and shook my head to clear it. Daniel would be the scapegoat in this fiasco, but it was Zack’s hot temper that instigated.

  “This was a mistake,” he intoned solemnly, and I had no reply. It was then I noticed Tristan gingerly crossing the living room.

  Peachy. Ian shrugged innocently from where he filled the widening crack of the bedroom door where Tristan had escaped. Violet peeked behind Ian’s wide torso, her eyes saucered before she ducked back in the room. Ian put on a smile and said something over his shoulder before closing the door and heading to Jill.

  Tristan took one last timid step towards us. “What happened, Mommy?” he asked worriedly. His curious eyes shifted to Uncle Zack, who moaned on the floor under August’s care. When Daniel heard that small voice, his whole body tensed beside me. His hands moved away from his face, but his elbows remained rested on his wide knees. His head stayed down.

  I focused on Tristan. “Honey, it was an accident. Please go back in with Aunt Violet and your friends,” I pleaded gently.

  Tristan turned from me, addressing Daniel’s bowed head. “Did you hurt him?” he asked. Daniel seemed to brace before slowly looking up to meet the small boy’s eyes.

  He studied Tristan’s face for a moment and intoned sincerely, “I apologize for the disruption. I’ll go.” He tensed to get up. Instead, a look of frustration struck him before he looked down at his spread hands, palms wide, and let them fall useless between his knees. Cautiously, Tristan reached out to him. He laid his small hand on the shoulder of Daniel’s leather jacket. He petted it tenderly.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to leave my birthday,” he empathized. “I forgive you.”

  Daniel looked up. He gazed at my son, blinking once. Tristan smiled genuinely, watching him back, and patt
ed the leather on Daniel’s shoulder again.

  August interrupted the moment. “I think it may be best if Mr. Baird leaves for now, Tristan.” We looked up. He cleared his throat. “Zack needs to see a doctor, and these children will be picked up soon. I think it may be best, for now, if he left.”

  “Me, too,” Jill said tartly.

  “Me, three,” Zack muttered from the floor.

  Ian only folded his arms and stood beside Jill.

  Whatever moment had happened between my son and Daniel quickly passed. Daniel narrowed his eyes and rose from the sofa. Tristan stepped back. Daniel towered overhead taking in the impromptu posse now with new vision, as if he’d forgotten them. I was grateful when he swiftly stepped around my coffee table and headed for the door. I hurried behind to see him out—and lock the door.

  He stopped to grab the doorknob and I bumped into his back. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I said more clearly into his eyes and wrung my hands. I hadn’t intended it to be an ambush.

  He looked at my hands, “Don’t be,” he replied roughly.

  We stayed silent when he reached up and cupped my chin in his hand, stroking my bottom lip.

  “He’s touching her!” Zack shouted, snapping my attention to him and a room filled with a healthy amount of animosity. Jill was giving a maximum shit-stare, and Zack looked ready to puke or shoot. Tristan, mild boy, slowly laid down the ice pack he’d been holding against Zack’s cheek. Daniel’s gaze finally broke away from me, his face was something to behold; fury, rage, and fire, not without beauty.

  “Save your self-righteousness,” he snapped, treating them to a glare of his own. “Where were you that night she was lost and alone? Left in the company of a stranger?” He shot the words back at them, his eyes brewing withering condemnation; he glowered evenly among my avengers. I felt helpless as they shrunk beneath it. Daniel’s gaze finally landed on Tristan, it hardened with resolve. “It’s time you told him who his father is,” he intoned. Tristan’s eyes became round as tea saucers, he looked up, awed. Daniel blazed boldly, but in taking in Tristan’s expression, something wavered.

  He reached for the door and then he was gone.

  When I tried to go back to aiding Zack, he rebuked.

  “Get me out of here.” He clicked his teeth angrily then blinked from pain.

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  He squinted angrily. “That’s the fuckin’ guy? Really?” I bit my lip.

  August wrapped an arm around Zack and hoisted him off the ground. August steadied him as he walked past me without sparing a glance, squeezing his side from his fall onto Tristan’s new toy helicopter.

  “When he bails on you, don’t call.”

  The rest of the children went home, followed by my friends. Annie was last to leave and asked about the ruckus. I apologized for the disruption, but she waved it off, and something about her quietness made me think she’d seen some things in her time. I then spent the following hour trying to get my oldest and most faithful friend’s blood out of my rug.

  Tristan had gone straight in for a nap after his guests went home, but when he woke up that evening for dinner, we sat on his bed for a talk. Like all things, he made it easy.

  “So my dad is Daniel,” he said. Maybe only the fourth time.

  “He is, darling.”

  He scrunched his face. “Does he like the museum?”

  “I’m not sure. You can ask him, though.”

  “When do I see him?”

  “I’m not sure, honey.”

  “Does this mean you will get married?”

  I picked at a loose strand in the comforter. “No. It’s not really like that.”

  He watched me. “Okay. I have friends whose mommies aren’t married to their daddies.”

  I nodded.

  “I have friends whose mommies are married to mommies.” He tilted his head. “Are you going to marry Jill?”

  I laughed. “No, dear, I most certainly will not be marrying Jillian.” He looked relieved, but I thought that was only because it left her available.

  “Honey,” I said seriously, “I may never marry anyone.”

  “That’s okay,” he said quietly. “But Daniel is still my dad, right?”

  “Yes,” I said. My son’s gaze held such pure and unadulterated amazement that I lent him a small smile, in apology or reassurance, I couldn’t say. The smile was returned, and as torn as I was, somehow it was worth it.

  Then curiously he asked, “Was Uncle Zack picking on you today?”

  “No. Why?” I puzzled.

  “I pushed the boy at school. ‘Member?” he replied guiltily. I nodded, taking his hand.

  “Why did you do that, honey?” I probed.

  “I used to think August was my dad because I’m like him,” Tristan said. He shook his head. “But, I’m like my dad.”

  That earned him a shrewd puzzling look, but it was past bedtime.

  I was restless that night. I tossed and turned. Aside from the melee, Daniel hadn’t RSVP’d in any way. He spent most of the party after he did arrive looking bored or borderline disinterested. I thought a lot about the look he’d given. That look when he exited made me think he was second guessing announcing that he was Tristan’s birth father. If he’d merely made that impulse announcement as a power play over my wary friends, I could never forgive him, even from a distance. But if he broke Tristan’s heart, I would let Zack fulfill his wish for payback. Finally checking those two plans off my preparedness list, I slept.

  By mid-morning the next day I was sitting behind the counter working hard on a new distribution offer, yawning through my third sugary soda. Ian had called with the update; Zack was fine and had scored a date with the on-duty physician’s assistant. Never one to miss an opportunity. I opened a fourth can of caffeine-laden soda. I had to put my focus where it counted—my family and my work. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself, but the deal I was working on could be big for us.

  I began going through my Monday morning emails until I got to one that stopped me in my tracks.

  I want to see him.

  D. Baird

  I closed it and opened it again. I hit refresh. It was still there.

  I replied to Daniel and had moved on to reading work emails when I heard the click of heels. Violet approached upset about the DJ for her runway show cancelling. He decided she was too mainstream. “I offered to increase the fee, but what’s a guy who wears superhero helmets so principled about?’ she complained. “I’ll figure it out. Wait a sec, why do you look so spacey?”

  “I; we, have been asked to Daniel’s tonight,” I corrected. “He wants to spend time with Tristan.”

  Her mouth formed a little o. “Whoa.”

  I paused. “Good whoa? Bad whoa?”

  “Whoa, whoa.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I said yes.”

  I expected condescension—or outright protest. But finally she leaned on the counter, tapping her fingers on the marble.

  Appraising me, she asked, “So, what are you going to wear?’

  Chapter 17 - Reap What’s Sown

  We exchanged a round of emails and came up with a time. At five o’clock exactly we were standing on the stone stoop of Daniel’s Central Park townhouse mansion.

  Tristan was holding my hand on the stoop and the other held his wheeled backpack, carefully packed. He’d toiled over that. Not Candy Land, too baby, yes to Jenga because they could talk while they played, he’d explained. He even insisted on wearing solid color underpants instead of the cartoon ones; he wanted to be a big boy. I decided on a sensible outfit of a thin long sleeve white T-shirt and slim blue jeans with my khaki trench coat. I figured that was suitable and tried not to over think it. I contemplated calling August, just out of nerves, but it was my call. That’s what August would have told me.

  Standing in front of the three-story townhouse with his head tilted all the way back to glimpse the rooftop trellis railing, Tristan looked like a child in miniscule proportion. Whe
n I picked him up from school and asked him if he’d like to go see Daniel, it was clear the answer was yes.

  “Which floor is his?” he puzzled, voice strained by his craned neck.

  “All of them.” I smiled. His mouth formed a little o.

  Properly impressed, I smoothed my ponytail and clanged the knocker. I normally would have rapped knuckles, but I thought he’d enjoy that. I was right. Moments later, it opened. It was Jeeves again. His droll expression unmistakable. He must have been doing dishes because, oddly, he had yellow kitchen gloves up to his elbows.

  “Ms. Valentine,” he said politely, widening the door. This was quite the turnaround, manner wise. I thanked him and ushered Tristan inside.

  Past the entry, the sconces were lit despite dusk’s bruised light still streaming in, yet with the new light it was somehow harsher than last time. I found myself glancing towards the dining room. I had a visual flashback of sweat-covered bodies and sinful moans—then promptly shoved all memories of ‘last time’ into a bucket and down a bottomless well. I was sure the dessert trolley had needed replacing, but this was not the time to reminisce.

  My footfalls rung hollow against the marble floors, and ‘Jeeves’, as I’d thus anointed him, took the coat my son was shrugging out of. I didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t offer me the same courtesy. He gestured to us with an impatient noise as Tristan took his time taking everything in, and when we followed he delivered us to a sitting room. Daniel was there, sitting in a high back chair, stone faced, and gazing intently into an unlit hearth. He looked to me, and his eyes stayed there as he rose, in dark slacks and dress shirt, black with thin gray stripes down to angular silver cufflinks. I found myself holding my breath.