In the Land of Milk and Honey Page 23

  The first few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a peek of his solid chest. His hair was less orderly, too, not a bad look with the five o’clock shadow shading his dimpled chin. When his eyes travelled back up to my face, they had the same look they’d had that night in the limo. He paused, letting me see it, then spoke.

  “Ms. Valentine,” he addressed, I was taken aback by his formality. But it was what I needed, a cool dash of water on the sparking ember.

  “Hello, Daniel. You remember Tristan.” I smiled, aiming for friendly, lightly squeezing my son’s hand. Tristan let go to step forward, pulling his backpack behind him.

  “Of course,” Daniel remarked, as he looked down at our guest. Hiking a pant leg, he crouched down, extending a strong hand. “Hello, young man.”

  “Call me Tristan,” he smiled wryly, shaking Daniel’s hand with vigor. Daniel looked a touch rueful, his eye crinkling in the corner.

  “You have a really big house,” Tristan commented, looking around.

  “Thank you,” Daniel replied, shameless. I rolled my eyes.

  “Why is it so empty though?” Tristan probed, glancing around. The house itself has loads of character. Original trim work and mantle, I guessed. Fine expensive furniture, but aside from a stocked bookcase, every surface either spotlessly clear or a prop for impersonal art. It was lacking personal touches—like those cluttering our home. Immaculate…like a mausoleum.

  Daniel blinked without taking his attention off Tristan. “It has been like this a long time,” he replied.

  There was a note in his voice. Tristan noticed, too. “I can draw some pictures for you,” he offered charitably. Then looked at Daniel’s wrist, complimenting, “I like your watch.”

  Daniel arched a brow quizzically and eyed the polished steel, seemingly checking for changes since he put it on in the morning. “It is rather sparkly,” he decided.

  Tristan nodded. “I like the leather one better, but the Bentley is my favor-wit.”

  I cleared my throat awkwardly. He ignored me. “You know timepieces?” he inquired interestedly.

  “Yeah. Mostly Bwietlings. That’s what the pilots wear,” Tristan explained. “I don’t like Rolex too much.” He shrugged precociously.

  “An interesting hobby,” Daniel said, appraising Tristan like the cleverest pup in the litter.

  “Yes, quite the curious interest for a toddler.”

  My head snapped up seeking the person who’d spoken. I heard a book slam closed. Kate Hearst stood from the high back chair that had its back faced to us, sauntering forward.

  “I’m not a toddler,” Tristan corrected, brows furrowed, looking up. “I’m five.”

  Kate stared down. “My mistake,’ she said quietly. Her throat seemed to have caught as her hand went to the sea pearls nesting in her collar. Finally she said, “Hello, I’m Kate.”

  Tristan muffled, “Nice to meet you,” grudgingly, unhappy about being embarrassed by her comment. No hand extended either.

  She smiled warmly, “So what is this watch fetish about?” she pursued, reminding me of her cruelty parading around baby Nathan to be humiliated.

  “My…August teaches me about them. He’s got a lot.”

  “A lot of jewelry? Or money.”

  “Kate,” Daniel warned, sliding his eyes to her.

  “No, watches,” Tristan replied, like duh. Daniel’s lip twitched up.

  I interjected. “August, our friend, is an avid watch collector. Tristan is curious.” I smiled proudly. Truthfully, if people knew the vast extent of August’s watch and shoe collections, his heterosexual image would undoubtedly be questioned.

  Daniel looked put out about August’s name being touted in his home but not half as put out as I was about Kate’s cameo. “Were you just leaving?” I asked interestedly but politely.

  Her face pinched together unpleasantly then relaxed, even softening, as she cozied nearer Daniel. “On the contrary, Daniel asked me to share in this experience with him. Such a blessing.” She was nailing the June Cleaver act, completed by a fitted lavender blouse and skinny beige slacks. I frowned.

  Daniel shot her a look. “I thought it wise to have a female present,” he said, and paused, casting a hesitant glance downward. “In the event of an accident.”

  All three—Daniel, Jeeves, and Kate—looked down at Tristan’s roller case like it was already filled with soil and poo. Jeeves tugged at his gloves and Tristan tensed beside me. Kate hid a grimace at the prospect but looked ready to face any number of unspeakable horrors for her cause.

  “This was a bad idea.” I announced, wheeling around with my son in tow. We made it to the hall. “What?” I said sharply as Daniel hooked my arm, spinning me.

  “It was a precautionary measure,” he said, glancing down uncertainly at Tristan. “Nothing more.”

  With my cub at my side, I was feeling more than a little defensive. “He’s five, Daniel. Not two. And he’s a boy, not a hamster. Whether or not there’s more to it than that is not my concern. You’re entitled to your private life just as much as I’m entitled to mine.” At this last caveat, his jaw clenched. I’d only added it as a manner of speech, so as not to say ‘You can sleep with half the island, while I watch Steel Magnolias on my couch with August and a bucket of cheese snacks every Saturday night for the rest of life’, but it just didn’t have the same ring to it.

  But he’d intuited something. He tightened his grip, drawing me nearer, searching my eyes.

  “I will get rid of her. I didn’t know you would stay.”

  I hadn’t discussed it when I got the invite but looking at that peek of perfect tan chest right at eye level, there was no way she was just the sitter. She was disposable. Maybe we all were to him. Peripherally, Kate came into view, making her way towards us. Her expression unguarded and wounded, meeting me in the same hallway she’d discovered me before. I felt memories of this house and this proximity being towed from the well—and a squeeze of my hand from a much smaller one.

  I wanted to say forget it. Be petty, pack up my son and run. But that’s not what this was about. If Daniel married her, this would be his stepmother. There was simply nothing to be done for it. And if I turned the table now, I’d look like the bad guy in the eyes of my son.

  I had to make a decision.

  I knelt down to the boy beside me.

  “Honey, would you still like to stay?” I asked my son. His head bobbed up and down enthusiastically. ‘Don’t mess up, Mom’, that’s what that look said. No pressure.

  I didn’t look up as the entourage joined us. “I’ll be back in exactly two hours,” I promised him, wiping the butterscotch fringe from his forehead. “Do you have your watch? Good.” I took a marker out of my bag and permanently marked a round dot on the seven through the plastic screen of his Swatch. “When the little hand is all the way here, I’ll be back,” I said, shooting a glance at Kate.

  He huffed. “I can tell time, Mom.” He couldn’t, not always, he just didn’t want to be the little boy. My little boy. This was going to hurt. I stood, plowing ahead before I lost nerve.

  “All his things are in his bag. He’ll show you. He has cheese for his sandwich, and bread, he only likes certain types. Just toast it for him. And he drinks whole milk, not soy, or nut milk, or skim. There’s spare everything, he should be covered. He has some movies that are okay for him to watch if he wants—call me for so much as an ant bite,” I paused, adding confidently. “This should be the easiest two hours of your life.” Tristan could take care of himself—and both these hangers-on’s— without ruffling a hair. I knelt again and gave him a big hug, my lips buried in his hair.

  “You have your sprayer, right?”

  “Yes, mom.”

  “Keep it on you. Just in case,” I said sweetly.

  “Mom, I don’t need my mace!” he flushed.

  I pulled back, tucking his hair back. “Let’s not be hasty, love,” I smiled tightly, darting my vision towards Kate, who stood close to Daniel. My eyes shifted
between them, reading her body language. He was treating her with his ordinary distance but no hostility. They’d clearly reconciled. I felt my cheeks grow warm.

  “Okay,” Tristan acquiesced—then he looked up at Daniel. “I need to use the bathroom.” Daniel gave a delegating glare to Kate. The expression on her face was comical as she and Jeeves led him away, taking his bag.

  Daniel was watching me, trying to solve some inner riddle, and I realized my expression must be somewhat forlorn.

  “I’ll be back in two hours,” I reminded him and turned to leave before I lost strength. By the time I reached the door, I knew what was coming.

  “Look at me, Gabrielle,” he ordered.

  “What?” I snapped as I turned around, unable to disobey.

  My eyes had sprung a leak. He looked taken aback by it.

  “You must know that is the only reason she’s here,” he pressed, speaking forcefully in a hushed tone, not for privacy’s sake. “I didn’t know you would stay. I didn’t think you would wish to.”

  He was really close. I could smell him.

  I sighed. “Daniel, I had no intention of staying. Really. It’s just tough leaving him,” I met his eyes to make him believe it. He was being vulnerable because he pitied me. “That’s all.”

  He iced over and descended down the hall. Two hours, I reminded myself and left.

  I had wanted to stay, I told myself, but only for Tristan. I took a cleansing breath and crossed the street to the park to wait.

  ~o~

  “Mom, can you make me a sandwich?” Tristan asked as we got home, plopping his bag on the floor.

  “Didn’t you eat already?” I asked concernedly, joining him where he sat at the table with his crayons. “I sent your grilled cheese stuff.”

  “I had one already,” he said bashfully. “But I want one of yours.”

  If fireworks could combust in one’s heart, it was the fourth of July in my chest. I whipped up the gooiest toastiest grilled cheese in history and joyfully watched him munch away.

  God, I didn’t want to pry but, “How was it?” I asked. He frowned confusedly at the plate. “Not the sandwich.” At seven o clock exactly I’d found him fully packed up, sitting at the foot of the staircase playing jacks—alone save for the butler.

  “Oh. It was okay,’ he shrugged. “Daniel seems pweety cool.” The more tired or nervous he became, the more his r became w.

  “Is that what he asked you to call him?” I ventured gingerly. He shrugged again. This was the man who’d said he was never meant to be a father, I reminded myself. Not equipped for Dad yet, but that was okay.

  “And how was Kate?” I probed, wetting my finger and picking up buttery crumbs from his plate, the picture of nonchalance.

  “She was nice,” he answered briefly—then blushed down at his drawing, the same way he did for strawberry blonde Jill. Blondes. My kid was in to blondes. Game match for the hussy. Oh wait, she was the fiancée, I mentally corrected—the hussy was me.

  “So what did you do?” I continued. Okay, I was digging.

  He yawned. “I dunno. We played some games. Daniel watched but then his head hurt so he went upstairs. Kate played some more,” he trailed off. “Mostly it was just Jeeves and me. He’s not that gweat at Jacks.”

  “Jeeves?” I repeated, alarmed—I must have slipped. I retraced my verbal steps and don’t know when I did.

  “Daniel’s house manager with the funny nose,” he explained while wiggling the aforementioned feature. That would most certainly be the butler. Daniel Baird had a weak chinned, tails wearing butler, named Jeeves.

  Chapter 18 - Uncharted Terrain

  The following day at school Tristan proudly announced to classmates he had a dad. His name was Daniel, and he was tall. He didn’t say much more than that, almost like he was keeping it for himself. Ari caught me up on this when he called that evening, querying if this was a real or imaginary revelation. It was real, I informed him.

  Incredibly, I got a message a week later. And the next, and so on. He wanted to spend time with Tristan. He wanted to know him. Though it was only a few hours on weekday afternoons, it was unexpected. I knew things were broiling at BarclayBaird between information from August and Ian, and what I read in the papers. I guess I should have been impressed he was making time in the midst all that for Tristan.

  When I asked Tristan about his visits, he was cheerfully vague. Or maybe those were all the details his five-year-old mind found significant, and it was only my own adult curiosity being unsatisfied.

  “We watched a movie,” he said, as I welcomed him home after his third visit to Daniel’s. Jeeves had escorted him home in the limo. Daniel’s limo. Tristan was so excited it was impossible to say no, but the truth is traffic was murder so I allowed it.

  “That sounds fun. Which one?”

  “The Lion King.”

  “Did he enjoy that?” I smiled. One of his favorites. One of our favorites, actually. Tristan always snuggled during conflict scenes.

  He considered the question thoughtfully. “He liked it. Except at the end he said he didn’t understand why Mufasa didn’t kill Scar in the beginning of the movie. He said it would save everyone the trouble.” My mouth fell open. “I think he’s right,” Tristan added. “Do you know why he didn’t kill Scar, mom?”

  “Because that’s not the way you solve problems, honey,” I replied. He looked perplexed. “Mufasa gave his brother his chance. His was kind. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “But Scar killed him,” he said, his head tilting to the other side.

  He’d saved the hard questions for me, and it was difficult to argue that logic in hindsight.

  “It, it just, it would have been wrong.” He didn’t look satisfied.

  “Just at the house?” I continued. “Was anyone there?”

  “Kate came over,” he said shyly.

  Of course.

  “That’s nice,” I said. “How is she?”

  When Tristan didn’t answer immediately, I saw he was watching me open garbanzo beans for this week’s hummus. I turned the hand crank on my can opener more gingerly. “She’s okay,” he said. “She’s getting me a suit.”

  “A suit?”

  “We’re going out to dinner next Friday. To get my calamari.” He blushed. A public outing…I needed a moment to process. He hadn’t consulted me on that.

  “And you need a suit for that?” I understood the outing, but it was only Del Posto, I assumed.

  He fiddled with the fish stick on his plate, rolling it in sauce. “Daniel said I should have a suit.”

  I turned to face him, placing a hand on a hip. “You have one, honey. It’s right in your closet.”

  “I know.” I watched him closely as he withheld. He always told me everything. I felt a stir of jealousy.

  “Well,” I said, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel hanging off the oven handle, then balling it up on the counter. “I suppose the one we have is getting a bit tight. A new suit wouldn’t hurt.”

  He grinned, wide and sincere. I smirked. “Since when do you like wearing suits so much?” I teased, refolding my kitchen towel and hanging it back on the handle.

  When I looked back he was playing with his food once more, hiding a hot pink blush on his cream apple cheeks. I sighed. Damned blondes.

  The next day at work, I was shuffling through orders. Vi walked up.

  “Why the long face?” she asked. I looked up. She was wearing a modern magenta get-up that was cut like a trapezoid.

  I guffawed. “Mr. Finley would be proud.” He’d been our high-school Algebra teacher.

  “It’s a social commentary the algorithm of life,” she explained, haughtily. “At least you’re smiling.” She grinned.

  “I’m busy.”

  “You need to get laid.”

  ‘Excuse me?”

  “That’s right. I said it.” She smiled.

  “Been there, done that.”

  “It’s not a tattoo, Bree. You don’t get
it done once and cross it of your bucket list. It’s a continual thing. You know, as in the human race?” she quipped back.

  “Not for me,” I said, tossing down the stack. “I got my tramp stamp. I’m good.” She laughed. I didn’t want to discuss it.

  “This is about Daniel,” she responded. “I know, don’t bother denying it. Tristan is growing up, Gabrielle. You have to face it. Daniel’s boinking what’s-her-face but don’t stop living before you ever get started.”

  I sighed, sitting back in my chair.

  “See? I know that look. That’s the ‘Dear God, Violet is making sense right now, what the heck is wrong with me’ look.” I scowled at her cheerfulness. “Listen. Seriously. You’ll always have Tristan, and he’s got a new person who’s only one fiftieth, no, one one-hundredth of his life, but he’s having fun. He’s happy. And Daniel…is less looming than before. But still hot,” she said, and I was losing her. “Still totally hot. But my point is, you need to get a life of your own now, too.”

  “Did you just tell me to get a life?”

  She bobbed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I peered at her. “It’s weird when you put on a Virginian accent whilst dressed like a spaceship.”

  She laughed and began moving my soda can like a robot. “Gabrielle. Take me to your leader,” she chanted, and I was laughing as the door dinged. It was our bike messenger. He entered the showroom wearing a dark green garment bag hooked into the back of his bike jacket. From the front it looked like he was wearing an over-starched cape.

  “Hi, Jeremy,” Vi purred and revealed a brow angled suggestively towards me.

  “Don’t try it,” I muttered as I tried looking busy.

  “Jeremy, you’re single, right?” Vi probed.