Page 45 of Whatever Will Be

I playfully punch his thigh. “Careful. I’m beginning to think of you as my fairy godmother.”

He looks my way and his eyes take a quick tour of my body. “Make a wish, honey, and I’ll grant it.”

This guy sure knows how to get a girl’s heart beating faster. One glance from him and my panties are ready to liquify.

Partially to distract from an overpowering surge of hormones that can’t be satisfied right now, I reach into the front slip pocket of my purse.

“You feel like listening to some music?”

“What is that?”

“Abigail Fisher’s Greatest Hits.”

He snorts. “Not really my style but the stereo is all yours.”

I flip open the case and a piece of paper falls out, just like it did the last time I opened it. I’m shocked to see Abigail’s familiar handwriting and realize this is the exact same note I found inside eight years ago. This CD was one of Jules’s treasures. It must have been or else she wouldn’t have kept it on top of her dresser. There’s writing on the back on the note. I can see the marks bleeding through. I turn it over and find some hastily scrawled numbers that mean nothing to me. Jules must have needed to remember them for something and grabbed the first piece of paper she could find to jot them down.

I’m careful not to scratch the CD as I pry it out and push it into the correct slot. Abigail’s ageless voice fills the car.

“Our past and our future.

Kissed by the moon.

Fate undivided.

Whatever will be.”

Trent cracks up. “Shit, talk about overkill on the cheesy lyrics.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Trentcassini.” I emphasize the way the twins say his name as all one word.

“Ah, don’t start. I’ve tried to get your nieces to just call me Trent but they are attached to Trentcassini.”

“I’ve become very attached to you too.” I’m no longer talking about his name.

Trent shifts in his seat. He gives me a penetrating look, clearly trying to decide if I’m being sincere or flippant.

When he reaches a conclusion, he transfers his hand to my thigh.

He keeps it there for the rest of the drive.

8

Gretchen

The prison visiting room is an off-putting shade of beige and dotted with small round tables keeping company with cheap chairs. Uniformed guards wearing masks of boredom amble slowly around the room while others stand at the exits.

There are always a wide range of families here; emotional wives, mewling babies, fidgety toddlers, sullen teens. Two years have passed since I last saw my father and a brief appraisal determines that he looks healthier than ever. Naturally, alcohol and any other vices are prohibited so that makes his choices easy. He simply has none.

“You look great, kid.” He folds me into a vinegar-scented hug and my cheek scrapes against the harsh fabric of his orange jumpsuit.

To my surprise, he’s cheerful and he’s glad to see Trent. He pumps Trent’s hand with enthusiasm as if this is a family reunion.

I wait for my dad to become tearful and mention Jules but he’s content to grill Trent on the condition of the upstate New York real estate market. Trent gives him short answers and throws me a puzzled look.

A baby at a neighboring table begins to wail.

“Here, give him to his Daddy,” commands a heavyset man whose arms are mottled with tattoos. The baby cries harder.

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