Page 34 of Who's Your Daddy
“Are you going to pick me up every day? This is the bestest! I don’t like school but if you take me for a slushie, I’ll like you!”
Have I mentioned the kid is a con artist as well?
I nod, preoccupied with finding Murphy. Tendrils of panic grip my throat, tightening with every second that passes. “Where’s your cousin?”
T.J. shrugs. “Slushie time? I’m thinking a blue one, but if you get a red one and I get a blue one I can have them both.”
Ignoring his chatter, I hike him up a little higher and stride for the front of the building.
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman standing at the door.
She looks exactly like the strict teachers from my private school in England. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her clothes have nary a wrinkle. Immediately, I’m transported to that time. Suddenly, I’m a lad searching for my mother in the crowd of parents. My endeavors were always fruitless. My mother never picked us up.
One day, though, she promised she would. My birthday. But she never showed. My driver didn’t either; he thought she was coming to get me.
My heart rate ratchets up. I had Sully back then. He and I stoodtogether waiting and eventually walked home. He always had a few quid on him and that day he used them to buy a Lion bar for me. The caramel chocolate wafer was always my favorite as a child. He pretended that had been the plan all along. I knew better, but I went along with it. It helped. But Murphy doesn’t have a Sully. He’s stuck with me.
Dammit, where is Murphy?
The woman turns my way, her nose in the air, her back completely straight.
My stomach rolls.
“Yes?”
“I’m looking for my son. Murphy Macallister. He’s in the same class as my nephew”—I heft T.J., keeping him in my left arm—“but he didn’t come out.”
Eyes narrowed, she unclips a walkie-talkie from her belt. Instantly, all of my worries fall to the wayside. She can’t be that bad if she has one of those.
She presses the button on the side and uses two fingers to cover one of her ears, appearing very official.
I make a note to try it that way next time. Maybe it’ll make a difference. “Gerry, I’m looking for a Murphy Macallister. First grade. Could you send him out?”
She pulls it away from her mouth and holds up a finger to keep me from talking. Five seconds later, the device crackles and beeps.
“He’s talking to Mrs. Benoit, I’ll have him head your way.”
She offers me a silent, perfunctory smile. Nothing more.
Alright.
“Who’s Mrs. Benoit?” I whisper as I set T.J. on his feet at the bottom of the steps.
“Our teacher.”
Hands in my pockets, I pace the tarmac. With each pass, I glance at the door, willing it to open. Is he in trouble? Murphy doesn’t seem like the type of kid to get in trouble, then again, I barely know him.
After a literal eternity the door eases open, and Murphy appearswearing the cool expression I’ve come to expect from him. He doesn’t light up in excitement when he sees me, though I swear there’s a flicker in his eyes. Like maybe he didn’t expect me to be here, and he’s not mad that I am.
It hits me then that maybe my son has experienced situations similar to mine. Maybe he’s been the kid waiting at the school for a parent who didn’t show up. And based on the closed-off expressions, there’s a good chance he’s been through it more times than I ever have.
He’s probably used to people not showing up.
And that breaks my fucking heart.
I take three big steps toward him, not bothering to hide how excited I am to see him. “Mack Attack! How was your first day?”
His brows jump to his forehead. “Mack Attack?”
