Page 19 of Upshot

I’ve been staring at the popcorn ceiling of my hotel room for hours now. Turns out, Reed isn’t such a bad guy. Did he want to know what my plan is going forward? Yes. Did he threaten to separate me from my testicles if I hurt Brontë? Yes. But, after that, we had a decent dinner together. I suspect that wasn’t the last I’ve seen of him. Especially after he explained that she is as close to a little sister as possible.

He left me with no doubt about where her family stands. But I’d really like to know what she’s thinking. Does she believe I’m here to cause problems? I don’t want to cause problems, but I’m not just going away either.

I need help figuring out what to do. Rolling over, I see it's three in the morning. I pick up my phone and press two on speed dial anyway. She owes me.

“Christ, Henry. Do you know what time it is?” Geneva says when she answers. The only time she refers to my given name is when she’s pissed.

“G, I don’t know what to do.” We’re both up now, I might as well plow right into it.

“About the baby thing?”

“No, Geneva, the unrest in the Middle East. Of course the baby thing.”

“Fuck right off, Rand. It’s the middle of the night, I’m trying to catch up.” I hear rustling in the background.

“Are you with someone?” Please don’t let it be my best friend.

“None of your business.” The line is silent for a minute. “Okay, I think the first thing you need to do is establish that it is your kid. That’s an easy blood test. After that, you need to decide how involved you want to be. Is this a college fund and monthly welfare payment, or is this a picking up from school and making every ball game thing?”

“What if I want it to be hands-on, but Brontë doesn’t want me anywhere around?” My mind flashes through all the things I would miss. First steps, first day of school, first missing tooth, ball games, award ceremonies, proms, graduations, marriage.

“Then you have to decide if you want to file for custody. I’m sure Randolph Holdings and Randolph Real Estate can afford the best family law attorneys in the country.”

“Okay.” Am I ready to take that kind of stand? “Maybe as a last resort.”

“Why don’t you try having a civilized conversation with her first? You described her as smart and funny. I’m sure you can work out something without having to get attorneys involved. Now is there anything else? I have sheets to warm.”

“Please tell me it’s not Pete,” I say. She hangs up on me without responding. I toss my phone back on the nightstand and close my eyes. With any luck, I can get some sleep without thoughts of my sister’s love life in my head.

The next morning, I sleep in until six-thirty. My head is pounding and my back aches. Still, I’m ready to face the day head-on.

My headache eases a little after a hearty breakfast at the café downtown. I’ll have to run for days to get all the grease and breading out of my system. I linger, reading the news on my phone, until I’m sure the shop Brontë works in is open.

My heart is hammering when I walk through the door. She’s standing along the far wall, putting a shipment of new garden ornaments on the shelf.

My breath leaves in one giant whoosh at seeing how incredibly beautiful she is in a T-shirt, overall shorts, and sneakers. At that moment, I know exactly what my decision is. I’m doing whatever it takes to keep my kid in my life and, if she’ll have me, Brontë also.

“Oh, hi,” she says when she catches me staring at her.

“Hi.” Lame, I know. I clear my throat. “Would you consider coming to lunch with me? We can talk some things out.”

“No,” she answers. No? “I don’t think lunch will be long enough. I only take thirty minutes, and my sisters usually show up. How about I meet you for dinner?” Oh, okay that makes sense.

“Great. Can I pick you up?”

“I’ll just meet you at Sam’s Steakshack at six. If I eat much later, the indigestion is terrible.”

“I’ll meet you then.” I nod and start back out the door when I remember something. “Hey, Brontë?” She turns her beautiful blue gaze on me. “Where’s Sam’s Steakshack?” She laughs, and it’s the most beautiful noise. I remember that laugh.

I have hours to kill before dinner. What does one do in a town this size for entertainment? I’ll just look around a little. Brontë grew up here, so I assume she’ll want our son or daughter to do the same. I should check out the schools while I’m in town.

I find myself wandering through a street full of older houses, some in perfect condition, others not so much. At least they're not all cookie-cutter. You can tell how the town grew by the architecture.

My eyes are drawn to a For Sale sign in front of an old, two-story monstrosity. I would guess it was a real showplace of a home at one time. Most people would think its best days were long past, but I’m not most people. I pull over to the curb and climb out of the car.

The bones of the house are fantastic. It has a large wraparound porch, large windows on the front, and dormers on top. I study the original craftsmanship of the woodwork over the door. Looking at the minor inconsistencies, I would guess it’s all handmade.

I’m dying to look through the front windows, but I don’t want to be picked up for being a Peeping Tom. That reputation is all I need in this town. They already hate me for knocking up their Homecoming Queen.

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