Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 13

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“You,” Dropping my hand, and the phone to my lap, I began the amusing admission.

“Me?”

“Your code name. Couldn't put --” Stopping short of saying his name, I looked around, sure that none of the rooms inhabitants would recognize the name, as we were the youngest, but amended anyway, “your actual name in, could I?”

My expectation was that he would ask why the name Russ had been chosen, but his next question was unpredicted.

“You never told her? About us?”

Pathetic, but my heart lurched at that one word. Us. A few weeks ago, over the phone, he had declared I was nothing more than a bang. Earlier today, he had referred to me as a stranger. And now, I was part of an 'us.'

“I love Liv, but she's kind of a blabbermouth.”

“But after you found you were pr—after you had—" Stuttering around any baby word, he broke off.  Although he was here, in some type of semi acceptance, he still couldn't say it.  "After all this time, you never told?”

“What would be the point?” 

“You should have told me.” The words were stony and spoke of the lack of an entirely different revelation. It must have marinated all day, and now, he took issue with not having been informed of the pregnancy years ago. My response formulated, then slipped away, then almost came together again, but my brain seemed incapable of any thought except Tristan in that room. Maybe it was the same for him too because he said, “Never mind. Let's just get through today for now.”

There it was again. The us. Even if it was in contraction form.

“Mr. and Mrs. Duplei?” A medical assistant clipped bracelets onto each of our wrists and informed us that visiting was about to begin. Studying the laminated bracelet, I saw that on it was printed Tristan's name, birthday, doctor, and other information. The visiting system was organized by room and space, so that only one patient's family at a time crowded each room.

Tristan was still asleep, and again I fussed maternally over him, while Jack stood around the foot of the bed, seemingly infatuated by his tiny look alike. Once we adjourned back to our chairs, Jack offered to find something to eat, but I declined.

“Go ahead if you want.” I knew he had to be hungry, but he shook his head, and leaned it back against the wall. Taking in the shadows beginning to form beneath his eyes, I wondered if it was the stress of the day on him or fatigue. “When did you get here? To Biloxi?”

“This morning.” Even his voice seemed more weary than earlier.

“You flew in this morning?!”

“Had meetings all day yesterday. New album stuff. So I left LA last night at 11:37.” He spoke in exact flight time, then grimaced. “Then off course, you lose two hours to the time zone difference. So it was around four when I checked into the hotel.”

Biting my tongue before it could ask where he was staying, I slouched more comfortably, leaning my head back also. The silence stretched, and I thought he must have dozed. Although I was too keyed up to do the same, it felt good to close my eyes.

“Marissa?” He said my name quietly, possibly in case I was asleep.

“Mmh?” Without moving anything except my eyes, I glanced, finding he was doing the same.

“Tell me about him...”

Caught off guard, I stared at the repeating print of the wallpaper. There was nothing I liked more than to talk about Tristan, and I tried not to be one of 'those' mothers at work or wherever. My parents listened to my every little story of his latest escapades, and Olivia generally lived them with me, and we would laugh together. But nothing had ever pleased me as much as the idea of telling my son's personality traits, and glories to his father.

“He's the best kid in the world. So sweet and smart. And funny. He says the funniest stuff on purpose. Anything good, he is.” Letting my mind drift, I tried to come up with specifics.

“What are his favorite things to do?”

A smile curved easily on my lips as I informed Jack of the shows he watched, the books he liked, the games he played. Of hot wheels cars, and helicopters. Of Tiggy his fake pet, and Bally his real pet. Of drums and karaoke.

“He likes to sing?” Jack's head popped up from it's rest on the wall.

A proud maternal smile twitched my lips. “He's actually really good. You would be surprised.”

“Why surprised?” Jack taunted, and a teasing glint lit his dark gaze. “You listened to the CD I gave you, right?”

That one sentence had so many hidden implications whether he meant it to or not; the inference that any child of his would be born with music pumping through their veins; an internal acceptance of Tristan as his son.

“I listened to more than the CD. Even downloaded a couple.” The confession naturally spilled out in this close easy moment and I watched his brows slightly raise in surprise.

A husky challenge came next. “Does that mean you liked what you heard? Marissa who doesn't listen to hard metal?”

“Some of it.” My stressed smile was slight, but it remained as that boyish taunt transported me back int time; to Jack giving me that first Jackal CD after giving me a first inkling of just how great the x rated things could be that were sung and screamed about in so many of those songs.

Thankfully, Jack abandoned that avenue of conversation as if just remembering what else I had mentioned. “Drums?” And when I nodded, he surmised, “You are a good mom to toerate a four-year old on drums...”

“Surprisingly, he can keep a beat.”

“There's that 'surprisingly again...” He joked as if offended.

Blowing out a breath, I shot back, “Because he's four!”

His grin held, gradually fading, as he asked, “Do you have pictures? On your phone?”

Eagerly, I opened the gallery file, passed the device over then watched his face as he took in every pixel. There were easily a hundred pictures on the phone, and he went through each one, sometimes asking questions. Pausing on one, he smiled at Tristan using Bally as a pillow while watching t.v., and asked that I text the image to his phone.

Easily a hundred emotions channeled between us, but I held back my questions. Fatherhood may have petrified him a few weeks ago, but once he saw the inevitable, he was surprisingly quick to adjust. So quickly it was frightening when the C word would pop into my head.

Custody.

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