Jack Who? (Book 1 Draft Version)

CHAPTER 9

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 With a quick click, I sent the call to voicemail.

“Momma, why did you do that?”

Vaguely, I brought my gaze from the phone to Tristan's disappointment, wondering if somehow, subconsciously he felt a connection to the caller.; to his dad. Even Bally was sitting, instead of laying now, a judgemental ear cocked back.

“I didn't feel like talking...” As I defended my actions to my four year old son, I was listening for the voicemail tone, but wound up as deflated as Tristan looked when there was none.  The truth was, I was terrified of the finely worded custody clause in the letter.

“You should've answered it.” Tiny feet renewed the slow rotation of the bike peddles.

“Why?” Again, I was curious, sensing some urgency in his reproof.

My mother viewed these types of conversations as my son's lack of respect toward me, deeming that I should tell, not explain. Maybe that's why my childhood seemed more like a dictatorship. Maybe that's why I had been overweight. In any case, she didn't get that Tristan was extremely mature for his age, thus could reason things out.

“To see who it is.” The pronouncement was heaved as if I were dense. Okay, so maybe I was too lax sometimes in asserting authority...

“Why did you want to know who it was?”

“Because I liked the music.”

My muscles relaxed some at that answer, and I moved to the stair-master. “You did huh?” Maybe it's because I had rocked the house with it non stop while I was pregnant with him. “Well maybe I can find some music like that for you to listen to.” Concentrating, I tried to remember if the lyrics to all of Jackall's songs were risqué or if maybe there was just one song that the lead vocalist's son could listen to.

The week passed far too quickly. Olivia decided to kennel Bally in her own home. I bought a few new pajamas for Tristan, since those he normally wore were faded or outgrown, and packed for both of us in luggage acquired, years ago, as a high school graduation present. A chic, yet comfortable, pantsuit hung on my closet door to wear the day of his surgery.

On the day before we were to arrive at the hospital, my car idled in the bank parking lot for a full ten minutes before I resolutely switched the ignition off.  Inside the building, I veered to a teller window and cashed the check from Jack, sealing my fate, and Tristan's, in some way that would soon be determined.

Olivia drove us to the hospital, and like me, hovered around the bed that was far too big for the tiny boy in it. We both winced as blood was drawn, but Tristan only frowned, and after the initial ouch, attentively watched the vial turn red. My thoughts went to the paternity test, that I had yet to set up and I wondered if he would have to endure needles again after being released from the hospital.

“Hi gammy!”  Tristan sang out, looking beyond me as the phlebotomist packed up the blood vials.

Whirling around, I found my mother and moved to give her a hug after she finished embracing her grandson. My parents had been divorced since my childhood, and it was normally a strain to have both her and my father in the same area.  But, he also showed up, just minutes after Tristan was wheeled into the surgical area.

Coffee and the comfort of couches, down the hall, beckoned the rest of them, but I remained in the room, unpacking a stuffed tiger from his gear. It was still in my hand when Olivia returned less than a minute later.

“Want something to eat with your coffee, Rissa?” When I shook my head and moved to the window, she persisted, “You coming down to the waiting area?”

“How is a paternity test done?”  Ignoring her question, I asked my own.

Concern darkened her normally bright blue eyes. “Don't think about that right now, okay? You have enough to deal with--”

“Is it a blood test?”  Clutching the stuffed beast, I persisted.

“No, I'm sure it's a swab test.”  Softly, she recited the assurance, and studied the tiger in my arms.

“Oh.” Relieved, I precisely placed the king of the jungle in the window, and answered her original question, “No, I can't eat right now.”

Reluctantly, I followed her, and sank into a chair, submissively allowing her to mix my coffee.

Conversations between my best friend and my family went on around me, while I alternated between staring glumly into my cold coffee and at the wall clock with a specific time on my mind. The surgeon had estimated that Tristan would be out of surgery and in recovery within ninety minutes.

The realization of the chatter around me had dwindling to a stop was meaningless until I noticed all three heads pointed one direction; six eyes fixated on one common focus.

“I'll be damned,” The swear was just under my father's breath.

My mothers lips formed a silent 'O'.

Olivia hissed, without moving her lips, in that way we often did to one another, “Russ is not who you think he is!”

This entire scene played out in less than a few seconds, and sending my own gaze along that same geometric plane, resulted in an intense case of dejavu.

Hungrily, I watched Jack saunter closer and closer. A hoodie hung loosly open over his shirt, the hood part down, but covering the ponytail that his dark hair slicked back into. A cap was jammed onto his head. Like the day we met, his long legs were clad in jeans, and prestigious sneakers encased his feet. The stuffed animal drooping in one arm was enormous.

He had yet to notice his stunned audience. Just before he reached the connecting hall that the large waiting lounge opened into, he paused, resting a hand on the counter of the nurses station.

The young woman's flush was obvious even from this distance, and as she pointed, Jack's head twisted, and a nanosecond later his dark gaze locked with mine.

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END CHAPTER 9

[a/n 2/15 #6]