Jack Who?

CHAPTER 8

     Looking away from a gaze that suddenly made her feel guilty for keeping such a secret, Marissa quietly asked, “Why Russ? Why is that your guess?”

     Continuing to stare dead on, Olivia solemnly returned, “Because you always tell me about every guy. And never, ever, have you mentioned Russ.”

     Or Jack. Marissa’s mind silently retorted.

     Jack who? The text replayed in her head, but for some reason, the ‘Jack’ texts in the Russ conversation had gone over or out of Olivia’s head. Maybe her friend had been skimming and had missed that crucial clue. It certainly didn’t sound as if Liv had looked at the dates in the text series since the fateful month would have contained only two from ‘Russ’ and the intimate texts had come months later. Five fat months later to be exact.

     From the den, Tristan’s high-pitched laughs while watching his shows became the only break in the stretching silence.

     Rounding the bar to the sink, Marissa dumped her glass in and stared after it. Without turning, she spoke, “Liv, if I tell you, you have to swear never to tell a living soul. Not even Michael.”

     “Okay.” The response was immediate and bordered on reverent.

     “I mean it. I am about to have to sign a legal agreement swearing myself to silence.” Pivoting, she saw her friend’s eyes had slightly rounded at the seriousness tone and words.

     “Okay, I promise.”

     “The day we went to the Hang Fest, the dog I told you I found…” Picking at a fingernail in bad need of a manicure before her job wrote her up over it, Marissa considered one last time whether it was wise to confess. “The dog belonged to the Russ that you saw on the phone.”

     “So who is Russ?” Olivia prompted when Marissa didn’t immediately continue.

     “He was one of the musicians that day. I’m sure he is Tristan’s– that it is him.” Nervously, Marissa stuttered and, like Olivia had minutes ago, avoided the word father. Cautiously, she sent a look to the den where Tristan was fitting together a Hot Wheels track. “But that’s all I can tell you right now.”

     The evening had become stressful enough without adding to the chain of events, and she halted the attempted confession when envisioning Olivia’s typical overblown reaction.

     Marissa’s eyes locked onto her best friend’s fake eyelashes, imploring her to understand. “The letter that came with the check stipulates a paternity test. I will tell you everything soon. And, I’m sorry I didn’t sooner. I don’t know what I would have done, or would do, without you. And you of all people deserve the truth.”

     Nodding in acceptance, Olivia moved around gathering her things in preparation to leave. Bending for a hug and kiss, she said her goodbye to Tristan and then spun about to Marissa.

     Even from across the room, Marissa could physically feel her friend’s mind spinning like the hamster wheel that had held such fascination for Tristan on one of his shows.

     Slowing, stopping, full speed, again and again.

     Olivia’s brows puckered. “He was in a band? Or with a band?”

     The question was predictable from Olivia, but the reasoning behind it had changed over the years. Five years ago, Olivia would have asked to determine banging status. Tonight, it was to aid her in her Google search later. Marissa almost smiled but felt too guilty at the thought of Olivia wasting the rest of the night attempting to cross-reference ‘Russ’ to the band appearances of that fateful year.

     Closing the space between them, she hugged her friend, much tighter than in the usual girly greeting or goodbye. “Thank you for everything.”

     The letter and check weighed on her thoughts, and she knew a crying jag would come later in the shower, muffled from tiny ears.

     “Momma? Did you eat your fortune cookie? You can have it if you want.”

     Olivia waved a last goodbye as Tristan spoke, then let herself out the door.

     “No. Do you want it?”

     Excitedly, he nodded in confirmation and added, “But you can keep your fortune.”

     “Cool! I need a good fortune!” Oh how she needed two different definitions of fortune.

     After having his cookie, they adjourned to the spare room, which over the years had evolved into a mini gym.

     Following a series of stretching exercises, Tristan began on the exercycle sized for him, and she reclined on the weight bench. The workout ritual was something they did together. The main reason she participated was to encourage her son who was forced by circumstances to make it an everyday part of his life. However, the results in the mirror also pushed her on.

     She was never sure if the quest to keep a trim and toned body was for the overweight adolescent girl who had once sat home dateless during those first awkward school dances, or the twenty-something year old ‘Mariss’ who secretly hoped to one day be a family with Jack Storm.

     The eating disorder of adolescence had returned with a vengeance five years ago, and she knew stress was the root of the problem. The only times she didn’t struggle with weight was during times of being content with her life.

     Tristan kept up a steady chatter, and a smile found its way to her face as she listened to the news of the day. Aunt Liv had bought him a new book app for the tablet she had given him for Christmas. The Chinese food delivery had taken almost an hour. One of his favorite shows recorded twice. Bally ate broccoli. Pleasantly, his tiny voice filled the room and as always, was the highlight of her evening.

     The shred of an electronic riff, the pounding of drums, and a deep throaty howl interrupted the soothing sound waves, jarring her from her mindless leg thrusts, and rendering Tristan speechless.

     “Is that your phone?” Round eyes accompanied his inquiry, and his short legs stopped their pedaling.

     Jack’s number had been dumped, along with the rest of her contacts, from phone to phone, over the years. It was understandable that she had never deleted it. What could be considered unusual was her post cell upgrade ritual of scrolling through her sound files and assigning his special ring tone once more to his number.

     Leaning to the side, she snatched the phone from the floor and verified the caller ID. Numbly, she took in the shaking of her hand as ‘RUSS’ flashed the screen.

     “It’s going to stop! Answer it!” Tristan’s frantic cry brought her attention to a miniature version of the face that haunted her dreams, and whose voice was now a click away.

     Her thumb hovered and then pressed.

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