Marred Page 7

  Kyle didn’t say anything, thinking that through. He understood—probably more than most people—how important it was to have a career that made money.

  She stretched her legs in front of her and flexed her feet. The muscles of her calves were certainly well-developed. Seriously, such pretty skin too. Hello, focus here. She’s the enemy. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like the enemy. She felt like a friend. An ally. Someone who understood his life better than anyone else.

  “I need a house,” he repeated.

  “I thought you were building a house up by Jackson and Maggie?”

  He and Jackson had bought a two-acre piece of land outside of town. His plan was to build a house on his half once he was ready. “I hired an architectural firm last month. They showed me preliminary plans last week. I wasn’t sure it was time. It’s a big expense.”

  “A home of your own, though. I mean, think about that.”

  “It’s what everyone seems to want.”

  “Except you?” she asked.

  “I’ve been on the fence, to be honest. I like my pack-and-play life.”

  “Mollie needs a home with a yard and playdates. Cookouts and birthday parties. Daddy and daughter dances. A chance to grow up with the other Dogs’ kids.”

  The sadness in her voice caused a strange aching sensation in his chest. These were all parts of life she wanted for Dakota but didn’t think she’d ever have.

  “The difference between you and me is—you can give it to your child.” She peered into her glass. “That was the idea for my shop. I naively thought it would do so well I could buy a house for us. My friends here would be our new family. I’d give him a real home. My dad was right about me.”

  “What was he right about?” he asked.

  “He told me I’m in love with failure, that I choose it on purpose.” Violet flushed and looked away. “I don’t know if it’s true that I choose it on purpose, but it’s undeniable I’m a failure. A big old flop in the game of life.”

  “You’re not a failure. Your shop didn’t work, yeah, okay, fine. You tried your hardest and it didn’t work. There’s no shame in that.”

  Violet had turned away from him, obviously distracted by the television. Her faced drained of color. She leaned forward slightly as if she couldn’t quite believe what was before her. He looked at the screen. A panel of people debated a subject. He wasn’t a fan of the talking heads that gave their opinions on everything and anything just to fill news channels for hours upon hours.

  “Can you turn it up, please?” Violet asked without looking over at him.

  He turned up the volume. The guy in the middle of the panel was Cole Lund, a conservative pastor of a mega church back east. He wasn’t sure who the other men were, but they were having a heated debate over abortion.

  They listened for a moment. Lund was a windbag who looked like a movie star.

  “Turn it off,” Violet said.

  She’d just asked him to turn it up and now she wanted it off all together?

  He didn’t argue. When it was off, he turned to look at her. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Did I do something to upset you?” he asked.

  “You? No.” She looked at him with a blank look in her eyes. “No, not you. I hate Cole Lund.”

  “Not surprising,” Kyle said. “Given your leanings.”

  “My lefty leanings?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “His conservative viewpoint is not why I hate him,” she said.

  He waited for her to continue, unable to read her expression but certain she wanted to say more.

  “I hate him because he’s a hypocrite,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I used to work for him,” she said.

  “Was he one of those bosses that yells and screams at his staff but acts nice on television?” Kyle asked. “I can’t stand people like that.”

  “No, he’s very charming. Too charming.”

  A shiver ran down the back of his spine. The truth struck him. Violet had had an affair with this guy. Was Lund Dakota’s father? Before he could stop himself, the question was out of his mouth. “Is he Dakota’s dad?”

  She looked at him for a moment then up to the ceiling. A muscle in her cheek clenched as she seemed to wrestle with whether or not to tell him what he already knew. “We had an affair. It was a mistake. But Dakota came from it.”

  “Did he disappear when you got pregnant?”

  “He offered money, but I refused.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say,” he said.

  “Nothing to say. I’m not sure why I told you. I never tell anyone.”

  “Your parents don’t know?”

  A bitter explosion burst from her chest that might have been laughter, but just as easily could have been a sob. “God no. He’s their hero. My dad’s the one who got me the job there.”

  “But shouldn’t they know who and what he really is?” Why should Violet have to carry the burden alone? At the very least, her parents should know the man for who he truly was—a hypocritical adulterer who abandoned a young woman bearing his child. An urge to wrap her in his arms rushed through him. She seemed to have shrunk. The woman who usually annoyed him with her assured elitism was no longer evident in the slight, sad woman in front of him.

  “I’m afraid of what my father would do if he knew. He’d lose his mind over this—probably march into a service shouting the truth. It has to remain a secret.”

  “In my experience, secrets never turn out well,” Kyle said.

  Again, she looked at him for a drawn-out moment before speaking. “I’m sure that’s correct, but my family’s built on secrets, lies, and deception. There’s no other way to appear perfect from the outside looking in.”

  “One of those?”

  Violet nodded. “Everyone here in town thought we were the ideal family. We were wealthy and churchgoing. My mom headed up every committee and volunteered at school. My dad was an attorney. Pillars of the community and all that. But at home they were cold and rigid, hypercritical.”

  The pieces that made up Violet were starting to fall into place. Were her causes a way to prove her worth? He could relate. He could say the same about his own work.

  She walked over to the bar and washed her glass out in the sink before turning to him. “I should get to bed. Dakota’s an early riser.”

  He wished she would stay. Facing the baby by himself seemed too much for him to handle. What if he dropped her? How many ounces had she said? Four or six?

  “Good luck tonight with Mollie. She’s small, so don’t be surprised if she wakes up every two to three hours. Remember, four ounces of formula. Water no warmer than body temperature.

  “Four ounces. I’ve got it.”

  “You’ll be fine. After tonight you can decide if you want a night nanny. I won’t hold it against you, I promise. You have a company to run, which you can’t do without sleep. Tap on my door if you need me. I’m a light sleeper.”

  He stood as she crossed the room and reached for her arm. “Thank you. For real.”

  “You’re welcome. For real.”

  He held out his hand. “Peace?”

  “Peace.” She placed her hand in his. Her skin was like the softest he’d ever felt. She smelled great too. For a fleeting moment he wondered what the rest of her felt like. None of that. They were no longer at war, but if he read her right and he usually did when it came to women, Violet Ellis didn’t like him any better than she had earlier in the day. The woman was merely performing a job.

  Good. He needed a nanny, not a girlfriend.

  After she left the room, he went to stand at the window for the second time that night. Without Violet next to him, the lights of town seemed dimmer than earlier. I am alone. As I’ve always been. No reason to cry about it now.

  Kyle woke at 1 in the morning to the sound of a kitten’s mew. He rolled to his side, his head thick with sleep. The previous day�
��s events rushed over him. The sound was no kitten. This was the cry of a baby. His baby daughter. He sat up and looked over to the makeshift cradle. He’d changed her and given her a bottle at ten, as instructed. The timing was just as Violet had predicted.

  Violet had said babies had different cries for different needs. Soon he would be able to tell them apart. Right now, they all sounded the same. They all had a similar effect, which was to break him into a cold sweat.

  Shivering, he threw off the blankets and rushed over to Mollie. He waded through flailing arms and legs—she’d escaped the burrito—and carried her over to the armchair to change her. Change first. Feed next.

  How was he supposed to fix a bottle with her screaming like this? His hands shook as he loosened her diaper. Only wet, thank God.

  He held her legs in the air like Violet had shown him and swiped at her little bottom with a wipe. Amazingly, he managed to secure the new diaper on despite the howling and kicking. He cradled Mollie in his arms as he walked into the bathroom. Earlier he’d measured the powder and poured it in the bottle. All he had to do was get the water in there and shake. I can do this.

  “You’ll have to lie on this nice rug for a moment,” he said.

  Mollie’s face turned purple as she continued to scream. Could a baby hurt themselves this way?

  His hands continued to shake as he filled the bottle with water. Once he had it ready, he sank into the chair and put the bottle in her mouth. She immediately quieted and commenced with the same violent sucking she’d done earlier.

  He gazed at her as she ate. How could anyone be this tiny or cute?

  When she finished her bottle, Kyle wrapped her in the burrito and put her back into her drawer. He watched her sleep. Everything about her was perfect, from her fingernails to her toes. Tears stung his tired eyes as he gazed down at the person he’d helped bring into this world. His carelessness and selfishness had aided in the creation of this beautiful baby girl. In some perverse turn of events, he was alive and her mother was dead. Katy was the one who should be here, raising this precious infant into an adult. Not him. Anyone but him.

  He spoke silently to his little girl. I’m not worthy. I know that. You’d be better off with just about anyone else. But I’ll do my best to take care of you. I won’t leave you. I’ll try and be a better man for you.

  But could he? Really? Autumn. He’d wrecked his sister’s life with his carelessness. He saw her as she’d been that day, mangled and bloody in a hospital bed. Would he do it again? Was he fated to destroy those he loved the most?

  Pig Boy.

  Pig for short.

  He stumbled back to bed and turned off the lamp. As tired as he was, sleep didn’t come. Instead, he tumbled backward through the years.

  He was born Daniel Kyle Hickman.

  His family’s trailer, with its sunken roof and boarded up windows, resided next to the Keller’s pig farm. His father worked for the Kellers, shoveling pig excrement and hay and trash from one place to another. That’s all it is, kid. Shoveling nasty shit from one end of the property to the other.

  The odor of pig dung permeated every aspect of Kyle’s life. The scent had worked its way into the fabric of his clothes, the strands of his hair, even the lining of his nostrils. Every breath reminded him of who he was. Pig.

  He was six years old when the Miller boys gave him the nickname that haunted him from that day forward.

  That first day of school, the sun baked and cracked the dirt playground. Insidious dust covered his holey tennis shoes. His jeans were three inches too short and dirty; the material of his t-shirt so thin that his ribs showed through. He was even more embarrassed by his greasy hair, unwashed skin, and grime under his fingernails. Their utilities at home had been shut off for weeks. His mother had washed clothes in the creek until it dried up under the late summer heat. He smelled bad. He knew it from the moment he’d taken a seat next to a girl on the bus that morning. She’d held her breath and moved as far from him as she could.

  At recess, cruelty thrived like the weeds under the leaky drinking fountain. The other children ran and played, despite the heat, in their new shoes and first day of school clothes. He made himself as small as he could, shrinking into the shadow of the awning by the back doors, avoiding eye contact. The Miller brothers had already spotted him. It was too late. Tim and Jason Miller. A year apart in age, they were in the same grade and bigger than the other kids with flat, mean faces and eyes made for detecting the weak and vulnerable. They’d found Kyle without trouble. He’d seen them staring at him as he gobbled his free school lunch.

  The Miller family had lived in that part of Oregon for longer than anyone could remember. They were rough, uncultured men who hunted bear and deer with a ruthless desire to kill as many live animals as they could in one lifetime. One day, Kyle and his dad had been behind their truck as his father drove into town. A tarp covered the back of their truck. Every time they hit a bump in the road, the tarp would flutter open. At least a dozen deer carcasses lay mangled and lifeless. One seemed to stare at Kyle from eyes frozen in the moment before death.

  Their father worked in the woods, like so many other men in town. The old man had served jail time for logging on protected land. He’d come out of prison meaner than when he’d gone in and took his frustrations out on his boys. Bullies beget bullies.

  On the playground that afternoon, they drew close and pinched their noses with their finger and thumb.

  “You smell like shit,” Jason said.

  “He lives on a pig farm, dummy,” Tim said.

  Kyle shook his head, but no sound came from his mouth. No, we don’t own the pig farm. We don’t own anything.

  He crossed his skinny arms across his sunken chest that matched the roof of his parents’ trailer.

  “Let’s call him Pig Boy.”

  “Just Pig.”

  “Pig Hickman. Has a nice ring to it.”

  So it began. As these things do, the name stuck and soon most of the children called him Pig whenever they were out of the earshot of adults. There were many who tortured him throughout his school years, but no one more than the Miller brothers. Wherever Kyle went, it seemed the Miller boys were there to trip him, kick him, beat him, and threaten to kill him if he ever told anyone.

  He didn’t allow himself to think of the Miller brothers or of the little boy he once was, not in concrete blocks of memory anyway. The bullies were with him, just as Pig was, lingering in the shadows of his heart, reminding him to fight with everything he had.

  There in the bed, with the thousand-thread-count sheets, he let the tears drip from his eyes. I will not let them win. They will not ruin my relationship with Mollie like they did with my sister. Autumn with her auburn hair and trusting green eyes.

  For the first time since he left home, he spoke to her as if she were there beside him like when they were kids. I tried, Autumn. But they were too strong, too fast, and I was too weak.

  They’d taken everything from him. His childhood. His sister. His brother, Stone.

  I’m strong now. I’ll protect Mollie like I couldn’t protect you.

  You can do it, Kyle. I believe in you.

  And somewhere in the dark night, a peace washed over him. Tomorrow would come. He would meet whatever came head on with courage. He would be the man Mollie needed. He was Kyle Hicks now. Not Pig. Not Daniel Kyle Hickman.

  I am Kyle Hicks, Mollie Blue’s daddy.

  Chapter Four

  Violet

  * * *

  VIOLET WOKE TO a wet kiss on her cheek and the blue eyes of her son. Light snuck in under the drawn shades. Daylight. What time was it? She glanced at the clock. Just after seven. How had Kyle done? She must get up and take her shift.

  “Hi Mama.”

  “Good morning. Did you just wake up?”

  “No. I been awake.” He pointed to the corner of the room where a stack of magazines lay scattered on the floor. “I looked at pictures so you could sleep.”

  “Wh
ere did you get those?”

  “In there.” He pointed to the living room. “Kale’s on the couch with Mollie.”

  On the couch? He must have had a rough night.

  She got out of bed and slipped on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. “Come on, let’s go check on them.”

  Dakota led the way. Kyle was indeed on the couch, as was Mollie. She was asleep on his chest without her burrito blanket and dressed only in a onesie. This wouldn’t do. He must not get her accustomed to sleeping with him. She would convince him today to hire a night nanny. This was no job for a single man.

  She put her finger to her lips to make sure Dakota knew to be quiet. They would let them sleep while they could. The baby had different ideas. Mollie fluttered her arms and started to cry. Kyle jerked awake, his eyes as wild as his hair.

  “Good morning,” Violet said. “Give me the baby. I’ll take over. You go get some rest in your room.”

  He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t. I have a meeting.”

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Eight. Crap, what time is it?”

  “Language,” Violet said.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s a bit after seven.” She went to the sink and grabbed an empty bottle. One handed, with the baby cradled against her, she scooped formula into the bottle, added water, and shook. She sat in the armchair and stroked Mollie’s fuzzy head. Mollie clamped onto the bottle, sucking with a slight sigh of contentment.

  “Mama, I’m hungry.” Dakota scowled at her. “Not just the baby.”

  “We can order something from room service. I’m starved too.” Kyle sat on the edge of the couch with his head in his hands. “I’ve got to take a shower before my meeting. I smell like sour milk. Mollie was up at least three times last night. I feel like death.”

  He didn’t look so great either. Dark circles and bags under his eyes, in addition to his scruffy face, made him look like he’d been on an all-night binger. “Babies will do that to you.”

  “I want pancakes,” Dakota said.