Jack Who?

CHAPTER 9

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A QUICK CLICK routed the call to voicemail.

     “Momma, why did you do that?”

   Vaguely, she brought her gaze from the phone to Tristan’s disappointment and wondered if somehow, subconsciously, he felt a connection to the caller– to his dad. Even Bally was now sitting, instead of lying, on her haunches with a judgmental ear cocked back.

     “I didn’t feel like talking.” While defending her actions to her four-year old son, she was listening for the voicemail tone but wound up as deflated as Tristan looked when there was none. The truth was that the finely worded custody clause in the letter was terrifying.

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

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

     Her mother viewed these types of conversations as her son’s lack of respect toward Marissa as the parent, deeming that things should be told, not explained, to a child. 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 she were dense. Okay, so maybe she was sometimes too lax in asserting authority…

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

     “Because I liked the music.”

     Her muscles relaxed some at that answer, and she revolved to the stair-master. “You did, huh?” Maybe it was because she had rocked the house non stop with it during pregnancy. “Well maybe I can find some music like that for you to listen to.” Concentrating, Marissa tried to remember if the lyrics to all of Jackal’s songs were risqué, or if maybe there was just one song tame enough for ears of the lead vocalist’s son.

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

     On the day before they were to arrive at the hospital, her car idled in the bank parking lot for a full ten minutes before she resolutely switched the ignition off. The walk from the car to the door was strenuous enough to be uphill, and the glass seemed heavy to pull open. Veering to a teller window, she cashed the check from Jack, sealing her fate, and Tristan’s, in some way, which would soon be determined.

     Olivia drove them to the hospital the next morning and hovered with Marissa around a bed far too big for the tiny boy in it. They both winced as blood was drawn, but Tristan only frowned, and after the initial ouch, attentively watched the vial turn red. Her thoughts went to the paternity test, yet to be scheduled, and she wondered if he would have to endure needles again after his release from the hospital.

     “Hi Gammy!” Tristan sang out, looking beyond the phlebotomist who was packing up the blood vials.

     Whirling around, Marissa found her mother and moved to give her a hug after she finished embracing her grandson. Her parents had been divorced since her childhood, and it was normally a strain to have both of them in the same area. However, they were supportive. Her father 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 Marissa remained in the room unpacking a stuffed tiger from Tristan’s gear. “Tiggy” was Tristan’s favorite plush toy, ranking sleeping privileges in his bed along with Bally. Tiggy was still in her hand when Olivia returned less than a minute later.

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

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

     Concern darkened Olivia’s 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, Marissa persisted.

     “No, I’m sure it’s a swab test.” Softly, Olivia recited the assurance and studied the tiger in her arms.

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

     Reluctantly, Marissa followed Olivia to the family lounge area and sank into a chair, submissively allowing her friend to mix her coffee.

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

     The realization that the chatter had dwindled to a stop was meaningless until she noticed all three heads pointed one direction; six eyes fixated on one common focus.

     “I’ll be damned!” The swear was just under her father’s breath.

     Her mother’s lips formed a silent ‘O’.

     Olivia hissed, mimeishly without moving her lips, “Russ is not who you think he is!”

     This entire scene played out in less than a few seconds, and sending her own gaze along the same geometric plane resulted in a debilitating case of déjà vu.

     Shocked, yet obsessed, she watched Jack as he sauntered closer and closer.

     The hood was down on his jacket, which hung loosely open over a casual shirt. His raven hair was slicked back into a ponytail, which was mostly hidden, sandwiched between the hoodie and his shirt. A cap jammed onto his head covered most of any remaining hair and shaded his face. Like the day they had met, his long legs were clad in jeans, and prestigious sneakers encased his feet. The stuffed animal drooping in one arm was enormous.

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

     The young woman’s flush was obvious even from a distance, and as she pointed, Jack’s head twisted.

     A nanosecond later, his dark gaze locked with hers.

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