Chapter 49
I adjust the collar of my shirt and pull in a long breath as I set foot on the pathway leading up to the modest, retro-style bungalow. I double-check the address that Daniel texted to me last night. This is it.
I take one glance back at the cab as it pulls away and the instinct to jump into it and ride back to safety is strong, but I know what I need to do.
For Sammie. For the baby. For me.
A woman kneels in the flowerbed at the front of the house, digging away at the mulch with a tiny shovel. As I approach, she pulls back the visor of her wide-brimmed garden cap and uses her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Keeland?” Mrs. Trotten says as she stands, wiping her hands on her linen pants.
“Hello, Mrs. Trotten.” I give her my best attempt at a smile as I lean in and kiss her on the cheek just like I did when I last saw her. Only this time, she doesn’t look too happy to see me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks throwing a cautious glimpse back toward the house.
I swallow hard, tugging at the neck of my button-up shirt. Suddenly, it’s a bit hard to breathe. I should have probably worn a t-shirt because the Florida heat has absolutely no chill. But I’m here to have a man-to-man talk with the father of the woman I love – the woman I knocked up – so I had to look presentable.
“I’d like to speak with your husband, ma’am.” I hold my shoulders back and try to feign self-assurance. I’m wavering on the inside. “He and I have some things to discuss.”
She purses her lips and contemplates me for a long while before nodding to herself. “Of course,” she says as she sets down her gardening tools. “Have a seat on the front porch.” She heads into the house.
I climb the front stairs and take a seat in one of the wicker chairs facing the quiet street, setting my briefcase down at my feet.
Yes — I brought a briefcase. I mean business.
I hear voices speaking animatedly inside the house and after an eternity, Gerald Trotten emerges from the house followed closely by his wife. He has always been a stern man but his appearance has only hardened with age. He’s taller than I remember and broad, too. Despite the slight bulge of his stomach and the silver in his cropped hair, he looks fit and strong for his age. I wince when I imagine the impact of his fist connecting with my jaw. I’m not a wimp. Not by a long shot, but if he decides to strike out at me, I can’t hit him back. Getting into a fistfight with her father is definitely not the way to win Sammie back.
I stand to shake his hand. “Good day, Mr. Trotten,” I say as I extend my hand to him.
He takes it, squeezing so hard and forcefully that I flinch. “You have some nerve showing up here, Masters. After you knocked up my daughter.” He sits in the chair across from mine.
Wow — he cut straight to the chase. I’m melting in the Florida sun or maybe it’s just my fiery nerves that are melting me from the inside out.
Mrs. Trotten eyes him threateningly. “Gerald…” They exchange glances, communicating nonverbally in a way that only a couple married for thirty-something years can. Mrs. Trotten sets down the tray of sweet tea that she’s carrying in her hands and pours a glass each for me and her husband. “I’m going to go start lunch,” she says as she steps back inside. “Your mother must be hungry.” She disappears into the house.
I turn to the angry man across from me. “Mr. Trotten, I know that this is not the ideal situation, but I love your daughter more than anything in this world. I have every intention of doing the right thing given the circumstances.”
The older man doesn’t say anything. He just cocks a gray brow and looks at me.
“So firstly, I’d like to settle an old score.” I pick up my briefcase and open it on my lap. I pull out a white envelope and hand it to him. He rips open the envelope and pulls out the check inside. “This is payment of the rent my mother owed eight years ago. It’s eaten away at me on the inside to know that you never received this payment. I tried to give it to Daniel but he wouldn’t accept it. My mother is a good woman but she was going through a rough time. Still, that’s no excuse. You and your family were always so generous to us. I’m sorry it took so long to finally get this payment to you.”
The man looks at me grimly, his lips pulled into a straight line. He gives me a slight nod but looks none too impressed as he folds the check neatly and slips it into the breast pocket of his cotton shirt.
I reach into my briefcase and pull out a thick stack of papers. I hand it to Mr. Trotten. “This is an offer to purchase that house. Prepared by my lawyer and my realtor. Daniel mentioned that you’ve been having a hard time renting it out in this economy. Well, I’m about to have a family. And we need a home, so if you’re willing to sell it to me, I’d be honored to raise my family there. That house is the only place that I’ve ever felt stable and secure. I can see myself growing old there. With your daughter, sir.” I search his face, trying to gauge his reaction but all I get is his void expression. So, I continue to speak. “I left the price blank. You just tell me what the house will cost me and it’s sold. Please, take some time to review it and let me know your asking price.”
His eyes are still steely and hard as he takes the papers from me and glances at them before resting them next to the pitcher of sweet tea. It doesn’t look like I’m making headway with this man and I’m sweating even more than that damn pitcher.
I reach into my briefcase again. “And most importantly, Mr. Trotten, I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. I love that woman. She saved me from what would have been a sad, lonely life of solitude. She’s the most wonderful person I know. She’s sweet and funny. She’s caring, dependable. I’d trust her with my life. Not to mention how beautiful she is. I hurt her and I know that winning her back is going to be an uphill battle, but I won’t rest until Sammie is my wife, sir. I’d love to have your blessing as I embark on the fight of my life.” I hand him a red, velvet-covered ring box.
Mr. Trotten opens the box and stares at the diamond-studded band inside. He then contemplates my face for a long time as he sets the ring aside and takes a leisurely sip of tea. He removes his handkerchief from his pocket and blots at the sweat dampening his forehead.
I feel the gurgling of my anxious stomach as I pull the last item from my briefcase. “I’m not sure if you already know, but I want to be upfront with you, sir.” My hand is trembling as I hand Sammie’s father my court file detailing the mess that landed me in prison. “I went to jail for defending someone I cared about when I thought she was being attacked.” Mr. Trotten’s lips pull into a straight line and I can tell from his ragged breathing that he’s even more upset now than he was before. But, I need to be straightforward with him. “I know it looks bad, sir, and you probably don’t want your daughter getting married to an ex-con, but with all due respect, I’d do the same or worse to protect Sammie and our baby. I hope you can understand that.”
Mr. Trotten is silent as he leafs through the file, getting a glimpse of the hellish last three years of my life. Then, he tosses the documents onto the table and gives me a hard stare. With a cold expression, he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out my check. My stomach plummets with disappointment as I watch him tear the paper to shreds.
“Sir —”
He digs into his pocket for a pen and flips through the purchase offer for the house and scrawls a big fat ‘0’ into the blank space for the asking price. Then, he signs it and tosses it back to me.
“Sir, please —”
He holds up a hand to silence me. I hold my breath in anticipation of what he’ll say next. “When my wife told me that you were back in Reyfield, my intention was to jump on the first flight down there and kick you out of that house. But my wife talked me out of it. Now, this…” he grumbles. “Your life is a fucking mess, Masters. It always has been.” I flinch at his harshness. “Your intentions may be noble…but I can’t accept this. I can’t accept your money…”
“Mr. Trotten, I –”
He sighs heavily. “The house is yours, son. I don’t want your money. My daughter has been smitten with you for as long as I can remember. You want to do right by her and my grandchild, so I’ll support you any way I can.”
I sit in stunned silence, trying to absorb what he just said. “Sir?”
“Take the house, Masters. To raise your new family.”
“Mr. Trotten, I can’t take your house for free. I can afford to pay for it. Trust me.” The sale of Master Ink has left me with a nice chunk of change — seven figures, to be precise — to invest and play with as I figure out this next phase of my life.
“The choice is yours, son. You take the house for free or you find somewhere else for your future wife and child to stay.”
My heart lurches in my chest. I can’t believe that he just said that. “Thank you, Mr. Trotten, so much.”
He reaches out and we shake hands. “This is your chance to clean it up, to start over. As long as you take care of my baby girl and keep her happy, you have my support in every way.” I breathe an audible sigh of relief. Then, his voice lowers menacingly. “But if you hurt her…” The warning in his eyes is clear.
“No, sir. I would never,” I promise earnestly.
He appraises me for a moment, trying to gauge my sincerity. Then, he turns back toward the house. “Claire — get this boy a sandwich. After buying a ring like that for our daughter —” he gestures toward the jewelry box with his chin and bellows a laugh, “— he probably can’t even afford to buy himself lunch.”