THE ENVELOPE SOPHIE GAVE ME is ready to be mailed and currently burning a hole in my pocket. I was hoping to run into town this morning, but my dad needed me to run the tractor for him. We’re tilling up the fields that were harvested in December, getting them ready for planting again.
Most people probably don’t realize how long of a process it is to grow some sugarcane. Crops can take over a year to be ready for harvest. As a kid, my favorite thing about harvest time was when they set fire to the crops. It helps get the critters out and cuts down on the time it takes to gather the stalks by getting rid of the undergrowth. I used to sit up on the roof of the house and watch the smoke rise.
This morning, I’m thankful for the cooler temperatures, because I’m stuck in the old tractor and it doesn’t have any air conditioning. Sometimes, I think my dad does it on purpose, like he’s still teaching me lessons. Maybe he is. I know I’m definitely learning the meaning of hard work. He pays me well, probably more than he would a typical farm hand, but I feel like I earn every red cent.
As I make the pass down the last row, I head straight for the barn.
After I park the tractor, without cleaning up or changing, I jump in my truck and head for town. There’s still time to make it to the post office before the cut-off and I should also be able to catch Cami at the studio. Since she’s the only person who knows what’s going on, I need to talk to her.
Walking into the small post office, I buy enough stamps for the envelope and instead of handing it over to the old man behind the desk, I do it myself. The last thing I need is for wind of me mailing off a paternity test getting circulated. Everyone will know soon enough, and to be honest, I don’t care, but I’d rather not have to deal with that on top of everything else.
Dropping it into the box on my way out, I smile at a couple familiar faces I pass as I head back out the doors to my truck.
When I pull up in front of Cami’s studio, she’s standing out on the sidewalk, looking pensively at a large canvas leaned up against the window.
“Does this yellow look too buttery?” she asks, turning her head from one side, then slowly to the other. “I brought it out here to see it in natural light. I think it has too much white.”
“You’re the expert, so I’m sure my opinion means nothing.”
“I need it,” she insists, practically whining. “Come on, you’ve seen a sunflower in person. Don’t be a dimwit. Is it too light or not?” At that, she turns on me with her hands on her hips and I see a glimpse of what I got at the chapel last weekend and quickly retreat.
“Maybe a bit too much . . . uh, white? I guess. . . .” I pause, unsure if this is the right thing to say or not. I just never know these days. “Sunflowers are usually a darker shade of yellow, right? So, maybe a bit more—”
“Brown.” She cuts me off, finishing my thought and I’m grateful, because I wasn’t sure what she added to the yellow to make it darker.
“Yeah,” I agree, hoping that’s what’s expected of me.
“That’s what I was thinkin’. I’m really glad you stopped by.” She goes to grab the canvas, but I beat her to it, lifting it up and motioning for her to get the door.
“Where do you want it?”
“In the back.” Walking ahead of me, she grabs a palette off the table and collects a cup and brush as we go. “Here is good.” She points me to a large easel.
Looking around the small room, I give a low whistle. “Damn, you’ve been busy.”
Letting out a deep sigh, she sits on the stool in front of the painting of the sunflower. “The problem is that I can’t finish anything,” she says with another whine, that is very un-Cami. “I have all of these scenes and images in my head, but when I sit down to put them on canvas, I can’t make them come to life! It’s this baby, he’s taking all of my brain cells.”
She frowns down at her belly and I want to laugh, but I’m afraid.
“Well . . .” I drawl, pausing. “What you’ve done is really great. I’m sure you’ll get them finished at some point.”
“That’s what Deacon said,” she says with another sigh. “What about you? I know you didn’t stop by to hear me complain or discuss paintings.”
“No, that’s exactly why I came. I was walkin’ out of the post office and I said to myself: Tucker, Cami needs someone to bitch and moan to. Get your ass over there. Stat.”
“Stop,” she says, laughing as she picks up her brush and begins to make light strokes across the canvas. I stand there, watching as she paints, and it’s oddly soothing.
After a minute or so, Cami breaks the silence. “I know Sophie was supposed to come back. I’m sure that’s why you’re here, so you might as well spill it.”
“I saw her.”
“And?”
“And you were right.”
Cami’s brush stops mid-stroke and she slowly turns on her stool to face me.
“Tell me about her.”
“She’s . . .” I start, but I don’t know where to begin. “She’s perfect.” It’s the only thing that comes to mind. “And I know she’s mine, but that’s not what makes her perfect. She talks a lot, asks a lot of questions. And she has this gorgeous curly, blonde hair.” I laugh to myself, running my hand through my own hair as I think about hers. “And her eyes . . . they’re this crazy color of blue. I’ve never seen anything like them.” They are like Sophie’s, but they’re different too. Unlike Sophie’s, Sammy’s have a darker ring encompassing her pale blue, making them stand out against her skin and blonde hair.
When I stop, looking back up at Cami, she’s staring back at me with a soft smile on her face. “I told you.”
“I know.” I nod, feeling a tightness in my chest as I think about Sammy. I’ve thought about her since the day Sophie showed up and told me about her, but since I saw her . . . I find myself missing her. It’s so strange.
“It’s weird, right?” Cami asks, crossing her arms over her chest and resting them on her belly. “The way your heart expands and encompasses them. You don’t even know you can love someone that much . . . until you do.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I think she’s right. Actually, I know she’s right, but admitting it isn’t easy. It’s scary. I’ve never felt anything like it.
“You’ll feel like your heart is walkin’ around outside your body and you’ll consider bubble wrap and padded rooms . . . sometimes the padded room will be for you, but you’ll never question love again, because every day, for the rest of your life, you’ll look it square in the face.”
I take a deep breath, soaking in her words. “What do I do now?” I ask, needing my younger, but much wiser sister to tell me what to do. “I don’t know the first thing about being a dad, especially to a little girl.”
“Well,” she says, switching gears from her dreamy state she’s been in for the last few minutes to a more practical, down-to-business attitude. “All kids need the same basic things: love, a safe place to land, and someone to be there for them.”
“You make it sound too easy.” Ever since I met Sammy, I’ve been trying to imagine her in my life and what that will look like. So far, all the scenarios have ended in me screwing her up. I have so many what ifs running through my mind, I can hardly sleep at night.
What if she turns out like me?
What if she hates me?
“It’s not easy, but you’ll be great. I’ve seen you with Carter. You’re a natural.”
“I’ve never been with Carter for longer than a few hours. You’ve said yourself that you don’t trust me to keep him overnight,” I tell her, feeling the jolt of all-consuming fear resurface.
“I was being an overprotective mom, Tucker. It’s my job, but I trust you. I know you’d do anything and everything in your power to keep him safe, and you’ll do the same with Sammy. And that’s all you can do. And you’ll make mistakes. I make mistakes. Deacon makes mistakes. Dad, Kay, Annie, Sam . . . they all make mistakes. No parent is perfect.”
A parent.
I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around that idea.
“So, what next?” Cami asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Uh, well, I just mailed off the paternity test before I came here.” I nod my head, taking a deep breath. “As soon as the results are back, I’m supposed to drive to Houma and meet Sophie at the vital records office to file the paperwork.”
“And then what?” she asks. “How are you going to support her?”
I take another deep breath and blow it out, taking a seat on the empty stool across from Cami.
“I have some money in savings. It’s not much, but it’s enough for a while, until I figure some things out. Dad pays me good for helping him . . . and a month or so ago, I sent one of my songs to a guy in the industry I know who’s trying to find someone to buy it.” I shrug, because this is where I stall out.
I don’t know what’s next.
There’s no five-year plan.
“Where are you going to live?”
“Not at Dad’s,” I tell her, because I’ve already figured out that much. I know he’d let me and would probably be happy about it, but I wouldn’t do that to him and Kay. They’re used to their peace and quiet. They need their space back. I wasn’t even planning on living there forever. This is just speeding up the process.
“How about our house?” Cami suggests. “The cottage is only a week or so away from being finished. Deacon and I decided we’re going to use the house for rental property. You can be our first tenant.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah, we’d much rather have someone we know live there, and it’s a great place for kids. There’s already a swing out back. I’ll help you get Sammy a room ready.”
The more she talks, the more my head spins with the reality of how my life is getting ready to change. Most parents get at least a few months to adjust to the idea, but I’m barely going to get a few weeks.
“I need a minute,” I tell Cami, grabbing my head and cradling it in my hands as I rest my elbows on my knees. Taking deep breaths I try to calm the rush of panic mixed with fear. It’s not a good combo. It makes me feel like running—fight or flight—and I know I can’t do that.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, because I can only imagine how you’re feelin’.” She stands from her stool and walks over to me, her funky purple sneakers coming into view as she places a hand on my back, reminding me a little of the one’s Sammy was wearing. “But you don’t have much time. If you drag your feet on this . . . who knows what’ll happen.”
“I’ve thought about that,” I admit. “Actually, I had a dream about it last night. I was standing in this long hallway and Sammy was at the other end, screamin’ for me. Not Tucker. She was yellin’ “Daddy” as these people took her away. I ran and ran, but I could never catch up to her. When I woke up, I was drippin’ in sweat and I had the worst feelin’ in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t shake it.”
“It was just a dream,” Cami soothes. “I find the best thing to do in situations where you feel completely out of control is to find something you can control and work on that. Since you can’t really do anything until you have the results on the paternity test . . . while you wait, take me up on this offer, and as Deacon and I are moving out, you can move in. Get a place, check one thing off your list. It’ll be good for you too.”
“What’s Dad gonna say?” I ask, because I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet.
“He’ll be fine with it. Tell him you need your own space. No one is gonna question that.” She snickers and shakes her head at me. “Actually, I think you’ll put Deacon and Micah’s fears to rest a little. The two of them have been gossipin’ like old women since you came back, wondern’ what’s wrong with you. They’re really thrown off by the fact that you’re not hookin’ up with all the locals. So, havin’ your own place should make them feel a little better . . . at least they can pretend you’re gettin’ some.”
“Cami,” I say with a mixture of disgust and awe.
“What? You think I don’t know you’re Tucker the Fucker?” She quirks an eyebrow at me, before shaking her head with a chuckle.
“Okay, we are not discussin’ this.” I stand from my seat and walk to the doorway that leads to the front of the studio.
“Fine,” she says with another laugh, raising her hands in surrender. “I have to admit. This change is a bit disconcerting.”
I roll my eyes. “Nosy asses, all of y’all. Why don’t you worry about your own sex life and I’ll worry about mine.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started on my sex life,” she says with an exasperated sigh. “Deacon thinks he’s gonna poke the—”
“Lalalalalalala.” I plug my ears with my fingers, a total childish move, but I already know where she’s going with this and I do not want to hear about the woes of their sex life from my sister. It was bad enough coming from Deacon.
“Such a prude,” Cami teases, swatting at me.
“You two are annoyin’ as shit.” I scowl at her while she smiles at me, perfectly happy with my discomfort.
“Just wait,” she says, walking past me. “One of these days, you’ll meet someone you want the whole world to know about.”
Her words hit me in my chest and my thoughts go directly to Piper. We’ve had enough heavy talk for one day, so I decide that’s my sign to leave. “I gotta go,” I tell her, moving to the door like my pants are on fire.
“Hey, Tucker,” Cami calls out before I can escape. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”
“Thanks,” I reply, but I don’t believe it. I’m not sure if she believes it either, but I appreciate her being in my corner. I’m not sure what I’d do without her.
Walking out to my truck, I think about driving to Baton Rouge and going to Grinder’s to see Deacon or driving the other direction and heading to Nola to see Micah, but instead, I drive straight home.
As I pass the big house, I notice Sam’s car is home, so I turn down the long drive on impulse.
There are some things that have been plaguing me since my talk with Sophie, and Sam is the only person I know who can answer them.
Pulling up closer to the house, I park in the front and get out.
Normally, I’d walk right in, but seeing as though this isn’t Sunday dinner or a planned family occasion, I knock.
As I wait for someone to answer the door, I begin to pace, trying to come up with the right way to word my questions without giving too much away.
“Tucker?” Annie says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What on earth are you doin’ standin’ on the porch? Come in.”
“Sorry, Mama A. Is Sam home?”
“Yeah, he finished up a case today, so he came home early. Want me to get him for you?”
I start to have second thoughts and think about making up some excuse for my impromptu visit, but the knot in my stomach pushes me forward. “Uh, yeah. Unless he’s busy. I can come back.”
“Nonsense,” she says, walking back into the foyer and leaving the door open for me to follow. “I was just thinkin’ about you this mornin’. How’s everything goin’ since you’ve been home?”
This is Annie’s way of prying, without prying.
“Good, just workin’ for Dad, keepin’ myself busy.”
“That’s good.” She smiles as she walks closer to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms. “Sam! Tucker’s here. He needs to talk to you.”
“I’ll be right down,” Sam calls back.
“So.” Annie leans against the banister, giving me a once-over like only a mother can do. I swear, sometimes I think she has x-ray vision or some crazy super powers that lets her see into your soul. “Besides work, what else have you been up to?”
“Uh, well.” I swallow, feeling like she’s going to see right through me and it makes me nervous as shit. One thing is for sure, I can’t lie to Annie, so I go for the one truth I don’t mind sharing. “I have made some furniture.” Annie has always been a fan of my woodworking skills.
“Oh,” she says, her eyes growing wide with interest. “I’d love to see what you’ve made. I’ve been lookin’ for a few new pieces to redo one of the upstairs bedrooms.”
“Well, come over any time. All the pieces are in the barn.”
“Hey, Tucker.” Sam shows up just in time to save me, walking the rest of the way down the stairs and stopping at the bottom to plant a kiss on Annie’s cheek.
They’ve always been like this—open, affectionate. It used to drive Micah and Deacon nuts, still does, but they realize now that the more they moan and groan about it, the more Annie and Sam play it up. But it’s not just for show. It’s real. They’re the shit fairytales are made of.
“Did you want to take a look at your truck?” he asks, as he unbuttons the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolls them to his elbows.
“Yeah,” I reply with a nod, appreciating the excuse to get him to the garage. I kind of forgot about the truck. I should’ve thought of that.
I follow him to the garage and he lifts one of the doors.
“Pull it around and we’ll pop the hood.”
Doing as instructed, I walk over to my truck and it purrs to life like it’s fresh off the lot.
Of course.
“Soundin’ pretty good today,” he says, tapping the hood for me to pop the latch.
“Yeah, you know old trucks. They only mess up when you don’t want them to.” I smile, but I’m not sure he’s buying it.
“So, what’s been goin’ on?” he asks, getting his hands dirty as he goes in to check all the normal culprits—spark plugs, hoses, oil.
I think about giving him a similar response to the one I gave Annie, but Sam’s a no-bullshit kind of guy, besides that, I don’t have a lot of bullshit left in me.
“I actually have somethin’ I was needin’ to talk to you about.”
Sam stands up slowly, grabbing an old towel on the bench behind him and wiping his hands.
“Shoot,” he says, leveling me with one of his famous stares. I bet it makes people sing like a bird when they’re on the stand.
“I have a friend,” I begin, trying to ask what I need to without telling everything . . . and without lying. “She’s . . . uh, dyin’. She has cancer and she’s not gonna make it.”
“That’s awful.” Sam brings his strong hand down on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” I agree, swallowing as I gain some strength for the next part. “She also has a daughter—a little girl, Sammy, who’s four.”
“Great name,” he beams.
“Well, it’s Samanie, but she calls her Sammy.” I use the small talk to try and calm my nerves. “She’s the cutest little girl . . . big blue eyes, curly blonde hair.”
I watch as Sam’s expression shifts and I realize I might’ve said too much. So, I quickly spill the rest of what I need to say.
“My friend, Sophie, she doesn’t have anyone . . . no family, and I was wonderin’ . . . what will happen to Sammy after she dies?”
This is hypothetical, of course, but I need to know all the possibilities, from someone who knows the law, and Sam knows the law—front, back, and sideways.
“Well, I’m assumin’ the father is out of the picture?”
I reply with a shrug and he takes it as a response and continues.
“If there are no immediate family members at the time of death, the child will go to the state.”
“And if the father is alive, will they try to find him?” I ask.
“If paternity was never determined, they usually don’t have a lot to go off of. However, if paternity was determined, at some point, they’ll follow protocol. Eventually, they’ll try to locate the father. It’s not always an easy process and tends to get messy. More than likely, the child will end up in the system. It might take years before they find the father or another living relative.”
Images of Sammy being taken away hit me again, visions from the recurring dream I’ve been having slamming into my mind. As much as I want to go back to a few weeks ago, when my only concern was figuring out my own shit, I can’t, because now I know about Sammy and I can’t turn my back on her.
I can’t leave her alone.
“My advice to your friend,” Sam continues, “is for her to get her affairs in order. I’m not sure how much time she has, but it’d be in the best interest of the child if she tries to work this out before the time comes. I’m sure it’s difficult. Actually, I can’t even imagine the pain she’s going through, but she’ll be more at peace, if she knows what’s going to happen to Sammy.”
Sam using Sammy’s name makes everything more real. The idea that she’s going to be part of this family has me wanting to tell him everything, but I can’t yet. I need to get the paternity test back and then meet with Sophie. I need to know she’s truly mine before I bring everyone else into the mix.