PIPER HAS GONE RADIO SILENT again.
I broke down and texted her late Sunday night, trying to feel her out and see when she’d be making the trip back to New Orleans for the wedding, but she’s yet to reply.
That’s okay. She won’t be able to ignore me come Sunday. Micah is making me and Deacon his best men, and Dani is having Piper be her maid of honor and Cami her matron of honor. So, Piper will be stuck with me, whether she likes it or not.
And, I have to say, that pleases the shit out of me. It’s kind of put a little pep in my step.
I was up at the crack of dawn this morning, but by the time I made it downstairs, my dad was already on the tractor in the back forty acres. It’s like he never sleeps, or if he does, it’s only a few hours.
Clay Benoit is one of the hardest working men I’ve ever met, if not the hardest working man. My entire life, I watched him work all day, come in and cook for me and Cami, go to bed, and do it all over again the next day. When my mama died, he became the mom and the dad. He wasn’t the best at either, but he tried. One thing is for sure, Cami and I never went hungry and we always knew we were loved. He set a good example for us. We learned you never give up, even when times are tough, you stick it out and keep going. It’s something I’ve always carried with me.
“You forgot this,” I hear a voice behind me call out from the front porch.
Kay is standing there with a jug of water, make that two jugs of water, and a smile. I love her. She’s not my mama, but she’s perfect for my daddy. She came along at just the right time and pulled him out of the dark hole he’d been living in since my mama died. Sure, he made appearances for me and Cami, but his heart was still shattered. Kay helped him glue back the broken pieces.
“One’s for your daddy. I’m not sure how long he’ll stay out there, so I thought he might need an extra.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, leaning in and kissing her cheek. “And thanks for the breakfast and coffee.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles and pats my face. “Don’t work too hard today.”
“I’m gonna try to.” I laugh and she swats at me. “It does me good.”
“Alright then, work hard.”
I wave and turn toward the barn. Since my dad is already out in the fields—doing God knows what, because even though I help out, I’m not a sugarcane farmer—I decide I’m going to do something I know.
Setting the jugs of water down on my makeshift workbench, I walk to the corner and plug in my saw, grabbing the two large pieces of wood I started on last week.
Cami mentioned something about wanting an old-fashioned bassinet for the baby, so I’m giving it a whirl. I’ve never made one before, but the first time I made a shelf, I hadn’t done that before either, and it’s now hanging on the wall in the living room. So, surely, I can make a bed for a baby.
Jotting down my rough plans on a scrap piece of wood, I get lost in my work—placing the first piece of wood on the sawhorses and flipping the switch on the circular saw. I feel the slight twinge of adrenaline as the blade whirs. Carefully, I begin to cut along the lines I traced and before too long, one piece becomes two, and then two become four.
Laying them out side-by-side, I inhale deeply, loving the smell of sawdust mixed with a little dirt and sweat. It’s done more for my mental stability than any five-star spa or rehab facility.
As I walk over to grab some water, movement from outside the barn catches my attention. An unfamiliar car is parked by the large oak tree out front and a petite frame is walking this way. I can’t make out who it is, but I can tell it’s a girl.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead on the sleeve of my t-shirt and walk toward the large opening of the barn.
She gives an awkward, unsure wave when she sees me, but continues walking my way.
“Hi,” she says timidly, pulling her long sleeves down over her hands.
Something about her is familiar, but I can’t quite place her.
“Hey,” I reply, taking another step closer. “You lost?”
She laughs lightly, shaking her head. “No. I thought I was, back up the road a little, but just like the guy at the gas station told me: just past the big white house, you can’t miss it.”
“Guy at the gas station?” I ask, confused.
“Yeah, I just asked around until someone knew you. Didn’t take long, actually.”
“Well, that’s a little creepy.”
Funny that this girl is standing in my barn, because not too long ago, Dave was teasing me about my groupies missing me and that it wouldn’t be long until they came looking. If Dave put this girl up to stalking me, I’m going to kick his ass. He has it coming, anyway.
“Yeah, I know it sounds creepy, but, uh . . .” She drifts off and her eyes dart around the barn. “Well, I’d have never guessed you live on a farm. This is nice.”
“Mind me asking your name? Your face looks real familiar, but . . .”
“Sophie,” she says abruptly. “My name is Sophie. I met you a little over five years ago at a concert in Houma. You were playin’ a dive bar in town. My friend and I met up with you and your band after the show. Tracy . . . she was actually datin’—”
“Dave,” I finish for her, because it’s all coming back to me now, and I make a mental note to drive to Dave’s house and kick him in the balls. Between the video and now this, he has it coming.
“Dave,” she concurs, nodding her head and taking a deep breath.
“So, Tracy found out from my douchebag of a friend where I live and you thought you’d just show up?”
“It’s more complicated than that. I promise, I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was another way.”
“Another way for what?” She’s really got me confused now. If she was here to pick up where we left off—and if I’m remembering right, that’d be with her naked and screaming my name—I’m guessing she’d be going about this a little differently. From the look on her face, she looks like she either wants to cry or run.
And now that I really take a good look, she doesn’t look like she’s feeling so good. That’s when my manners kick in and I start trying not to think the worst of her.
“Sorry, I’m just confused about why you’re here, Sophie.”
“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name.” She quirks a smile and shakes her head. “The night we were together, you said it was easier to call me babe.” The way her eyebrows arch up and she presses her lips together, I’m guessing I didn’t score any brownie points with that one.
“Sounds about right,” I laugh. “I’m sorry. I know I can be a grade-A dick sometimes.”
Maybe that’s what she’s here for—some closure for some lingering fantasy that there’d be more for us than a one-night stand. I know that sounds crazy, but I have no other explanation for why she’d go through all that trouble to track me down.
“You’re different than I remember.” Her tone is thoughtful and she pauses a second before continuing. “Maybe it’s the change of scenery—no stage or smoke machine, no bright lights or band members. But you’re . . . normal, I don’t know. I’m just . . . I guess, I’m glad. I’m glad to see you live in a house and not a tour bus.” She laughs again, but this time her smile doesn’t reach her eyes and I see a layer of sadness I didn’t notice at first. She seems to have a lot on her mind—something she needs to get off her chest—so I let her talk.
“This isn’t easy for me and I have no idea how you’re gonna respond, but please just hear me out,” she says, her eyes as pleading as her words and tone.
“Okay.” I lean up against the open door of the barn. Maybe I need it for support or maybe to come across as being unaffected. I’m not sure, but something deep inside my gut twists a little.
The way she keeps looking at me makes me feel like I’m under inspection or a test.
Sophie turns around, looking back where she came from, and for a second, I think she’s going to leave. But when she turns back around, her face is determined.
“I’m sick,” she says, nodding her head, like she’s trying to convince herself as she’s telling me. Her eyes are on the dirt floor of the barn, but before she continues, they meet mine and I notice how blue they are. They’re a lot like mine, actually. But her skin is darker and her hair, if it was down, and my memory serves me correctly, is longer with tight, spring-like curls.
“I’ve been sick for a long time. I was originally diagnosed with Leukemia when I was sixteen.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out before I can stop it. I know people who are sick don’t want pity, but I’m genuinely sorry.
“Me too. It sucks,” she admits with a small laugh. “I went into remission when I was eighteen, just a few months before I met you, actually.”
“Oh, well, that’s great. I’m happy for you.” I try to remember the girl from five years ago and I can recall that she seemed younger. I remember Dave giving me a hard time about hitting them young, but her friend vouched for her being over eighteen. I’m glad she was telling the truth.
“It came back two years ago,” she says, swallowing the words like bile. “I thought I had it beat again that time too, but I was wrong.”
She stands there for a moment and for whatever reason, I know she’s gathering her strength for whatever she’s about to tell me.
“I’m sorry.” I repeat my apology from earlier and I mean it. I fucking hate cancer. For a second, I think maybe she’s here to ask if the band can do a benefit concert or something, because we’ve done that sort of thing in the past, but then she continues.
“I had a baby four years ago—Sammy. She’s literally all I have in this world.”
I nod, trying to figure out where she’s going with this. It’s a sad story, probably the saddest thing I’ve heard in a long time, but I don’t know why she’s telling it to me.
“My mother is in prison. She’ll be there for at least another ten years. And my father has never been in my life. I don’t even know his name. The lady I live with . . . I call her Mamie, but she’s not really my grandmother, not by blood, anyway.” She stops and squeezes her eyes shut and I feel the need to do the same, because I feel bad for her. My chest literally aches.
I think about giving her a hug or something—anything to take away a little of her pain. But just as I’m getting ready to take a step toward her, she blows out a harsh breath and looks up to the rafters, like she’s praying or seeking some kind of answer, so I don’t interrupt her.
“What did you come here for?” I ask, eventually, wanting to get to the point of her visit.
“Sammy,” she says, simply, quietly. “I came here for Sammy.”
“Your daughter?”
“Our daughter.”
It’s a good thing I’m leaning against this giant oak door, because if I wasn’t, my ass would be on the dirt floor. My eyes are fixed on my filthy work boots and the ragged hem of my jeans.
I can’t look away.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t make sense of what she just said.
Our daughter.
That can’t be right. That can’t be what I heard.
I stand there, frozen in space, waiting for her to correct herself.
Seconds pass by, maybe minutes.
When Sophie doesn’t speak, I finally look up at her and I’m met with pale blue eyes that are also waiting—waiting for me to say something.
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure I . . .”
“Our daughter, Tucker. That’s what I said and it’s what I meant. Sammy is ours . . . yours and mine.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears and I still can’t process anything beyond those two words—our daughter.
Nothing in my brain is working right. I can’t focus on anything, so I blink over and over, trying to clear my vision. That clarity I had earlier from working on the bassinet for Cami is gone.
A baby.
No, a kid.
She’s four.
And she’s mine?
“I don’t understand,” I mumble, pushing myself off the barn door and stumbling over to the wooden stool in the corner. I need to be lower to the ground, just in case.
“It’s not hard to understand. We had sex. We made a baby. I had that baby—”
“And you kept her from me?” I blurt out, my voice raising as the raw emotion of her revelation hits me. “All this time . . . why wouldn’t you find me and tell me? If I’m really her dad, I had a right to know.”
I can’t believe I’m yelling at this girl who just told me she’s dying, but I can’t help it.
“I didn’t think you were the kind of person who’d want to know about some random chick he knocked up after a concert.” Her words hold a bit more strength and bite than earlier, and looking up at her, I see the shadow of a fighter in her eyes. “I did what I thought was best for Sammy. I thought I was giving her stability and a home, something I never had.” Her slender hand tightens into a fist as she presses it against her chest.
Shaking her head, she continues. “The last I knew about you, you were on some West Coast tour. I didn’t want the fight. I’ve done enough of that in my life. I just wanted my baby and to live.”
She leaves it at that. She doesn’t say to live in peace or to live in quiet. She just wanted to live.
“And now?” I ask. “What do you want now?” I feel so helpless and a bit lost. I don’t know what she wants or is expecting. “I’m not sure I could tell you what color the sky is right now, so you’re gonna to have to spell it out for me.”
“I’m dying. The doctors want to try another round of chemo and radiation, but it’ll probably kill me, if the cancer doesn’t get the job done first. At my last visit, my oncologist told me I have anywhere from six weeks to six months. Sammy was practically a baby the last time I went through chemo, but it was still tough on her. It made her sad . . . so sad.” She pauses and closes her eyes, no doubt searching for that last bit of strength. “And it made her grow up too fast. She was only two and she was getting her own milk out of the fridge.”
Sophie stops and she lets the first tears fall down her cheeks, unchecked.
“I can’t let her watch me die, Tucker. I want her to remember me . . .” Her words are desperate now, with her hand on her chest, she implores me with those blue eyes to understand what she’s trying to say. “Not the me I’ll be at the end. I want her to remember playing at the park and baking cookies. Not what I look like when I take my last breath. I hope I’ve done enough. I hope I’ve left enough of myself behind, but even if I haven’t, I don’t want her to remember watching her mother die. And when I’m gone, I want her to have someone who loves her.”
“Me?” I ask—out loud, I think. Is she talking about me?
“You’ll be all she has left.”
“But I don’t even know her. She doesn’t know me.” Fresh panic spikes in my chest and I feel the blood pumping hard from my heart to my head, making my vision swim and my entire body feel numb.
Doubt follows the panic, and I can’t keep it inside.
“What if she’s not even mine?” I question, standing from the stool, needing to move—maybe run. “Have you considered that?”
“I don’t have to consider it. You were the only person I was with . . .” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “I’d been with people before you, but it’d been a while, and after you, well . . . I had Sammy to worry about.” She pauses, her eyes boring into me, like she’s trying to see under my skin. “She doesn’t know you either. I don’t know you. Don’t you think if I had another solution, I’d take it? I came here today on a gut feeling and out of last resort. This isn’t easy, probably the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time . . . maybe ever.”
I stare at her for the longest time, searching for an inkling of dishonesty—anything to make me believe this is an elaborate lie—but I come up empty handed.
She clears her throat and wipes at the dampness under her eyes. “I know you’ll want a paternity test. I don’t blame you. I want you to have that . . . whatever you need to help you come to terms with this.”
Come to terms?
Like I’m the one who’s sick?
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, not particularly to Sophie, but to anyone who’s listening. The universe. God. Anybody.
“I don’t know. I’m kinda overloaded on the decision making.” She pulls her sleeves back down over her hands. The timid side of Sophie is back and I see the unsureness again on her face. “I’ll be back in a week. If you want me to bring a paternity test, I can get one and bring it with me. They have ones that you can do through the mail now.”
“Right . . . okay.”
I can’t feel anything.
I can’t even feel the cool breeze coming through the barn, only see it because of the sawdust it’s kicking up in the air.
“I’ll bring Sammy with me next time. I think it’d be good for you to see her . . . and for her to meet you.”
I don’t reply to that. I just watch Sophie walk back to the car she drove up in and get inside. After she starts the engine, she sits there for a few minutes, staring back at me and then at the house . . . and I wonder what she’s thinking.
Is she thinking this will be a nice place for her daughter to grow up?
If so, she’s right. This is a great place to live as a kid. All of my best memories are here.
Is she thinking I’ll be a shitty father?
If so, she’s right again, because I have no idea what I’m doing with my own life. How can I possibly be responsible for someone else’s?
And dying? How does that feel? How does she deal with that? How does she die and leave a little girl behind?
My mama did that. She knew she was leaving me and Cami behind, but she wasn’t sick for very long. She didn’t have a lot of time to think about it and dwell on it. She was just here and then she wasn’t. We all hurt. We hurt for years. We still hurt.
Sammy is going to hurt. Even though she’s only four. She’s going to feel that loss.
My hand goes to the cross that used to belong to my mama. I squeeze it, feeling the pointed edges dig into my palm. It’s the first sensation my brain has registered since Sophie’s life-changing words. Our daughter. I squeeze again, harder, because I need the twinge of pain to ground me.
Without knowing for sure whether or not Sammy is mine, I already feel for her. I understand what she’s about to go through. But it’s different. At least I had my dad and Cami . . . and Micah and Deacon . . . Annie, Sam. I had people around me who loved me, and I knew it. Without that, I’d have been lost.
Sammy will have no one.