Callie keeps Maddox busy playing games on our flight while I’m trying, rather unsuccessfully, to stop thinking about what Gavin said to me last night. Why on earth would he think that I owe him an explanation? An explanation for what, getting pregnant? For quitting school to go have his baby? For not getting an abortion?
I don’t get why he seemed genuinely mad at me when he was the one who left—who ended us. And accusing me of putting things on Facebook? I’ve never had a Facebook account in my life. He said I broke his heart, his fucking heart, if I remember correctly. He showed me the keychain, the same keychain that he kept for eight years. My keychain. It just happened to be in his pocket with keys on it the very day we randomly run into each other? None of this makes any sense.
He was drunk. That’s for sure. Maybe he was on drugs, too. Wikipedia listed his business as being in L.A.—they do drugs in L.A. He’s in the film industry—they do drugs there, too. That’s got to be it. It’s the only logical explanation.
I attempt to nap, since I only managed a few fleeting hours of sleep after I collapsed from exhaustion somewhere around dawn. But every time I close my eyes I see him. Gavin Maddox McBride. The man I hate. The man who may come after my kid and expose him to that bitch of a wife he married. The man who has single-handedly destroyed me for all other men.
The man who I’ll probably always love.
In my car, on the ride back to our house, Callie once again pulls out her phone. I know she’s Googling him again. “What are you doing now?” I ask.
“I’m looking him up on Facebook,” she says.
“Good Lord, why?”
“Because anybody who’s anybody is on Facebook,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “Except you”—she taps the screen a few more times—“and apparently, him.”
I snap my eyes to her. “Really?” I ask. Even though I don’t use it, I’m well aware of how popular it is. And now that I think of it, it would have been a good way for me to get more personal information about him, ammunition even for a possible custody battle.
“Really,” Callie says. “And as far as I can tell, he’s not on any other social media either. Just like you.” She looks over at me with a blank stare. “Huh, imagine that.”
I quickly glance back at Maddox to make sure he isn’t paying attention to us. “Can you pull up his Wikipedia page again to see if he has any kids?”
She gives me a sad look. “Baylor, are you sure you want to know that?”
“Yes . . . no . . . I don’t know. But I have to find out. Maybe if he has other kids, he’ll leave my kid alone,” I whisper.
“Yeah, and maybe if he doesn’t have any, he doesn’t want any,” she adds, sharing my momentary optimism.
“That, too,” I say, nodding my head at her phone which she hesitantly picks up to do the search.
“It doesn’t say anything about kids here,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean anything either way.”
“Does it say how long they’ve been married?”
“Looks like around six years,” she says. “Holy sh—uh, shnails.” She briefly glances back at Maddox. “She comes from a boatload of money. Do you think that’s why he married her?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s not like that. He comes from money, too. Well, not that much, but enough.” Callie raises a brow at me and I know exactly what she’s thinking. I’m defending him. I shouldn’t be doing that. They probably deserve each other, those two. “They must have gotten married right after graduation. They sure didn’t waste any time.”
Callie puts a supportive hand on mine.
“Did you know that his dad probably would have run for president if he hadn’t died?” I say.
“No kidding?” she muses, while scrolling through her phone. “Oh yeah, it says here his dad was a senator when he died at age—”
“What’s a senator?” Maddox chimes in from the back seat.
I shake my head at Callie. We should be more careful when we talk about Gavin. Sometimes I forget that kids pick up on so many things. “A senator is someone who helps make decisions about the country we live in,” I explain to him.
“Oh,” he says. “What’s Facebook?”
Callie and I share a look. She says, “It’s something grown-ups use on the computer to keep in touch with their friends.”
“Like e-mail?” he asks.
“Yes, like e-mail,” I say.
“Can I do Facebook?” he asks.
“No!” Callie and I say together.
“Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way home?” he asks.
“Yes, we can stop at McDonald’s, buddy,” I tell him. And suddenly, all thoughts of senators and Facebook are forgotten as he tries to figure out if he’s going to get a Big Mac or a McChicken sandwich, going over the pros and cons of each with Callie.
When we get home, Maddox runs off to eat his dinner and I go in my office to call my lawyer. I don’t care if it is a Sunday. He’s a friend of the family and his firm handles all of the restaurant issues as well as my books.
He picks up on the third ring.
“Dillon, it’s Baylor Mitchell. I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but I have a potential legal issue that I’d like your advice on.”
“Baylor, it’s always a pleasure to talk to you. I’m at your service whenever you need me. You should know that by now. What can I do for you?”
“I know family law isn’t your specialty, but I thought maybe you could ask around your office.”
“Of course,” he says. “What’s the issue?”
“I ran into Maddox’s dad last night.”
The other end of the phone remains silent. Dillon is a good enough friend that he knows Maddox’s dad isn’t in the picture. He comes over for barbeques and has a daughter in Maddox’s class at school. We talk and he’s pieced things together over the years.
“And what happened when you saw him?” he asks.
“Well, we didn’t talk as much as yell at each other. Everything happened so quickly, but I got the idea that Gavin was surprised to find out he has a son.” I sigh. “Dillon, what do I have to do to make sure he can’t touch Maddox?”
“Baylor, I know you don’t want to hear this, and I’ll set up a meeting with Jerry Chutney who’s our family law partner, but from what I know, unless you can prove him unfit, he has every right to file for joint custody. Or at the very least, generous visitation.”
I close my eyes as my heart sinks into my stomach. “But he wanted me to get an abortion. He gave me money to do it. I even have the letter he wrote to me that proves it. Didn’t he give up any rights to Maddox when he did that?”
“Not really, I’m afraid,” he says. “People do and say things they don’t mean all the time, especially when they are young like he was. He could argue that if he knew you had the child, he would have wanted it. He could claim that you purposefully kept Maddox from him all these years.”
“Oh, God,” I cry.
“Listen, Baylor,” he consoles me. “I’m sure it won’t come to that. But people change as they get older. Just because he didn’t want a kid in college, doesn’t mean he won’t want to know him now. My advice to you is to save any correspondence between the two of you. Take notes on any conversations that you have.” He sighs before a pregnant pause. “Do you think he could become violent?”
“Violent? No, I don’t think so,” I say. “He was always very protective of me back then.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s the case. I’ll get with Jerry and you call me if and when Gavin contacts you again.”
I hang up the phone and head straight to the kitchen, where Callie is waiting for me holding a bottle of my favorite Merlot in one hand and the DVD ‘Dumb and Dumber’ in the other hand. We always drink and watch stupid comedies when one of us is feeling down.
“I love you, Cal,” I say, walking over to retrieve two wine glasses from the cabinet. “I hope that’s not our last bottle. After my talk with Dillon, I have the feeling we may need another.”
“You’ll get through this, Baylor.” She puts down the bottle to wrap her arm around me. “You always do.”