Chapter 8: Arianna
The morning dawns bright and clear. The hotel isn’t exactly luxurious, but it serves its purpose. Dell and I could have stayed at a resort at the golf course on the outskirts of Birmingham, but I wanted to see the city proper.
So we chose one in the downtown area. Only a handful of buildings stand out on the cityscape. It’s rare I stay in a city this small. I like it.
Dell comes up behind me. I try to think of him as Hasmund now so that I don’t slip, but the name doesn’t come easily after four months. I wonder if he should out himself to his parents, at least. I can’t imagine my family not even knowing the name I go by. Mom no doubt subscribes to my Google alerts, even as dull as I am.
Although, maybe not so boring. There’s the baby issue, which she will certainly drill me on soon. I swept the issue away on the phone, but I know I’ll have to be a little more keen when I see her to settle her curiosity.
“What’s got you so serious?” Dell asks, his face nuzzling my neck.
“Just hoping we can keep our story straight,” I say.
He grips me more tightly. “There’s a lot riding on it.”
“What happens if it does get out?” I ask. “We found Grace’s mother. And we may have left a trail when we visited Winnie then flew to France.”
Dell releases me and perches on the side of an armchair. “No one knows about that affair. But we’ll have to be convincing,” he says. “We’ll limit contact on this trip to direct family. Just a quick meeting, introduce everyone. I plan to draw my mother and brother out by taking them to lunch.” He grimaces.
“You don’t sound thrilled.”
“It’s just that they don’t have a lot of truly private dining experiences here, and even if they did, I don’t think my mother would…” He hesitates. “Fit in.”
“What’s she like?” I ask. When I think of her, I imagine an aging southern belle, spun gray hair and an apron over her dress. Dell has no pictures of his family in his penthouse.
“Well, I haven’t seen her in person in thirteen years,” Dell says, “but she’s whip thin with wild hair and a million tattoos, and more personality than you should be able to fit into one woman. She’s strong, which is why I guess she could deal with my father. I would have walked away years ago. I guess I did.”
I turn to look at him. His dark eyes are serious, a crease pinched between them. “What is the deal with your dad? Why do you dislike him so much?”
Dell stares out the window. He’s not the same here. Less sure of himself. More vulnerable. In New York, he is a force. Nobody crosses him. He walks with this air of unbreakable tenacity.
But now, I sense his weak spot. He changed his name to shake this town, this history.
He hasn’t answered yet, so I step forward and take his hands. They are strong and large and make me feel dainty. The wispy fabric of my silk robe brushes between us. I love this man. I wonder if half of his womanizing ways were to avoid this sort of family moment. A girl who never gets more than a weekend can’t insist on meeting his parents.
“In some ways he was a typical dad,” Dell finally says. “Roughhoused with me and Donovan. Taught us baseball. Made us work hard. Forced us to have manners.”
He barks out a laugh. “But he was bitter. As we got older, he just expected us to be more than we were. Nothing we did was good enough. Donny was young still when I started working at the racetrack. So he didn’t get it as hard. Not that I saw.”
He sighs, shaking his head as if he can knock the memories out. “He was a straight-up asshole in the end. Felt I was a loser. A disappointment. Nothing.”
My head rests against his chest. “And you never let him know who you became? You didn’t want to show him?”
“He doesn’t deserve to be a part of it,” Dell says, wrapping his arms around my back.
“What do you want your parents to know now?” I ask. “They might separate us and quiz us individually.”
“I have no intention of letting that happen. I plan to invite Mom to a lunch Dad would never show up at, introduce her to the baby, and then go to a park so they can play. Donovan will hopefully bring Mom so he can be with us. And that will be the end of it.”
I nod against his chest. “What if she is pushy about us visiting her house or seeing your dad?”
Dell huffs out a laugh. “I’ve put off dukes and presidents. I’m not going to be bullied by my mother.”
“She might not have the worldly influence of a duke or a president,” I say, “but she’s got the ultimate power over you.”
A cry from the adjacent bedroom tells us Grace has awakened.
“I’ll get her,” Dell says, pulling away.
When he’s gone, I sit in the armchair, looking out over the city. This is Dell’s stomping grounds. Where he was born. Where he worked so hard. Where he sprang from. It sounds like his success is more in spite of his upbringing rather than because of it. I wish I could think of a way to help mend the rift with his father.
But I’m not one to talk. I see my own parents once a year at best.
Dell reemerges with a crying, out-of-sorts baby. Poor bub. New place. Off schedule. Hungry and probably wet.
“I’ll change her if you can make a bottle,” he says.
“On it,” I say, heading to the desk with a mini-fridge and a small microwave.
As I mix some formula and dig around the suitcase for the stash of baby food jars, I think over Dell’s plan for the weekend. It sounds easy enough.
Lunch.
Park.
Mom. Brother.
No dad.
In. Out. Duty done.
We can do this, easy.