Finding Focus (20 page)

I laugh out loud. Who admits to stalking people on Facebook?

Me: No, definitely not bald. And definitely not gay.

Piper: Why don’t you have a Facebook page? Everyone has a Facebook page.

Me: I don’t have time for one, and I don’t want people stalking me. ;)

Piper: Well, you know what this means, right?

Me: No. What?

Piper: I’ll have to stalk you in person.

Me: Should I go ahead and file the restraining order?

Piper: Won’t stop me. Good day, Micah Landry.

Me: Good day.

What the fuck was that?

I have a feeling Piper is a force to be reckoned with. I’m looking forward to meeting her. And maybe a little scared.

Me: Should I be worried about Piper?

Dani: Oh, no. What did she do?

Me: Apparently, since she can’t stalk me on Facebook, she’s going to stalk me in person. I’m kinda scared.

Dani: God! She’s such a nosy bitch. I told her to leave things alone. I’m sorry. And don’t worry. She’s all bark and no bite. Well, unless you try to come between her and her pizza. You might lose a finger.

Me: Good to know.

Me: 20 questions. Rapid-fire. You start.

Dani: Favorite movie?

Me: Die Hard. Favorite song?

Dani: The Climb by Miley Cyrus. Favorite color?

Me: Red. Favorite holiday?

Dani: Halloween. Favorite Pocket?

Me: Fried oyster. Favorite sport?

Dani: Football, duh. Favorite childhood memory?

Me: The time Deacon shot me in the chest with a BB gun and I pretended I was dying.

Dani: You’re an awful person, Micah Landry.

Me: Hey, I didn’t comment on your piss-poor taste in music!

Dani: Ignoring that. How old were you when Deacon shot you?

Me: I was eight, and he was ten. Not gonna lie, it stung like a sonofabitch, but it was worth it to see my big brother crying like a baby to our parents.

Dani: Did you ever tell him you were faking?

Me: Oh, yeah. It was pretty obvious when there was nothing but a pink dot on my chest. He was pissed at me for a while, but believe me, he’s gotten his revenge since then.

Dani: Do tell.

Me: That’s a story for another day.

Sheridan

Me: I want the other story.

I’M IN A LONG LINE
at the pharmacy, waiting on Graham’s prescriptions. They told me over the phone they’d be ready, but when I got here, the guy at the window said they were running behind and I’d need to take a number.

Graham is finally out of his immobilization cast and has started more intense physical therapy on his leg, but with that comes added inflammation and pain. The good news is his mobility is coming back and he’s improving every day. He no longer has any casts and all of the bruising is gone. At this pace, he’ll be back to work and out of my apartment in no time.

A few minutes go by before my phone dings.

Micah: What other story?

Me: Deacon’s Revenge.

I smile as I type. It sounds like the title of a very intense, serious novel, and I know Micah’s response will be anything but. Anything involving him and Deacon, especially when they were kids, deserves to be in a sitcom.

Me: I’m waiting in a long-ass line. Entertain me.

Micah: As you wish . . .

Another minute goes by . . .

Micah: Last year on Father’s Day, I got a card in the mail congratulating me on being a dad, and it was signed by a girl I barely remembered being with. Stupid me opened it in front of my parents too, so to say I was shitting bricks was an understatement. I was freaking the fuck out! Sweating, chills, sick to my stomach . . . all that shit. That is, until I saw my precious brother standing behind my parents, doubled over, laughing his ass off.

Me: Damn! Remind me never to piss Deke off!

Micah: I’ve always used condoms, but it still scared the shit out of me. Fucking asshole.

Me: I thought you said you wanted a family.

Micah: I do, but not like that. I mean, I’d love my kid no matter the circumstances, but I’d rather wait until I was in a committed relationship, you know?

Me: Absolutely.

Why does the subject of Micah and kids turn my insides into jelly?

Micah: So, where are you waiting in a long-ass line?

Me: Pharmacy. I’m here getting Graham’s prescriptions, but I might need to get myself something while I’m here. I’m not feeling so swift.

Micah: Fuck the line and the pharmacy. If you’re not feeling well, you should get home. Do you think you have a virus or something?

Me: Simmer down.

I laugh, shaking my head. He’s adorable.

Me: I didn’t eat breakfast, so my head hurts and I feel kinda sick to my stomach. I’m sure I’ll be fine after I take some Tylenol and eat some lunch.

Micah: I’ll be texting you later to check on you. If you don’t respond within five minutes, I’ll call 911 on your behalf, so you better keep your phone close.

He is his mother’s child.

Me: Yes, Annie—I mean, Micah.

Micah: If you could see me right now, you’d know I’m giving you “the look”.

I laugh and pocket my phone, deciding to take Micah up on his suggestion. I’ll come back later when it’s not so busy. Excusing myself past the people behind me in line, I make my way out of the pharmacy.

I think about stopping for something to eat on my way back, but I really just want some of the leftover meatloaf I made yesterday. Once again, Graham didn’t eat any of it because “it’s
gross
”. Meatloaf isn’t gross. Meatloaf is awesome. And leftover meatloaf sandwiches are fantastic . . . and currently calling my name.

Several people are waiting for the elevator, so I decide to bypass the crowd and take the stairs. When I push open the door of my apartment, I almost make a beeline for the kitchen, but a loud bang back near the bathroom makes me jump.

“Graham!” I call out, moving toward the noise.

Another bang.

“Graham!” I say even louder, my worry building, fearing he may have fallen.

When I walk into my bedroom, my jaw drops to the floor . . . with my stomach . . . and my heart.

“Graham?”

Yeah, he’s fallen all right. Right onto his back. In my bed. With Kaitlyn.

My heart pounds faster, my breaths coming quickly, nostrils flaring. I close my eyes, trying to erase what I’ve just witnessed.

The headboard of my bed hits the wall one more time before Kaitlyn notices me standing in the doorway.

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah, baby. Let me hear you.”

“No, Graham!” she screams, slapping his chest as she tries to climb off him and hide herself at the same time.

“What?” he asks, sounding pissed off.

He lets go of Kaitlyn’s hips, allowing her to move off him. Then he opens his eyes and looks at her face, but she’s looking at me. His gaze follows hers and then our eyes meet. I can’t turn away. It’s like a car wreck. You know it’s bad and you know you don’t want to see it, but you look anyway.

“Dani?” he asks in disbelief.

I shake my head, still trying to process what’s happening while keeping myself from flipping the fuck out.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry,
I chant over and over in my head while biting the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay.

“Dani, this isn’t what it looks like.” He shakes his head profusely, trying his damnedest to pull his pants up.

I press my lips together, pushing down the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Don’t,” I say, holding up my hand to silence him as I try to keep my voice even but firm. I don’t want to hear his excuses. There aren’t any good enough.

“Sheridan. Baby.”

“I am
not
. . .” I pause, closing my eyes and willing myself to stay in control. “I’m not your baby. Don’t . . . don’t say that. I want you to get out.” I hear myself talking, but I feel like I’m watching from somewhere high above. “Get your fucking shit, and get out.”

“Sheridan!” he yells, sounding desperate, but I don’t want to hear it.

I turn around and bolt for the front door, throwing it open. I need out. I need air.

Somebody give me some fucking air!

“Sheridan!” Graham yells in the distance as I quickly make my way down the stairs, not even stopping to shut the door.

My feet take each step so fast, I nearly fall on my face when I get to the bottom. I run out the front door, shoulder checking some guy who won’t move out of my way fast enough. I push my way down the street and continue through the next intersection. I keep going until my throat and lungs feel like they’re on fire. When I feel like I’m about to pass out, I lean up against the side of a building and I cry.

What the fuck just happened?

I sob.

People stare.

I slide down the concrete wall and sit on the ground.

I cry some more.

People walk by like I’m not even here.

And I feel alone. Really and truly alone.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m walking the planet all by myself, even though I’m surrounded by millions of people.

I read in a book somewhere you don’t really know who you can count on until your world is turned upside down . . . until you’re at your very lowest point. The people who are there for you at that time are the people who will be around for the long haul. I thought the day my grandmother died was the lowest point in my life. My world literally shifted on its axis.

I remember crying when my mom died. I was five. I remember wearing a pale pink dress that day. I had been with my grandmother, where I was on most days. Now, looking back, I think I cried because my grandmother was crying. I didn’t know how final death was. I didn’t feel the grief because my grandmother was there to cushion my fall. I always thought if I had her, I could handle anything.

When my grandmother died, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was a little easier to swallow because I knew she had lived a good, full life, but it didn’t make it hurt less. She was all I had ever known. But Piper and Graham were there for me. They picked me up, dusted me off, and helped me keep going when I didn’t want to.

Then, my dad died.

But I wasn’t a stranger to grief. The day I found out, I remember thinking if I could survive my mother and my granny’s deaths, I could survive anything. His death didn’t feel personal, because I didn’t even know him. The only thing he’d ever done for me in my life was donate some sperm when my mom was eighteen. When I went to his funeral, I felt like I was attending a friend of a friend of a friend’s funeral.

A month later, when I was walking to one of my classes on campus, I saw a mother and father with their little girl. It was so simple, so normal, but in those three seconds, as they held her hands and swung her between them, I realized I was alone—an orphan. I had no one. That’s when I finally cried over my dad, or maybe just over the idea that there wasn’t anybody left on this earth genetically linked to me. Sure, I have some aunts and uncles somewhere, but I’m not close to them. That’s what happens when you’re the only child of an only child. But Graham was there for me. He came, found me on a bench, and held me, told me he’d always be there for me, that I’d never be alone.