Hello . . . I’m right here, remember?
“Momma”-Hayden smiles-“this is Christopher.”
Her mom looks me up and down and smiles. “Well . . . aren’t you just the handsomest man I ever did see?”
“Hello.” I smile. I hold out my hand. She ignores it and hugs me tight, so tight that she nearly breaks a rib.
Strong.
“Hello, Christopher.” Hayden’s mom smiles. “I’m Valerie.”
“Hello, Valerie.”
She puts her arms around the both of us and begins to lead us into the house. “Thank god you’re home, baby girl. We missed you so much.”
Hayden smiles broadly and kisses her mom’s temple.
“I love you, Mom. It’s so good to see your face.” Hayden smiles. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s working. He’ll be back for lunch soon.”
Hayden smiles over at me. She’s so happy and in her element. “I can’t wait to see him.”
Hmm . . . the firing squad comment is getting some real context here.
Fuck.
We walk past three large dogs, who look dead as they sleep, and up the stairs, onto the veranda, and into the house. “Oh, you look lovely, Hazy. So much color and so relaxed.”
“Oh, Mom, it was so amazing. You and Dad have to travel.”
Hayden and her mom chat and laugh, and I look around at the house. It’s eclectic, as if everything has been salvaged from a thrift store. Four couches, none that match. The dining table is antique looking, but the chairs are all different. The artwork on the walls varies from tapestries to paintings to crayon drawings. Huge rugs in unmatching colors are everywhere, and there’s a huge fireplace. A collection of antique-looking saucers are displayed on the walls as if they are national treasures. It smells like warm cake and has a very serene Hayden feel.
I smile. This is not what I was expecting, but it all makes sense. Another piece of the Hayden puzzle falls into place.
“Have some cake.” Valerie smiles as she lifts a tea towel to reveal a cake.
“Straight out of the oven.” Hayden smiles as she cuts it up. Steam rises as the knife slices through it.
“You baked it yourself?” I ask, surprised.
“Of course.” Valerie frowns as if that’s a stupid question.
“Mom is the best cook in all of Finger Lakes.” Hayden smiles proudly.
“Great.” I smile. I have no idea what to do with that information, but anyway.
The door bangs open, and we all turn and see a huge burly man taking his boots off at the door.
He looks like John Wayne . . . only tougher and more weathered by the sun. His work clothes are dirty and old, and he has a no-nonsense kind of vibe.
“Is that my girl home?” he calls.
“It’s me, Dad.” Hayden runs to him, and they hug.
“About time you showed your face around here,” he says in his deep voice.
Hayden laughs in pure joy.
He’s big, scary looking. I stand, unsure whether to shake his hand or run.
“Who’s this?” he says.
“Dad.” Hayden holds her arm out toward me. “This is Christopher. Christopher . . . this is my dad, Harvey.”
“Hello, Mr. Whitmore.” I smile. I shake his hand.
His hand is so rough that it doesn’t actually feel like a hand . . . could be a piece of sandpaper or a chunk of wood. Who could tell?
He looks me up and down. “Christopher, hey?”
I fake a smile, and Hayden takes my hand. “He’s important, Dad.”
It’s like she’s warning him to be nice.
Great, just what I need.
He points to the chair. “Sit down, boy.”
Boy.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Don’t say anything, don’t say anything. Don’t fucking say anything.
Unimpressed, I drop to my seat.
His assessing eyes hold mine across the table, and I fake a smile back.
Bring it, old man.
“Where do you live?” he asks me.
“Dad,” Hayden splutters, “let Christopher settle in before you give him the tenth degree.”
Or maybe don’t do it at all.
“Oh my god,” Hayden cries. “Who is this?”
We all look to see an entirely black cat. He’s long and skinny. More of a rat than a cat, really.
“That’s Milly’s baby.” Valerie smiles.
“Milly had a baby?”
“She had eight.”
“He’s like a jaguar.” Hayden swoons.
Only much less impressive.
“Good cat, that one,” Harvey says sternly. “Good judge of character. His name is Bryan.”
Harvey is a cat man?
Good fucking grief, we have literally nothing in common. Hayden smiles over at me, and I’m reminded why I’m here.
Focus.
I try to make conversation. “Beautiful place you have here.”
“Thank you.” Valerie smiles. “We’ve lived here . . .” She keeps talking, but I can’t concentrate. The cat is now rubbing up against my leg. I subtly move my leg out of its way, and it flops across my feet.
“The farm two properties over . . . ,” Harvey continues.
Bryan begins to chew my shoelaces, and I edge my foot away.
Fuck off, cat.
“Where do you come from, Christopher?” Harvey asks.
Bryan grabs my legs between his two claws and bites my shin. “Ahh.” I jump and look under the table. “Bryan’s getting a little vicious down there.” I frown as I watch the sneaky fucker. “Little-jaguar-for-real kind of thing.”
“New York,” Hayden replies for me. She sips her coffee casually.
Sharp, vicious teeth sink into my anklebone through my socks, and I inwardly wince, pretending that nothing is wrong.
Ahh.
The fuck is going on down there?
Harvey carries on the conversation. “Busy damn town, that place.”
“Yes, yes, it is.” I peer under the table to see Bryan winding up to attack me again. His tail is whipping side to side as he leans back, ready to launch, and I begin to sweat.
A little help over here, Hayden?
“Where do you live?” Harvey asks.
Do you catch rabies from cats? Sharp pain shoots through me as Bryan attacks for real. “Ahh,” I cry.
“What’s happening?” Hayden frowns.
“Don’t he like you?” Harvey asks dryly.
“Oh, he likes me.” I smile as razor-sharp teeth sink straight to the bone. “Maybe a little too much. My mother is allergic.”
“You don’t like cats?”
“Love them,” I lie with a smile. “Looking forward to snuggling with little Bryan later tonight.”
Not an actual lie. I am a pussy whisperer from way back. Small inferior jaguars with attitude problems, maybe not so much.
Harvey’s cold eyes hold mine.
“Let’s go unpack into our room.” Hayden stands, breaking the moment. “It’s so good to be home, Dad.”
Harvey pulls his daughter in for a hug.
“Dinner at six.” Valerie smiles.
I follow Hayden out the front door and over to the car. We grab our bags, and I go to go back into the house.
“This way,” she says.
“Where?”
“I have my own house on the property.”
“You do?”
Thank fuck for that.
“Great.”
We walk about 150 yards up the road and come to a pretty little cottage. Hayden opens the door, and I smile.
Now this . . . is more like it.
It’s decorated in pastels and homey, comfortable furniture, and instantly I can feel Hayden’s calming presence. “This is beautiful, babe.” I smile as I look around.
“I like it.” She looks around as if seeing it for the first time. “My bedroom is upstairs.” She leads me up the stairs, and the entire top floor is her bedroom. It’s feminine and sweet and romantic . . . just like her.
And unlike my bedroom, where she can hear the moans, all I can feel in here is the love she had with her ex.
I look at the bed as I imagine another man in it. Did he have her in there? Of course he did. I snap my eyes away angrily.
I fucking hate that he had her.
“It’s a new bed,” she says as if reading my mind.
I nod, grateful. “Good news.” I take her into my arms and kiss her softly. “Your father hates me.”
She giggles. “My father hates everyone.”
We kiss again, her tongue curling around mine, and I walk her backward. “We need to christen this bed.” I smile.
She looks up at me, all gorgeous and fuckable. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
I throw her onto the bed. “Lucky guess.”
I pull the razor down my face as Hayden gets dressed in the bedroom behind me.
“So you know the plan?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Let you do all the talking.” I roll my eyes as I wash the razor out.
Hayden is freaking out, and I have to admit it’s catching. I’m sure dear old Harvey has a shotgun or two around here.
And then there’s that feral cat who wants to eat me alive under the table. Let’s just hope that fucker is out hunting what cats hunt at night.
“And whatever my mother dishes up, you eat it.”
I look up from shaving. “Huh?” I stare at her as my brain misfires. “What do you mean?”
“My mom is real country. Just . . . if you want to stay on the good side of my father, eat whatever she plates up.”
“Like what, what would she cook?”
“I don’t know.” She rolls her deodorant on. “She likes to cook with offal.”
“Offal?” I frown.
“You know, like brains and kidneys and stuff.”
“You’re joking, right?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
I stare at her as I begin to sweat. I imagine organs all laid out on a table, and I feel faint.
“Just. Eat. It.” She widens her eyes.
“Of course I’ll eat it. What kind of wimp do you think I am?”
Fuck me dead.
“Move out of the way while I do my hair,” she says.
I leave her to it and walk downstairs. I text Elliot.
Just about to have dinner with her family.
Her father hates me.
Her mother cooks organs and the cat wants to
rip my nuts off under the table.
Send this to the police if you never hear from me again.