“I’m making an excellent salary now,” I say. “I can save for your tuition.”
“But I thought you said that dickwad Griggs was harassing you—”
“Language!” I call out again.
He rolls his eyes, then puts the last of the champagne flutes into Joel and Peter’s glass-front cabinet.
“You can’t stay in that job if you’re being disrespected, Ma,” he says.
I lead him to sit beside me at the kitchen table, place a hand, palm-down, on the smooth oak, trying to steady myself for what’s coming next. Once we’ve settled, I continue, “I’ve taken some time to think about this, and I have a plan,” I tell him, my voice as even as I can manage. “If I have to leave my job after this all goes down, we’ll ask your dad for money to pay your tuition. I’m sure he’ll be willing to help.”
I’m not sure of anything when it comes to Aidan’s father, but he doesn’t need to know. Well, I am sure he became a doctor, justas I anticipated he would. He married shortly after college, a lovely woman from Fort Worth. As far as I know, he still lives with her and their three beautiful daughters in a stately brick Colonial in Jackson’s old-money neighborhood, and he still attends the church where he once led the praise and worship band. I’ve cyberstalked him a handful of times, just out of curiosity. I feel certain that Aidan has, too.
“I don’t have a dad.” He looks directly at me, his gaze unwavering. “I have a biological father.”
“Okay,” I say, since I can’t deny this fact. “We’ll ask your biological father for help.”
Aidan leans toward me, wraps my hand in his. I watch as his long, slim fingers weave through mine. “We don’t need his help, Mom. We never have needed it, and we never will.”
My mind races back through all the times we were on the edge of poverty, all the times I desperately needed money, support, someone else to rely on. But I never resorted to asking Aidan’s father for it, on principle. He didn’t want a son, and so he doesn’t get the privilege of supporting one. He knows that Aidan exists. I’ve made sure of that. But he chooses to ignore this fact, which is fine by me. The man has no idea what he’s missing.
“Here’s the thing, Ma,” Aidan says, squeezing my hand. “You are all the parent I’ve ever needed. You’ve been everything for me.”
I look away, through the kitchen window, as my eyes well with tears.
“Ma,” he says gently. “Look at me, please.”
I turn to look at him, my heart full to bursting. “I’ve never lacked for anything, especially your love. You are a good mom. No, you are a fucking great mom, and a fucking great dad, too.”
I ought to sayWatch your languageagain, but I know that if I open my mouth, all that will come out is a sob. So I nod and smile, holding back the tears.
“You are the most responsible and hardest-working person I know, and the best role model I could ever have,” he continues, his voice rising with intensity. “You always have been there when I needed you, and you’ve also managed to always do your job well. You’re fucking amazing and competent and a total boss, andeveryone knows it but you, Ma.” He places another hand over mine, and I feel them both, warm and strong. “And I’m not gonna ‘watch my language,’ because I want you to understand how much I fucking mean all of this.”
I laugh then, and somehow manage to squeak out a “Thank you.”
He stands up and pulls me into a hug—not just any hug, but that perfect Aidan hug, the one that swallows me whole and fills me all the way up. We stay like that for a while. I decided years ago that when my kid hugs me, I’ll never be the one to pull away first. I want him to know I’m here, for as long as he wants or needs me. And on this particular night, in this particular hug, I feel like I could stay forever.
When Aidan does finally release me, he leans back and a sly grin creeps across his face. “Oh, and also, you’ve raised a fantastic son—kind, loving, responsible, handsome. Potty mouth notwithstanding. Pretty much everyone agrees on this point.” He shrugs, nonchalant.
Cocky bastard. But how can I protest? He’s absolutely right. This boy is my pride and my joy.
“I made a mistake last spring, a big stupid one,” he continues, his voice resolute. “It doesn’t matter why I did it, I’m not going to make excuses. I should be ready to accept whatever consequences come my way.” Aidan places both hands squarely on my shoulders. “You don’t have to protect me, Ma. I can go to community college, get a part-time job. We can figure this out.” He squeezes my shoulders gently. “Whatever happens, the two of us will find a way through it together.” Aidan smiles a crooked smile, then says, “Without the help of my sperm donor.”
And just like that, my sweet boy has become a good man.
CHAPTER 37Luisa
I pull up to the Dogwood Hills Country Club’s iron gate, then flash my deactivatedGeorgia Timesbadge at the guard. “I have a meeting with Holly Simmons,” I say, my voice so self-assured that he doesn’t question me. I don’t have a meeting, in fact. I thought about calling, but groveling over the phone didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Not after how things ended between us. So I got in my SUV and drove to Midtown, praying she wouldn’t have me escorted off the grounds.
I check in at the front desk, where Janey does a double take, asking if we’ve met before. I’m certain she’s picturing the nonexistentMaríain her head. I did my best to stay clear of the club’s staff during the gala, but Janey has the optical dexterity of a scallop, with two hundred tiny eyes gathering information from all directions.
“The annual Philanthropy Banquet—” I say, trying to divert her recollection. “I covered the event.” Satisfied, she leads me down a corridor to Holly’s new office.
Janey is a journalist’s dream. She runs her mouth unprompted, telling me about the old GM’s ill-fated accident and Holly’s interim appointment. The woman could start her own Chismosa Social Club. But what she doesn’t know—and I don’t say—is that, unless Griggs is dead and buried, Holly won’t be able to retain the position. Not now, when there’s no hope of outing his evil machinations.
We find Holly sitting behind a monstrous cherry desk, like something borrowed from the Oval Office.
“A reporter is here to see you,” Janey says eagerly. “She said you’re expecting her?”
