Off Chance

30

“Full-house, baby! Read ‘em and weep.”

I watch, disgusted, as Tim throws down his cards on the table and sweeps his winnings up.

Looking at my pathetic pair of sevens, I throw my cards facedown and say, “I’m done.”

“Come on, man. Don’t be a sore loser,” Tim teases and the rest of the guys start laughing.

Well, I am a sore loser, fuck you very much.

I’m fucking sore as hell that I’ve lost Rowan and it’s put me in a pisser of a mood. I let my anger ride me hard for the first few days back to work, so much so that I wasn’t paying attention during an apartment fire and almost had a burning piece of sheet rock smack me down.

That earned me a good ass chewing from the Chief, which only goes to prove he cares, right?

Motherfucker!

To make matters worse, Rowan kept texting me. I’m not sure exactly what she wants, because she never comes out and says it, but she’s begged me to come home when I get off shift. I’ve been non-committal and just asked that she give me space.

I haven’t heard from her in over twenty-four hours, and for all I know, she’s moved out of the apartment.

My anger has dissipated some but it’s still there. I’m pissed at Rowan for not having the guts to be stronger, but I’m more pissed at her parents for making her this way. If her dad were standing in front of me, I’d throttle him. I’ve been thinking that over and over for the past three days.

Which gave me the most fucked-up idea I’ve ever concocted.

As if the stars were aligning, my phone rings and I see it’s Buzz.

I connect and don’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you find what I need?”

“Hello to you too, buddy. But yeah, I got the information.”

“Let me have it.”

“Okay, seems like the esteemed Judge Cleeden is medically retired. He apparently had a pretty bad stroke and is in a rest home. Word is he was a tough old goat... really hard on crime, but then I think most judges in Texas want to hang you for mugging little old ladies.” He laughs over his joke but I don’t have time for it.

“What else?”

“Well, it appears he and his wife, Susan Cleeden, divorced two years ago. She’s actually remarried now to Peter Grantham, and he owns a construction company in Dallas.”

“Addresses?” I say.

“Geez... you’re in a mood.”

“Yeah, I am, and you don’t want to see it turn darker. Just give me the addresses.”

After I take down the information from Buzz, I disconnect and head to the Chief’s office. I have four days off starting tomorrow but I might need another day or two. It seems I’m making a trip to Texas.

Well, the trip to visit John Cleedin was a bust. I got admittance to visit him easy enough but I left wholly unsatisfied. My dreams of punching him in the face evaporated after I saw the shriveled old man lying in the hospital bed. The nurses assured me his mind was still good, but he just couldn’t communicate well. Once I realized I wouldn’t be getting physical satisfaction, I did get a measure of joy by sitting in a chair by his bed and telling him about his daughter, knowing he couldn’t stop me.

I told him all the ways that she proved him wrong, and how strong and wonderful she turned out, despite his best efforts to fuck her up. There was no way I’d ever let him know that he left her with unimaginable insecurity, because I’m still banking on the fact that she’ll overcome that one day.

Before I left, I asked if there was anything else he wanted to know. He did nothing but glare at me, his body shaking, and he said “Fuck you” as a pool of saliva spilled out of his mouth.

I reached over, took the towel draped across his chest, and carefully wiped his face. I knew he’d hate being cared for that way, a reminder of how weak and powerless he was now, and I smiled at him the entire time.

I turned without a word and left.

Now I walk up to Susan and Peter Grantham’s home. It’s a modest ranch house outside of Dallas. There are two vehicles in the driveway, one a truck that has Grantham Construction on the side.

I ring the doorbell and hear a booming bark near the door. It opens and a man of about fifty is standing there. He’s tall, well built, and tanned from hours out in the sun. He looks at me pleasantly while he holds a dog back by its collar that is straining to see who has come to visit.

I look at the dog and I’m almost knocked backward to see it’s a Bernese Mountain Dog. I’m so stunned in fact, I can’t think of anything to say.

“Can I help you?” the man asks.

I raise my eyes to his. “Yes... I’m looking for Susan Grantham. Is she here?”

The look on his face remains pleasant but he’s not about to let me in his home. “She is. Can I ask what this is about?”

“My name is Flynn Caldwell. I’m from New York. I came to talk to her about her daughter.”

Alarm fills the man’s face and he pushes the dog back, stepping out onto the porch. He shuts the door behind him and turns to me.

“Is she dead?” he asks, his voice filled with fear.

“God, no. She’s alive and well, and well... I wanted to talk to your wife about her.”

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes grave. He nods his head and says, “Come on in.”

I follow him into the kitchen, with the Berner trotting on my heels. I can’t believe they have the same type of dog that Rowan has. Unbelievable.

I get my first look at Rowan’s mom. She’s an older version of Rowan, except she wears her dark hair short in a pixie cut. She’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and she’s pulling some muffins out of the oven.

“Honey,” Peter Grantham says hesitantly. “We have a visitor.”

Susan Grantham turns to me with a smile on her face. She sets the muffins on the counter and takes the oven mitts off, extending a hand to me. I shake it and say, “Mrs. Grantham... I’m Flynn Caldwell.”

She gives me a warm smile. “Please... call me Susan.” She spares a glance at her husband as if asking, Who is this strange man?

I don’t hold back. “I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.”

Susan’s face goes white and she reaches a hand out to brace herself against the counter. “Anne Marie? She’s alive?”

I nod. “She goes by Rowan now... Rowan Page.”

I’m not sure what reaction I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Tears start pouring down her face and she sags to the floor crying. Peter rushes over to her and kneels down at her side, holding her in his arms.

She looks up at me, disbelief in her eyes. “I thought she was dead. I searched for her for so long, but we couldn’t find anything.”

“You looked for her?” I ask, disbelieving her words. This is the lady that stood by while Rowan was practically kicked out of her home and told never to return.

“Yes,” says Peter as he helps his wife from the floor. “Up until about a year ago... when the fifth private investigator we hired couldn’t find anything.”

Following my meeting with Satan’s Spawn—aka John Cleeden—I really had some poor expectations for this meeting. I expected to find a socialite living in the lap of luxury with her new husband and new life, completely having forgotten about the daughter she had forsaken.

Yet, here I find a woman who has apparently been grieving over a supposedly dead daughter.

“You abandoned her though... all those years ago,” I accuse.

“Now wait a minute,” Peter says, stepping toward me.

“No, Peter,” Susan says, laying a restraining hand on his arm. “He’s right. I failed my daughter in many, many ways, and I’ll answer for it. I hope I can answer to Anne Marie. I hope she’ll let me beg her forgiveness.”

“It’s Rowan,” I snap.

Susan nods her head at me in cautious agreement. “Of course… Rowan.”

“Do you have any idea the damage you inflicted on her?”

Susan bows her head, sniffling. “I know I destroyed her.”

“Wrong! You damaged her, but you could never destroy someone as strong as her.”

She looks back up at me, taking a step forward to grab my hand.

“Please,” she begs. “Tell me everything about her. Give me something.”

I shouldn’t. I should walk out that door and let this woman suffer under her guilt. But there is something in her eyes that stops me. She looks like she has truly suffered, and damn if that doesn’t pull at my heart just a tiny bit.

The fact that she has Rowan’s gray eyes makes me hesitate.

“She’s wonderful,” I tell her. “She’s beautiful, smart, and kind. She’s a survivor and I love her very much.”

Susan’s smile lights up her face and she walks over to the kitchen table, gesturing for me to take a seat. “Tell me more,” she begs.

I sit down and I tell her everything.

I unlock my apartment door and step inside, quietly shutting it. I immediately see Rowan on the couch and she pops up quickly, looking at me with relief. Capone bounds off the couch and charges me. I take a moment to lean over and give him a hug.

Looking back up, I see Rowan’s eyes travel up and down my body, and well, shit... even as pissed at her as I still am, her look causes desire to sweep through me.

I push it back, because I have something else I need to do.

“You’re back,” she observes with relief.

I nod. I take a moment to look at her. She looks tired and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She’s clearly not been sleeping. I want to take her in my arms and hold her, but I don’t know if she’d accept that.

I don’t know anything at all.

“Where have you been? I called Tim and he said you were out of town.”

Rubbing my hand along my neck, I nod. “Yeah... I took an impromptu trip.”

She cocks her head at me with inquisition.

“I went to Texas,” I tell her and watch her face blanch. “To see your parents.”

Rowan’s hand comes up to her throat and flutters there. She takes a step back and sits down on the couch heavily. “Are they... okay?”

“Your dad isn’t. He had a stroke and is in a nursing home.”

“You saw him?”

“Yeah. His mind is there... he understands everything. But he can’t talk that well.”

“Did he ask about me?” Her voice is small, and filled with a child’s hope that perhaps she is actually loved by that fucker.

“I’m sorry,” I say and understanding sweeps over her face.

She lets out a shaky breath. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything. I guess... I guess maybe I thought he’d grown... matured. Maybe had some regret.”

“I don’t think your dad is capable, Rowan. I’m sorry. But I made sure he knew exactly how badly you proved him wrong. He’ll go to his grave knowing he didn’t break you.”

She gives me a small smile, and then looks down at her hands clasped in her lap. “I guess that’s something.”

“I saw your mom, too.”

Her face snaps up but there is fear. She’s already been let down once by me, and I can see she’s expecting it again.

“She left your dad a few years ago. She’s remarried.”

Rowan doesn’t say anything and I can see she’s holding her breath, her bottom lip trembling. Her pain is so visceral I can taste bile in my throat.

“She looked for you. Starting the night you left. The police wouldn’t file a missing person’s report for at least forty-eight hours, but she made your dad pull some strings. She hired several private investigators but they all kept coming up with dead ends. She even checked in all states to see if you changed your name. But, of course, you didn’t do it legally so there was no paper trail.”

“She looked for me?”

“Yeah... apparently your dad didn’t want any part of it, and ultimately... that led to their split. She finally gave up about a year ago, when the last private investigator told her that you were probably dead.”

Rowan lets out a short sob and I take a step toward her but she holds her hand up to stop me. She turns her back on me and looks out the window, her shoulders hunched. “I can’t.”

My heart falls, and I wonder if this has all been for naught. Maybe Rowan doesn’t want to be any different than she is right now. Maybe she doesn’t need love in her life.

Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve brought the past to her doorstep.

I turn and walk to the door. Opening it, I motion the couple inside. Susan and Peter Grantham step in, their hands so tightly locked together their knuckles are white.

“Anne Marie?” Susan says, her voice unsure.

Rowan spins fast and pins her mother with stormy, gray eyes. “It’s Rowan.”

Susan releases Peter’s hand and takes a tentative step toward her daughter. “I can’t believe you’re alive. I had hoped for so long... but then they told us you were probably gone... dead.”

Tears are streaming down Susan’s face and Peter steps up to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Why did you look for me?”

Susan is startled by the venom in Rowan’s voice. “Why wouldn’t I look for you? You’re my daughter.”

“But you did nothing,” Rowan says with deadly calm. “You stood by while my father told me to leave and never come back. You ignored me for years. So I ask again... why would you look for me? Surely you were better off without me.”

“Never,” Susan says vehemently. “You were the one good thing I made with my life. I was just too weak to see it. I was too weak to stand up to your father. And that is all on me. It’s not on him, and it’s not on you. It’s my failing. I failed you because a mother should always protect her child.”

My heart breaks for both women. Rowan stands there, so clearly wanting to believe she was actually loved by her mom. Susan is seeking absolution, a little something I know about personally.

“I’m so sorry, Rowan. For all the pain I caused you. I know I have no right to ask, but I need your forgiveness. Flynn told me how strong you are... despite what we did to you. I need your strength now. I need you to be strong enough to forgive me.”

Rowan sneaks a glance at me, tears glistening in her eyes. I don’t give her any indication of what I think she should do, because this is her decision alone. I hope to God she forgives her mother, because then maybe she can let go of the past.

But then she turns her back on all of us, crossing her arms across her chest. I see her shoulders are shaking and I die inside for her.

Susan puts her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob and Peter takes her arm. “Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s go.”

They both turn to the door but when it opens, Rowan blurts out, “Don’t go.”

Susan turns around, hope filling her eyes.

“Please stay,” Rowan says on the heels of a deep breath. “Let’s come into the kitchen and talk. I’ll make some coffee.”

Rowan walks past me into the kitchen, giving me a look that’s unreadable. Susan and Peter follow her in. I hear Susan say, “You know... we have a Bernese Mountain Dog, too.”

I’m relieved that Rowan will give her a chance to talk. I hope that something good will come of all of this.

Turning away, I walk out of the apartment. I have to be on shift in a few hours.