Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
With an exhale of exasperation, I press the button to call Paula.
“Are you calling for a reminder of the list of consequences if you quit rehab?” Paula asks calmly, with faux sincerity. “Or are you calling because you finally understand you’ve got no choice here?”
“You’re sure I can’t get a couple days reprieve while I’m here in Prairie Springs? I’ll hire a sobriety coach, once I get back to LA.”
“You need one today. Good news, though. I’ve already run a background check on Aubrey Capshaw, and she’s good to go. You’re welcome.”
“Aubrey Capshaw?”
“Why not? You’re already planning to lure her into becoming Raine’s nanny, right? So, fine, pay her a bit more and add babysitting you to her list of job duties for the next three weeks and two days.”
“I’m not going to tell Aubrey about my mandatory rehab, Paula. There’s already enough shit for us to deal with, without me adding that to the pile.” Aubrey doesn’t know I’m coming to see her today, any more than my daughter does. I got the address from Paula, hopped the first flight out this morning to Billings, rented a car at the airport for the hour-long drive to Prairie Springs, and here I am.
“If you’ve got a better idea than hiring Aubrey to babysit both you and Raine, I’m all ears,” Paula says. “Although, before you enlighten me, I should remind you that your sobriety coach will need to certify your sobriety for the first time today, by ten o’clock tonight, Pacific Time, so whatever brilliant idea you’re about to spring on me had better be easy and fast to implement.”
I feel like a caged animal. But still, I’m not convinced Aubrey is my only option here. “Ten o’clock is still a long way away,” I mutter. “I’ll let you know what I decide in a bit.”
“Suit yourself. How close are you to Aubrey’s house?”
“Exactly point-three miles. I pulled over to talk to you on a residential street around the corner from her address.”
Paula lets out a little sound of relief. “Now, don’t forget, Caleb, you only get one chance to make a first impression. When you meet Raine, remember you’re big and covered in tattoos, so you’ll want to crouch down to her level and—"
“I’ll handle it fine,” I bark out, feeling annoyed. “Talk to you soon.” Admittedly, I don’t know jack shit about kids, but I know enough, at least, not to barrel in there like a bull in a china shop and start barking orders at a two-year-old who lost her mommy mere weeks ago.
After ending the call, I start up the rental car again; and after a couple turns that wedge me deeper into the tree-lined neighborhood, the robot voice on my phone tells me I’ve arrived at my destination. The Capshaws’ house.
The home is a small but welcoming one. A one-story house that’s well cared for. Probably a two-bedroom/one bath kind of configuration, by the looks of it. Is my daughter inside that house? Is anyone? If not, Prairie Springs is small enough to ensure I’ll meet my daughter, sooner rather than later. Probably, by the end of today, at latest. The thought sends goosebumps rising up on my arms.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, shove my phone in my pocket, grab my backpack, and exit the rental car. With long strides, I make my way up the walkway toward the house. But before I get to the porch, the sounds of high-pitched, happy giggling and squealing catch my attention. They seem to be coming from the other side of a wooden fence—from the home’s backyard. On instinct, I head over to the fence to take a peek.
I’m six-three and change, so it’s easy for me to peer over the upright wooden planks. When I do, my heart stops at the source of those giggles: the little girl from the photo. Raine Beaumont. A pint-sized blonde with soft curls that bounce with every step she takes. She’s being chased around a lawn playfully by a knockout brunette with legs for days.
"I'm gonna get you!" the leggy brunette exclaims, laughing, and Raine screams with unrestrained joy as she toddles across the grass.
Tears prick my eyes, even as I’m smiling. My god, my kid’s laugh sounds exactly like my mother’s, albeit at a much higher octave.
Regret and shame slam into me again, this time because I didn’t fight Claudia tooth and nail, after getting that curt “fuck off” email from her. I emailed her again after that, a few months later, as well as messaging her on social media; but when all my messages bounced back, and it was clear Claudia had blocked me, every which way, I made the regrettable decision to leave it alone for now. To try again later. Mom was going downhill fast, at that point, and I felt like I had enough on my plate without opening up a can of worms that might not even get the desired result in time. The only thing worse than not telling my mother about her grandchild, I figured, was giving my mother false hope about meeting her grandchild.