“Manny, is that you?”
Ian’s drowsy voice on the static intercom.
Christ, he can see me on the security cameras.
I bypass pleasantries. “Open the fucking gate, Ian.”
“Manny? What the fuck are you doing out walking in my neighborhood this time of day? Jesus Christ, is everything OK, man?”
I grimace. “I need to pick up my car. It’s in your driveway.”
A startled laugh. “How the fuck did your car get to my house? What the hell did you do last night?” More laughter. “Must have been one hell of a party with Jen. Lucky bastard.”
I wait. I’m not explaining. Buzz.
I open the walk-through gate and make my way up the sharp incline of the driveway. Ian is standing on his front stoop carelessly covered in a robe, looking half asleep yet humiliatingly amused by this.
He’s staring at my Bugatti Veyron Super Sport and shaking his head. Christ, I hate that car. Gauche. Why did I buy it last year? Probably out of boredom and it was something to do.
“You must have had some crazy night, brother.”
I shove my phone into my pocket. “No crazy night. I didn’t leave my car here. It was stolen from Chrissie’s.”
His eyes widen and I can tell what he’s thinking. Hmm, Chrissie. Then Ian frowns and his expression changes to alarm.
“Oh, shit,” Ian exclaims, the muscles of his face contorting. “I thought Zoe was joking last night when the girls got home and she told me Kaley had stolen a car.”
“Technically, both girls stole my car since they both drove away in it. I suggest that you get those girls out here now.”
The look on his face grows grimmer. Thank you, Ian. Now you’re getting the picture, maybe you’ll stop being obnoxious over this and start taking the situation seriously.
“I’m sorry about this, man. It doesn’t look like they’ve done any damage. Come inside. Have some coffee. I’ll go find them.”
“I don’t want coffee. I’d like a few minutes alone to talk with Kaley. Then I’m heading out of here.”
He’s still shaking his head as he moves through the house. “What the fuck is wrong with kids? Why would they steal your car? I swear I never know what the hell to expect from Zoe anymore.”
Ian pours me a cup of coffee even though I said I didn’t want one, sets it on the breakfast bar, and makes a fast retreat from the room.
I wait. Christ, what’s taking him so long? Maybe he’s talking to the girls before he sends them out here. Probably not a bad idea. He does have more experience than I do in this.
I hear footsteps in the hallway. I stand and turn to face the doorway. Kaley ambles into the room, and fuck, Ian, I said alone. Why are you and your daughter here?
Kaley meets my gaze directly. She doesn’t look worried. Hell, she doesn’t even look contrite.
I struggle for calm. “I believe you have something that’s mine.”
Kaley’s eyes flash with anger. She locks eyes with Zoe. “What did I tell you? Nothing. Whatever I do he never gets angry at me. I swear one of these days I’m going to explode. I can’t take it anymore.”
Angry? She is angry because I am not angry? Ian’s right. There is something wrong with kids these day.
“Oh, believe me, Kaley, I am very angry. I just prefer not to yell in Ian’s kitchen. Go grab your things. Get in the car. We’ll go somewhere where we can both yell until you can explain to me what stealing my car is about.”
No change in her demeanor. Her answering expression is insulting. “Did you have a nice night with my mother?”
I’m startled to feel my cheeks warm. “That’s what this is about? You stole my car because you’re angry that I spent the night with your mother?”
She shifts her gaze from me and scans the kitchen. When she finally looks back at me, her eyes are wide open and furious.
“Why should I be angry about that? You’ve used my mom as an emotional crash pad my entire life. I’ve watched this movie before. I know how it ends. So why don’t you leave before you fuck up my family even more than it is already?”
I stare at her and some of my anger wanes. I get it, Kaley, what’s happening here, and a part of me respects her for saying that. For being concerned about Chrissie. For being concerned about her siblings. Every word accurate; none of it right. Still, I admire Kaley’s honesty and directness.
“I’m not doing anything of the sort, Kaley.”
Her mouth scrunches. She starts shaking her head. She flips her hair, and then again, over and over, a tense series of silence and gestures. The little gestures remind me of Chrissie. Just like her mother, even in anger there is something vulnerable about Kaley that tugs at the heart. In part Chrissie and yet entirely herself.
I think of Khloe. An inconvenient thought at present. I wonder if my girl is going to grow up as miraculous as this girl trying her best to infuriate me.
OK, there’s a lot going on here. I should leave Chrissie to handle it. I don’t want to cross the line and do more than I should. The limit of my participation should be retrieving my car.
I decide to blow past her last comment. “Go get your stuff. I’ll drive you home.”
Kaley looks away. “I don’t have to go anywhere with you. You’re not my father.”
The way she says that hits me like a blast of chilled air—her voice and expression disturbing—and she looks, for the first time, almost like she’s going to cry.
“I suggest you get moving. Now, Kaley.”
Kaley’s fingers curl around the counter until her knuckles turn white. “I should have wrecked the fucking car!”
Why does she keep pushing at me and upping the ante?
What am I doing wrong here?
She’s already playing Grand Theft Auto real life.
Doesn’t she get that?
“I don’t give a damn about the car, Kaley.” It’s a lame gesture, but I’m fucking running out of options, and maybe she’ll get it. I remove a rolling pin from a kitchen countertop utensil set and hold it out to her. “Wreck away. Destroy the car if you think it will help you. Then maybe you’ll be ready to talk to me and you can explain to me why you’re angry.”
“I don’t want to talk to you. It’s pointless. It always has been. I’m not leaving here with you. Call the cops if you want to. I don’t care.”
Rigid. Intractable.
“I’m trying to cut you a break here, Kaley.”
Her eyes meet mine again, challenging. Insulting.
“You’re not cutting me a break. That’s not what you’re doing here. Denial may be a terminal addiction for you, but even you should be able to figure out that I’m not a child anymore and I’m not stupid.”
What the hell does that mean?
“I know you’re not a child. I’ve never thought you were stupid. I know you’ve been through a lot lately. It’s why I’m willing to let this go and take you home.”
She takes in several, rapid, ragged breaths. “Now you’re just being patronizing and stupid.”
She pushes away from the counter and runs from the room. A few minutes later she returns and slaps something down on the counter in front of me, a look of pure venom and challenge in her eyes.
She lifts her hand so I can see the box.
GeneSys Home Paternity Test.
Oh fuck.
She stole my car to get me here, away from Chrissie, to do this.
“Where did you get that?” I ask in disbelief.
“You can buy more than condoms at the drug store.”
I have to work not to visibly flinch at that remark. Reference to condoms. Shoving that box in my face. That’s a twofer. Double direct hit.
“I’m not going to take that. You’re being ridiculous. You’ve embarrassed me. Are you happy?”
She calmly removes and then unwraps one giant, long Q-tip looking instrument. God, she has nerve. She holds it out to me. “Touch it inside your cheek and give it back to me. I can do the rest myself.”
I study her face. It feels like I don’t even know her anymore. How could she think I would need a DNA test with her mother?