“She’s a small child, she’ll adapt,” was how Carla had defended her decision.
He had fought the decision to move to Stephen’s hometown of Boston, where his family had established a name for itself five generations ago and spent the last hundred years building a series of successful businesses.
But none of Chapa’s objections had ever made much of an impression on Carla. Until now.
Standing in the middle of the multi-million dollar home in one of Boston’s most exclusive neighborhoods, he knew the polite thing to do was ask how things were going, and about her legal career and her husband’s various real estate deals. But Chapa was never much into small talk. And he knew he’d never get over the fact that Carla had taken his daughter from him, then done everything in her power to keep them apart.
“Nikki’s homework?” Chapa asked, breaking through the heavy silence.
“Will be waiting for her every morning, along with her assignments. She just has to log on to the school’s site and put in her password. Have you been able to afford a computer?”
Chapa was poised to deliver a response he might later regret, when the sound of a door closing stopped him. He turned and saw Stephen put down a briefcase and start walking toward them. Carla’s husband was wearing a beige suit that clung to his sides as his brown loafers clacked across the floor. There was some sort of a bright green shirt under his sport coat that maybe harkened back to his preppier, Reagan-worshiping days. He forced a smile across his face as he extended a hand in Chapa’s direction.
Chapa didn’t take him up on the offer, instead he simply stared at the Boston Celtics polo shirt inside the thousand-dollar suit.
“I know, kind of loco,” Stephen said without prompting. “It was a casual day, and we decided to take a golf meeting. A conference on the fairway, if you will.”
Chapa had never liked Stephen, and it wasn’t just that he’d married his ex-wife, and conspired to take his daughter from him, though that would be more than enough. Stephen was decent, more or less, and very successful, but also something of a schmuck. He just didn’t come across as a regular guy. Chapa didn’t like the way Stephen wouldn’t look him in the eye, his gratuitous use of foreign words and phrases, and his chronically soggy handshake. The fact that he was a Celtics fan made Chapa dislike him all the more.
Chapa looked at his watch, then back at Carla.
“Any minute, Alex,” she said. “But she doesn’t even know you’re here. None of us knew you were coming. Maybe we should all ease into—”
“I have twelve days with my daughter. It’s not much, but it’s the most time I’ve had with her in two years. I’m not going to wait until you’ve decided we’ve eased into it enough.”
“Let’s turn down the heat a little, why don’t we, no need for agita,” Stephen said, then smiled wide, exposing dueling rows of unnaturally white teeth. “If there’s anything I can do to make all of this run smoothly, just ask. That’s how I roll.” Then Stephen affected what Chapa assumed was supposed to be a look of empathy. “Alex, just like you, our first concern is what’s best for our Nikki.”
Chapa nodded as he let all of it sink in. Cocking his head away from Carla, he said, “Can we have a word, just you and me?”
“Sure, which room would you prefer, mon ami?”
“Like I give a shit,” Chapa said, then noticed how the expressions on their faces suggested this house was at the epicenter of a No Swear Zone.
Chapa pointed to a door in the next room. Stephen nodded his approval and asked him to lead the way. They walked into a home office any Manhattan CEO would be proud to call his own. One wall was lined with bookshelves, another with framed photos of Stephen with various celebrities and politicians. A large window behind an oak desk looked out over lush green grounds that were neatly landscaped. But there wasn’t a hint of playground equipment or any sign that a child had ever set foot on the evenly trimmed grass.
“Would you like a drink, Alex, there’s probably a lot you and I—”
Chapa interrupted him by invading his personal space, close enough that he could smell how Stephen’s expensive cologne was competing with his overpriced aftershave. Chapa wasn’t wearing either.
“If you ever try to take my child from me again—”
“Alex, I wouldn’t—” Stephen started, but Chapa stopped him by raising a single finger.
“If you ever try to take my child from me again, I will punch those veneers through the back of your fucking throat. Do you understand me?”
“Of course.”
“Good. That’s how I roll,” Chapa said, then smirked, and added, “Capiche?”
Chapa heard the front door open. He hurried past Stephen, who started to say something, and stepped out into the hallway. Nikki was wiping her feet on the mat, a bulging backpack draped over one shoulder.
She looked up, and her face was overtaken by a spontaneous smile.
“Daddy!”
Nikki broke into a full sprint as Chapa knelt down and extended his arms in anticipation of the massive hug that was rushing toward him.
Chapter 5
In the two days since he’d left Boston, Chapa had formed a mental checklist of all the things he and Nikki were going to do. He had figured out how to cram a year’s worth of bonding into a single week. But now things had become a bit more complicated.
Just past Hammond, Indiana, a few traffic-heavy miles shy of the Illinois border, Chapa pulled over at a rest stop. While Nikki stretched her legs and used the bathroom, Chapa made a call. Erin Sinclair had never met Nikki. The six months that she and Chapa had been dating coincided with his time away from his child.
“How soon will you two be here? I can’t wait.”
“It might be a little longer than I had planned.”
He explained about Chakowski and his new assignment, worried that she might think he was a jerk for splitting some of the time he had planed to spend with Nikki.
“What if I take some vacation time?” Erin asked without hesitation or prompting. “That way Nikki can spend a few hours at my house each day and do her homework.”
Chapa had thought about asking her for help, but dismissed it as being too much to ask. That’s just how Erin was, though. Generous, kind, and nothing like Carla. One of these days maybe Chapa would even get around to telling Erin how he felt about her.
“You truly are wonderful,” he said.
“How wonderful?”
“Really, really wonderful.”
“Thank you, Mr. Articulate. So you write for a living, huh?”
Chapa laughed. Erin had a way of making him do that. Their relationship was an easy one. Short on conflict, full of good times.
“Mike is so looking forward to meeting her,” Erin said. “This will give him someone to play with during the day, despite their age difference.”
Chapa had wondered about how Nikki would get along with Erin’s five-year-old son. Neither child had grown up with siblings, or a father around the house.
While he fought to block out the roar of passing semis and listened to Erin lay out her plans for the next few days, Chapa watched a small girl, just a couple of years younger than his own, struggling to do a cartwheel in the grass along the side of the rest stop. The child’s father was too busy doing something on his handheld to notice how determined the girl was to get just one right. He didn’t see her smile like she owned the world every time she came close to completing a circle and landing on her feet. Or the way she kept