Catch You If You Fall (Burnouts Book 2) Page 3

  MG slowly turned her head to look at Tiffany. Her eyes felt like they were moving even more slowly and out of sync with the rest of her face.

  “Grace, what’s wrong with you?”

  MG was still trying to coordinate her eye movement and not let her head flop forward. It suddenly felt really heavy.

  “Are you high!?” Tiffany’s eye’s bulged in shock.

  MG tried to answer, but the words were forming too slowly and her mouth felt a little numb. Yeah, I guess I am, she thought, but couldn’t say.

  “Oh my god. What are you on?”

  MG just stared at her, trying to process the question. What the hell was the name of those pills? Xanadu? No, that wasn‘t it. She was trying to form the word “migraine” when Tiffany called their manager to the front.

  They used her cell phone to find her mom’s number and call her. Then they made her wait in the back storage room ‘til Amber got there. Then they made it clear that she shouldn’t bother to come back. They would mail her last check.

  Krystyna helped Amber move her stumbling daughter out the back door where she deposited her on a stack of boxes and left to go back to work. Amber looked up, a silent prayer-for-help ritual left over from her Catholic days. She knew MG was still having a hard time, but she thought maybe things had gotten a little better since she made some friends at work. it looked like it was the wrong kind of friends.

  She crouched down and studied MG’s slack features. “MG, baby, can you tell me what you took?”

  MG attempted to raise her head enough to look her mother in the eyes.

  Struggling with an enormous case of mother-guilt for bringing MG to New York in the first place, and frustration at being stranded without a way to get her home, Amber called the only person she thought might be able to help her; the only person she knew with a car and driver, her boss, Art.

  ♪ ☺ ♥

  It was hard to say which was the bigger relief; the fact that MG wasn’t taking illegal drugs or that Art was more than understanding, having gone through some rough times with his own son.

  Amber sipped her coffee and looked over at her daughter sleeping on the pull-out bed. She looked so young when she slept, which she had been doing since they got home yesterday afternoon. She could see her sweet-baby girl’s features in the young woman curled up under the covers. She was out of a job now and possibly needed the sleep, but Amber had something important she needed to talk to her about. She was about to let her sleep and put it off for another day when MG stirred.

  She poured a half-cup of coffee for MG then cut it with water. Caffeine could help her headache, but too much could make it worse. She grabbed a pack of crackers and set them on the table. MG unwrapped herself from the covers and stumbled to her chair, and Amber waited silently while MG sipped her coffee and nibbled on a saltine. She nervously fiddled with the edge of the paper in front of her until MG’s eyes silently questioned what was up.

  On a Brighton Group office stationary note Amber had the name, address, and phone number of MG’s dad--Randy Ulrich. He had seen Amber’s name and photo alongside a real estate ad in his local paper in Bethel, New York. It was a small town about two hours north-east of the city where she was selling the country home of one of her Manhattan clients.

  When he had called Amber at work, his voice was still familiar, but shaky with emotion. He asked first about her work, then finally broached the subject of their daughter.

  “Does she hate me?” Was his natural first question.

  “She never mentions you.” Was Amber’s harsh, but honest, reply.

  Randy had seemed genuinely interested in meeting MG and getting to know her. He begged Amber, more than once in their long call, to talk to her about meeting him. He apologized over and over for running out on them when he was seventeen. And he said he wanted to try to make it up to them, especially financially.

  Honestly, that was the main reason Amber was even considering telling her that her long-lost daddy wanted back in her life. The quick internet search she was able to do on Randy while she was at work showed that he had the means to help MG. He was very wealthy and could give her things that Amber couldn’t, like college.

  But it was MG’s call. She wouldn’t put her daughter through any more trauma, even for the possibility of going to college.

  Her face showed no emotion as she read the name and address, and Amber wondered if she even knew that it was her dad’s name. They rarely discussed him.

  “That him?” MG said after studying the note for several minutes.

  Amber nodded.

  “Where’s this place?” She pointed to Bethel in the address.

  “About an hour north of here.”

  “Did you know he was there?

  Amber was relieved to be able to shake her head no. MG trusted very few adults and their strong relationship was based on lots of honesty. Some might say too much, but so far it worked.

  “He saw my name and picture on a real estate ad.”

  MG nodded then exhaled and continued to study the short note, as if there was something she missed the first time.

  “Does he want to see me?”

  Amber nodded. Trying to keep her emotions hidden so as not to influence MG’s decision.

  “Do you think I should?”

  “That’s your call. I’ll tell you what I know of him. There’s some stuff online …”

  “What? Like prison records?”

  She chuckled, “No, nothing bad, really. You might be surprised.”

  After studying the note again, MG slid it away from her and laid her head on the cool glass table top. “I might go look him up tomorrow. I still don’t feel very good.”

  Amber gently brushed her daughter’s hair back from her forehead. She might still be hung-over from yesterday, but she was also being cautious. Though completely unafraid in so many situations, MG was cautious about who she let into her inner circle. If Randy wanted back in her life he had some serious walls to breach.

  Chapter 4

  MG studied the picture of her dad on the library computer screen. Nothing. Zip. Nada. She kept waiting to feel something for or about this guy. But that’s just it, to her, he was just some random guy.

  Her mom asked her how she felt about meeting him. Interested was the best thing she could come up with. According to all the books and movies she had ever seen, she was supposed to be majorly pissed at this guy and go into some crazy, hate-anger rage. Nope. It’s kind of hard to miss someone or something you’ve never had.

  The idea of dad just really didn’t register with her. Sure she knew other people had a dad, but none of them were anything she wanted in her life. Carrie’s dad lived with her but he barely seemed to know Carrie was alive. Pretty much every memory MG had of him involved him sitting on the couch with the remote, ignoring his family. She would rather have the remote and the couch to herself than a dad like that. Steve had a dad, sort of. He paid the rent on their apartment and sometimes bought groceries but that was about it. Her mom took much better care of her.

  Maybe that was it. Maybe it was because her mom had always been there and taken care of her; maybe that’s why she never felt like she needed a dad.

  So here was this guy, Randy Ulrich, who got her mom pregnant eighteen years ago. According to the article she found on him in The Wall Street Journal he owned a company that produced tours for bands and comedians. It talked about how he had started with some financing from some Asian guys and his company was now worth millions. That got MG’s attention. How ironic was it that all those rich bitches treated her like trailer trash and all that time she had a rich dad too.

  She clicked back from the article to the picture of him. Her two hours on the library computer were about to run out and there was some irritated-looking lady with two kids waiting behind her.

  She had agreed to meet him for lunch this week. He said he hated coming into Manhattan (at least they had that in common) so he asked MG to take the train north and meet him. It
would take most of her day, but what the hell, it’s not like she had anything else to do; might as well go meet this guy.

  ♪ ☺ ♥

  And that’s what she kept telling herself on the two-hour train ride to Poughkeepsie; that he was just some guy. But as she got closer, her denial of the importance of this lunch faded. He may not feel like a dad to her, but he was still part of her. He still held possible answers to questions she had always had. Steve looked so much like his dad. How much would she be like Randy? Would they look alike? Act alike? He must be the reason for the things that didn’t match between her and her mom. Her blood type had to be the same as his. God, that made it all so real. They shared blood.

  She pushed those thoughts aside as too heavy to deal with right now. She would just take this one step at a time … today, lunch.

  MG scanned the platform as the train braked to a stop, looking for the man whose pictures she had studied. Unfortunately all she had been able to find was one head shot and one side shot of him going into a party, so she wasn’t sure about his height, but his long, salt-and-pepper hair should be a dead giveaway.

  There was one short, fat guy in a really horrible, loud print shirt standing in the shade of an awning. Could that be him? She couldn’t see his face and he had on a baseball cap, covering his hair. There were also two other guys in suits and one guy who looked like he stopped by on his way to the golf course. She stared at each, wondering if she would feel some sort of connection and just know which one was her dad. Nope. Nothing. More movie bullshit.

  The fat man stepped forward when the train stopped. He scanned the cars like he was searching for someone. Like pretty much everyone meeting someone here. A college guy who had been checking her out on the ride stopped by her seat, holding up the exiting line, so she could stand and join the line in front of him. She smiled at him briefly and took the offered spot.

  “You meeting someone here?” He was flirting with her. Any other day she would flirt right back. It was her favorite sport, and he looked like he would be fun to play with, but nerves had stolen her flirting mojo.

  She glanced back at him and answered, “Yeah, my dad.” Wow, that sounded strange.

  Cute dude just nodded.

  “Mary Grace?” Fat-man-with-ugly-shirt was approaching her. He stepped into the sunlight and she could see a long ponytail of grey and medium brown hair hanging from the back of the ball cap. She could also see now that he had a suit jacket slung behind him. He had told her not to wear jeans. They were going to lunch at a nice restaurant that wouldn’t allow jeans and he had to wear a jacket. This had to be him, her dad.

  “Randy?”

  His smile was huge and open. His face lit up and he breathed a visible sigh of relief. He approached her, almost looking like he was going to hug her, then took a step back at the last minute, unsure what to do. MG smiled back at him and also breathed a sigh of relief. Of all the guys on the platform, this is the one she would have picked for a dad. He looked weird, kinda goofy, happy, like her.

  ♪ ☺ ♥

  Randy Ulrich was a study in contrasts. He dressed like Wal-Mart’s biggest customer, but had made lunch reservations at a high-end restaurant at the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park for him and MG.

  They didn’t say much on the short ride from the station to the restaurant in his tiny, old, beater of a car. He apologized for the noisy engine and explained that he and his wife, Camilla, were waiting on the delivery of an electric car from Germany. They shared this car with a few other families in their co-op ‘til then. MG just took it all in, because there was so much to take in. Rich dad shares a crap car. Oookay … there’s one thing we don’t have in common. MG seriously missed her cool convertible Mustang that she had to sell when she left St. Louis. The beater backfired and shook when he turned it off in the restaurant parking lot, drawing stares and glares from everyone nearby. MG sank a little in her seat. Randy seemed immune.

  The Hostess knew him by name and once they were seated he had a detailed conversation with the waiter about gooey ducks and the origin of those being offered on the lunch menu. Gooey ducks? Gross. MG searched the menu for a hamburger or anything she recognized. He ordered an appetizer for both of them, which felt odd, having someone pick her food for her. But considering she didn’t have a clue what any of it was, she decided to roll with it.

  “You seem to know a lot about food.”

  He smiled at her and rubbed a belly that looked like he might be in this third trimester with twins. “You can tell, huh?”

  MG laughed. “No, well, I mean you know what this stuff is on the menu.”

  He glanced over the page in front of him. “Most of it.” He shrugged off his expertise. “I’ve traveled a lot.”

  Her online search of him told her this was an understatement. He had been traveling the world pretty much since he left St. Louis seventeen years earlier. Her mom told her how they had lived with his parents, in their basement, after MG was born, and how much it sucked. Randy’s mom hated her and swore that Amber got pregnant on purpose to trap her son and get away from her white-trash parents. The second part might have been a little true, but MG was definitely not planned. After less than a year of this hell they both looked for any way out. Randy bailed on Amber and MG to work on the road crew of a rock band, and Amber found a sugar daddy with his own apartment and nice car.

  “I got sick of it though. Traveling’s fun when you’re young, dumb, and full of …” He stopped himself, suddenly acting all parental and not wanting to be crude. “Let’s just say I’m getting too old for that …” He caught himself and stopped again.

  “For that shit?”

  MG finished the sentence for him and he smiled at her. She was bold and direct, like her mother.

  ♪ ☺ ♥

  The waiter set their drinks in front of them, a diet Coke for MG and Jameson neat for Randy. He took a healthy swallow and cleared his throat as if he was getting ready to deliver a speech. He started to speak, then stopped, smiled at his own embarrassment, took another drink, and tried again.

  “I guess I owe you some sort of explanation, or at least an apology.” He shook his head and shrugged. “But both seem pretty lame.”

  Not knowing how else to reply, MG gave him a small shrug.

  “Has your mom told you anything … about us, when you were born?”

  “A little. She just said that we lived in your parent’s basement and that she thought your mom hated her.”

  He smirked. “Yeah, she did.” He shook his head at the memory. “And your mom tried so hard to get that old biddy to like her. She even named you Mary Grace to please her.”

  “She did?”

  “My parents were extremely religious, Catholic. Your mom thought it would make them like her and you more if she had you baptized and gave you a Catholic family name. I had two aunts named Mary and Grace.”

  “She’s never called me Mary Grace. I’ve always been MG.”

  The waiter arrived with a basket of rolls, butter shaped like flowers, bread plates, and small butter knives. They were silent as he laid each item in its proper place on the table. MG took a roll and carved a chunk from her butter rosette.

  “Are your parents still alive?”

  “As far as I know, yeah. I think they still live in the same house, in St. Louis.”

  “You don’t talk to them?”

  He shook his head. “They pretty much disowned me,” then it occurred to him, “do you want to meet them?”

  “Not really. It’s not like they would feel like grandparents to me.”

  “Kinda like I don’t feel like your dad?”

  MG hesitated, but gave her honest answer, “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “It’s OK. I get it.”

  They ate their rolls in silence. Their salads arrived next, giving them something else to focus on. Talking to a teenage daughter he never knew was proving harder than he imagined. Randy needed to bridge the gap and he hoped music might do it.

  “What
kind of music do you like?”

  MG visibly relaxed; happy for the easier subject. “Rock, some pop, a little hip hop. Pretty much anything but country.”

  “Favorite band?”

  “U2.”

  He smiled, this is where he could connect with her. “I know them.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, I swear.” He held up his hand like he was taking a pledge. “I have Bono’s cell number.”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  He laughed, “I’ve met all their families.”

  “No. Freakin. Way!”

  Through the rest of the meal she peppered him with questions about bands and singers and the amount of truth in the gossip about each. Randy couldn’t remember the last time he had used his job to impress a girl, but he was happy as hell to play that card today. He had never wanted to have a girl be part of his life more than this one.

  Chapter 5

  Amanda smiled at him. It was her “come back to bed, I want more” smile. He’d seen it on her (and other women) too many times before.

  “I’ve gotta go.” Steve tried to button and zip his jeans, working against her fingers that were trying to undo his pants. “Babe, I’m gonna be late again. Can’t do it.”

  She looked up at him and pouted, fuck, she knew what that did to him. He wanted to crawl back in that bed with her as much as she wanted him there, but he was already on probation at work for being late too often.

  “Will you call me on your break?”

  He bent down to kiss her. She tiptoed up and started to wrap her arms around his neck but he grabbed them and stopped her before she got a hold of him. “I can.” He stepped away from her, grabbing his keys and wallet off her dresser. “But it’ll be around three. You should sleep.”