I hear whispering, but it isn’t loud enough for me to decipher.
“Tinley Renee Holland,” Wren begins before giving me her social security number, date of birth, and her home address, one I’m intimately familiar with. “She’s currently employed at Big Freight in Houston. She currently has fourteen college credits from El Centro Community College in Dallas, all general studies. She left her previous employer, another discount store, eleven months ago.”
“And that’s it?”
“She has a son, almost thirteen years old, named Alex,” he adds.
“Is that his full name?” I ask, the palm of my hand growing so sweaty I nearly drop my damn phone.
“Alejandro Cooper Holland,” Wren says, and I can tell he’s reading from the screen in front of him.
A cough or a gasp, some sound of shock, filters through the phone, but barely registers. Wren has just confirmed what I suspected but wouldn’t fully allow myself to believe over the last eighteen hours.
“Hey, isn’t your middle name Alejandro?” someone asks, but I end the call before I can be bombarded with a million other questions.
Alejandro Cooper Holland.
Tinley knew my middle name from making fun of my driver’s license photo. I never told her I hated it. Never confessed that it was my dad’s first name, and one that will haunt me until I die, a little piece of the man that stole my mother from me.
Cooper is her father’s name making her brother a junior. CJ, as the younger Holland is known, was an acquaintance of mine before his sister moved to town. He was always down for trouble despite being several years older, but that friendship crumbled when I began to show interest in his younger sibling. I was good enough to get high and steal with, but when it came to Tinley, he didn’t want me anywhere near her. He only stuck around town for a couple months after her family moved here thankfully.
I shoot off a text to Wren wanting him to gather everything he possibly can on her entire family. He confirms that he’ll send it all in an email once it’s compiled. I know I won’t have to wait long but sticking around here until it comes through isn’t an option.
What turned into a week or two to get my grandfather’s shit in order after his death has managed to turn my life upside down. I want to be happy, proud that I have a son even though what I saw of him at the school and in the parking lot tells me he’s sort of an asshole in desperate need of redirection, but right now all I can feel is a sense of loss and irrational anger at Tinley for keeping something so important from me.
Pacing won’t help.
It won’t calm me down.
It won’t make my need for answers any less prevalent, and since I’ve always been a man to face my problems head-on, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I have no idea why I hit the shower, dress in my best jeans, and put on cologne before leaving the house.
Well, that’s not true. I know exactly why I do those things. Tinley has lied to me for the last thirteen years by omitting the fact that I have a child, but despite my anger, she was always the one that got away.
Chapter 4
Tinley
With Alex out the door for school, I spend the remaining twenty minutes before work getting things ready for the home health nurse that comes a couple of times a week.
“You should stop by that place you like and grab a coffee before work,” Mom suggests as I pull out a new dressing gown and underthings for her to have available after her shower.
“I will,” I lie. “That new mocha drink is now back in season.”
I don’t have the means to be frivolous to buy expensive coffee drinks, but I saw the sign advertising the seasonal mint mocha chip latte in the window last week. Mom doesn’t need to know how bad things are. Worrying about finances is the very last thing she needs to be concerned with right now.
I hate even leaving her, wanting instead to spend every second I have with her, but her death, although we both know it’s coming, is something we just don’t talk about. It’s the proverbial elephant in the room, as if ignoring it will prolong her life. I’d give everything I have to anyone able to guarantee the possibility.
Losing Dad was abrupt and devastating, but losing her slowly, watching her wither day after day is just as traumatic. I realize neither is easier now that I’ve experienced both.
I kiss her clammy forehead and rest my hand on her shoulder. I feel completely drained, as if the lithium cells in my rechargeable batteries are faulty. Sleep at night isn’t restful. Work is exhausting, considering I work in a town where no one seems to have an ounce of work ethic, and I do the job of three. Alex getting in trouble at school doesn’t help, but thankfully he was only suspended for half a day yesterday. Mr. Branford has given him more than his fair share of breaks, and I’m pretty certain his luck is going to run out very soon.
“Get out of here,” Mom urges, her tired hand lifting to swat me away but falling to her lap before she can get it halfway up to my side. “I’ll be fine. Melissa will be here soon, and the minister is scheduled to visit.”
I nod my head, tears that never seem too far off these days threatening.
“I’ll be home around seven. I
