Chapter 24: Drummer Boys Face The Music

So if you are interested in seeing the house I used as inspiration for Bodies new place, see the comment I will make here, with the link to the article about the house, with pictures...

Bodie Atlanta, Three Days Later

I'm on my feet, but barely. I feel like I'm walking around with the flu. I can't decide what hurts worse.

My gut, my head, or the general ache of my muscles.

Oh wait, I know.

My pride.

Marley puts the car into park and unlatches her seatbelt. I make no move. My feet stay planted on the floorboard of the passenger seat of her small sedan. My hands stay gripped on my knees.

"Are you ready?" she asks, gesturing to large tan brick home with immaculate landscaping.

I give a resentful snort. "Why do you even ask? It's not like I have a choice at this point. In anything."

The last choice I made was knocking on Marley's hotel door three days ago, shivering, already deep in withdrawal, determined not to take any more drugs.

All I wanted in that moment was to crawl into her bed and listen to the story of Darius' first birthday party.

I was choosing sobriety. I was choosing her. I was choosing Darius.

She and Riley took all those options away.

Swiftly.

Riley worked a deal with the label to cut me some slack on the drug test that was definitely coming back positive for heroin. The deal? They would look the other way on my breech of personal conduct contract if I went into MAT—medication assisted treatment with a round-the-clock live-in treatment specialist. As long as I stayed out of rehab. Because the press tracks celebrities to rehab like bloodhounds track criminals.

And Marley? She took much more away from me than my choice of a cold turkey detox.

She killed everything that was blossoming between us, by signing a contract with Riley to be my enforcer.

It doesn't matter that she hasn't left my side in the three days I've been struggling to even out on methadone. It doesn't matter that she responds to all my frustration with calm and reason. It doesn't matter that she offers compassionate care, trying to ease my physical discomfort.

She played me. She reeled me in with that picture of Darius and then, a tornado of things happened around me that I couldn't control. Just like all those years ago, when she drew me in with her love and then set me lose into Daemon's storm.

Marley takes the keys out of the ignition. "I'm sure your mother will understand if you aren't ready to see her. Family can be stressful, and you have enough stress right now."

"You think she can say anything worse than what just happened in Nashville?" I scoff. "My band just voted to kick me out."

"No, they voted to enforce a treatment plan for you. Actually, only Adam and Mac wanted to suspend your involvement in the band, until you're functionally sober. Trace and Leed did not. Every one of them responded to your problems in a way they thought best to help you, Bodie. There was a lot of love in that room."

"There was a lot of bullshit in that room," I snap back.

"Ok. So how do reconcile your reaction to their vote with the fact that a couple of days before, you wanted to cut out to Switzerland indefinitely, without even discussing it with them?"

"That Switzerland idea was bullshit, too," I snarl. "I was high, Marley."

She traces her fingertips on the steering wheel, nodding. "Okay. I can see how that is probably true."

"Did you really think I was going to sweep you off to some Alpine castle? Turn you into a princess?" I sneer.

I would have. I would have given her anything she wanted, because she's the mother of my son, and she's struggled since we made him. Struggled with Daemon, prison, single-motherhood, with the Turners, and probably with money, from the looks of this clean but pretty old car.

I would have done more than made her life easier. I would have told Darius the truth, and made the father-son thing legit in every way. But all she wants is to throw up walls between us, hold my son out of reach like a carrot dangling in front of me, and hide behind her damn counseling license.

My mother opens the front door of her house and steps forward, her arms wrapped around her thin frame. Through the slightly dusty windshield, she meets my eyes. She gives me a wry smile, jerks her head toward the house, and turns. Going back inside.

With the absolute expectation that I will obey.

I roll my eyes. But I get out the damn car.

Marley walks behind me. I wait on the porch, holding the door open for her, gesturing her inside. My mom waits in the foyer. She gives Marley a brief glance and a nod of welcome. Then her eyes narrow in examination on me.

I shift a little, feeling six years old under her disapproving glare.

"Oh, Bodie," she sighs, taking in my skinny frame, my unkempt dreads, my need of a shave.

"Can I get a Sprite and a sandwich before you start the lecture?" I grin at her. "I feel pretty crappy, Mama..."

She comes forward to embrace me. "I bet you do." She pops my face lightly. "You deserve much more than a lecture." She hugs me tight.

"Don't worry," I say. "Riley's already handling my punishment."

I drag myself out of her arms. "Marley this is my mother, Ronna Jamison. Mama, this is...Marley Watkins...but...I guess you guys already met, right?"

My mother gives Marley a tight smile. "Yes, at Mrs. JJ's birthday party a few months ago. Of course, I remembered her right away. Well, as soon as I saw her son, and gave her a good hard look, I knew she was Jasmine."

She's giving Marley a good hard look right now.

Shit. I can already see where this is going.

"Mama, you don't need to jump to any conclusions about Marley, okay?"

She gives me a sharp look. "I haven't jumped. I've been waiting patiently for about a month, worrying myself sick about you, because you dropped off the face of the earth, and at the same time wondering how it is that I have a thirteen year old grandchild who doesn't know who his family really is. No, I haven't jumped, Bodie. But I do think some one should explain."

She looks at Marley expectantly. Unlike me, Marley doesn't shift uncomfortably under my mother's disapproving gaze.

But she does prickle up a little bit to my mama's challenge. I guess she's practiced, having to push back on Pat.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know about my son. But I expect you probably want to hear about yours first, right?"

My mama stiffens and gives Marley a startled look. Then she looks at me, with an accusatory glare that says, Oh no she didn't.

"If y'all gon' fight, Imma get a soda and take a seat, first." I stroll to the kitchen and grab a Sprite from the fridge. My mom doesn't drink soda but she always keeps some in there in case I drop by.

I pop the top and sip. Ah...sugar. That's the only joy left to me.

The two women follow me to the kitchen. Marley takes a seat at the high top bar beside me. My mom starts pulling packages and jars from the fridge. She stalks across the floor to the pantry for bread.

As she slaps mayonnaise on the roll, she stabs the spatula at me. "You tell me the truth, Clayton Jamison. Are you on drugs right now?"

"Yes," I say.

She glares at Marley. "You're letting him use? What the hell kinda Babymama are you? You can't just go along with his depraved rock star life. You gotta tell him. Make him do right!"

I smirk at Marley, who rolls her eyes at me.

"Bodie hasn't abused any drugs in more than four days."

My mom looks me up and down. "I don't believe that. Look at him, he's emaciated. He's been doing serious drugs. The kind that would cause withdrawals if he weren't still using."

"Yes, he has," Marley says evenly. "But now he's on a medication assisted treatment to clear his system of illegal drugs. With this treatment, he isn't experiencing severe withdrawals or drug cravings."

Ronna expressions changes, like she's really listening, as she spread mustard. "Right. I forgot, you're a psychologist. Okay. Medication assisted therapy. What does that mean?"

"It means I'm doped up on legal heroin," I tell her. I hold my hands up. "It ain't my choice. I wanted to go to detox. Marley convinced Riley of this plan, and he convinced the label that this was better than the press finding out I'm in rehab, and the band agreed. So if I don't do it their way, I get fired. Riley hired Marley to be my treatment therapist and sobriety companion. But what that really means, is Marley is supposed to keep me doped up and compliant."

My mama slaps the bread down and looks at Marley. Marley makes a sound of disgust and glares at me. Then she turns to my mom and holds a finger out, just the slightest hint of attitude.

"No ma'am. That is not what is happening. Bodie is twisting the truth."

"So you are saying he's lying to me?"

"No, I'm saying he's angry at me and still transitioning from mild withdrawals and he feels...powerless and frustrated right now, so he's venting and exaggerating."

"So you're saying he's...what? Paranoid? Because it does sound like he's being manipulated."

"If Riley or I were manipulating him, why would I have brought him here today? What he's not telling you is he agreed to this method of treatment. Resentfully, with a bad attitude, yes. But he agreed. He's walked willing into a doctor's office, and gone through a health screen and a psychological assessment. No one has forced him to begin methadone.

"As for my role as his sobriety companion, I certainly don't have him chained to me, but he's not tried to evade my companionship, not once in three days while he's been regulating. He could quit the methadone, quit the band, walk away from everyone that cares from him, and do all the drugs he wants. He has resources and options. He's chosen this one.

"But methadone doesn't erase all withdrawal symptoms. He's anxious and irritable, and he just wants to whine and bitch."

"Is that so?" My mother asks.

"Yes." Marley snaps.

"I wasn't asking you, Jasmine," my mother whips back.

I frown. "Hey, now. You need to chill with that hate on my Babymama, Ronna."

"Ronna?" My mother rounds on me and I put my hands up in surrender quickly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I know I'm acting like an asshole. I know I'm all over the place. What Marley said, it ain't wrong. I did agree. I was resistant to the idea of taking methadone, but I can't lie...so far, it's a damn sight better than detox, and Marley says the long-term outcomes are better."

"Not just me," she counters.

"Fine. Marley and the damn reams of research papers, she's forced in front of my face for days."

I glare at the pretty girl beside me but she just gives me an eat-shit smile.

"Bottom line," I continue. "I want to get clean. I want to keep everything I worked for. This arrangement—it's pretty much my only option that lets me keep the label happy. It's just that, it ain't working out like I thought it would. Marley's...bossy as hell. And demanding," I sneer at her.

"Bossy?" My mom repeats.

"Yes," I nod. I mimic Marley's voice. "It's time to take your medication, Bodie. Try to eat, Bodie. No more Red Bull, Bodie, it will make you more anxious. Let me help you wash your hair, Bodie."

"Hmmmm-hmmmm." I grin because my mom looks mad now. She don't like nobody bossing me around but her. She huffs. "And mean? She's being mean to you, you say?"

"Yes! She told me my dreads stink and look awful, and if I'm not gonna let her wash them, I should cut them off."

For some reason, that particular complaint doesn't seem to outrage my mama like it did me. She snorts. "For goodness sake, Bodie. They aren't even real."

"I can't help it if my hair won't dread right," I say defensively. When I try to dread my own hair, it just gets all fuzzy like a white surfer dude disaster. "Do you know how much designed dreads like these cost? How long I had to sit to have them installed? How much time in maintenance?"

My mother tosses the sandwich in front of me. "Boy, stop whinin' about your high maintenance hairstyle. You sound like that damn vain red-headed best friend of yours." She grabs my hair and pulls me toward her. "She's right. They stink like rotting fish."

"I spent a lot of time in the ocean in Thailand," I grumble.

"Well, Marley is right about the smell. I can't imagine having to sleep next to that." My mother gives Marley a very cool look.

Marley smiles at the table and shakes her head, her mouth tight. "That's a very passive aggressive way to ask about the nature of our relationship, Ms. Jamison."

"Call me Ronna, Marley. We might as well be real. Let me start. It seems like you've insinuated yourself very quickly into Bodie's life, since he realized that you two have a child together. If you are manipulating my son—sleeping with him and getting paid to medicate him—"

"Mama, I already told you. You need to back off Marley. It ain't like that. Marley and I reconnected more than six months ago. We been texting back and forth, until I lost my phone in Thailand. We been...talkin'."

"Talkin'" My mother says skeptically. "She's been talkin' to you because she knows she claimed the wrong babydaddy thirteen years ago, and now she wants the real one. You are a far better option."

"It ain't like that," I growl. "The Darius situation is very complicated. She thought Daemon Turner was his father, and...so did I. I've known about Darius for about four months now, but that whole time, both Marley and I thought Daemon was his father. I had never seen the boy, okay? We've only been coming around to the truth that he's my son in the last couple of weeks.

I press on. "You insinuating she's a gold digger? That needs to stop right now. She's not.She took the damn job as my sobriety counselor because she's the opposite of that. She's trying to put a boundary between us. Because I'm an addict, she says, and she can't be with an addict."

Marley looks at me quickly. She smiles at me. "I'm glad you are beginning to understand, Bodie."

I cut her off with an impatient hand slinging. "Of course I understand, Marley. I'm an addict, not an idiot. But understanding..." I tap my head, "Doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you," I tap my chest. "This ain't the way I need you. I told you I would take care of you, and I meant it. I need...I need loyalty. I need you to have my back. I need you to be my ride-or-die."

Marley looks tearful, which surprises me. It's the first time I've seen any emotion from her in days. For some crazy reason, she looks at my mother. She reaches out a hand to her and whispers, "I can't be what he wants right now. I can't make him understand why that doesn't work.Help me please..." she shakes her head and looks down at the table, at her hands. "I thought, maybe, he might see it better from your perspective than mine..."

"Oh." My mom says blankly. "Oooooohhhh," she says wearily but a little more kindly. "I see."

My mother sits down beside me and puts a hand on my arm.

Her attitude fades, but her look becomes more direct. "You need to stop right there, Bodie. You think because you two share a son, that you deserve her loyalty, when you've done nothing to prove it? That's wrong thinking. You're angry and disappointed in her, and I'm angry and disappointed in you, but you need to listen to me right now. You need to hear what I'm about to say. Look at me, Bodie."

I turn my face toward my mother. "Say what you gotta say."

She gives me a sympathetic smile. "Marley cannot be your ride-or-die. Not right now. Not like this. She has a son to protect. He comes first, Bodie. He has to. You think about the way you grew up, and you know it's true. I never put a man before you. Ever. And I certainly never brought one around that wasn't livin' right."

Okay. My mama is speaking truth and I know it. But it hurts.

"I'm not some man to warm her bed," I growl at her. "I'm the father of her child."

"And not the role model a thirteen year old boy needs. Bodie, if you love the idea of him at all, you have to be patient and work hard to get sober, so that you can love him. You have to work for the place to be his father," my mother says, without cruelty, but with firmness.

I put my head in my hands. Suddenly I feel like crying. "I ain't gonna make it with you against me, too."

She slips off her bar stool, and hugs me. "I'm not against you. You know that."

That's when I start to cry. "Feels like..."

"Shhhh...it's alright," my mother soothes, patting me. "Marley's right, baby, you're all over the place right now. It's okay..."

I can feel Marley sliding away—farther away than she's been from me in days, but she's just giving me some time with my mom.

I don't cry for long at that kitchen counter. Instead, I tighten up, drink more soda, and I start to speak in a low voice. I tell my mama a lot of shit. About Thailand. About Arabella. About Connor Ryan. About how my dependency on pills drew me unwillingly into heroin. About Varrick getting me out of a very bad situation.

"Thanks for sending him."

She shrugs with a small smile. "It really wasn't my doing, but I'm glad he came for you. He's a very unusual man, don't you think?"

I snort. "That's one word for him, sure."

"What word would you use?"

"Uhhhh...lethal, maybe?"

"I think he seemed a little sad."

I snort, "I didn't think he seemed all that sad when he put my ass on the floor. But maybe he is a good dude to have on your side. Or a bad dude to have against you. I guess it depends on your perspective." I look at her suspiciously. "Why you askin' so much about Varrick?"

"I'm not," she says, a little defensively. "He called me when he parted ways with you. Then a few days later to check on your detox. When I told him you disappeared in the hood again, he...well, he was going to come look for you, but then Marley found you—overdosed."

"That was an accident. I guess Daemon's product was a little too potent."

My mother sits down heavily beside me. "Bodie, I can't stand the thought of you pumping poison in your veins."

"Mama, I swear to you, heroin was not my intended destination but I ain't ever going back there again, okay? You have to believe me. I know I'll end up dead like that."

She pats my arm. "Okay, Bodie. I believe you mean that. But you have to do the work. It's like Marley said. It takes a long time to retrain your brain to let go of craving that powerful."

"I know, Mama. She's been preachin' to me for days. I know. Look, I want to get back to this Varrick thing."

She rises and throws my can in the trash. "There's no Varrick thing," she laughs lightly. "He's head of your security. He's got a very vested interest in you, Bodie."

"Hmmm." My mom doesn't realize what a hottie she still is. And if Varrick was worried about me, he'd call Riley, not her.

"Anyway, I want to get back to the topic of safe sex. Because obviously I failed miserably the first several dozen discussions."

I groan. "Jesus, Mama."

"I just can't believe it. After all the warnings I gave you. After the condoms I bought you?"

I look to the ceiling, like a prayer. "Lord, you should have let the dope take me."

My mother smacks me on the back of the head. "Don't you mock the Lord, he might take you. Back to the subject I hope you don't roll with fangirls like you did with Jasmine," she lectures. "Please tell me you are more cautious now?"

I sigh and run a hand over my face. "Yes, mama. Very. Don't worry. Darius is my only kid. And for the record, I didn't forget what you said all those times. It just...snuck up on me, is all."

"Unprotected sex snuck up on you?" she hisses.

"Mama...I'm a grown ass man. Can you please stop lecturing me about something that happened almost fourteen years ago? It happened. I have a kid. That's not the bad part. The bad part is...he's amazingand I've missed his whole childhood."

She hugs me again. "You're right Bodie. You're right. Tell me about him."

I don't tell her about the way he almost shot me. I just tell her how smart he is. How amazingly gifted he is. How we played music together. How I don't know when she's going to get to meet him, because I honestly don't even know when Marley is going to let me see him again.

We talk about other things. About the methadone treatment regimen. About my plans to stick close to Atlanta for the next year. About the band, about Ollie and Lennon.

The two things I don't talk to my mom about are Cain Priestly and my feelings for Marley. I don't know how to describe either of those things.

—————

Sometime later I find Marley sitting in a swing on my mother's back deck.

I sit down beside her.

"Did you eat the sandwich?" she asks automatically.

"If you ask me that one more time..." I growl.

"Eating enough calories will help your physical strength rebound faster," she says neutrally. "Research shows—"

I rub my hands over my face. "Marley, for fuck's sake, can we just have one conversation that's not about my wasted health and research studies?"

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" she asks neutrally.

About why you won't let me see any part of you but the counselor. About why you are shutting me out.

I sigh. "My mom said we could stay here tonight, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary. I'm hoping we'll find a place."

"Bodie, are you sure you want to stay in Atlanta? That's not the scenario I imagined when I agreed to this job."

See, this right here? This is the thing that does piss me off about Marley.

Marley wants us to go to LA. She proposed that we live there because a familiar environment is better for me right now. She seemed to have no problem with the idea that Darius would continue to live with Pat and TJ and would fly out on Fridays to spend the weekends there. I don't understand it—how she could even propose that her thirteen year-old boy live across the country from her.

Then I realized, it's what they already do. Marley's apartment is up by her work on the North side of Atlanta. She lives an hour and a half away from Darius's neighborhood, considering Atlanta traffic. She mostly only sees him on the weekends.

From everything that I've picked up on, I don't think it used to be that way. That's only been a change that came about gradually, over the last couple of years. Since TJ bought the new house and moved his fiancee into it, and Marley finished up her phD and started working in North Atlanta and dating Marc.

I don't know why Marley didn't bring Darius with her when she moved out, but that needs to change. The boy needs to be with his mother, at least as much as he's with TJ and Pat.

And to most easily accomplish that, we have to live somewhere close to the Turners, close to Darius' school. Which is why I'm buying a house there.

Today, I hope.

Actually, in like the next two hours, because I'm tired as fuck. Despite sleeping most of the morning and this brief visit to my mom's as our only activity of the day, I'm nearly shaky with fatigue and from battling the mild withdrawal symptoms I'm experiencing.

"Yes, I'm sure." I check my phone. "The realtor should be here in half an hour to pick us up. I told her to show us everything nice within five miles of TJ's place. My one requirement is that the place is fenceable, in case we start to get a pap problem. She said the list is...short. Three places. I want you to pick one. I don't care which, okay?"

She snorts. "I'm not going to pick out your house, Bodie."

"It's not my house. It's yours."

Her pretty cinnamon eyes look confused.

"It doesn't matter what happens between me and you. You and Darius will have a home—a real home of your own, okay? So it should be a place you like."

"Bodie, that's very generous, but you are getting ahead of yourself. You're making a lot of presumptions based on an old photograph."

I stop the swing. "Four days ago, you told me Darius was my son."

She places a hand on my arm—the first time she's touched me in four days. "I believe he is. But a belief is a feeling. We can't move forward like you're talking about—based on a just a feeling."

"That's a simple fix," I say. "A new paternity test proves what we know is true."

"And how do I explain to Darius why he's being sampled?" she asks softly.

That's when I realize...she's not planning to tell him.

"Marley, we can't keep this from him. The boy needs to know," I growl.

"No, he doesn't," she says firmly. "Not until you are strongly sober. Not until Daemon doesn't have a smoking gun to hang over your head."

"So...what are you saying? We are just supposed to lie to the boy? For how long? Months? A year? More? How do you think he's going to feel when we do tell him?"

"He'll be angry. Disappointed. I'm used to him feeling that way towards me," she says, cutting her eyes to mine. Her look is hard and it hurts me to see it. "But I won't have him caught in the middle of this, do you understand? Between you and Daemon? There's no way I will risk Darius knowing the truth if Daemon can hurt either one of you."

I can't argue with that. "Okay, be we ain't finished talking about that, Marley." I mutter, throwing my head back on the swing.

"I know that, Bodie. I want what you want—for you and Darius to have a relationship. It's just going to take some time. Let's just focus on one thing at a time. Your sobriety first."

I get a text from the realtor, who is waiting in the drive.

"No, picking out a house first. Quickly. I want to sleep there tonight."

————————

An hour later, we stand in the second listing the realtor is showing us. The house that I know is the one I will buy.

Because Marley is smiling as her fingers trace the rows of bound books in the narrow but beautifully paneled office/library combo. She pulls out an Arthur Conan Doyle.

"Ever read these?" she asks.

"Sherlock Holmes. The OG of crime solvers. No. You?" I smile. She shakes her head.

"Well, since we will probably be bored as fuck here in Atlanta for the next year, we could read them out loud. You'll play the part of Dr. Watson, Dr. Watkins," I wink at her.

"I feel you, Holmes," she say in her best gangster voice.

I love the way this girl always gets the joke before I even tell it. I chuckle and stroll out of the library into the expansive living room with gleaming, traditional oak floors.

The realtor doesn't seem to get our humor. "Yes, well this Craftsman is a very unusual find in this area of town. Not just because of the traditional library. Also the basement home gym, the home theater on the third floor."

Marley hasn't said a word since we arrived, but she can't stop touching things. Like the hammered tin backsplash behind the professional range.

"Kitchen is kind of dated," I comment to the realtor, running a hand over a well worn corner of an cabinet with ornate moldings.

Marley turns quickly to look at my objection. "No, it's just...traditional. And lived in. That's nice. It feels like, there were a lot of happy meals here."

We go downstairs. The home gym is unlike the main floors—very modern and filled with serious equipment. There is an unused portion of the basement perfect for a music room. The second story is much like the main—ornate moldings and high ceilinged bedrooms.

The home theater on the third floor? It's LA style. Like the basement gym. Which is really unusual. This house is a mix of traditional and Hollywood.

"Who owns this place?"

"A professional basketball player built it for his mother. She didn't want to leave the neighborhood she lived in her whole life. The gym, the theater, were more for his needs, when he visited, obviously. She passed away."

We walk out front and stand on the sidewalk, admiring the two story red brick porch and the classic garden green of the wood siding. Ceiling fans spin lazily on the upper porch, arranged symmetrically in front of the French doors of the two large bedrooms that open to the porch balcony.

"How long has it been on the market?" I ask.

The realtor's face is carefully blank as she says, "A little over a year."

I sigh. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, that I'm aware of." She leans forward, "I almost had a buyer for this house—there was a home inspection that turned up nothing more major than a heat pump on it's last leg. It's truly beautiful—a one of kind. It has the style of a much older home, but it's only about twenty years old.

"So why hasn't it sold?" Marley asks.

The realtor hesitates. "It's the price. For the house and it's accessibility to downtown, it's completely reasonable. For the neighborhood," she gestures down the block, where a row of subsidezed housing units line the street like sad little soldiers, "Not so much. It's not a good investment—from a resale perspective."

"Yeah, I noticed the price was unpublished."

"It needs the right buyer, with the right situation." She smiles

She means somebody with money to burn.

"Alright, what's the baller want for this monstrosity?" I smile.

"One-point-two."

I grimace and give a tiny shrug. Marley nearly chokes on her Starbucks, which makes me laugh.

"Million?" she looks at the realtor and then at me. I chuckle.

"Will you give us a minute?" I ask the realtor.

I draw Marley back up to the steps and ease down, ignoring my aching muscles.

"Old Fourth Ward is a good neighborhood. Safe. Walkable. There's that huge historic park, open market air markets and shit. It's ten minutes from TJ's place by car. Darius' school is here. This is a good location for us. Do you like this house, Marley?"

"You can't buy this place, Bodie."

"I can. You know I can. And you didn't answer the question. Do you like this house?"

"Well, yes. It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it. I didn't know places like this existed here."

"Yeah, well, it ain't exactly a good thing...million dollars homes going up in these old neigborhoods raises property taxes on the folks living in the regular ones."

"Yes, yes, I can see that's a problem."

"But I didn't build the house or create the zoning areas. Somebody's gonna buy it. If you want it, that somebody is going to be me."

"Bodie, are you sure you don't want to go home? To LA?"

Why does she keep asking that? I know Marley is not a bad mother, but I can't understand why she's so willing to be so far away from Darius.

"Girl, you gotta talk to me here. I'm trying to get us closer to Darius' life, and it feels like you are intentionally trying to put distance there. It is because of everything going on with me? Because if you really feel like you don't want him to be around me right now—"

"It's not that." She grasps my arm, bowing her head. "It's really not, Bodie. I want you to get to know Darius. There's hardly anything more important to me. It's up there with Darius' well-being and yours."

"Then what is it? Why do you want to go to LA? I'll take you there if it's just curiosity or some shit—"

"It's not that either." Her dark eyes look sad like a puppy's as she meets mine. "I don't want you to be disappointed. When you buy a place so close to the Turner's and we are spending all our time here, and Darius...when he doesn't want to be here. With us. Darius...he doesn't want to live with me, Bodie. I wanted him to come with me when I moved out three years ago. He wanted to stay with Pat and TJ. It was really...hard. In the end...I didn't force him."

Shit. Now I get it. If Marley lives remote from the Turners, where Darius resides isn't much of a debate. He needs to be close to his school and his activities. But if we live here, closer to his sphere that than even the Turners, in an awesome house with every amenity, and Darius still doesn't want to spend time here?

That's not a disappointment to me. That's a huge hurt to Marley. It shows his mother doesn't feel as much like home to him as the grandmother and uncle who, together, had a bigger part in raising him.

I nod and take her hand. "You know what I think? I think Darius is used to you accommodating him in every way. He pretty much told me that. He asked me not to tell Pat about the shooting, but he said you wouldn't get mad. That you never get mad, only sad with him. So he didn't care if you knew he shot at me."

She blinks. "He...he said that?"

"Yeah, he did. He's not a little kid anymore, Marley. He's thirteen. If I had to bet, his biggest problem with you? He doesn't respect you, because you don't hold him accountable to respect you. It seems to me like you have a lot of love and patience for the boy, but you don't deal in the real with him because you feel guilty about Pat raising him a good bit of the time."

She nods. "That's true. I do. I've missed so many hours, so many days with him."

"That ain't nothing new, Marley. Mothers work. Families help, nannies help, daycares help. You ain't the only mother that has had to rely on someone else to care for their kid. But you let it get in your head. All this talk about boundaries with me? Maybe you need to erect some with Darius, and put his ass inside them. Maybe it's time you tell him what you expect him to do, instead of asking him all the time."

Marley blinks at me. "Who's the counselor, here?"

I shrug. "You're the drug expert. I'm the expert on kids with strugglin' single moms." I squeeze her shoulder. "Look, if he doesn't want to stay here, it's your call on how to handle that, obviously. But three years ago was three years ago. I think you should try again to share a household. Not just for me and Darius. For you and Darius."

She nods very slowly. "We'll work towards it, okay? I mean that."A twitching smile flits over her mouth. "I thought maybe you were going to be a lot angrier with me for a lot longer than this."

"I'm too fucking exhausted and achey to be angry right now," I admit. "Tomorrow when you start trying to shove a sandwich down my throat I'll be pissed again."

"That's fair," she says softly.

The realtor steps out of her car with her phone to her ear and waves at us. "Ready to move on to the last listing?"

I shake my head. "Not necessary. Can you get that baller on the phone and tell him I'll give him 1.35 with the furniture, if we can take early possession?"

"I'm sure there might be some pieces of art that he doesn't intend to sell..."

"Yeah, he can take what he wants out of the house...I just need the basic furniture and the gym equipment..."

"When would you like to take possession?" she asks, already frantically texting.

"Right now, I need a nap," I say and I pull Marley to her feet. I throw open the heavy wooden double doors.

"Welcome home. Let's go to bed," I wink at her.

"I'm not taking a nap with you."

"Then you can hang out in your new library," I give her my best grin—which is probably a weak imitation of my real best grin.

Her giggle and the tiny scrunch to her freckled nose betrays her happiness. "Your library, Holmes."

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, Dr. Watkins."

So it seems like the Bodie and Marley are on a roller coaster of emotions. I wonder how they will settle into living together? Predictions?

What about Marley and Ronna? Are they going to fight over Bodie, or will they eventually become friends?