The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (24 page)

Stan.
 

Standing behind the bar, he leaned over on his arms and watched her intently. Because it was so slow, Stan always took the bartending shift on Mondays instead of paying an extra bartender. Which is exactly why Patty was there. If Stan was going to be at the Lady, so was she.
 

He gave her a lazy smile, so she twisted her leg around the pole, and flipped her body upside down, never taking her eyes off Stan. She knew he liked her pole show the best. But he said that about all her routines. Every single one was his favorite and he never missed an opportunity to tell her how talented he thought she was. That was the part she struggled with. No matter how many times Stan told her, Patty could not or simply would not believe that she had any talent. And even if she did, what good was it to be a talented stripper anyway?

The song finished and Patty collected her various articles of clothing and made her way across the room to the bar where Stan was waiting for her. He pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That was fantastic, Patty.”

By habit, Patty looked down and shrugged.
 

“It was,” he said. “And one day you’re going to believe me.” His voice was kind, the way it always was when he spoke to her. Even when he was upset with one of the staff, or dealing with an unruly patron, Patty knew Stan would never raise his voice with her.
 

“Thank you,” was all she said. Patty reached for the drink he’d poured her. Vodka and Sprite. She took a long sip but put the glass down in disgust. “Where’s the vodka, Stan?”

“You know the rules, babe. No free drinks. Customers need to buy them for you.” Stan was an excellent businessman, and played by the rules, even when it frustrated Patty. But his strategy had worked well so far. In only a few short years, he’d somehow managed to impress his father enough to relinquish control of the Lady so that he was managing it full-time. Patty’d thought that might have meant there’d be a few perks from dating the boss, but so far there was nothing. Which even she had to admit, was probably a good thing when it came to the other girls.
 

“It’s dead in here tonight.” Patty took another look around the mostly empty room before deciding not to even bother trying to get a private dance. She pulled up a stool and reached for her Sprite. “I guess this will do tonight. Unless of course, I can interest you in a dance, handsome.” She flashed her most seductive smile and narrowed her eyes provocatively.
 

“Oh, you know I’d take you up on that in a heartbeat if I wasn’t working.” He leaned closer to her and eyed her appreciatively. “Maybe later?”
 

“Of course.” Patty forced a smile, not because she wouldn’t look forward to later, but because she knew there’d be no hope for a real drink now. At least if one of the other bartenders were working, she’d be able to sweet talk her way into a freebie. Sometimes she thought Stan instituted that rule for the sole purpose of curbing her drinking.

“Hey,” he said and pushed up from the bar. “Something came for you today.” Stan went to the till and pulled an envelope out from beside it.
 

As soon as she saw it, Patty’s pulse sped up and her palms got sweaty. She knew exactly what it was. Whitney.
 

“I wasn’t sure if I should wait and give it to you when we got home,” Stan said. “But then again, you know I can never be sure if you’re coming home with me or not.”
 

Patty glared at him. “Not now,” she said. She reached for the envelope and there was a moment when she wasn’t sure if he’d give it to her. Patty knew Stan wanted to talk about her lack of commitment to him. She knew he wanted to know the reason she wouldn’t make their relationship official and at the very least move in with him permanently. But Patty couldn’t give him a reason because she wasn’t entirely sure herself. All she knew was that by having some of her things at Bridgette’s apartment, she had an out. But she couldn’t tell Stan that and even if she could, she didn’t want to. Not when there was an envelope to open. “Can I have my mail, please?”

He handed it to her with a sigh. “You do know if we made it official, you’d have a real address, right?”
 

She ignored him and tore the yellow envelope open. It was bigger than most, which meant one thing—pictures. Patty was like an addict with her bi-weekly correspondence. She needed her fix, and dumping the contents onto the counter, she got it.
 

She picked up the first photo gingerly and held it by the edges. In it, Whitney was swinging on a swing set, her pigtails streaming out behind her. Her eyes were closed, her smile huge. Patty gently traced the image of her daughter’s face. It had been almost four years since she’d seen her and touched that precious face in person. Four very long years since Patty’d decided her daughter was indeed better off without her in her life. But not one day went by that Patty didn’t think about her or stare at her picture. She’d memorized every freckle on her nose, the way her hair had a tendency to get tangled up at the back when it wasn’t in braids or ponytails, and the brilliant smile that seemed to change in every photo as Whitney lost new teeth. She devoured her mother’s letters, which came regularly but read more like reports or a resume than actual correspondence between mother and daughter. Her mother documented everything Whitney did and it was only because of the letters that Patty knew her daughter’s favorite color was green, but not the bright green, the minty, soft green. And she preferred peanut butter sandwiches with strawberry jam. In a pinch, she’d settle for raspberry, but only if there wasn’t another choice. Patty also knew that Whitney loved to dance and sing, but only when she didn’t think anyone was watching her.
 

Patty knew everything about her daughter. Everything except what her voice sounded like. Or what it would feel like to have her arms around her in a hug. Or what her hair smelled like fresh out of her nightly bath. Yes, Patty knew everything. Except what mattered.
 

***

Home from the club, Stan set a drink in front of Patty. She picked it up and sipped it gingerly, testing for vodka. Satisfied, she sat back on his couch and watched him in the small attached kitchen as he prepared their usual late-night snack. After closing down the Lady, it was their habit to return home to a late dinner. Or breakfast. Whatever it was. Their schedule was usually so messed up it was a blessing that she didn’t have to wake up early to take care of a child.
 

Thinking of Whitney and the package she’d received earlier brought a twinge to Patty’s chest again.
 

“So,” Stan said, as if he’d read her mind. “Are you going to show me the pictures?” He sat down and put a ham and cheese sandwich on the coffee table in front of her with a side of potato chips. “I’d love to see them.”

“You would?” Patty didn’t look at him but picked at the crust on her sandwich. “Why would you want to do that?”

Stan dropped a chip back on his plate and pushed it away. “Don’t do that, Patty.”
 

“Do what?” She stuffed the sandwich in her mouth, taking as big a bite as she could.

“You know what.” He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him. “And it’s not going to work,” he said. “So don’t do it. Don’t try to make me into some kind of bad guy. You know just as well as I do that I want to see those pictures. You know I want to see—”

Patty jerked away from his grip and stood, cutting him off. She knew what he was going to say and she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t want to hear Stan tell her that she should see Whitney. That she should fight for her daughter and she was missing out on the best years of her own child’s life. No. She didn’t want to hear it. Especially because of the letter her mother had included with the pictures.
 

“Patty, please.” Stan moved behind her as she stared out the window and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m not the bad guy here.” He rubbed her arms, up and down. “I’m not. You know that.”

Patty closed her eyes and dipped her head, looking at the floor. She did know it. Stan was so far from a bad guy that she knew she should be more thankful for having him in her life. But that would be admitting her feelings. And there were so many things wrong with that particular scenario.
 

“Stan,” she said, and sank back into his embrace. “You know I’ll show you. It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I know, babe. But what’s up? You’re all wound up.” His hands moved to her shoulders, where he kneaded out the tension. “You’re usually much happier when you get your pictures. What’s different?”
 

Patty tensed involuntarily. There was something different. Very different. “Come sit,” she said, and squirmed out from Stan’s hands. “Let me get them.”
 

Patty left Stan sitting on the couch, eating his sandwich, and fished the enveloped out of her purse. Her hands shook and she gripped it a little tighter, careful not to crush the precious photographs inside. It wasn’t the pictures that made her nervous. It was the letter she’d already removed and tucked into her back pocket that had her heart racing. How could a few choice words affect her so deeply?

“Here,” she said, and set the envelope down. “There’s a great one of her riding her bike. Can you believe she’s doing that already?”

Stan chuckled a little, wiped his hands on his pants and picked up the photos. “Well, she is almost six,” he said. “I’d be more surprised if she wasn’t on a bike.” Stan took his time looking at the images and Patty watched as he smiled affectionately at the sight of a little girl he’d never met. How was it that he loved her daughter just because she was hers? It hardly seemed possible.
 

“I can’t believe she’s getting so big,” Stan said, when he’d finished looking through the pictures a second time. “She’s beautiful. Just like her mother.” He reached out and stroked Patty’s cheek. The simple touch almost broke her and she closed her eyes to savor his warmth. “Are you okay, babe? What did your mother’s letter say?”

Patty’d decided not to say anything. She’d made the choice moments after she read it, that she didn’t want to tell Stan. So she’d tucked the letter into her pocket where it could stay until she decided what to do. But in that moment, looking at Stan, his face so full of concern because he knew her better than anyone else, her resolve began to crumble.
 

“Tell me,” he said, softly.
 

She shook her head and looked down. She couldn’t tell him what the letter said. Because she already knew what he’d say. He’d be excited. He’d hand her the phone. Heck, he’d even dial it for her. And Patty knew it.
 

“Patty, what is it? Is Whitney okay?” She could hear the panic rise in his voice and that was the deciding factor. She had to tell him. Slowly, she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper, handed it to him and pushed up from the couch, leaving him to read it.
 

While Patty poured herself another drink in the kitchen, she watched Stan’s face. He’d started reading with a mild look of panic, thinking something was very wrong. Soon, his face melted into a soft smile and Patty knew he was reading her mother’s accounts of what Whitney was doing in school. She’d already memorized it, so Patty knew exactly when Stan read about how Whitney had decided she wanted to be a rock star and was singing everything instead of speaking it.
 

Patty took a gulp of her drink because she knew what was next. She didn’t have to watch Stan’s face to know when he’d read her mother’s words.
 

She looked down and shortly after, the whoop of excitement came from the living room. “Patty,” he called to her. “This is great. You’ve read this?”

She nodded. It was a dumb question.
 

“And have you called yet?” he asked. He’d left the couch and the stack of pictures and was standing beside her. It took him a moment, but then, “Wait. What’s wrong?” Stan’s fingers gently lifted her chin so she was looking at him. The tears she’d been trying to hold back spilled forward and had streamed down her face. “Patty? What’s wrong? I thought you’d be thrilled. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?”
 

She nodded but still couldn’t speak. It was what she’d been waiting for. Ever since her mother had told Patty that Whitney was better off without her, she’d been waiting to hear that she’d changed her mind. That maybe she wouldn’t be such a terrible influence in her daughter’s life after all. Patty knew, had always known, her mother was right. Which is why she’d never bothered to fight it. At the end of the day, she’d only ever wanted what was best for Whitney. She’d been waiting and wanting, and sending money and doing everything she could think of to better herself. Everything but quit dancing. Because hadn’t that been the one thing ensuring she wouldn’t have to be responsible for her own child? Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. But now it seemed that for whatever reason, her mother had changed her mind. And Whitney wanted to meet her.

“Then…what?” Stan asked. “Why aren’t you celebrating? Why the tears, babe?”

“What if,” Patty found her voice, but struggled through the words, “what if she doesn’t like me?”

“She’ll like you.”

“What if I don’t know how to be a mother?”

“You will.”
 

“What will I say to her?”
 

“You’ll ask her about herself. Her friends. School. Anything. Don’t worry, it will come to you.”

“But,” Patty spoke softly, afraid to voice her real concern. “What if my mom was right? What if I screw it up and she was better off without me?”

Stan used his thumb to gently wipe the tears from her cheek. “She was wrong,” he said. “Whitney is absolutely not better off without you. I don’t understand why you’re not happier, babe. This will be fantastic.”
 

Patty blinked and looked through her veil of tears and her cloud of fear and saw that Stan genuinely was excited for her. He loved Whitney, too. But more than that, he loved her.