I pucker my lips to keep from smiling. She’s deadly serious. How simple Krystal’s world is to think that she can help me fix any of this. Fuck, I’m smiling even though I don’t really feel like it. It is part of the strangeness of being with these kids; my uncontrollable smiles that come out of nowhere.

Christ, what a mess I’ve made of my life. Everything is unfamiliar now: me, Chrissie, the kids. The cycle of my life has at last been broken: periods of Chrissie, followed by periods without Chrissie, followed by sex and despair, followed by a return to Chrissie and the cycle all over again. But that cycle is finally broken. A new cycle has emerged and this will not be a passing state. It redefines me and alters the course of my future.

Six months ago I thought myself alone in the world. Now I have five kids and a wife I love who is never going to forgive me for the things I should never have said. The things I didn’t mean because these kids are our kids.

I study Krystal. My daughter. My sweet, beautiful, intelligent daughter. The thought still chokes me up. It’s been nearly two weeks. How long will it be before I can think of these kids as mine and not choke up at the thought?

“You look tired,” I say. “Do you want me to get you a pillow and blanket so you can sleep?”

Krystal nods and yawns. I motion for the attendant, hand her the book bag, put up the arm rest, then set the pillow on top of my thighs and tell Krystal to sleep.

I place a blanket over her. She stares up at me.

“It’s going to be OK, Dad. Kaley usually gets over things if you leave her alone.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” I lean down to kiss her on the forehead and she gives me a drowsy smile. I watch her close her eyes.

“Do you want a drink? They’ve opened the wine.”

I look up to find the flight attendant hovering over me. I shake my head.

“She’s a beautiful girl,” the attendant says, smiling.

I nod. “She looks like her mother.”

“No, she’s the image of you, except for the eyes. But the older girl is definitely you, especially her eyes. I almost dropped the wine I was holding when she stepped onto the plane.”

“Thank you for not saying ‘especially the personality.’”

The flight attendant laughs. “It’s a tough age. Don’t take it personally.”

“That’s what everyone tells me.”

She smiles. “Well, it’s true.”

I watch Krystal sleep for a while, completely content doing nothing but watching her, then I feel my lids grow heavy when it usually takes a benzodiazepine to sleep on a plane.

“Can I take pictures and film if I promise not to post it?”

I’m startled from sleep. The voice is soft and near me. I find Kaley sitting in the aisle next to my seat. She has her camera in her hand. She’s finally talking to me, in a normal conversational way. At last. Maybe things will start to get better all around. I feel Linda watching.

“Why do you want to film?”

Kaley’s eyes widen. “Because that’s what I do. I film everything. Bobby said that this is the last tour. You haven’t got a film crew. There’s no photographer. I film everything. That’s what I do. Can I film?”

“Did you really get into USC film school?”

That question pisses her off. I see it in her eyes. “Why do you want to know?” Her voice is tightly leashed, controlled. She still wants something from me, wants it enough not to drift back into battle.

My brows hitch up. “If you want to film, you’ll answer my questions.”

“Fine. Yes. I got in. My ambition in life is a three hundred thousand dollar education so I can strive to underachieve by making low budget documentary films that will make me no money at all. Happy now?”

I want to laugh and force myself not to. I wonder if this is true. “You can film anything you want under two conditions. The first is you don’t send it viral. No posting online. And before you do anything with the film, I get to see it and approve.”

Her eyes narrow and her cheeks reddened. “I already told you I wouldn’t post it. What’s the second condition?”

“When we land you get online, accept your admission to USC, tell your mother you got in, and then show me how to pay for it.”

She looks away. “What’s it to you if I go?”

“I think I’ll enjoy watching you evolve into being a capitalist.”

“I’m already a capitalist. The problem is I’m also a realist. Hardly anyone gets rich on documentaries. I want to do what I want to do and fuck them if they don’t get it.”

This time I can’t stop the laughter, though I should since she dropped an f-bomb in there and I know Chrissie wouldn’t approve. But the amusement came too quickly to stop it and Linda’s voice saying Mini-Manny rises in my memory. I laugh harder. “Look on the bright side, Kaley. You’ll probably be more successful than Michael Moore in this. You come by your talent and your attitude naturally.”

She glares. “I hate it when you laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you, Kaley. I’m laughing at me.”

“Right, so anyway, can I start filming now?”

“Film away.”

“We’re different, you and me. Do you get that?”

“Yes, I get that.”

“Then don’t think you know me because we share some obscure genetic link. You don’t know me at all. And you paying for USC doesn’t make us even. Not even close. It’s not that easy. We’re not a fucking Maury Povich show. We don’t live happily ever after once the DNA results are shared. No one does. They just don’t show the ‘after’ on camera.”

Interesting perspective. A betraying thought, perhaps? “Is that why you want to film? To show the ‘after’?”

Her jaw tightens. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“I hope you’ll explain it to me once you know.”

“Fuck, it’s your job to explain things to me.” That’s all she says before she springs to her feet and returns to her seat.

 

 

Chapter 20

We land in Mumbai and it’s a fucking mob scene at the airport. Not a surprise. It’s the first time we’ve played here.

Krystal is staring out the window, eyes wide.

I kiss her on the head. “Come on, sunshine. It looks worse than it is.”

She plops around in her seat to face me. “Is it always like this? It’s crazier than it is for Mom.”

I shrug. “No accounting for taste. I’d be in the crowd screaming if it was your mother getting off the plane. She’s the one who is amazing.”

Krystal’s smile grows enormous and her eyes alertly search my face. Fuck, what did I say to make her react that way? It’s just the truth…oh fuck…the kids are anxious and standoffish because there is no way to separate what’s happening between me and Chrissie from them.

Damn. Kaley is right. I am an idiot at times. Why didn’t I realize this before I snatched them away from Chrissie?

“Grab your things,” I say, struggling to sound natural.

Everyone starts moving. Getting to the front of the plane without losing Krystal is a hassle. People are trying to get my attention and Krystal gets sidetracked by anyone who says so much as a single word to her.

I nudge her forward and ignore everyone. I just want off the plane. And ah, there’s finally some help here. I’d bet money that older woman standing, formidable and aloof, by the door with Kaley and the boys is my missing nanny.

She extends her hand. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Barton. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am a big fan.”

Yep, the nanny. A fan. No, not buying that one. Definitely British. Crap. I don’t like her. Severe. And, fuck, now is when she finally decides to appear. Where the hell was she the entire flight? Is that booze I smell on her breath?

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, but no, not really and I can tell she knows that. “These are my daughters, Kaley and Krystal. Those are my sons, Ethan and Eric. Eric is the one with the tiny birthmark beneath his left ear. It’s the only way I can tell them apart for sure. Collect the boys. The girls can manage on their own.”