The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

“Listen, I didn’t call so you two could run an interrogation, I called for—”

“Advice,” Travis said, signaling wildly to Jake for a pen and paper. Jake shoved both at him. WTF is he talking about? Travis wrote, to which Jake mouthed back, What am I, a mind reader?

Caleb had made his way back up the aisle. He sank into his seat, picked up his drink and finished it.

“Here’s the problem,” he said. “She doesn’t want to do anything he says.”

Travis: “The paternity test?”

“Not that.”

Jake: “You mean, get rid of the—”

“I mean, move out of the rat trap she lives in. Put herself under the care of a top ob-gyn. Let—let this guy buy her things she needs, let him take care of her and, of course, the kid once it’s born.”

“Of course,” Jake said calmly, and clapped his hand to his head.

“He wants to do the right thing,” Travis said, just as calmly, and mimed shooting himself in the temple.

“Exactly. He wants to do the right thing. The logical thing. The responsible thing.”

Silence again. Caleb rose, paced a little more. In Wilde’s Crossing, Texas, Jacob and Travis rose, paced in opposite directions, shaking their heads whenever their paths crossed.

“So,” Travis finally said, “who, uh, who are we talking about here, man?”

“A friend,” Caleb said quickly. Too quickly. He winced. “Just some guy I know.”

“And,” Jake said, “and you, ah, you want our advice?”

“Yes. Because I—I haven’t been too helpful.”

“What did you suggest he do?”

“That’s just it. Nothing she’ll accept. Not yet.”

His brothers looked at each other and pumped their fists in the air.

“Good,” Jake said. “Because, you know, he shouldn’t do anything precipitous.”

Precipitous? Travis mouthed. Jake glared at him.

“Yeah,” Caleb said, “but he has to do something. This is his baby. His woman. I mean, she isn’t his woman, not really, but—”

“Here’s what I think,” Jake said. He sat down at the desk, motioned Travis to do the same. “First of all, he needs to arrange for a paternity test. Then he needs to see a lawyer. Work up the legalities. Like—”

“Like the financial obligation your friend is willing to assume,” Travis said. “For the woman. For the kid.”

“I told you, she doesn’t want—”

“If she really doesn’t want money,” which we strongly doubt, Jake’s roll of the eyes said, “he can set it up as a trust. She taps into it? Fine. She doesn’t? That’s fine, too.”

“It isn’t. It’s not any kind of solution. What if she doesn’t touch it? I would never—my friend would never let her go on living from hand to mouth, or let her raise the child in poverty when it’s absolutely, totally, completely unnecessary.”

“Hell,” Jake said softly.

“Caleb?” Travis cleared his throat. “Do you—does this friend care for her? Or is this about—about being responsible?”

“That’s what it’s about. Being res—” Silence. Then Caleb said, so softly his brothers both leaned toward the phone, “Of course he cares for her. I told you. She’s beautiful. She’s bright. She’s—she’s—”