'Tis The Season

“You don’t have to explain it to me. Preston looks good from the outside. And he’s careful not to let that façade slip.” I tap the DVD case on my dashboard. “This will change that.”

“I’m going to want to put his head through a wall, aren’t I?” Warren mumbles.

“I already do. So, you’ll have to get in line.”

Warren nods his head. “I wasn’t sure about you at first. It seemed questionable a man that attracted to a woman pregnant with someone else’s baby. But you stepped up and made her happy. You take care of her without stifling her spirit or independence. I respect that.”

“Thanks?”

“Don’t let her push you away. She’s running scared.”

“Look, I know this is soon, but I love her and Flora. I’m not giving them up without one hell of a fight.”

“Good. I’d like to see my niece have the kind of father she deserves.”

I blink as my throat threatens to close. Unable to speak around the lump, I nod. Clearing my throat, I follow him up the walk into the house.

“Mom, Dad,” Warren calls out as we enter the living room.

“Warren. Who’s your friend?”

The petite woman with streaks of gray hair woven into her dark bob steps toward us from the hallway.

“This is Faye’s new boyfriend, James.”

“What?” Her father walks in, a mountain of a man at six-foot-three with a fade just starting to gray around the edges.

“They’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. Which you’d know if you weren’t too busy being stubborn.”

“I don’t understand.” Their mother glances from me to Warren.

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting under these circumstances, Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, but I love your daughter and her baby. I want nothing but the best for them, and Preston is anything but that. I have proof here of why. If you’d allow me ten minutes of your time, I’ll show you.”

Her father frowns.

“Dad, I trust him,” Warren says.

“You knew about this the entire time? Her and this man?”

“His name is James Bailey, and yes. He’s been here helping her through her pregnancy while Preston jet sets in California and causes her unnecessary stress.”

“He just wants his family together,” his mother whispers.

“No, he wants to control Faye,” I answer.

Her father eyes me distrustfully. “Those are powerful accusations.”

“Just sit down and let him present his case,” Warren says.

“Better be worth it.” Her father sinks down onto the worn, beige couch, and his mother follows suit. My hands tremble slightly as I place the DVD into the system, and Warren cues the TV up.

“This won’t be easy to watch.” I turn away as the surveillance begins to play.

Preston steps into her personal space and raises his voice, and her mother gasps. He grabs her wrist, jerking her around, and her father swears. “I should go get my pistol. That boy is crazy, putting his hands on my daughter.” The words are music to my ears because it means I have an ally.

“Thank you for stepping in. I can’t believe he’d do that.”

“If he’s that bold in public, I can’t imagine what he’s like in private,” her father mumbles. His nostrils flare.