Chapter Nine: Girl in New Orleans
"Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." – Nelson Mandela.
When she finished unpacking, Tate headed back downstairs to the kitchen. Will was standing at the stove with his back to her, stirring something in a pot. The kitchen was filled with a rich aroma, so it seemed Will could cook. A record player sat on a shelf near the living room and currently had a jazz record on its turntable.
"All unpacked?" Will asked as he noticed her coming into the kitchen, setting a basket of bread down on the counter.
"Mhm," Tate responded, taking a seat at the island.
"I'm also finished with the stew. Hope you don't mind the music," he said, nodding towards the record player.
"You don't seem like a jazz guy," she noted.
"Eh, most of those are my daddy's," he replied, nodding his head toward the bookshelves filled with vinyl records.
"He was really going for the stereotypical Southern vibe huh?".
"How can you call Louis Armstrong stereotypical?" Will asked in mock astonishment.
"Well that and the gumbo you're cooking," Tate retorted.
"Alright, fair. There are some more records over there if you wanna change it," he said, pointing towards the bookshelves filled with records that lined a wall of the living room.
Tate hopped off the stool and walked over to inspect the shelves, more interested in Will's music choices rather than finding a new song to play.
She leafed through the records for a moment before looking back over towards the kitchen.
"Jazz. Jazz. More jazz. The Beatles and…Joseph Haydn?".
"He was a composer from-".
"Austria," Tate said.
"Yeah, do you play?" Will asked the girl.
"A little," she replied.
Tate had first started learning to play when she was five. She'd have her lessons at the same time Theo had his guitar lessons, and they'd gone twice a week up until their parents died. After that, she'd managed to get a few lessons here and there at schools she attended while in foster care and Grant had taught her once a week after they moved back to Dover. Tate had always loved playing but just like most of the things in her life, it was something she'd had to give up when her parents died.
"It doesn't really fit in with the rest of them," Tate said as she put the album back on the shelf.
"It was my mother's, she played her whole life," was all he offered.
On the shelves not occupied by records were framed photos. Some with just Will and who Tate assumed was his brother, a few with the boys and two dogs, some with just Will or some with just his brother, and several of Bill with the boys. There were also a few of Will with two young boys, probably nephews or something. The only thing that really stuck out to Tate was the lack of Will's mother in the photos.
"Food's done," Tate heard from the kitchen.
Tate sat down opposite Will, and they began eating.
"What hap…never mind actually," Tate mumbled, deciding his mother might be a sensitive topic. Maybe she'd died when he was young, or perhaps she was just the one taking the photos. Asking questions never went over very well with foster parents, so she mostly tried to keep them to herself.
"No, it's alright. Ask," Will prompted her as he paused to look up from his meal.
"Where's your mom?" Tate inquired hesitantly. She picked at her nails underneath the table while she waited for him to answer. Theo had constantly told her it was a bad habit, but she couldn't help it when she was anxious.
"She uh…she left when I was about ten," he responded.
Tate didn't ask anything else after that, figuring the topic was painful to talk about. After all, it was one thing to lose your mother if she dies, but a whole other thing to have her voluntarily leave you.
Once Will realized the silence was making Tate uncomfortable, he shifted the conversation to something easier to talk about. For the rest of dinner, they talked about their favorite sports and movies. Tate was apparently a big soccer player, which wasn't much of a surprise to Will due to the several soccer balls and the large goal set up on the far end of the Jacobs' property.
As Will was cleaning up the dishes after dinner and Tate sat at the counter reading a book, an arrangement that occurred only after Will insisted he didn't need her help, the front door opened.
"Willie, you leave for a week at the drop of a hat and don't even bother to tell me that you're back," Will heard Beck call from the entryway, pausing for a moment, undoubtedly taking off his shoes and coat. He cursed silently in his head, as he hadn't quite had the time to tell his older brother that he'd taken in a kid.
Will quickly dried his hands on a towel by the sink and glanced at Tate, who'd looked up from her book, confused by the sound of the new voice.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to ignore me…" Beck trailed off as he entered the kitchen, catching sight of the young girl sitting in the middle of his brother's kitchen.
"Hey, Beck. I uh…just got back a few hours ago," Will said awkwardly. "Tate, this is my older brother Beck. Beck, this is Tate".
Will watched as his brother shook Tate's hand and introduced himself, and then gulped when he noticed Beck staring daggers at him.
"Why don't you head upstairs for a while?" he said to Tate, who seemed to get the hint that the two brothers needed to have a conversation in private.
Beck watched Tate walk away, and waited until she was out of hearing range and upstairs, which Will was grateful for. He knew his brother was barely able to restrain himself from interrogating him.
"Will, what the hell? You wanna tell me why you have some 12-year-old sitting at your kitchen counter?" Beck exclaimed, trying his best to keep his voice down so the kid upstairs wouldn't hear him.
"First of all, she's thirteen. And second of all, I may or may not be fostering her," Will said quickly, unsure of how his brother would take the news.
Beck had two sons, an eleven-year-old Asher and an eight-year-old Ezra, and it was his experience as a parent that Will hoped would make his brother supportive of his decision. Beck was four years his senior, and although he had always been a phenomenal brother, Will knew Beck thought he was too rash sometimes. Unlike his father and his brother, Beck had become a lawyer, a much safer, more predictable job. He'd always been more of a strategic thinker, preferring to bide his time and plan rather than act on impulse, leading him to judge Will when he did the exact opposite.
Beck's mouth dropped open in shock for a moment. "Say that again," he said, clenching his jaw.
"Look, Beck, don't be mad, alright? I thought this through, okay?" Will begged his brother.
"Don't you dare tell me not to be mad, William, because you so clearly didn't think this through. I saw you eight days ago, and there was no mention of adopting some kid. Eight days is not enough time to make a life-changing decision. And where did you even get a kid?" Beck responded, raising his voice.
"Just calm down, have a seat and I'll explain," Will soothed. Seeing his brother running his hands through his hair, he added: "Want a drink?".
At Beck's nod, he poured both of them a glass of scotch and sat down opposite his brother. He gulped his glass in one go, knowing he'd need the courage to explain to his brother exactly how he'd ended up in this situation.
By the time he'd sufficiently calmed Beck down, it was almost past 10 o'clock.
"I better get going, Amelia will be wonderin' where I am," Beck said, getting out of his chair.
Beck still hadn't said how he felt about the situation after Will explained, and as much as Will didn't want to ask him, he knew he had to.
"So, you okay with this? I did actually think about it, for the record," Will promised.
"Yeah, yeah, I know you did. I mean, you've made plenty of questionable life choices before and they've all worked out so chances are this will too," Beck joked.
"Beck, I'm serious. I barely convinced JJ that I wasn't crazy to do this, and I'm still not sure she fully agrees with it. Which is why I need you to support me here,".
"I do, alright. I might not understand it, but if this is what you want and you're absolutely sure about it, then I'm happy for you. And she seems like a nice enough kid".
"You can get to know her better on Sunday," Will told his brother as he put on his coat. It was a long-standing tradition in the LaMontagne family to have Sunday family dinner, and this week would be no different.
"Amelia might be pissed at you but I'm sure she'll love her," Beck replied. Beck's wife was a force to be reckoned with, and while she wouldn't be happy about Will making rash decisions any more than Beck was at first, she'd been wanting a daughter for a long time and a niece was the next best thing.
Will opened the door for Beck and watched as walked down the front steps towards his car, before remembering something his brother had said earlier.
"Questionable life choices?" he asked.
Beck laughed to himself and turned around as he was opening his car door.
"You know what I mean little brother. Just…don't go messing this up, okay? This is a kid, a human being that's depending on you, " he said, giving Will a knowing look.
"I know, and I won't," he promised.
Will said goodbye to his brother before closing the front door and locking it. He and Beck liked to tease each other and mess around, but he knew that come hell or high water, Beck would be there for him always.
Before he headed upstairs, Will decided to head upstairs and check on Tate. Her door was slightly ajar, but he could see the light on, so he softly knocked before entering.
Tate was tucked into the corner of the bay window, doodling in a notebook. She glanced up at Will when he knocked and stopped drawing. Unbeknownst to Will, she might have listened to just a little bit of Will and Beck's conversation. She usually didn't eavesdrop but she figured since they were talking about her then she had a right to know. Tate had also been worried that Will's brother would somehow manage to talk him into getting rid of her, but it seemed he'd done nothing even remotely like that.
"I take it you didn't exactly tell him I was coming," Tate asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I thought it was a surprise better told in person," Will said, hoping it sounded convincing.
"You forgot," Tate said bluntly.
"Yup".
Tate smirked, before looking back down at the notebook and continuing her sketch. At least he hadn't purposefully not told Beck, like he was trying to hide her or something. Despite their brief argument, the LaMontagne brothers seemed to have worked it out, which meant Tate got to stay.
"Don't stay up too much longer, okay?" he told the girl.
"I won't, I'm just finishing up and then I'll go to bed," Tate promised.
"Alright, night then, kiddo". Will gently closed the door. His first solo day as a parent was over and, discounting the situation with Beck, had gone fairly smoothly. Now all he had to do was do it again for the next five years.
"The past is our definition. We may strive with good reason to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it. But we will escape it only by adding something better to it." –Wendell Berry