Bless Her Heart

by Sally Kilpatrick

  Now John O’Brien thought that getting his sperm inside me meant he could boss me around. Well, he had another thing coming. He could just see if I ever fixed him any damned brownies ever again. In fact, I didn’t even need his money. I’d figure out how to raise this child on my own. Heck, my mother raised three children, two of them without any assistance from their fathers, and she still hadn’t married the third father.

  And how was growing up without a father, Posey?

  The soft, still voice of my shoulder angel caused my foot to ease off the accelerator.

  I would need John’s help.

  It was only fair because the child was half his, and he, unlike Chad, would be a good father. So I didn’t want to marry him. He hadn’t deserved my anger or what I said about only wanting him for sex or money. It wasn’t his fault Chad had been such an awful husband. Unlike Chad, he hadn’t even doubted me, taking responsibility immediately. He certainly hadn’t called me a whore.

  Unbidden, I remembered our first afternoon together, warm hazy sunlight bathing us in a glow. I had marveled at his strong arms, the pattern of freckles on his shoulder, then I’d closed my eyes and surrendered to the magic that he and I could make.

  I’d thought that moment was perfect.

  I almost turned around to apologize to John then and there, but I couldn’t quite make that U-turn. I needed to calm down, get my wits about me, make sure I actually was pregnant. Everything could wait until tomorrow.

  Well, everything except talking to Liza.

  * * *

  This time I rapped lightly on Liza’s door, not wanting to wake up the baby. After my third attempt I rang the doorbell. Beyond the door I could hear the baby’s wail followed by Liza’s muttering as she stomped to the back of the house and then to the front door. “For the love. Could you text me to let me know you’re at the door?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I had forgotten that my new smart phone had that feature. I’d also forgotten that my new smart phone was somewhere in the azaleas, hopefully still functional and without a cracked screen. “I’ll remember next time, promise.”

  Baby on her hip, she stepped back and made a grand gesture for me to enter. She didn’t look as chipper as the last time I’d seen her. She kinda looked green.

  “You okay?” I asked as she closed the door.

  “Yeah. I’m exhausted. Little man is teething so even the cereal isn’t getting him through the night. Owen’s working double shifts, too. It’s a regular party at Liza’s House.”

  How would she feel about a baby shower? I supposed we’d find out soon enough.

  “It’s too late for tea. Wanna beer?”

  My stomach lurched. “Oh, no thank you.”

  “Try out this couch that this nice friend of mine gave me. There’s a blanket since I know you don’t like to sit on the leather.”

  I took her up on the offer even though I was wearing pants and wouldn’t have to renew my antagonistic relationship with the sofa. She sat in Owen’s recliner and lifted her shirt to feed the baby. “It was only about thirty minutes until he was due to wake up and eat. I shouldn’t be mad at you.”

  Now that I was sitting, all of my anger had left me leaving only fatigue in its wake.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Liza finally asked.

  “Yeah, ah. Hmm. I have news for you.”

  “You and John are getting married?”

  Why did everyone want me and John to get married? At the mention of the word my wind pipe constricted, but I coaxed it back into its normal breathing functions. “Not exactly. I’m, well, I’m pregnant.”

  “What? How?”

  “When a man and a woman love each other and get really, really close—”

  “Quit stalling, smartass. Spill.”

  So I told her about Chad’s ultimate betrayal, and she cussed him so fiercely, little Nathaniel broke off her breast for a minute to give her a dirty look. She burped him, put him on the other side, and continued her tirade. “I can’t believe anyone would be so low-down mean, but I guess you dodged a bullet there. Now you don’t have to look at him every holiday and weekend.”

  True. “John asked me to marry him.”

  “And?”

  I told her about John’s reaction, his less than romantic proposal that occurred as I was sitting on her former couch of stones and malevolence while having a panic attack.

  She rolled her eyes. “Men. Owen’s always telling me he deals in solutions—not sympathy.”

  “But, Liza, what am I going to do? I don’t want to go straight from one marriage to another, but you remember how awful some people were to me because Mom was unmarried.”

  “Posey, it’s a different world. More babies are being born out of wedlock than in. I know it doesn’t seem like that in such a small town, but better to take your time and get things right, you know. Besides, John will actually show up for Donuts with Dad.”

  That would be a big difference. I hadn’t known who my father was—still didn’t—but my child would. Despite being angry with his high-handedness, the idea cheered me. I could see John doing all sorts of things Chad would’ve never done: playing board games on the floor, teaching our kid to play the piano, playing catch in the backyard.

  “You’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right. I’m always right.”

  “Very humble about it, too,” I said, even though I did feel better.

  “Humility is for chumps,” she said as she stood to take a now sleeping Nathaniel down the hall.

  When she returned she slumped into the recliner. “That’s it. We’re having frozen pizza tonight. Turning knobs and removing cellophane is all I have in me.”

  “I’m worried about you. You didn’t seem this tired a few weeks ago.”

  Liza lay back, her eyes closed. “I think my iron is low again.”

  “Well, go check it out.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I had another question weighing me down, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. Liza would tell me straight up if I would be considered too much of a slut to continue teaching. The whole idea was so ridiculous. I’d slept with two men my entire life. I’d taken precautions. Yet here I was, living proof that prayer worked really, really well and in really, really unexpected ways. I took a deep breath and started to speak, but chickened out. Before I could muster the courage for a second try at the question, Liza lightly snored.

  Never in my days had I known Liza to fall asleep in a chair. At one of her slumber parties she’d gone into a fifteen-minute diatribe about how she needed to be horizontal in order to sleep. Of course, part of her speech was a ploy to get the couch instead of the floor.

  “Liza?”

  She jerked awake. “What? Huh?”

  “You fell asleep.”

  “So weird.” She wiped the back of her hand against her mouth. “I didn’t drool, did I?”

  “You were only out for a minute. Want me to leave?”

  “No, no. I’m awake.”

  She did not look awake.

  “Do you think I even have a chance at the second-grade job that’s coming open next year?”

  She yawned. “I don’t see why not.”

  “You know. I’m pregnant.”

  “Yeah, yeah. One of the women I teach with has had two kids and isn’t married yet. I don’t see—wait, the principal over there is Varner, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  Liza whistled. “She’s tough, runs a tight ship. Hmmm. I don’t know because they use that morality clause as justification for all sorts of things. I really don’t know. I mean, I think they’d be idiots not to hire you, but I’m not in charge. Put in your application over in Jefferson, too. It’s not that much of a drive.”

  At least thirty minutes one way, so not ideal, either.

  “Think I should go apologize to John?”

  “What on earth for?” She scooted to the edge of the recliner and yawned again.

  “The things I said.”

/>   “No. Go home. Get a good night’s sleep for both of us. I beg of you.”

  chapter 24

  Little did I know my best intentions of getting a good night’s sleep would be interrupted by a call at two o’clock in the morning. I nicked my thumb on the screen that had, indeed, cracked when I had thrown my phone. I answered with a groggy, “Hello?”

  “Posey?”

  I sat up trying to figure out who was calling. Finally, I gave up. “Who is this?”

  “What d’ya mean who’s this? It’s John.”

  Oh, thank God. We could make things better between us. I really should’ve driven over to his house after Liza, but I hadn’t been up to another fight. “Thank goodness. I’m so sorry for the awful things I said. I didn’t really mean them. You gotta understand—”

  “No. You gotta understand some things.”

  His voice didn’t sound right at all.

  “John, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing’s a matter. I feel great. But you. You gotta let me make things right.”

  He was drunk. After our argument, the man who’d been sober for two years had gotten drunk. I’d caused this.

  No. He made the decision. He’s letting you down like every other man you’ve ever known and quite a few women.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  I could hear the slosh of liquid.

  “Over half the bottle. Really hit the spot, lemme tell you.”

  As mad as I might be I didn’t want the man to drink himself to death. “How big’s the bottle?”

  “Oh, I got the big one.” He paused to drink.

  “Pose, I’m serious. We gotta do this.”

  Yet another unromantic proposal?

  “John O’Brien, I’m not having this discussion with you while you are three sheets to the wind.”

  “Look, here . . .”

  I waited, but he never finished that sentence. Instead I heard rustling and a thwump then Rowdy barking emphatically.

  With visions of my formerly sweet and ardent lover lying dead on the carpet, I jumped out of bed and slid my feet into flip-flops, glad I’d worn a T-shirt and shorts to bed. No time for a bra, so I’d have to hope no one pulled me over and that he’d simply passed out rather than requiring an ambulance. I grabbed my keys from the dresser and ran for it.

  * * *

  When I got to John’s house I could see through a window on the front porch that John lay face down on the floor, but the front door was locked. I walked around the house to try the backdoor, but it was locked, too. I tried calling him, but the phone buzzed and even jerked at his side, but he didn’t respond.

  God. What if I’ve killed him?

  In hindsight, he had been so upset. What had I expected? Of course, he would want to take responsibility. That’s who he was, and I had shot him down. I’d said such awful things to him.

  By the couch sat an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels, almost hidden under the fronds of one of his ferns. I bit down on my fist, and my unhelpful brain reminded me that Jimi Hendrix had met his end due partially to too much booze.

  I had to think. I walked around the house again, this time looking for a window I could reach. At the back of the house, in the breakfast room, I found a window that wasn’t quite closed. Thank goodness the house was old and the windows were huge and without screens. Once I managed to move the window up enough to get my fingers underneath the sash, I could push it up and step inside. Rowdy met me, his tail banging against the kitchen chairs. He gave one short woof as if to say, “What took you so long?”

  I ran to the living room and tried to rouse John. By putting my face close to his, I could tell he was still breathing, but he wouldn’t wake up. I ran for wet washcloths. “John O’Brien, if you do not wake up right this instant, I am going to call nine-one-one.”

  When the washcloths didn’t work, I smacked his face as hard as I dared, and his eyelashes fluttered.

  I sucked in a deep breath and slapped his other cheek harder.

  “Gah, what the hell?”

  “John, did you hear me?”

  He blinked. “Posey? Zat you? You came over.”

  “It’s me. I’m going to call nine-one-one now.”

  “No!” His eyes widened. “No.”

  He tried to sit up. It didn’t work.

  “You’re sick. You could have alcohol poisoning.”

  “Could, but don’t.” This time he managed to sit up, but his upper body still moved in tiny circles as if he were spinning with the room.

  I picked up my phone. How the heck did he know how sick he was?

  It took two tries, but he finally managed to put a hand on mine. “Please. Jus’ stay.”

  We sat on the floor, our backs against the couch of rocks and hatred. I closed my eyes to get rid of the memory of his one-knee proposal in that very spot. What had he been thinking? What had I been thinking? I should’ve turned around and apologized, told him that I very much meant the part about not rushing into marriage, but that it wasn’t all his fault and that I would like for him to be a part of the child’s life, not just a money and sperm donor.

  Somehow, someway, I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder and my tailbone aching from the hard floor.

  My phone woke me up with buzzing just as the pink light of dawn invaded the room. For a split second, I panicked. I’d stayed at a boy’s house and hadn’t told Mom. Then the rest of my faculties came to me, reminding me that I was no longer sixteen and that, technically, I’d done far worse than just stay out all night. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Posey Lucille Adams, where are you?”

  “John’s house. Long story.”

  “Well, I need you to get back here right now. Your granny’s gone missing.”

  “Be there in ten.”

  When I jumped to my feet, I knocked John over. He moaned then scrambled for his feet. I gave him a hand because I had a feeling he was heading to the restroom. I was correct.

  Tapping my foot outside the bathroom door, I waited. I couldn’t leave him like this, but I also needed to hurry home.

  Finally, he emerged, his eyes half shut, the heel of his right hand pressing into the corresponding eye socket.

  “John O’Brien, I have to go find my granny, but I will be back and you will be sober. Is that clear?”

  “Are you bossing me?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. So help me, you scared me to death, and that’s not good for me or the baby. You nurse that hangover because I am coming back later to yell at you.”

  He stood a little straighter. “’Kay.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know,” he whispered.

  I pivoted but at the last minute turned around to place a kiss on his cheek. On my way out the door, I picked up what remained of the Jack.

  * * *

  Chaos was in full swing by the time I made it back to the house, my heart once again in my throat. I had to park a block away due to all of the traffic, and the front door was wide open when I got there.

  “I don’t know how long she’s been gone,” my mother was saying. “I don’t know how she got out, but I think I have a good idea.”

  The dead bolt.

  Under Mom’s supervision, Santiago had installed a second dead bolt at the top of the door. Not only was it out of Granny’s reach, but she wouldn’t think to look up there. I’d been in such a hurry that I hadn’t taken the time to relock it from the outside. “I forgot the dead bolt.”

  “When did you leave?” Mom asked with narrowed eyes. The why was unspoken. For now.

  “About two in the morning,” I said.

  “She’s been outside for almost four hours? In this chill?”

  “Mom, I’m sorry. I can—”

  “You’re going to be sorry if we find her dead in a ditch, I’ll tell you that.”

  I took a step backward. It was unlike my mother to be so . . . menacing.

  “Where are Henny and Rain?” I murmured.

  “They’re out
looking, and that’s where I’m going now. Len needed to know how long she’d been gone to set up the area to canvas. I hope your phone’s charged because you’re staying here.”

  “Staying here?”

  Mom was already putting on her jacket. “Yes, here. In case she somehow slips past all of us and comes home.”

  Just like that I was left alone in the house, helpless again. Since I couldn’t help John and I couldn’t help Granny, I put a protective hand over my belly. How could I have been so stupid as to forget the deadbolt? I knew Granny had started wandering. I knew she didn’t sleep well at night.

  While pacing the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of the calendar in the early light. Maundy Thursday had given way to Good Friday. How had time traveled so fast to get me to Easter? Had I even missed church?

  No, but everything that had happened was my punishment for not going to church, wasn’t it?

  Posey, don’t be ridiculous.

  I squeezed my eyes tightly against images of Granny lying cold in a ditch or of John keeled over from alcohol poisoning.

  “Alondrita?”

  My head jerked to the back door where Santiago stood.

  “She’s not here.”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and unshaven jaw. “She was so upset in her voicemail. Have you found Lucille?”

  “No. Mom’s out looking for her.”

  “Do you know where?”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find her,” he said over his shoulder as he rushed out the back door.

  If I’d thought Santiago was over my mother, his appearance had proven me wrong. Not only did worry lines crease his face, but he’d also called her “Alondrita.” He’d once told me the nickname meant “little lark.” I hadn’t heard him use the endearment since they’d broken up.

  Then there was the fact my mother had obviously called him before she called me.

  My phone rang bringing me back to the search for Granny.