Happenstance

by Jamie McGuire

  “I need to walk.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to drive you? Let me drive you.”

  I took a deep breath. “I haven’t walked in a while, and right now I just really, really need to walk.”

  Weston nodded, and I walked around him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other until my feet hit the familiar asphalt in front of the Dairy Queen. I yanked open the door and slipped on my apron, tying it quickly as I made my way to the front.

  Frankie was taking a bite from her own concoction, leaning against the counter. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming in today.”

  “Sorry. I had a meeting.”

  “With Weston?”

  “No,” I said, frowning.

  “He was about ten feet behind you when you came into view, driving about one mile per hour, and then he turned into the ball fields and ran in to practice. Did you dump him?”

  “We’re not . . . together . . . really.”

  “So you dumped him?”

  “No.”

  “What kind of meeting?”

  “With the principal and the counselor and some lady from DHS.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not really sure why she was there. They don’t really know what to do.”

  “About what?”

  “When, uh . . . Alder died . . . they did some tests, and they came back weird. So they did some tests on Sonny. Those were fine. So they asked me for a blood sample.”

  “I’m completely confused, but I think you’re going to make sense any minute,” Frankie said, shoveling the spoon of Whatever Blizzard into her mouth.

  “So, they tell me today after school that Gina’s not my mom.”

  “What?” Frankie said, standing up, her mouth still full of ice cream.

  “And Gina’s not even there. I mean . . . they said they told her, so she knows, but she wanted them to tell me at school. She didn’t come to be there when they told me. So I don’t know if I’m supposed to go get my stuff, or if I have a place to live, or . . .”

  Frankie pulled me into her chest and wrapped her arms around me, and it was then that I realized I was sobbing.

  “Baby girl,” she said, rocking me ever so slightly from side to side. She pulled away and held my cheeks in her hands. “What are you doing here? You can’t work like this.”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

  Frankie held me again, making soothing hush sounds like most mothers did. Except for mothers like Gina, who probably wasn’t sure what she was more indifferent about—knowing she raised someone else’s child, or that her biological child was dead.

  The road was quiet, and not many people must have felt like ice cream, because we had only two customers by the time baseball practice let out, and Frankie waited on them both.

  “He’s going to drive straight over here. I bet he’s been so distracted and dying to see you he could barely stand it,” Frankie said.

  I chewed my thumbnail, staring at the red Chevy parked across the street. “No way. Not after the way I treated him.”

  “Honey, if he can’t understand that you had just gotten the shock of your life, then he doesn’t deserve to see you.”

  The driver’s side door of the Chevy opened and shut. The truck quickly backed out, paused for less than a second, and then surged across the street, not stopping until it was behind the Dairy Queen. I rushed to the back door, but Weston had already opened it.

  I practically lunged for him, and he caught me, letting me squeeze the life out of him without complaint. He made the same soothing sounds Frankie was before and I cried again.

  Frankie stood in the doorway, staring at me like I was dying. “Take that girl home, Weston.”

  “I don’t . . . have a home,” I said, bawling.

  “I’m taking you home with me,” Weston said. He placed me on my feet just long enough to lift me into his arms and carry me to the passenger side of his pickup. Frankie opened the door for him, and he set me in the seat and closed the door. Frankie’s muffled voice buzzed and then paused as Weston spoke. After they hugged, he jogged around to the driver’s side.

  He held my hand firmly in his as we drove to his house, and again as we walked inside. He led me straight to the lower level and watched me as I sat on the couch.

  “I’m going to run upstairs and grab some drinks and . . . what are you hungry for?”

  “I’m not, really.”

  Weston sighed and nodded. “No, I imagine not.” He pushed a button on the remote and started the last movie on the list, then hurried back up the stairs. I was glad he turned on the television before he went and didn’t leave me alone with my thoughts.

  Less than two minutes later, Weston was sitting next to me, placing the various boxes and packages he’d brought with him on the coffee table, including tissues. Then he twisted the cap on a bottle of Fanta, handing it to me.

  “I figured you probably didn’t need the caffeine.”

  My hand shook as I held the bottle to my lips and took a sip. Weston took the bottle from me and set it on the coffee table. When he settled back to the couch, I leaned against him, letting myself sink into his arms.

  He touched his lips to my temple. “Tell me what to do, Erin. Tell me how to make you feel better,” he whispered.

  “This,” I replied. “Just this.”

  Chapter Eleven

  At five thirty, the garage door hummed above us. We could hear the door open and close, and other sounds that signaled both of his parents were home. Before long, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and two sets of footsteps descended the stairs.

  Weston didn’t move, and neither did I. Peter and Veronica each sat in one of two recliners on each side of the coffee table. Peter rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, reminding me of the principal right before he told me the news.

  “We heard,” Peter said, his voice low and calm.

  Veronica leaned forward, pure sympathy in her eyes. “Peter and I have been discussing this since we heard, and when you’re ready, we’d like to offer you some legal advice. However, we’ve also spoken to Sam and Julianne Alderman, and they’re hoping to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

  “Like when?” I asked. I was lying against Weston and probably looked like an ill-mannered sloth, but I was emotionally and physically tapped.

  “They live right around the corner from us,” Peter said. “They’re waiting at their home, now. They just want to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

  A door slammed upstairs and footsteps stomped all over the kitchen. “Veronica?” A female voice called. She sounded desperate.

  Peter ran up the stairs. A calm disagreement ensued, and then several people came down to Weston’s space, where no one was supposed to be bothering us. Weston and I both stood when we saw Sam and Julianne standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  Peter was breathing hard. “Julianne, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he warned.

  Julianne’s eyes were bright red. She began to walk over to me, but her husband stopped her.

  “Julianne!”

  Julianne held her hands in front of her chest. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve had an upsetting day. I just . . . I’ve had one, too. An upsetting week, actually, and I . . .” a tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek. “I heard that you didn’t have a lot of support at the school when you were told the news, and I . . . just needed to make sure that you’re okay. That’s all I wanted to do.”

  I took a few steps until I was a couple of feet away from them: my parents. They were gawking at me like a precious gem. Sam held on to Julianne’s shoulders, and she nearly leaned forward.

  She held out her hands, and then made them into fists, clearly fighting with what she wanted and what she should do. Her voice broke when she spoke. “Would it be okay if I . . . I would just like to hug you, if that’s okay. I don’t want to upset you.”

  Everyone watched me for my respo
nse.

  Almost too subtly for anyone to see, I nodded once, and Julianne reached for me, pulling me against her chest. Her body shook as she sobbed.

  “Julianne, honey,” Sam begged. “Please don’t scare her.”

  I looked up at him from her shoulder. “It’s okay. She can cry.”

  Sam’s lips trembled, and he reached out, hesitant and nervous, and touched my shoulder. Tears streamed down his cheeks as well, and the corners of his mouth curled up as he watched his wife hold me while she cried.

  An hour later, we were all upstairs, sitting at the table around a half-eaten cheese and cracker tray, an empty bottle of wine, and a two-liter bottle of Fanta Orange, minus two glasses poured. Peter and Veronica talked about their ski vacation, and how Peter’s skiing skills weren’t quite as advanced as he thought.

  It felt good to laugh, to listen to Sam and Julianne talk, and to get to know them better. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Veronica was right; I did have Julianne’s eyes. And for the first time, I associated myself with beauty, because I always thought that Julianne Alderman was beautiful, inside and out. The bottom half of my face was from Sam. I had the same thin top lip with the M-shape in the center, and the full bottom lip. I also had his chin. I wondered if they thought the same things about me, or if anyone had ever thought these things about me.

  Julianne reached across the table and held my hands. “You must think I’m a horrible mother, for not knowing. I’m a PA for goodness sake. But I told them, when they didn’t bring you back to me after your bath, that they had brought back the wrong baby. I knew, but they said I was just tired. Then they said it was the hormones. And through the years, other mothers said they had the same fears because of the stories you hear.”

  “Julianne, I think it’s time we let Erin rest. She has school tomorrow.”

  Julianne held her hand to her chest, fumbling with the buttons on her silk blouse; then she began to tremble. “I . . . I don’t know if she . . . do you want to . . .?”

  “Why doesn’t she stay here for the night?” Veronica said. “After she calls Ms. Easter and lets her know where she is?”

  “We don’t have a phone,” I said. “And she doesn’t really . . . I don’t think she’s expecting me.”

  That seemed to upset Julianne.

  “We have some of Whitney’s clothes still here. You’re welcome to them,” Veronica said.

  “Do you want to stay here?” Julianne asked.

  “I would appreciate that,” I said, feeling emotional again.

  Sam stood and encouraged Julianne to stand with him. She clearly didn’t want to leave, but he encouraged her until she finally yielded, but not without giving me another hug.

  When the door closed, Weston, Veronica, Peter, and I stood in the front room, looking at each other.

  “Erin, you can stay in Whitney’s old room. This is a bit . . . unorthodox, but I think it’s in your best interest until Sam and Julianne and you decide where to go from here. From a legal standpoint, this is all a little fuzzy since you’re no longer a minor. Don’t worry. You’re Sam and Julianne’s daughter. Whatever you decide, they’re going to make sure you’re well taken care of. Weston, show her to her room. Let her rest. She’s had a long day.”

  Weston nodded and led me up the stairs by the hand. Whitney’s room was on the opposite end of the hall from Weston’s. She had her own enormous bathroom, with a tub and shower and a linen cabinet that spanned from floor to ceiling, full of big, fluffy towels. Weston checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo.

  “We can pick up anything else you need from Gina’s tomorrow, if you want.”

  I dipped my head in agreement.

  He led me back into the bedroom, and pulled back the comforter. “Clean sheets.” He opened the closet. “Clothes and lots of ’em.” He pulled open a dresser drawer. “Night gowns and pajama sets. Some of them silk, because Whitney’s a huge diva. Just leave your laundry in that hamper and Lila will launder them in the morning when she gets here. I’m pretty sure Whitney still has makeup and ponytail holders and stuff in the drawers by the sink.”

  “She does,” Veronica said, breezing through the door. She handed me a new toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste, and a brand new stick of deodorant. “Peter is always saying I overstock. You have won a twenty-year-long argument for me tonight, little miss.”

  “I wish I could think of a way to say thank you. I’m sorry I …”

  “Nonsense,” Veronica said, holding the knob while she hovered in the doorway. “We’re going to get this all worked out. You try to rest. See you in the morning. Wes?”

  Weston leaned over and gave me a peck, and then followed his mother out. I walked into the spacious, sparkling white bathroom and undressed in front of the mirror. I took a long, hot shower, trying every brand name shampoo, conditioning treatment, and foaming face wash I could get my hands on. By the time I stepped out, I smelled like a salon, and my skin shone like the marble tile. I felt like Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman.

  I wrapped myself in one of the fluffy towels and combed out my hair, noticing how close it was to Julianne’s color. I found a nightgown and slipped it over my head, then climbed into the queen-sized bed. The springs didn’t squeak when I laid on it. I wasn’t even sure Whitney’s bed had springs. It felt like one big foam-filled cushion. I rested my head on the pillow, stretching my legs as far as they would go. They didn’t even come close to the end of the bed. My body sank down into the mattress, and the plush comforter cradled me in softness.

  I turned on my side and leaned over, switching off the lamp. Before I could settle back under the blankets, the door opened, and Weston crept inside.

  “Are you sleeping?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  He knelt beside the bed. “Are you comfortable?”

  “More than I’ve ever been.”

  “Do you need anything else before I hit the sack?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don’t know if I can sleep knowing you’re right down the hall.”

  I smiled. “Try.”

  He chuckled and leaned down, giving me a better kiss than he could when his mother was still around. He walked to the door and turned around. “You’re going to be okay. This is just one more thing we’ll get through together.”

  “I know.” It should have been scarier, being eighteen and finding out that the woman who raised me wasn’t my mother. But at the moment, I felt like I had a small army in my corner.

  ~*~

  The next morning when I walked into school, it was like I was walking into a different dimension. Everyone stared at me like before, but now it was out of curiosity. In first period, Brady glanced over at me a few times, but the disgust was gone from his eyes. Even the teachers looked at me differently. It was like I left the day before as one person, and came back as someone else.

  No one, not even Brady, called me Easter. If they addressed me, they called me Erin. For the first time in nine years, no one said a single negative word to me or even shot me a dirty look. I still expected it, waiting for someone, anyone to taunt me, but it never happened; not once all day. The rest of the week went that way, too, and by Friday, the tension I felt every time I walked into a classroom was gone, and I no longer waited for someone to throw insults or wads of paper at me. My thoughts were consumed by Weston, and Sam and Julianne. They had come over every night that week for dinner, and were coming over for dinner again after I left work Saturday evening. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but this time it felt important.

  On Saturday, Weston gave me a ride to work, and then drove across the street to warm up at the ball fields. He had a home game in a few hours that I wasn’t happy about missing, but thankfully the scoreboard was visible over the wall. I tied the apron strings behind my back, and walked to the front, greeting Frankie with a smile.

  “I thought you had a closet full of designer clothes to choose from,” Frankie said.

  “I don’t want to wear that
stuff to work. I don’t want to ruin it.” Lila had been washing and drying one of my two pairs of jeans every evening before she left for the day so I could pack them in my book bag and change into them for work. A lot of Whitney’s clothes were very feminine and very expensive. Her shoes were a half size too big, but I didn’t complain. This was the first time I’d worn brand name anything, much less designer clothes, but at work, I wore my worn, secondhand jeans and shirts.

  We were slow for a Saturday, and Frankie and I passed the time discussing her kids, but mostly we talked about my new living arrangements, and what my life was like now. She grinned at me a lot when I talked, and I know that she was happy for me, but there was a sadness in her eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher.

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I think so. More than I have been before.”

  Her eyes softened. “Good. Did you get the rest of your things from Gina?”

  “We stopped by Gina’s on Tuesday. I wasn’t sure about just walking in, so I knocked. She didn’t answer, so I walked in.”

  “Did you get everything you needed?”

  I nodded. I didn’t mention to Frankie that Soul Asylum was playing loudly when I walked in, so I rushed through my room and the bathroom, grabbing anything I thought I’d need—my other pair of jeans, my toothbrush, a razor, the little bit of makeup that I owned, underwear, bras, and a sketch pad. I left behind everything else.

  “What did Gina have to say to you? Anything?”

  I looked over at the score board. The game had just started.

  “Why don’t you go over there and watch him? We’re not busy.”

  “I need the hours.”

  Frankie winked. “No you don’t. You’re an Alderman now. They’re going to take care of you, Erin. You can finally be a teenager for once.”

  I thought about that for a moment then smiled. Tossing my apron on the hook, I jogged across the street and walked into the stadium. I’d never been to a baseball game before. Not many people were sitting in the bleachers besides a handful of students and the families of the players.

  “Erin!” Weston was standing on the other side of the fence in his uniform and ball cap, his shaggy brown hair sticking out the bottom. He slipped his fingers through the wires of the fence, beaming.