Two Against the Odds

by Joan Kilby

  “You take care.” Samuel gave her a hug and walked away.

  Lexie went into the public restroom and found a cubicle. She’d forgotten how often she’d had to pee when she was last pregnant; every hour it seemed. She pulled down her underwear and her breath caught in her throat.

  Bright red blood stained her white panties.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SWAYING SLIGHTLY on his stool, Rafe held up a finger to the bartender Rick…or Rob—a forty-something man with a shaved head whose neutral expression never seemed to vary. “’Nother round.”

  By the time he’d gotten back to the office after talking to Lexie, Larry had gone off to a meeting that Pat told him would likely last most of the afternoon. Rafe had headed straight to the bar. He’d been drinking shots of tequila with a beer chaser ever since. Chris had come out with him for a couple of hours before heading off to meet Laura.

  Rafe downed another tequila. After Chris left he’d wandered the street going from pub to pub and ended up downstairs in Jackson’s. The Friday after-work crowd swirled around him at the long polished bar, eating tapas and drinking cocktails.

  Every so often the thought reared up and smacked him in the head. He was going to be a father.

  “I don’ wanna be a father,” he said to the bartender, “I have plans. I’m too young to settle down. Too frickin’ young. Aren’t I, Rick?”

  “My name is Raoul.” He had an accent—Spanish? His hands moved like a magician’s as he poured vodka and three or four other ingredients into a cocktail shaker.

  “Raoouul?” It sounded like a wolf howling. That’s what Rafe felt like doing, howling.

  “You’re drunk.” The woman sitting next to him in a business suit took the frothy pink vodka Raoul handed her and eyed Rafe in disgust. “I pity the woman.”

  “Who asked you?” Rafe muttered, and reached for his beer. He glanced up at Raoul. “I asked for another tequila.”

  “Sorry, mate,” the bartender said, polishing a glass. “I have to cut you off. I’ll call you a cab.”

  “Never mind. I’ll take the train.” Rafe placed a twenty on the bar and stumbled outside.

  The pub was located on the busiest corner in Melbourne. Flinders Street train station, golden domed and ornately Victorian, stood across six lanes of rush hour traffic. Rafe stepped off the curb. Horns blared. Someone grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him to the sidewalk.

  “Moron,” said the man, and let him go so abruptly Rafe fell to his knees on the pavement.

  “He’s a drunk,” his wife said, full of revulsion.

  “No, I’m a tax accountant,” Rafe said, holding up a finger. “And a fisherman. You wanna see a picture of my boat?”

  The light changed. Pedestrians streamed around him and across the street. Rafe was left on the other side, marooned on his knees, gazing at the crumpled photo of his boat.

  LEXIE USUALLY LOVED dinner parties at Jack’s house. Jack and Sienna’s house, she amended. She had to get used to the changes in her family. Sienna had put her house on the market and moved into Jack’s home after they’d returned from their honeymoon in Bali. Sienna’s house was in a nicer location but it was smaller and Jack’s workshop was right next door to his place.

  Jack’s dinner parties were full of laughter and conversation and good food. Usually Lexie couldn’t wait to get right in the thick of it. Not tonight, though. She never told her family everything that went on in her life.

  But this was a baby.

  She should let them know. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. Probably she was a little embarrassed to have been careless enough to get pregnant. At her age.

  The spotting on her panties worried her. Why hadn’t she called Natalie? Her excuse was that she was too busy, but that was foolish. Was she in denial, afraid to admit that something was wrong?

  She paused at the entrance to the open plan kitchen and dining room, taking in the scene. Jack and Renita were at the stove, teasing each other as Jack put finishing touches on his dish—lamb with garlic and rosemary, judging by the aroma.

  Hetty was chatting to Oliver and Tegan while the two teenagers set the table. Steve and Brett stood at the counter, beer in hand, no doubt discussing the coming football season. Steve was looking fitter as his regular workouts at the gym had started to pay off.

  Sienna, wearing a batik skirt she must have bought in Bali and a black, scoop-necked top, greeted Lexie with a hug. Lexie clung to the other woman for a moment. “Sorry I didn’t bring anything. I…I just didn’t have time. Or, frankly, the energy.”

  “Don’t you even think about that.” Sienna eased back, frowning, to search Lexie’s face. “You look tired. Have you lost weight?”

  “Maybe a pound or two,” Lexie said. It wasn’t surprising she was run-down. She worked from morning till night, alternately painting Sienna’s portrait when the light was the best and the smaller seascapes for Samuel’s gallery. “Are fumes from the oil paints and the turpentine bad for…me?”

  Jack was approaching as she spoke. “You’ve never worried about that before,” he commented before Sienna could reply. He held up two bottles of wine for Lexie to choose. “Red or white?”

  “Neither,” Lexie said. “I’ll just have mineral water.”

  “Are you sick?” Renita asked, pausing on her way from the kitchen to the table with a basket of fresh rolls. “I’ve never heard you turn down wine before.”

  “I’m just tired.” Lexie was more than tired—she was struggling not to collapse on the spot. “And I have to be up early tomorrow to paint.”

  “Are you going to get the portrait done in time?” Renita asked.

  “I hope so,” Lexie said. “I’ve only got a couple more weeks before it has to be transported to Sydney.”

  “You’ll get there,” Renita assured her, and continued on to the table. Jack went with her, carrying the wine.

  “Is there any particular reason you asked about the paints and solvents?” Sienna regarded her closely.

  “I…I’ve been spending a lot of time in the studio lately.”

  “Keep the room well ventilated. You should limit your exposure as much as possible.” Sienna paused. “Is there anything else?”

  “Um. Actually…” Lexie glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “What does it mean when there’s spotting during pregnancy? Is it a sign of a miscarriage?”

  Sienna’s gray-green eyes seemed to see straight into Lexie. But she merely replied, “Not necessarily. Spotting in early pregnancy is the mother’s blood, not the baby’s. It can be because the placenta isn’t firmly attached to the uterus wall.” She hesitated, and then lowered her voice. “Are you—?”

  “Here you are!” Renita presented Lexie with a glass of mineral water. She held out a plate of tiny pancakes topped with smoked salmon. “Dad made these, would you believe it? Try one. They’re great.”

  “Thanks.” Lexie took an appetizer. She glanced at Sienna. “Talk later?”

  “Sure. For now, why don’t you sit down.” Sienna put her arm around Lexie’s waist and walked her to the table while Renita circulated with the hors d’oeuvres.

  Lexie sank gratefully into a chair and sipped her mineral water. Sienna’s comments made her feel a little better. The spotting was probably nothing to worry about.

  “Hey, Lexie,” Tegan said as she came around laying plates while Oliver followed with cutlery. “Your hair looks pretty.”

  “Thanks.” She touched her hastily pinned up hair. At least someone wasn’t commenting on how awful she looked. “I like your top,” she said of the black-and-purple ripped shirt. “Very retro.”

  “Dad hates it,” Tegan confided.

  “Men. What do they know?” Lexie turned to greet Oliver. “Hey, buddy, could you come over and cut my lawn sometime? It’s started to grow again. I’ll pay you.”

  “Is next week okay?” Oliver said, dropping knives and forks haphazardly.

  “Perfect.” It was another expense but her time was more pr
ofitably spent painting. Hetty sank into the chair next to her. “How’s it going?” she asked her mum in a low voice laced with a smile. “Is the Orgasmitron Five Hundred working its magic?”

  “Shh, not so loud,” Hetty said. “You don’t want the kids to think the oldies are having sex.”

  “Well, are you?” Lexie took an olive from the dish on the table and popped it in her mouth. Instantly she spit it out, frowning at it. She loved olives but this one tasted wrong somehow.

  Ignoring that, Hetty glanced over at Steve. “We had a big fight after Sienna and Jack’s wedding reception. He thinks I overreacted to Susan Dwyer’s presence. We’re living in a state of armed truce. It’s like Europe after World War II. I swear, I don’t know what else I can do.”

  “Dinner’s up,” Jack called, carrying a platter of slow-roasted lamb with roasted vegetables to the table.

  When everyone had sat down, Jack raised his wineglass. “To family.”

  “Hear, hear,” Lexie murmured, and sipped her mineral water. She’d always taken her close-knit family for granted, but she was going to need her parents and siblings more than ever in the coming months. She noticed Steve had chosen a chair as far from Hetty as possible and frowned. Damn it, she needed them to be together.

  The next few minutes were taken up with passing food down the table, topping up drinks and running back to the kitchen for forgotten items. Then everyone was eating. Talk had reduced to comments about the delicious food.

  “So, Mum, Dad,” Jack began conversationally. “When are you two going to take that trip around Australia you’ve been talking about for years?”

  Silence. Not even the clink of forks on plates as everyone looked at Hetty and Steve. They looked everywhere but at each other.

  Steve cleared his throat. “I’ve got speeches at the club lined up over the next few months. I’m working my way through the manual.”

  “And I have commitments with my yoga group,” Hetty said.

  Lexie exchanged glances with Jack and Renita. No one said anything.

  Then Hetty put her knife and fork down. “Come now, Steve. We’re not fooling anyone. We’d be at each other’s throats if we were cooped up together on a long road trip.”

  “You’re not interested in traveling anyway,” Steve complained. “You’re not interested in anything I am.”

  “I could say the same about you,” Hetty retorted.

  “Never mind,” Sienna interjected. “We don’t need to talk about this while we’re eating dinner. It’ll spoil our digestion. Right, Jack?” she added pointedly, with a warning glance.

  “It’s good they’re talking,” Jack argued. “How are they going to settle their differences otherwise?”

  “Do they need to do it in front of the children?” Sienna asked, nodding to Oliver and Tegan. “It’ll lead to an argument.”

  “I’m not a child,” Tegan piped up.

  “I don’t want them to fight in front of me,” Renita said. “They need to work it out themselves.”

  Then everyone but Lexie was speaking at once, the volume escalating as individuals struggled to be heard. Lexie pressed her fingers to her aching temple.

  “Quiet, please!” Picking up a spoon, she tapped on her water glass till the cacophony died down. “I have an idea.”

  All heads turned to her. “Mum, join Toastmasters and go to the meetings. Dad, learn to meditate—”

  “Meditate? No way,” Steve protested automatically.

  “Why not?” Lexie demanded. “You can do yoga, too. You’re into fitness now and yoga’s excellent for strength and flexibility. Isn’t it, Brett?”

  Brett, who was still paying off a loan from Renita to buy the gym, nodded. “I’m putting it on the program.”

  “There you go.” Lexie swayed, suddenly dizzy in her seat. But she was determined to get an agreement out of her parents. “So, you two. We’ve all heard enough complaining about the other person. Will you do something to fix your marriage? Before long there will be grandchildren on the way. Wouldn’t it be nice to share that joy together?”

  “Grandchildren?” Hetty said, looking from Renita to Sienna. “Did I miss something?”

  Eyes wide, Renita glanced at Sienna, who shook her head.

  Too late, Lexie realized she’d put her foot in her mouth. She’d planned to tell her family the news when she’d gotten through the first trimester and was more financially stable. “I mean, Sienna and Renita will probably be starting new families in the foreseeable future.” Beads of perspiration formed on her forehead and temples. She blinked and glanced desperately at Sienna. “Right?”

  “Yes,” Sienna said, a worried frown on her face.

  “Mum, if you’re going to teach yoga, public speaking skills would come in handy. And Dad, meditation is a stress reliever, good for general health. And for both of you, this would be a way of spending time together, understanding each other….”

  Spots appeared before her eyes. “Ooh.” The room went blurry. Then black.

  When Lexie came to she was lying under a blanket on Jack’s brown leather couch in the living room. Sienna was sitting on the coffee table, taking her pulse. The rest of the family crowded them anxiously.

  Lexie struggled to sit up. Her hair was damp from perspiration and her throat was dry but the dizziness had passed. “I’m fine.”

  Sienna adjusted the cushions and held a cup to her lips. “Drink this.”

  Lexie took a sip and cool water soothed her throat. She met Sienna’s gaze. “Thanks.”

  “Is she sick?” Hetty asked, taking Lexie’s hand. “Should she go to Emergency?”

  “She’s overworked, that’s all,” Sienna replied. “But you should probably see your doctor, Lexie. Soon,” she added meaningfully.

  “I’ll bring you your plate,” Brett said. “We could all move in here, eat off our laps.”

  “I’m not very hungry….” Lexie began.

  Sienna brushed her hair back. “You should eat.”

  “Don’t push food on her if she’s not hungry,” Renita said, leaning on the back of the couch. As someone who’d lost weight and continued to struggle to stay fit, she was sensitized to the issue. “All the weight loss experts say that’s how people gain, by eating when they don’t need to.”

  Steve, the type 2 diabetic, stood at Lexie’s feet. “You know how she forgets to eat when she’s painting. Her blood sugar’s probably low.”

  “Enough!” Lexie flung her hands up. Everyone stared expectantly at her. “Thank you for your concern but… Oh, God, I might as well tell you. Yes, I’m overworked but I’m not sick.” She paused a beat. “I’m pregnant.”

  There was a shocked silence, then pandemonium broke out. Questions, congratulations, expressions of concern for her health, her ability to provide for herself and her child. Lexie’s struggle to make ends meet was no secret.

  “Hold on,” Steve said in a loud voice. “We’re forgetting the most important thing. Who’s the father?”

  Lexie groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming. “Rafe.”

  Steve looked blank. “Rafe who?”

  “The tax accountant who was auditing her,” Hetty said, beaming. “He’s lovely.”

  “I don’t think I met him,” Jack said.

  “He was only here a week,” Sienna explained.

  “That was some audit, Lexie,” Renita said, smiling.

  “A week?” Steve said, incredulous. “You’re pregnant by a guy you knew for a week?”

  Her father’s negative reaction set the rest of them off again, talking over, across and around her. Lexie hut her eyes. She loved her family to bits but sometimes she wished they would all just go away.

  Then she opened her eyes again and tried to catch Steve’s attention. “Excuse me, Dad.” He was asking Sienna about pregnancy and blood sugar. “Dad!”

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  She glanced at Hetty to include her. “Will you two go together to Toastmasters and yoga?”

  Steve and He
tty glanced at Lexie, then at each other, warily. Neither seemed willing to speak first.

  “Do it for your grandchild,” Renita admonished quietly.

  At the thought of a grandbaby Hetty brightened. Then she glanced at Steve and stopped smiling.

  Lexie started to lose hope. “Please, Mum.”

  Hetty wavered another long moment. “Yes, all right.”

  All eyes turned to Steve. Finally, he said gruffly, “If I can stand up and give a speech I guess it’d be a snap to meditate. Heck, they just sit around and say nothing. And I’ll do yoga as long as I don’t have to wear a leotard.”

  “Thank you,” Lexie said, relieved they were going to try.

  And that they’d stopped talking about Rafe.

  RAFE STRUGGLED against the return to consciousness. His eyes were glued shut. He had the mother of all headaches and a thirst bigger than the outback. He could hear the rumble of train wheels, feel the vibration through his seat. He was leaning against the wall, a strip of cool metal beneath his left cheek. The frame around a window.

  He rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times. It took a moment to focus. When he did, he sat up straight.

  It was broad daylight.

  Wheat fields stretched to the horizon, broken by the ragged and meandering row of river red gums that told of a dried-up creek bed running roughly parallel to the tracks.

  Holy hell. This sure wasn’t Sassafras.

  He glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock.

  “Excuse me,” he said to a trio of teenage boys sitting in facing seats across the aisle. Dressed in jeans and plaid shirts, they held felt hats in their laps. Ten years ago, before he’d left for the city, he’d looked very much as they did. “Where are we?”

  “Western District,” a boy with gelled blond hair said. “Next town is Horsham.”

  The other two teens sniggered. One said, “Don’t you know where you’re going?”

  Rafe rubbed a hand through his hair. It felt dirty and oily. Looking down, he saw that his shirt was creased and stained and there was a rip in his pants over the right knee. “Sure I do,” he said slowly. “I’m going to see my folks.”