by S. M. Shade
When I let myself in, she’s sitting at the bottom of her stairs. “I’m sorry to drag you out,” she begins, before I cut her off.
“Don’t be silly. You’re hurt.” I wince when I pull up her pant leg and get a glance at her ankle. “Yeah, you need the hospital. Do you have an ice pack in the freezer?”
“No, but I have a bag of frozen corn.”
I help her out to my car and she holds the frozen corn on her ankle until we get to the emergency room. It’s a small hospital, and there aren’t a lot of people waiting. We get taken back to a room pretty quickly, and they take Agnes to have an x-ray.
The doctor returns with the results and sits across from us. “Well, Ms. Foster, it isn’t broken, but it is severely sprained. We’re going to put an air cast on it and give you some pain meds, but we need to discuss an underlying issue. Your chart says you’ve been diagnosed with osteoporosis.”
“Yes, a few years ago,” she replies.
He refers to the chart again. “Are you taking your prescribed medications, along with the Vitamin D and calcium supplements?”
“I forget them from time to time,” she admits.
The doctor turns to me. “It’s very important your mother take her meds as prescribed. She was lucky not to break a bone this time, but if the osteoporosis goes untreated, she’s at a high risk for fractures.”
Agnes grins at me, waiting for me to correct him, but I make a decision in that moment. “I’ll be sure that she does.”
The doctor scribbles on his pad, then tears off a few sheets. “Here is a prescription for painkillers. She needs to be checked by her doctor in a week or so to make sure the ankle is healing properly.”
After making a few more notes on his chart, he leaves, and Agnes smiles at me. “I’d be happy to have a daughter like you.”
“Well, consider me adopted, because you’re staying with me, at least until your ankle heals.”
Agnes sits up and shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not imposing on you like that.”
“It’s not an imposition.”
“Still, I don’t want—”
“We’ll stop by your place to get you some clothes and your meds.”
Her lips purse, but a smile breaks through. “You’re stubborn as a winter itch.”
“Yep, it’s better to just give me my way.”
We’re laughing when the nurse enters and presents Agnes with a pair of crutches. She signs her paperwork, and we’re released.
“I’m going to leave a message on my son’s voicemail, in case he looks for me,” Agnes says, after we gather her things and head back to my place.
“Good idea. Give him my number and address if he wants it.” It doesn’t seem like he gives half a fuck, but someone in her family should know where she’s staying.
Agnes makes herself at home in my guest room, and I really enjoy having someone else in the house. Amos picks her up most days, and they spend their afternoons together, but it’s nice to have someone to eat dinner with in the evenings. Having some company to talk to seems to make the time fly by. We spend a lot of time sitting on my back deck, enjoying the scenery and getting to know one another. Before I know it, September is nearly over.
It occurs to me that my seventy-five-year-old temporary roommate has more of a social life than I do. I’ve needed this time on my own to get a grasp on myself after the last few years, but I need to start making an effort. A good place to start would probably be putting my work out there again.
I begin by emailing the owner of a local gallery, including pictures of my latest work. My name was pretty well known in the art world before I went away, so I’m hoping I wasn’t forgotten.
With that done, I head out to run some errands. I’ve been craving cheese lately for some reason, so I stop at the grocery store to get the ingredients to make a cheesy chicken and rice casserole.
A young girl sits outside the entrance, a large cardboard box beside her. As I’m walking past, a tiny head pops over the side. “No, Woody, get back down. I already told you,” the girl says, exasperated. The side of the box reads Free Puppies, but it looks like this curious one is the only one left.
“Hi,” the girl greets, when she sees me smiling at the pup.
“Hi, are you trying to find a new home for him?” I ask, reaching to pet the little guy. He practically attacks my hand, licking frantically, his tiny legs scratching against the side of the box as he tries to climb out.
Her face droops. “Yeah, Mom says I have to because our landlord won’t let us have another dog. Woody is my favorite.” She shrugs. “But nobody wants him because he’s hyper. Mom says he’s too high maintenance.”
Woody licks my knuckles and burrows under my palm, encouraging me to pet him some more. Two oil drop eyes look into mine, and I make a rash decision. “I’d love to take care of him.”
The girl’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yes, do you know if he’s had his shots?”
She produces a half sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Mom said to give these to whoever took a pup. It’s the name of the vet who gave them their shots and stuff.”
When I pick him up, he’s a ball of excitement, wiggling and trying to run on air. The little girl and I both laugh. “Do you think you could keep him here for just a few minutes while I’m in the store? I need to get him some food.”
“He likes Puppy Bites, the one with the cow on the bag.” She watches as I return him to the box. “Will you…are you going to change his name?”
My heart goes out to her. She’s obviously very attached to her little friend. Kneeling down, I try to reassure her. “No, I think he likes his name, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“I promise to take very good care of him. I just moved to town and I don’t have many friends yet. He’ll be my best friend.”
That puts a smile on her face.
“I’m going to go grab some groceries, and you can say goodbye, okay?”
“Okay.”
I try to get my shopping finished quickly, but I take a moment to stop by the pharmacy and pick up an acne cream. It’s embarrassing, and I have no idea why, but my face has been breaking out again. I haven’t had that issue since I was a teenager. Maybe it’s stress, although this is the less stressed I’ve been in years.
The pet department has everything I need for my new puppy, and I can’t resist grabbing a few extras. The toys are so cute. When I push my cart back through the entrance, the girl is waiting beside a taller version of herself.
“There she is, Mom! She’s taking Woody!”
I can hear Woody scratching away at the cardboard as we chat for a moment. The girl’s mother scoops Woody up, and they follow me to my car while I load the groceries. I grab the new fuzzy squirrel toy I bought him, and the little girl smiles as he takes it from me.
“He likes it!” she cries.
“See, baby, I told you. The nice woman will give him a good home.”
The girl nods. “He’s going to be her best friend.”
The mother gives me a grateful look, and they head back to her minivan, where a brood of other children wait.
“Well, buddy. Let’s go home,” I tell him.
When the girl explained to me no one wanted Woody because he’s hyper, I thought, he’s just a puppy, of course he’s excitable. He’ll calm down.
No.
This is no puppy. I’m convinced he’s part cheetah, part rabbit, with a bit of T-rex thrown in the mix. He darts back and forth through the house, then tries to jump up on everything with those short little legs. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and Agnes and I get a lot of laughs from him. When he does wear out, it’s like someone flipped a switch. I swear he can practically fall asleep mid-air.
After dinner, he falls asleep on my bed while I try to read. The cheesy chicken and rice didn’t agree with my stomach, and it’s been turning for the last few minutes. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I rush to the bathroom. The feeling
passes without a re-emergence of my dinner, but waxes and wanes a bit as I sit on the bathroom floor.
“Melissa, are you okay, hun?” Agnes peeks in the door I’ve left ajar.
“Yeah, you might want to stay back. I think I’ve caught a bug. My stomach is upset.”
She wets a washcloth and drapes it across the back of my neck. “This used to help me when I had morning sickness with my son.” Tilting her head, she considers her question before she asks, “Could you be pregnant?”
“No,” I laugh. “That’s not it.”
“I only asked because you were complaining about your skin breaking out, and that’s a sign. Hormones, you know.”
My stomach settles, and I stand up. “I haven’t missed a period.” Although my last two were very light and short, which is out of the ordinary for me.
Agnes nods. “I bled a bit with my daughter the first few months. You may want to take a test just in case.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t…” A sick feeling washes over me that has nothing to do with hormones. Three months. It’s been three months since he last…since I left True Life. I should’ve gotten a morning after pill. I meant to, but it slipped my mind with everything else I had to do to return to society.
Surely, life can’t be that cruel.
#
Life is cruel. Horrifically, sometimes almost comically cruel.
For the last couple of months while I’ve been trying to adjust, I’ve also been bemoaning the fact that I’m alone. More than once I’ve wished for the same thing everyone wants…a family. It’s like some demonic genie heard me and decided to grant my wish in the worst way possible. I’m a twenty-two-year-old ex-cult member who has just started to find my way again. The last thing I need is to be responsible for another life. Not to mention, it’s his.
Dillon’s.
The man who tormented me for so long is dead, but it seems he’s found a way to live on and screw up my new beginning from the grave. I don’t know what to do. My first impulse is to terminate the pregnancy, but I also know I’m not in any mental state to make that decision. If I do decide to go that route, it will have to be really soon.
Since I didn’t find out about the pregnancy until now, when I must be pretty far along, I don’t have much time to make that decision. All the horror of the conception aside, I want a family. Maybe I didn’t want a child now, while I’m young and on my own, but if I pass up this chance, I may regret it.
Agnes convinces me not to make a decision until I’ve been to the doctor.
Today is my appointment, and though she offered to come along, I know how hard it is for her to maneuver on the crutches. So, I’m here alone.
The doctor is very nice, and I feel a bit more at ease with him. He has a very calming smile.
He enters the room a few minutes after the nurse had me give a urine sample.
“Congratulations, Ms. Sanders. The test was positive.”
The little bit of hope I was holding onto that maybe the home test was a false reading fizzles. “I’ve still been having a period,” I tell him.
“Some bleeding in the first trimester isn’t uncommon. We’re going to do an ultrasound and see how far along you are.”
I lie back on the table while the nurse squirts clear jelly on my abdomen and the doctor presses the wand against it. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts it around, taking measurements. Finally, he says, “Everything looks good. I’m going to put you about twelve weeks along.”
Twelve weeks. That last night he visited me.
The doctor produces another smaller wand and the instant it touches my stomach, a pulsing sound fills the small space.
“Strong and healthy,” the doctor says, and the nurse smiles down at me.
I hear its heartbeat. Its tiny little heartbeat.
An emotion I don’t recognize overwhelms me, and tears fill my eyes. It’s real. There’s a tiny human, a tiny part of me, growing inside of me.
“Gender,” I croak. “Can you tell?”
“Not for another month or two. If you have no problems in the meantime, we’ll schedule your next ultrasound in eight weeks. You may be able to find out then.” He stands up and writes on the chart while the nurse wipes off my stomach and allows me to sit up. “We’ll get some blood drawn today, and you’ll need to get your pre-natal vitamins. They can be found at any pharmacy.”
His face turns serious as he asks, “Do you smoke, use any illegal drugs, or drink alcohol?”
“No drugs or smoking. I drink a few times per year.” I can feel the blood drain from my face. “I drank a few weeks ago. One night, but…it was a lot.”
His calm smile is reassuring. “It’s fine. But no more alcohol from this point forward.”
“Of course.”
The rest of the appointment passes in a haze. Any thoughts I had of termination fled the second I heard the heartbeat. No matter the circumstances, the life growing inside of me isn’t going to pay for the mistakes of its father.
Agnes is practically waiting at the door when I return. “Well?”
“The baby is fine. I’m twelve weeks along.”
“Mercy! You’re just like my sister. She didn’t show at all until she was nearly seven months. I was showing before I missed a period!”
Her exaggeration makes me laugh, but I’m exhausted. As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “Go take a nap. You look worn out.”
“I’m the one supposed to be taking care of you, remember?”
“Amos is picking me up. We’re going to the all you can eat pasta night. I’ll bring you back some spaghetti.”
Hugging her, I reply, “Sounds good. So does that nap.”
After hesitating a moment, she asks, “Who is the father, hun?”
“I’d…rather not say.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s that no-goodnik from next door isn’t it?”
I can understand why she’d think so. I told her a little about the night I spent there, but not everything, and she has no reason to think I haven’t been seeing him from the beginning.
“I really don’t want to talk about it. He won’t be in the picture. I can do this alone.”
Smiling, she hugs me again. “Yes, you can. But you aren’t alone.”
Chapter Four
Jeremy
It’s getting chilly out, but the woman is right where my research said she would be, in front of the weekly farmer’s market. Wrapping her sweater around her tighter, she waves a flyer at people walking past, who largely ignore her. Undaunted, she keeps trying.
Unfolding a reusable cloth grocery bag, I browse through the produce, picking up a few items while keeping her in my sight. She notices me when I pay for my items, and approaches me with a wide smile.
“Hi, do you have a second to speak with me?”
“Sure.” I grin at her. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, I’m hoping to do something for you.” She glances down at the bag in my hand. “Why do you use reusable bags?”
After my research, I know what she wants to hear. Under all the anti-consumerism blather, the group is really a bunch of environmentalists. I have nothing against caring for the environment. I recycle and try to do my part, but these people are a group of psychos turned domestic terrorists.
“Plastic is terrible for the environment. Why would I want to add to it?”
“Exactly,” she agrees with a smile. Her eyes travel down to my watch. I thought it was a nice touch. Not many people wear watches anymore. Not with a phone in their pocket that can give them the time.
She peeks into my grocery bag. “The corn is good from here, but the supercenter down the street has it a lot cheaper, you know, same for most of the food they sell here.”
“Thanks, but I prefer fresh food. I keep my own garden in the summer, but worms got to most of it this year. Besides, those supercenters kill small businesses. Not to mention filling the ocean with those awful plastic bags.”
Shivering a bit, she as
ks, “Do you think I could borrow your phone for a second? I need to call my ride.”
Shaking my head, I gesture to the man collecting the money for the market. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a phone. Never saw the point. I’m sure they would let you use theirs though.”
The look on her face is like she’s struck gold. “Sir!” She hands me a flyer as I start to walk away. “I belong to a little group that helps spread awareness of the dangers consumerism causes to the planet. You wouldn’t believe the amount of toxins and debris all those phones add to the earth.”
Scoffing, I shake my head. “Considering people line up to get the newest one every time it comes out, even though the one they have works perfectly fine, yeah, I would. What a waste.”
Grinning, she sticks out her hand. “I’m Kelly.”
“Jeremy.” My hand swallows hers.
“You should come to one of our meetings, Jeremy. We could use all the help we can get.”
To mass murder people in a shopping mall? Fucking assholes. I somehow keep my temper in check, force a smile, and glance down at the paper in my hand. “It’s in the evening?”
She points to the paper. “Yes, at this address. We’ll have a speaker and then a bonfire where we all just hang out and discuss our ideas.”
“Sounds good.” I give her a smile that has never failed to work for me. “Will you be there?”
A blush climbs her cheeks. “Yes, I’m always there.”
“I’ll check it out then. Have a good day, Kelly.”
“Nice to meet you, Jeremy.”
That was easier than I expected it to be. Of course, they’re recruiting. After three of their leaders shot and killed twenty-two people in an Indianapolis Mall a few months ago, quite a few of their followers abandoned them.
You’d think it would be hard to track a group who don’t believe in spending money on technology or anything they consider unnecessary, but like most cults, the rules don’t apply to all of them. Underneath, it’s about the same two things all cults are truly interested in. Money and power. Control over their brainwashed followers.
