by Erin Lee
I think better of it, all because of the dimples. Tristan seems to know, by osmosis or something, that I have no clue what I’m doing. He keeps smiling at me, taking turns between picking his nose and wiping boogers on his shirt. I look away. Then, smiling again, he catches my attention with a sudden movement like it’s funny I’m not stopping him. Go. Away. Kid.
I reach for the clicker and flip through channels on Magge’s ancient box-style TV. Finally, I settle on a cartoon aimed for an audience way over the little boy’s head. When he sits, cross-legged, in front of the television I decide not to fix what isn’t broken. It’s not like he can understand the words.
I try to think of every three-year-old I’ve ever known, purposely not allowing my mind to go to the bigger question: How did this kid even happen? In my mental rolodex, I can come up with only a few kids I babysat back in Raleigh as a high school teenager. I really have no experience with kids Tristan’s size. Well, you thought about being a pediatric nurse. And, you like kids. Austin will be home soon and you can get to the bottom of this. It’s just a few days.
I thumb through the bag the smelly social worker left me. In it are three outfits, a baseball hat, a teddy bear, two trucks, and underwear that looks and feels like diapers. I look at them, swearing I read the words “potty-trained” and wonder if he has normal-kid underwear. Superman? Batman? Anything? What am I supposed to do with these?
Then, it strikes me. More important than how I’m going to keep him dry is how I’m going to keep him alive. I race out to Maggie’s front porch, totally forgetting I probably shouldn’t leave a three-year-old unsupervised. My heart sinks as I look to the left, toward Kiki’s house. She’s already on her deck, topless and sunbathing. No car seat.
Just as I’m about to cry, I see a gray car seat with Nascar racing stripes propped at the bottom of Maggie’s steps. Thankfully, Sally had left it for him, as promised. I run toward it, wondering if they are one-size-fits-all and if it will fit in Julie’s car. I need to know what the hell I’m supposed to feed a three-year-old. Maggie will know.
I’m halfway to the hospital, trying to keep myself distracted with the radio. I look over at Tristan, in the front passengers’ seat, strapped neatly in his car seat. He’s sleeping. In sleep, he doesn’t seem as complicated. In fact, he looks like an angel. And, there’s no denying it. Mistake or not, I see Austin all over him. But how?
An irrational desire to wake the kid up comes over me. I want to pull over on the side of the road, like Pappy used to when John and I fought in the car, and demand answers. I want to ask him where he comes from and how he got here. I want to ask him what kind of slut he has for a momma and how she could possibly have seduced Austin. I want to scream at him—an innocent, seemingly easy-going—three-year-old that he has no right to do this to me, to us, to the life we planned together.
It’s not his fault. He didn’t do this. He’s just a baby. I pull over on the side of the road and cry for the first time since Grandma died. I know I can’t really go to Maggie with this. She’s too sick. John and Sonya are too far away. I couldn’t reach Austin if I wanted to—I probably don’t want to—and Julie is at work again. I can’t bother her. It’s enough that she’s let me borrow her car. I’m supposed to be focused on wedding prep. And working on my somethings new and somethings blue. I hate this!
I can’t bother Julie. There’s no way to get in touch with Austin—not in the middle of leave processing. Dammit, Maggie. Who am I supposed to talk to? Someone has to know what to do. Someone has to know how this happened.
I wipe the tears on my cheeks with the backs of my hands, throwing Julie’s car into drive and speeding to the one person who will know exactly how this happened: Bess. Sorry Grandma. Sorry Maggie. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
***
“Callalily Johnson! Get that baby out of the front seat! You can’t put a child that little in the front seat! You crazy? Them airbags could go off and kill him. Why is that baby in the front seat? You lost your mind?”
Bess scurries toward Julie’s car waving her right finger at me. In her other hand, she holds a watering can. Bess takes pride in having the best flower garden in the whole neighborhood.
I glance at Tristan, swallowing my guilt over my own ignorance. How was I supposed to know? Sally didn’t exactly leave a manual on three year olds for dummies.
I take the keys out of the ignition just as Bess reaches through the driver’s side window. With her finger only a few inches from my face, her expression goes from furious to intrigue.
“What’s the matter? Did Maggie send you here? Woman’s got more nerve than Carter’s got liver pills. Lost her mind years ago, I tell ya. …What’s going on?”
Less interested in my pint-sized stranger-companion’s safety and more focused on what bits of gossip my visit might bring, Bess smiles at me. “Come, get that baby out of the car. Come and sit with me.”
I gulp. I consider fixin’ to put the car in reverse and driving right back out of there. Grandma and Maggie would kill me for this. Bess is the last person they’d ever want me to get advice from. But advice really isn’t the reason I’m here. I’m here for information. I cannot turn around. This is too important.
As I pull Tristan from his car seat, fighting with straps that make no sense, I contemplate the consequences of telling the park’s most prolific gossip whose baby Tristan is. What other choice do I really have? I need answers. And maybe, with all those grandchildren she brags about, she will know what a kid his age eats.
It takes exactly nine minutes, three sips of lemonade, and two trips inside for Goldfish crackers and Cheerios to keep Tristan entertained for Bess to fill me in. As she begins, I ask myself if I’m sure I really want to know. Then, I remember how Pappy didn’t believe in cowards. I can hear him saying it now, “Callie, face your fears.”
“…and?”
“Well, gee, it was a few years ago now. But you don’t forget a girl like Hannah. I knew that girl was trouble. I just knew. Nobody ever listens to me. Told Herbert that. Ignored me. Thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. I even told Maggie and Francine. They blamed it on account of her being from the city. But I knew! She was the one who broke the sign down by the Lodge. Bastards still haven’t bothered to fix it. Herbert says Rory’s lazy. Personally? I think it’s ‘cause she’s knocked up—again. Time will tell. Either way? I ain’t never liked that girl. Livin’ in high cotton but never fixin’ anything round here.”
“But how long was she even here? It had to be the summer I spent visiting John and Sonya. That would be the summer they got married. I was only gone a month, give or take. How could he have met her and gotten her pregnant in that little time? It’s just not possible. And somebody would have told me.”
Bess raises her eyebrows. She punches me in the gut with Grandma’s words, “Callalily Meadow Johnson! Don’t be so naïve.”
I pretend I’m thirsty, sucking large gulps of lemonade through a twisted straw, hoping I’ll get a brain freeze or something to make this easier to understand, accept, something.
“Tristan Rivers! You march your butt right back here, young man. Too close to the road,” Bess yells.
Rivers. Why would a girl who had a quick fling give her kid the guy’s last name? And how could he possibly not tell me about this? No matter how messed up it was, no matter how much it would hurt me. He thought he could hide a kid forever? Who is he?
Tristan bounces toward Bess, a rock in each hand, grinning from one ear to the other with his canyon dimples. He laughs, plopping the rocks into Bess’s koi pond, like he’s lived here for years and doesn’t even know his momma’s gone.
“Look. I’m not trying to be naïve. I just don’t get how they could have done this so fast. I wasn’t gone that long, and I don’t remember anyone named Hannah around. And drugs, Bess. She’s in jail for drugs. Austin hates that stuff. Austin is as straight as they come. She hardly seems like his type.”
Bess nods. “It takes all kinds. An
d, look at this baby, he does look like the spitting image…”
“What did she look like?”
“Who?”
“Hannah.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know. Your average teenage girl, I guess. Too much make-up. Long, dark hair, darker than yours. Tan, but it was summertime so that makes sense. I wasn’t really paying attention. I try to mind my own business you know.”
I laugh, out loud. I’m too tired to care. Still, I’m relieved when Bess laughs, too. “Short or tall?”
Bess shrugs. “Next thing you’ll want is her date of birth. I’m sorry, I just don’t know, dear. I think the more important thing is, what are you going to do with this guy? Seems to me, ya’ll got a bigger situation on your hands.” She points at Tristan, smiling like a woman with the biggest, best secret in the world. I can almost hear her planning who she will tell first.
“I really don’t know. Austin’s not even home for at least another week. I don’t even know what to feed him.”
“I’d like to be a fly on the wall at Maggie’s when you get your hands on him! Meantime? Spaghettios. Grits. That’s what I do. Works like a charm. Heat um up right up, a minute so they are lukewarm, in the microwave. Nothing to it. Works like a charm. I have twelve grandchildren, you know. Darn kids use me like a babysitter. Make me miss my soaps. No appreciation, I tell ya. Don’t even bother with the greens. He won’t touch um.”
“There’s no way a kid can live on canned pasta and grits alone.”
“They have it with meatballs. Get that. It’ll cost ya a little more…”
“Bess!”
She shrugs. “Peanut butter and jelly. Whatever works. Suit yourself. But that car seat? You gotta move that to the back. Hasn’t Maggie told you any of this? What’s wrong with that woman?’
“Maggie had another stroke. She’s up at Endings General.”
“Oh. Oh, my. How bad?” Bess leans into the tiny table between us, setting her lemonade down and reaching for her lighter. “Tell me everything…”
***
I stare at him. Propped on Maggie’s couch with the clicker in both hands; the kid looks like any other ordinary three-year-old. I’m tempted to touch his hair, as if that will somehow give me answers. I reckon anyone watching me would think I was a psychopath. It’s not normal, the way I can’t stop looking at him. Then again, nothing about having a kid dropped in your lap less than two weeks out from the day you’ve dreamed of your entire life is normal. I tell myself to give myself a break.
I can’t decide whether or not Austin knew about him. He must have, my logic tells me. But right now, I’m crazier than Bear and the loons he’s always bringing home. I picture my future, running circles around the lake like Willow. I review my options. And finally, No, I wouldn’t even stay here. It’s not like I could stay with Maggie. I’d probably have to go back to Raleigh. It’s probably what I need to do. My only option. Call Julie, have her call the wedding off. Transfer to a different school. Why? Why, Austin? How? I close my eyes, refusing to let him make me cry and, before I know it, I’m sleeping only inches away from Austin’s son—still, afraid to touch him. Even in my dreams, I reckon, I don’t want it to be real.
Chapter Nine
The truth is that I probably could have reached Austin if I really needed to. I did have his commander’s private cell phone number in case of an emergency. They are a little more relaxed with rules around contact once a soldier has graduated from boot camp. But I really didn’t want to. I had no idea what I would say, wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from saying things I’d regret, and certainly didn’t want him to have the upper hand in any way.
Driving Julie’s car to the airport, my stomach floods with regret. I wish I’d called him, had his sergeant make him call me. Something. I imagine what this will be like for him, who expects me to jump into his arms, babbling away like an idiot about wedding plans.
Seeing signs for the Raleigh airport temps me to keep driving. If I didn’t have Julie’s car, I might just visit old friends from high school—hide out for a while. Let him figure it out, when Julie brought Tristan back to him and told him he was in big trouble. But there was no chance of that. She needed her car back almost as much as I needed this over with.
I wonder if he has any suspicion at all that anything’s up. He borrowed his battle buddy’s phone to text me flight confirmation numbers. But those texts were short and business-like. Still, I didn’t answer him when he said he loved me. He probably figured I didn’t see it. Missing texts are sometimes an issue in Endings, with its often-spotty cell reception.
Back in the city I love, I consider what life would have been had I never met Austin that first summer with Pappy at the campground. Things were so much simpler then. There was Rainbow, with her fancy boots, and her silly pug dog. What was his name? Stinky! Remembering playing with him brings me right back where I don’t want to be: To Austin. I see him, at ten years old—the dimples. A bigger, taller version of Tristan.
I press the pedal to the floor. I pray there hasn’t been a flight delay and wonder why Austin didn’t just rent a car. I try to come up with a plan of what to do, what to say, and how to act when I first see him. Finally, I concede, this is a situation that’s simply impossible to plan for. Just let it be. Whatever happens, happens.
***
I park in long-term parking. I’m supposed to be returning here in exactly one week to pick up John and Sonya for the wedding. I still need to call them to tell them to cancel their flights. The last thing I want is them bringing Hunter on a plane for no reason. He’s still a baby. We don’t need to bring another baby into this mess.
I watch people coming and going from Terminal C. Austin’s plane won’t land for another twenty minutes. I have to look away as couples embrace. The last thing I want to think about is how this reunion with my fiancé will go. I have no choice. I need to face it.
I pull the keys from Julie’s ignition. Unlatching my seatbelt, I tell myself—out loud—that there’s no turning back. If anything, I deserve answers. And, there’s only one way to find out.
I cross the street to the terminal entrance. It’s not hard to find baggage claim between two escalators that lead to where passengers are unloading from another plane. Determined, I ascend to the second floor, where I find a bench tucked in the far left corner, before the security check point, but close enough that I can watch each and every person who exits the passenger-only section. I sit down, leaning into the wall and holding my breath.
I jump when my cell phone goes off, alerting me to a text message. It’s Austin, from his battle buddy’s phone, telling me they’ve landed and asking me if I’m already at the airport. I don’t respond. I slide to the furthest corner of the bench, tucked as far away from the arriving passengers as I can get. I need every advantage when I first see him. It’s been months, and I know there’s no way I can prepare—for certain—how seeing him will feel.
It occurs to me, for the first time, that it’s possible he has even more secrets. I grit my teeth, shuffling my feet under the wooden bench as I consider Hannah might have been one of many flings. It strikes me that he may have even done it recently. I scour my mental rolodex of names of female cadets he’s mentioned. Nothing really sticks out. Sure, there have been a few, but nothing more than me talking about Drake coming over to fix something in Maggie’s yard or the guys at the shop helping build our trellis. There’s no way. This had to be a stupid thing he did when he was younger and didn’t want to hurt me with—something he wished would go away.
But still, even if he had only had the one fling, he’d neglected to mention something that big. And, I conclude, if he was capable of that, he is capable of anything. Could he have other kids? What else could he be hiding? How much contact has he had with Hannah these last few years? Was he there when Tristan was born? He was on the birth certificate…
I’m so lost in thought that I actually jump when I hear my name.
“Cal? Callie? Come here, you!�
��
I look up. Austin’s rushing toward me. So much for the upper hand. His familiar smile and broad shoulders cause me to betray myself. I stand, and then, run toward him. Killing him, can wait. First, I want—no need—a hug from the best friend I’ve had since we were twelve.
***
Austin’s not stupid.
By the time we reach the car, he knows something’s wrong. In fact, he’s asked me three times. It’s when I fumble around on the dashboard, looking for the parking stub that will get us out of long-term parking for the hourly rate that I can’t hold back any longer.
Frowning, he asks, “Cal? Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”
I don’t really think. I knew I wouldn’t. It would inevitably just come out:
“Well that wouldn’t exactly be worth a dog gone now would it?” I snap.
I ignore the fear on his face. I plow right through the tears beginning to build in his eyes. It takes under two minutes to inform him of Tristan’s arrival and the developments that will reshape our lives. I don’t mention what Pappy would think of this, how he’d call Austin a coward. I don’t have the heart to say those things out loud, but I think them.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t give any answers. He just stares at me, like he’s watching something he loves die—which, he pretty much is—while I toss grenade after grenade at him.
Part of me wants him to fight back, to tell me I’m wrong and to call Sally a liar. Or, even if he’d call me names back, something other than silence. Anything to help my ending our engagement seem more, well, official. Still, there’s nothing. Like a soldier without his platoon and no weapons, he just seems so … weak.
Finally, he whispers that it was all just “a big mistake.” He isn’t referring to Tristan. He’s referring to his two-week fling with Hannah.
