To round out the tour, Troy whipped along the beach, deserted save for a few surfers at this early hour, and over the giant Ferris wheel at the Santa Monica pier.
After we landed and climbed out of the helicopter, it was all I could do not to kneel and kiss the ground. Good old terra firma! Fun as it had started out, I’d never been so glad to have something over with. The people of Los Angeles now thought my mother was blind and that I’d use double negatives, but that wasn’t even the problem.
I’d blown it. Again.
In the moment that we realized my microphone wasn’t working, it was Deedee who’d stepped up with a plan. Left to me, it would have been the longest silence in radio history. Only after the fact did I realize I could have simply leaned over and talked into her microphone until we had a second to switch headsets.
I moped and tried to appear as if I weren’t, as the others seemed amped from the ride.
“Besides being on the radio, the best part was seeing that car accident,” Deedee chattered on. “They looked like toy cars. And that one was totally upside down. It was so awesome.”
“You know what’s interesting,” Dickie told her, “is that most traffic reporters don’t use the term accident. You’ll notice they call it a ‘crash’ or a ‘smash-up.’ Saying ‘accident’ makes it sound as if it can’t be helped.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Deedee remarked.
As he spoke, I’d exhaled a breath but seemed to have forgotten how to draw it back in. Then everything started to collide inside me. The taco soup…my talk with Deedee the night before…seeing Troy Jones and not having enough sleep and eating only sugar for breakfast and blowing the interview and Deedee was pregnant and why didn’t I just talk into her microphone and all that coffee and there’s no such thing as an accident because they’re crashes and smash-ups but not accidents because somebody must be at fault and the worst, worst, worst part of all…Troy’s glance sliding over to me because he’d heard what Dickie said, too. And in his eyes I saw the one thing I couldn’t take—the thing that was as good as pouring lighter fluid on the smoldering fire of my emotions. I saw pity.
“Pardon me, I need to…” I gestured toward outside, as if there were important errands I’d remembered I needed to handle. I hurried out, and as soon as I was beyond where they could see me, I ran the rest of the way to the side of the building.
Then I threw my back up against the wall, and the waterworks began.
My chest heaved to gasp air. Tears hurled themselves from my eyes as I let loose racking, heaving sob after sob. I knew the noise I was making—I’d heard it before when I’d visited San Francisco’s Pier 39, where dozens of sea lions played on the docks. In my case, it was a bark of awful, confused misery. It was Laura Petrie on The Dick Van Dyke Show when she used to cry in her falsetto, “Oh, Rob!” It was the girl screaming in a slasher film. It was a Mack truck’s brakes squealing on the freeway. It was ugly and undignified, and I couldn’t make myself stop.
I felt hands on my shoulders. Troy scooted me down so I was sitting—flat against the wall, hugging my knees. Then he moved my arms and spread my legs apart. He pushed gently on my back so my head dropped down between my knees. “Breathe,” he directed. “Take a slow breath in, then let it out.”
“I…I…I…caaaaan’t…huh a huh…”
“Shhh. Deep breath in.” And he breathed in deeply and then exhaled to demonstrate. “Come on, do it with me.”
And in between snorting out sobs, I managed to get in a few breaths, then a few more; then after a while I was breathing in synch with Troy and, frankly, feeling foolish there with my head between my knees.
His hand rubbing my back was nice, though. I was also A-okay with the way he sat next to me, his body grazing mine.
As I lifted my head, and before he could get full view of the damage, I used the underside of my shirt to wipe my face. It emerged soaked with mascara, tears, snot, and heaven knew what else.
Troy had stopped rubbing my back and shifted so he could see me better. (And what a view I’m sure it was!) “Dickie didn’t mean anything by it. It wasn’t about you.”
I shrugged my answer.
“He doesn’t know about the accident. And hey, see that? I said ‘accident.’ Because that’s what it was.”
At this point, because my eyes were puffy and I’m sure my nose was red, so basically I had nothing to lose, I said simply, “Why are you so nice to me?” It was both a question and an accusation.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Do I need to state the obvious? Because if I do, then this—” I made a gesture toward my eyes—“could start up again.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“The fact is, I was driving. You have every right to blame me for”—and there was no way to say it without saying it—“your sister’s death. You should hate me. I find it hard to understand why you don’t seem to. You’re either a saint or…well, saint’s pretty much my only idea.”
“Excuse me while I go call the news desk, because that’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know. All I can tell you is that I get plenty angry about what happened. But not at you. Trust me, if I ever get my hands on the bastard who couldn’t tie a dresser down to a truck…and then didn’t stop…” He shook his head. “You don’t want to be there. As far as I’m concerned, you didn’t do anything wrong. You survived, and I wish my sister had, too. That’s it.”
I nodded, missing the warmth of his hand on my back. As much as I’d enjoyed the comfort, however, I knew there was something that I needed even more: the truth. I’d been running from it for a long time, and now it was time to face it. “Troy, I want you to answer a question for me, and I want you to answer it honestly.”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“Sure.” His brows pulled together in curiosity. “I promise.”
“When your sister died, was it…right away? Like instantly? Or…” I let my question trail off.
I saw his Adam’s apple jump. His mouth opened and then shut again. What seemed to be a lifetime passed, and at last he said, “Yeah. They said it was instant.”
He was truly the worst liar I’d ever seen.
I had my answer. Only it wasn’t the one I’d wanted. The weight I’d hoped to have lifted gave an evil chuckle from its perch on my shoulders.
Troy got himself up from the ground and then extended an arm to help me up.
“That was quite a radio interview Deedee did, huh? She’s a pistol.” He was obviously trying to change the subject, interject levity into the moment. What the heck, I’d play along. I clasped his hand and let myself be pulled to my feet.
“Yeah, and I can’t believe you,” I said, forcing mirth into my voice. “Egging her on like you did.”
“Gotta go with the flow. And hey,” Troy said, giving a playful tug at my pants, “what’s up with the jeans?”
“There’s nothing wrong with jeans. You’re wearing them. Remember…radio and all that?”
“I’m disappointed, that’s all. I was specifically promised pajamas.”
“You’re not missing much,” I assured him, brushing at my bottom. “My pajamas are no big thrill. Half the time I wind up just wearing underwear to bed.”
As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I winced with embarrassment.
Troy gave a low chuckle. “I was disappointed before. Now I’m devastated.”
Chapter 15
My parents didn’t argue often. But when they did, my brother and I had an uncanny ability to choose these times while their equilibrium was off to ask for things. A later bedtime. Pizza delivery. The combination to the liquor cabinet. It was risky. You could get your head snapped off. Yet there was also the chance that you’d get a “yes” that you’d never, ever get otherwise. We didn’t even have to hear the fight or know for a fact it had happened—it was as if we could smell the vulnerability. I can’t even say
it was deliberate, at least on my part. It was pure childhood instinct that drove us to pounce when the prey was weakened.
It was the same sort of instinct, I’ll assume, behind Deedee saying to me now—as I was still reeling from the news that Marissa’s accident had in fact been the worst-case scenario—“I’ve been thinking.”
“That explains that smoke coming from your brain,” I quipped.
I was driving her to school after the ride-along with Troy, and we’d gotten mired in the rush-hour traffic that had looked so lovely from the sky. It was butt-ugly down here. I was stuck behind a huge truck with a naked woman silhouette on the mud flaps and a “My Kid Can Beat Up Your Honor Student” bumper sticker. Somebody nearby hadn’t passed smog inspection because I was choking on fumes. My car had moved about a foot and a half in the past hour.
“I’m pretty sure I got somebody who can adopt the baby.”
“Deedee, that’s wonderful!” I exclaimed, and the words kept gushing out. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me before this! Is your mom okay with it? Oh my gosh, I’m so excited for you! Who is it? Did you find relatives?”
“Sort of related,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“A sister.”
I looked over at her in utter confusion. “A sister? You never told me you had a sister.”
“A big sister.”
“Wha—? Huh—? You have a big sister? How is that—?” And then it struck me.
Ho no. Was she out of her mind?
“Tell me you’re not referring to me.”
“Why not?!” she challenged. “It’d be perfect! You could be the mom—and we’d all hang out together and do stuff.”
“But Deedee—”
“You want a baby. You said so yourself.”
“I meant more someday.”
“I’m not due till August.”
I gave a sigh.
“You don’t exactly have all the time in the world,” she said ominously.
“Do you know something I don’t know? Because I was planning on sticking around for a while.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I can see why the idea would appeal to you. And I’m flattered, I am. But if you haven’t noticed, I’m single. Wouldn’t you rather the baby go to a married couple?”
“I don’t know any married couples. I know you.”
“There are agencies where they’d introduce you to people who—”
“That’s not gonna work. You know that. My mom is never gonna let the baby go to just anybody. And I don’t want that for her anyway. How do I know how some stranger’s gonna treat her? That she’s not gonna get smacked around or put down all the time? Or worse?”
“Her?” I asked. “Did you—”
“It’s a girl.”
“Congratulations,” I said; then I added gently, “Believe me, the idea of adopting the baby is very tempting. But sweetie, your mom’s never going to go for this.”
“Yeah, she is. We already talked about it.”
“You did?”
“I mean, it was my idea. Even way back when I only thought I might be pregnant. After you and Kip came over, me and my mom talked about it. And then last night, spending that time with your family, I knew for sure.”
I blew out a breath.
“I don’t have much family,” she said. “Mami’s is mostly in Mexico. I don’t even know my dad. And you’d be an awesome mom. Plus you got that big place with a pool. The baby would have grandparents living close by. And I’d be, like, her big sister.”
Traffic started to clear—there’d been backup due to a crash…a smash-up…whatever you want to call it. As I got close to where the accident happened, I slowed to rubberneck. I waited all this time, I might as well get my show. Not much to see. Fender bender; no injuries as far as I could tell. All this to watch two people exchange insurance information.
We picked up speed, and I fiddled with the air vents, trying to get a breeze going. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m not married?”
“Might be even better. You’ll give the baby more love that way. You don’t have anybody else. All you got is each other.”
“What if I get married?”
Deedee made a sound like “Heh.”
“It could happen!”
“Ah, that’d be okay. You wouldn’t marry a guy who didn’t want a baby, too. You know, I think Dickie liked you.”
“Dickie?”
“He was totally flirting with you.”
“You don’t mean Troy?”
The girl must be brighter than I gave her credit for. “Why, do you like Troy?” she asked sweetly.
“No! I thought you might have the names mixed up. I assumed Troy because you met him before…at the beach.”
She started to singsong, “You really liiiiike him…”
“Shut up.”
“You think he’s seeeeexy…”
“This car is still going slow enough. I can shove you out and probably not even get a ticket for it.”
“You want to kiiiiiiss him…”
I snipped, “Can we change the subject?”
“Fine. You gonna adopt my kid or not?”
Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“I need time to mull it over. This is a lot.”
Deedee nodded, whereas I was utterly shocked by what I’d just said. I’d mull it? Surely the answer needed to be a swift and simple no. Yet, as soon as Deedee proposed the idea of me being a mom, all I could think about were those few minutes of waiting for a pregnancy test result. The same mix of yes and no stirred inside me. I wasn’t yet willing to open my eyes and look at the results—especially since this time it was up to me what answer appeared. Instead, against all logic, I’d just given Deedee a maybe.
“Just don’t take too long deciding,” she said. “If you don’t do it, I gotta start buying baby stuff. And sign myself up for independent study. And those guys said they were going to get me a student internship at the radio station in the fall. I can’t do it if I got to worry about a kid, so I’ll need to call them and tell them no.”
Sensing my chance to divert Deedee from the topic of adopting her baby, I said, “Oh, an internship? That’s great! You must have really impressed them. What sorts of things would you be doing?”
“Nothing if I got me a baby to take care of,” she said dully.
So much for diverting her attention.
After I dropped Deedee off at school, that Mariah Carey song “Hero” came on the radio. When it got to the part about how I’ll finally see the truth—that a hero lies in me—I felt a catch in my throat. It wasn’t a full-on sob. I prefer to save that sort of thing for where people can see me, apparently. This was more a quick bubble of emotion. A hint at the roller coaster to come.
When I finally got to work, Susan was the only one who noticed it wasn’t me on K-JAM. Everyone else told me, Good job! Way to go! Phyllis popped her head into my cubicle to say, “It’s a start.”
My mom had left a message. “Why are you going on the radio saying I’m blind? I understand if you want to give carpooling a heartwarming angle. But couldn’t you have made your father blind? He doesn’t have to go to work and face people.” Then she sighed. “Ah well, maybe I’ll get one of those handicapped spots now.”
FOR THE NEXT WEEK, the only thing I could think about was adopting Deedee’s baby.
It wasn’t as if I didn’t have other things to occupy my mind. Work was a madhouse. I had to pick up the slack for Lizbeth’s being gone, even though there was no talk yet of (me) replacing her. Plus, it was near the end of the fiscal year, so those projects I’d procrastinated on had come back to haunt me.
But my world went on autopilot, and I had one thing on my mind. For the first time, I could relate to that annoying way that women get so consumed about pregnancy and babies. In fact, I now offer my profound and immediate apologies to every woman behind whose back I made gagging motions when our conversation managed to again focus only
on baby clothes, bassinettes, and spit-up.
Out of nowhere, I’d become obsessed with babies. Even when I was running errands one day, my car steered itself to a Babies R Us—or, as I’ve called it any other time I’ve had to go there to buy a shower present, Downtown Hell. But this time I meandered the aisles, gushing over the tiny outfits. Mentally picturing how I’d turn my spare room into a nursery.
That was, I scolded myself, if I adopted the baby.
But that was crazy. Of course it was crazy!
Wasn’t it?
Suddenly I was noticing babies everywhere. I couldn’t get enough of them. I found myself cooing at them. Asking their mothers how old they were. Did they sleep through the night? Were they on solids yet? “Mind if I give ’em a hold?”
I’d gone to a park a few days before and had a conversation with a mom with two toddlers. I told her about the baby I was going to adopt as if it were fact and not speculation. And I liked the way it sounded coming out of my mouth. My baby will be here in August. I’m making all sorts of plans for my baby. Of course, then the woman went and wrecked it all by saying, “Your husband must be thrilled.” To save face, I had to say, “Yes, my partner is beside herself.” She piped down pretty quickly after that.
A chance like this would never come along again, that was for sure. It felt as if I’d won millions of dollars in the lottery and I was studying the ticket, deciding whether or not to cash it in. On the plus side, I’d be rich. On the down side, I’d never know if a potential suitor loved me for me or for my money.
Hell, who was I kidding? I’d take the cash.
The idea of a baby, however, was much trickier.
One thing was certain: I needed to think things through on my own before I opened debate to the floor. Sure, getting input from friends and family would help me sort things out. That was, if I had a different group of friends and family. In my case, it was guaranteed I’d be bombarded with opinions. Better to know where I stood and then see if the winds of public opinion could topple me.
Having recently discovered that lists can be quite helpful in setting one’s life on a new course, I pulled out a pencil and piece of paper and made a list of my own.
The Next Thing on My List Page 16
