Chelsea nodded. For the first time since she’d discovered she was pregnant, she felt like she had people in her corner who could help her. Liz and Adam were both there for her, but neither would help her support a child or show her what steps she would need to take over the next seven months. She wasn’t going to go through it alone.
“Thank you,” she said, truly grateful.
After the doctor pulled the door shut behind her, Chelsea sat there for a moment all by herself, her hand resting on her tummy. Her mind was still on Jeff and how she wished he were sitting beside her, holding her hand, just as excited about this baby as she was. She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in three and a half months.
Seven
Chance Meetings and Married Men
The first time Chelsea saw Jeff was in the Lucky Lady. He and a friend had walked in wearing dress shirts and ties. Chelsea had been sitting at the bar, chatting with Rascal about getting her GED when she noticed them making their way over to a table in the corner. She remembered thinking about how out of place they looked in a biker bar where everyone was in worn leather jackets and sleeveless T-shirts. Chelsea had swiveled on her bar stool and watched the attractive man and his buddy as they used napkins to wipe off the chairs before they sat down, protecting their expensive slacks.
Attractive Guy’s friend, a slightly chubby, clean-shaven man had walked up to the bar and waved at Rascal.
“We’ll take a pitcher of whatever domestic you have on tap,” he’d said as he unbuttoned the top button of his collared shirt. He seemed to relax a little once that button was undone.
“Twelve bucks,” Rascal said. The guy handed him a gold credit card.
“Keep it open.” Rascal slipped the card into the register drawer.
“I’ll bring it over in a minute.” The guy nodded and headed back over to the table under a neon Stoli sign that illuminated the window above their heads.
When the pitcher was finished filling with foamy amber beer, Rascal set it on the counter along with two clean glasses.
“Take that over to those suits for me, would ya?” he asked. Chelsea, glad to have something to do, slipped off her stool and walked slowly across the room, careful not to spill even a drop.
“Bartender asked me to bring this over.” Chelsea smiled as she set the glasses down. As she looked up, she remembered Attractive Guy giving her an impressed look—the kind guys give when they want a girl to know they’re intrigued. He didn’t say anything, though.
“Thanks,” his friend said.
Chelsea walked back to her seat at the bar. As she hopped up onto the stool, she glanced over her shoulder and noticed that Attractive Guy was still eyeing her as his friend poured beer into the glasses.
For the next half hour, Chelsea hoped he would come over to talk to her, but he didn’t. A few times she thought about walking over to his table, sitting down, and striking up a conversation, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Tired of the noise, Chelsea eventually went outside for some fresh air.
Chelsea plopped down on the curb away from the entrance. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed her father’s number. He had been gone for almost a week, working for some guy who needed help laying carpet in a motel in Iowa, and she missed him. She felt a surge of disappointment when his voice came on the line in a tinny recording. You’ve reached Dom. Leave a message.
“Hi, Dad. Everything’s fine here. Just calling to say hi. I love you. Call me when you can.” She wondered if he was sitting in some dive bar in a depressed area of Des Moines, sucking back whiskey and flirting with women who were impressed by motorcycles.
“You okay?” a deep, masculine voice asked. Chelsea looked up to see Attractive Guy walking toward her from the parking lot. She was surprised to see him out there and even more surprised that he was finally talking to her.
“I’m fine. My brain needed a little silence,” she replied, tucking her phone back into her pocket. She had no more than finished her sentence when a car horn blared from the nearby street. She smiled at the irony and Attractive Guy did too.
“Not sure you’re going to find that out here, either.” He grinned as he stepped toward her. She smiled and shrugged. “Forgive me for saying this, but you don’t seem like you really fit in with the crowd here. . . .” He nodded toward the entrance.
“I thought the same about you and your friend,” she replied, making a point to look at his silk necktie that now hung loosely around his neck.
“Orin. We stopped for gas up the road. Saw this place and thought we’d check it out.”
“Orin’s a cool name.” She’d never heard it before.
“What about you? Do you have a cool name?” he asked flirtatiously.
“Chelsea. And you are . . . ?”
“Jeff. Plain old Jeff.”
“Except not that plain and not that old.” She flirted back, liking the attention. Jeff chuckled. She could tell he appreciated the compliment. He was tall and attractive and she liked that he wasn’t trying to hang all over her.
“Can I sit?” he asked, racking up another point in his favor. Most guys just assumed they could take the seat next to her without asking.
“You’re gonna get your pants dirty,” she warned, remembering how he’d wiped off the chair before sitting inside.
“I don’t mind,” he said, and sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m still trying to figure out what you’re doing out here alone.”
“What’s wrong with doing things by yourself?” She leaned in as she asked, looking into his eyes. She spent the majority of her time alone. Although it was lonely at times, especially when her father was away on long trips, being by herself actually made her feel calm and centered. Better to be alone than in bad company.
“Nothing. It just doesn’t seem . . .” His voice trailed off as he rephrased his thought. “I would think the guys in there would be all over you.” Plain old Jeff is right about that, she thought. They usually are, and it’s annoying.
“They’re not my type,” she responded firmly, not one hundred percent sure she knew what her type was. Whatever it was, it certainly did not hang out at the Lucky Lady.
Jeff seemed to want to say something but then changed his mind. Instead he pointed to the tattoo on the inside of her ankle written in German. “‘Love conquers all.’ Is that right?”
“Ja!” she said, impressed. No one ever knew what that meant. “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”
“Ein bisschen,” he replied with good pronunciation. “I took a few years in high school.” She smiled, feeling a little closer to him.
“It was my mother’s favorite saying,” she explained, as she had so many times before when people asked about it. “She was from Düsseldorf. I’ve never been there but I’ve seen pictures and it’s beautiful.” Jeff studied her for a moment.
“You get more interesting by the minute,” he said softly. Before he could say anything more, Orin poked his head out the door.
“Hey, man . . . you find your wallet?” Orin asked. Jeff quickly stood up like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He pulled his wallet from his pocket. For the first time, she noticed the gold wedding band on his left ring finger. It had been there the whole time, obviously, but she hadn’t seen it. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it.
“Left it in the car.” Chelsea saw Orin look from Jeff to her and then back to Jeff before raising his eyebrow in disapproval. Then Orin went back inside.
“Why the poisonous stare?” Chelsea asked, not sure she understood the silent exchange that had just taken place.
“He probably thinks I made up the wallet thing just to come out here and talk to you.”
“Did you?”
“No, but when I saw you sitting here, I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity.” She smiled, flattered. “It was nice talking to you, Chelsea,” Jeff said as he stuffed his wallet back into his dark gray slacks. She remained seated, wishing he didn’t feel the need to go
.
“If you want to talk to me again, you can.” She wasn’t entirely sure what made her say it. She hadn’t really thought about dating him or pursuing any sort of relationship. And she knew the chances of a professional, married guy wanting to date her were slim. He probably had a gorgeous wife and some nice, big house on a tree-lined street. No way could she compete with that. But she liked his company and they had a lot in common. Maybe they could kill time together. Chatting with Jeff under the starry night sky, speaking in her mother’s native language, was better than sitting alone in a dank bar.
Jeff paused, looked around uncomfortably, then pulled his business card from his pocket. “Here’s my information. . . . I’ll leave that up to you.”
Chelsea looked down at the card: Jeff Clefton. He was the vice president of sales for Carrus Furnishings. Chelsea had never heard of the company but figured it was probably pretty big. His cell phone number was printed in glossy black type under his name. Chelsea smiled.
“Guten nacht,” she said, telling him “good night” in German.
“Guten nacht,” he replied, before grinning awkwardly and walking back into the bar.
A few days later, Chelsea, all alone and bored, had decided to call him.
“Hi, is this Jeff?” she said when she heard him answer her call.
“Yes, who’s this?” he asked, not recognizing her voice.
“Chelsea. Wie gehts?” She decided to ask how he was doing in German to spark his memory.
“Chelsea, hi,” he said. “Hang on a minute.” The line went silent and when he came back on, he seemed lighter, happier than before. “I’m glad you called.”
“Are you busy? Did I catch you at a bad time?” She suddenly felt nervous.
“Not at all. I just needed to get off the other line.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, I didn’t really have a reason for calling. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed our conversation the other night.”
“So did I. Would you like to . . . maybe continue it over lunch?” Was he asking her on a date? Or was it just a friendly get-together? Either way, she wanted to do it.
The following day they met for lunch at a bistro a few blocks from Stella Luna. It was at that lunch, over Caesar salads and turkey paninis, that Chelsea realized Jeff was like no one she’d ever known. He was classy and smart and funny, and he seemed to like her the way she wanted to be liked. He had done most of the talking, which made it easy. She didn’t have to reveal anything about where she lived or the fact she’d dropped out of high school, or explain where her father was. Those facts were embarrassing. She used to mention them, but it didn’t take long to realize people judged her because of them. They either felt she was just poor white trash going nowhere with her life, or they felt sorry for her. She didn’t want Jeff to do either one.
Jeff told her about the company he worked for and a few funny stories about Orin and how he loved to ski and tried to get out to Tahoe or Aspen at least once a year. He’d even been to Europe a few times. Never Germany, only France, England, and Portugal. But still, it was much closer than she’d ever been. He had not mentioned his wife at all, and Chelsea, at least on that first lunch meeting, never asked.
Eight
Money Matters
It was dark by the time Chelsea stepped off the bus at the corner of 147th and Maytag and began the four-block walk home. As she made her way along the broken sidewalk, she thought about the parenting class she sat in on. Dr. Shollenbrook had told her that they were offering free classes at the community center next door and invited her to stay and check it out. She had killed a few hours at a coffee shop, and then took the refill of green tea with her as she walked down to the large brick building with mirrored windows.
The teacher was a pretty African American woman with bright red lipstick, and Chelsea liked listening to her.
“We all know babies do three things: they eat, sleep, and poop. Last week we covered sleeping and pooping, and tonight we’ll cover eating. This is an important one cuz as soon as that kid pops out, it’s gonna be hungry.” The students, mostly women and men a little older than Chelsea, laughed. Chelsea laughed too. Taking care of a baby didn’t sound scary, the way Red Lipstick Lady told it. She made it sound logical and easy, and even fun. The way Mr. Walters made math class fun.
Afterward, Chelsea scooped up every pamphlet on parenting they’d set out on the scratched wooden table in the front of the room, figuring she could read more about parenting and what the community center offered in her spare time. She couldn’t wait to go back and learn some more. Thinking about the class brought a smile to her face, which quickly faded as she turned the corner and spotted a familiar car parked in front of her house. Jeff’s Mercedes. Her heart fluttered for a moment. Why was he there waiting for her? Had he come by to apologize and say he wanted to be a real father to their kid? She hoped so.
When he saw her, he got out of his car and met her in the street.
“Chelsea,” he said calmly.
“Hi.” She felt the need to be cautious even though she really wanted to throw her arms around him the way she’d done before. “I thought you were going to call me.”
“Better to talk in person when it’s something important.” She nodded and led him into the mobile home. Jeff took a seat at the kitchen table as Chelsea put her backpack down.
“You want coffee or something?” she asked. His demeanor was strained and he shook his head.
“No thanks. We need to talk about this situation.”
“Situation”? Didn’t he mean “baby”? Shouldn’t they be talking about their child? Chelsea filled a kettle full of water from the faucet and set it on the stove for tea. She turned around and leaned back against the counter. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“I don’t understand the question.” What she wanted to do? Wasn’t it clear she wanted to marry him and raise their kid like normal people?
“Have you thought . . .” he said in a frustrated tone before calming himself and continuing, “. . . about having an abortion?”
“No,” she said adamantly. “No way. I’m excited about being a mom.” After what she’d learned today at her appointment and the parenting class, she had an even clearer understanding of why she wanted to be a mother than she’d had before.
“You’re seventeen, Chelsea! Why on earth do you think it’s a good idea to keep this baby?”
“Because I love you and I love this child.”
“But I don’t want to have a kid with you. I can’t.”
Chelsea felt like she had been punched in the gut. She couldn’t believe what Jeff was saying. Didn’t he love her? A few days ago, they’d been talking about how they’d be together after his divorce and now he was telling her he didn’t want his kid?
“The kid is coming, though,” she said, still trying to wrap her head around what he meant. Did he think she was too immature to be a good mother? Did she just need to prove to him that she was ready?
“I can do this,” she continued. “I know you think I can’t because I’m too young, but I can. I even started parenting classes today. I’ll learn everything I need to know.” Jeff heaved a loud, dismissive sigh.
“You are a high school dropout, Chelsea. How are you going to support this baby on a minimum-wage job? You don’t have a real income!” She ignored his condescending tone.
“But you do.”
“Oh good god,” Jeff said in an exasperated tone and ran his fingers through his hair.
“You have money and I can give the baby love. That’s more than most people have. It’s more than I had. We never had money.” Why was he having so much trouble believing she could make it work? He knocked his knuckles angrily against the top of the table.
“I can’t financially support a child if I’m in jail. And that’s exactly where I’ll be if anyone finds out I got a seventeen-year-old pregnant.” Who said anything about jail? Yes, she was underage, but it wasn’t like he raped her. They were in love.
The sex was consensual and so what if he was quite a bit older than she was? If it didn’t matter to her, why should it matter to anyone else?
“It won’t be that way” was all she could think to say.
“Listen to me!” He raised his voice. “I need you to understand the situation I’m in. I talked to a lawyer. They will charge me as a sex offender. I’ll lose my job. I’ll never be allowed to even get near the child. This is not the life you or I want.”
“I’ll be eighteen before the baby’s born.”
“It doesn’t matter!” He sneered.
“Fine! I won’t put your name on the birth certificate. There!”
“You aren’t hearing me. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t want to marry you and I can’t have anything to do with this baby.”
“But you said after your divorce—”
“That was before I knew how old you are. Seventeen! Christ. You’re a child. Even if you were of age, what are people going to say when they see us together? My family? The people I work with? There’s no way this is ever going to work. It just isn’t.”
“But we love each other and—”
“Jesus!” Jeff interrupted. “Just stop with all your ethereal, whimsical, happy-go-lucky bullshit! This is the real world! Love does not conquer all!” Tears welled in Chelsea’s eyes. She was utterly confused about how much of what he was saying was true. Is this what he really thinks of me? she wondered. He’d said countless times that he loved her because she was so free, so spontaneous, so undaunted by all the things in the world that make people jaded and unable to trust. Now he was using all of that against her.
“Listen to me,” he said softly, and pulled a plain white envelope from his jacket pocket. He slid it toward her. “I want what’s best for both of us. There’s ten thousand dollars in there. If you let me take you to get an abortion, it’s all yours. You can use it to go to Germany or move out . . . or anything you want.” Chelsea looked up at him, surprised. Ten thousand dollars. How could he put a price on his own child? “I’m not trying to buy you off,” he continued. “It’s only fair that if you give me what I want, you get something out of it too.” Chelsea stared at the envelope, incensed.
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