Sheryl has been waitressing since she graduated from high school—nearly three years now. All her tips have gone into a special savings account that has grown weekly to the sum of almost five thousand dollars. She plans to keep working after they’re married and envisions the money as the down payment on a house someday.
Her father was laid off seven months earlier, and even though it looks as if he’ll be rehired soon, there just isn’t much money coming in. Because of the situation, Sheryl has insisted on a small wedding and has even paid for the wedding dress herself. She has brought up the subject of a civil ceremony, but her mother won’t hear of it. Sheryl knows it’ll be nothing like the wedding Kate’s been planning. And she doesn’t care.
Sheryl sits back a little deeper in the wing chair and downs her third rum and Coke, the rum unknowingly provided by Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. Paul’s parents are out of town for the weekend. They have given the okay for a party, but Sheryl’s pretty sure they don’t have a clue that their baby boy has sprung for a kegger.
The festivities to celebrate Paul’s being drafted by the Giants started at eight o’clock. By eight-thirty approximately thirty teenagers had converged on the house on Frazier Street and the party is now in its third hour, louder than ever. The second keg has been tapped, the music has shifted gears from the Stones and Led Zeppelin to Eric Clapton and Pink Floyd. The air in the living room hangs heavy with cigarette smoke and if you’re looking for a cheap high, all you have to do is walk into the small bathroom downstairs and inhale deeply. Somebody’s been growing their own.
The only room in the house that’s off-limits is the master bedroom. Every other available space is being put to good use, as couples press themselves into corners and improbable angles on pieces of furniture that were never meant for such activity. If Paul’s mother knew what was going on in her dining room, she’d never eat there again.
Sheryl has danced with a couple of the guys that have come stag, but has had enough when the last one—Larry? Lonnie?—sticks his tongue in her ear. The only male worth looking at is Paul Armstrong, and not only does he know it, but he has Kate there as a reinforcement in case he somehow forgets. He may be only eighteen years old, but Sheryl doesn’t remember any boy that remotely resembled him when she was that age.
She stares at her empty glass and decides it’s time for another drink, and since it doesn’t look as if anyone is going to offer to fix it for her, she stands unsteadily and makes her way to the kitchen. Sheryl passes Mike in the hallway. He’s been cornered by Rosemary Donovan who seems to be whispering sweet nothings in his ear. The pained expression on his face tells the whole story, and Sheryl winks at him as she walks by.
She’ll never understand why he tortures himself at these parties. The only girl he has eyes for is Kate, and her eyes are always glued to Paul. Sheryl secretly thinks Kate is either a fool or very naive about Paul, but the one time she’s voiced her opinion to Mike he’s cut her off. She remembers ending that conversation with, “She doesn’t know what she’s missing, passing you up for him.”
The kitchen is, unbelievably, empty and Sheryl opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can of Coke. The ice trays have recently been filled, so she bends to open the ice chest. She hears voices raised above the slide guitar Clapton is playing, and she stops to listen. Sheryl recognizes Paul and Kate arguing on the back porch. The window is open and it’s hard to ignore them.
She seems to have come in on the tail end of their discussion, but Sheryl gets the gist of it when Kate says, “You’re the one who wanted to wait to get married. And you knew that meant waiting to have sex.”
“Shit, Kate, you can’t expect me to wait another two years!”
“If I can wait, so can you.”
Paul’s answer is muffled by the starting riff of “Layla,” but Kate’s reply comes through loud and clear. “You’re pretty disgusting when you’re drunk. I’m going home.”
“What are you gonna do? Walk?”
“If I have to.”
“You’re not gonna walk,” Paul relents. “I’ll ask Mike to drive you.”
When she realizes they’re coming into the kitchen, Sheryl quickly pours three fingers of rum into her glass, gives it a quick stir, and hurriedly leaves the room. From her vantage point on the staircase, Sheryl listens to the dating woes of Frank Trumbull with one ear, while she watches the minidrama unfolding in the hallway below.
A defiant Kate and a sullen Paul have approached Mike, who is still in the clutches of Rosemary Donovan. Paul says something to Mike and Kate turns away. Rosemary steps aside. Mike nods, says something in return, then steals a glance at Kate’s intractable face. Shoving a hand in his jeans pocket, Mike comes up with his car keys, and together, he and Kate leave the house. Another notch on the torture rack, Sheryl thinks.
Frank is asking her something she doesn’t quite hear. It sounds like, “Do you think I should mask the fairy?”
Sheryl turns to him and her head swims. “Huh?”
“Do you think I should ask Rosemary?”
Sheryl’s words come out at half-speed. “Ask her what?” Then, not really caring “what,” she slowly stands and grabs the newel post for support. “Excuse me, Frank. I need some air.”
She is sitting on the glider on the front porch, but the swaying movement makes her dizzy and she moves to a wicker armchair around the corner. She sighs deeply and lets the darkness surround her. The sweet smell of pot drifts on the cool night air and she thinks that it’s probably a good thing Paul’s parents aren’t coming home till Sunday night. It will take that long to deodorize the house.
“Want a hit?”
Paul’s voice gives her a start and she turns in the chair. He is sitting on the porch railing, but she doesn’t see him until he takes a drag from the joint and the ragged tip glows orange-red. He extends his arm.
Pulling the chair around, she takes it from him. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do …”
Inhaling deeply, she hands the joint back to him. They pass it back and forth a few more times, not speaking. The stuff is good and it’s making her incredibly horny. She can only guess what it’s doing to Paul’s eighteen-year-old libido. When he stands up to pull a clip out of his pocket, her eyes have adjusted to the dim moonlight enough for her to admire the way his jeans fit his body. He catches her looking and slowly smiles. An understanding passes between them and Sheryl smiles back.
He has been her brother’s friend forever and is a permanent fixture at their house. She recalls the night of her sixteenth birthday. Sheryl had caught Paul peeking in her bedroom window as she and four of her friends danced around the room to Creedence Clearwater Revival. The screams could be heard down the block as the girls raced to put on robes to cover their nighties. All the girls but Sheryl, that is. She had pulled up the window shade and confronted Paul’s wide-eyed stare. Hands on hips, she’d said, “Take a picture. It lasts longer, you little weasel.”
Now, too much liquor and a little dope loosens her tongue. “Don’t need to look in windows anymore, do ya, Paul.”
“Not for a long time.” He moves closer to her and hands her the roach.
“When the hell did you grow up?” she says with grudging admiration.
Sitting back down on the porch rail, he brings one foot up against the wicker table in front of her and watches her finish the joint. “Where’s Dan these days?”
“Working,” she answers, trying to keep her eyes above his waist.
“Lonely?” he asks.
She leans back in the chair and it creaks softly. Looking him square in the eyes, she says, “I feel like a cat in heat.”
He doesn’t even have the decency to hesitate when he says, “Can I be of assistance?”
She can’t believe she is actually considering this. “What about Kate?”
His calf brushes her knee and he grins. “What about Dan?”
He has a point.
Paul now leans over her and traces the scoop of her neckline with his fingers.
His touch electrifies her nerve endings, and she knows she wants to see this through to the end. One final fling before she gets married. What could it hurt?
“Could be fun,” he says. “Nobody needs to know.”
“You’re a very bad boy,” she says, letting him run a finger along her collarbone.
“Actually,” he chuckles. “I’ve been told I’m a very good boy.”
That does it. “Where?”
“I’ll meet you in my parents’ bedroom in five minutes.”
Sheryl looked up and saw the clock. She’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, which meant that Matt had been gone that long, too. Jesus, she thought. Matt is the same age as Paul was when I told him he was going to be a father.
Sheryl got to her feet and went to the phone. She didn’t want Mike hearing this from his nephew. But there was no answer at her brother’s house.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
“Dan, it’s me,” Sheryl said.
“I already know. I just got off the phone with Matt.”
Sheryl squeezed her eyes shut, fending off tears. “How did he sound?” she asked.
“Hurt,” Dan answered curtly.
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. Just like you told it to me nineteen years ago.”
Sheryl looks at the doctor in disbelief. “How can I be pregnant? I’ve used my diaphragm every time!” And even as the words come out of her mouth, she remembers the one time she hadn’t inserted the damned piece of rubber. Her eyes shift away from her doctor’s face and she wonders if he can see the word “guilty” burning across her forehead.
“It happens. I know you’ve only been married a couple of months and this could be a hardship for the two of you. You have choices.”
But there’s never really been any choice for Sheryl. A baby is growing inside her now, and that is the only choice she has. She listens numbly as the nurse talks to her about prenatal care. Sheryl takes the pamphlets and gazes at them blindly. The only thing she can think about is telling Dan.
That night in bed, after a very long evening with her parents, Sheryl lies on her back in the dark. She holds her hands together so tightly she can feel her fingernails biting into her palms.
“Dan?” she finally says. “Are you asleep?”
His weight shifts in the bed. “Almost. Why?”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The springs of the mattress squeal as he sits up. “You’re pregnant?” The light comes on and they blink at each other like owls. “How?”
Sheryl pushes herself up and takes his hand as she settles in front of him. “I’m afraid to tell you.”
“Sherry, I promise I won’t get mad. But we’ve been so careful …”
She holds his hand tighter, not speaking. Dan exhales slowly, guessing what she is trying to tell him.
Sheryl finally says, “Dan, I want to keep this baby. I’ll understand if you want to leave.”
“But I love you, Sherry. You told me it was only that one time …”
“It was. The only stupider thing I’ve ever done was forgetting to use my diaphragm. The whole thing meant nothing. I already told you that, and I meant it. And I love you for understanding. I know how hard it was for you.”
“But now you’re pregnant with Paul Armstrong’s baby.” For some blessed reason, she can tell he isn’t angry. Just confused. “Does he know?”
“No! Of course not! Dan, I just found out today.”
“Sherry? Do you really love me?”
“Sure I do, Danny.”
“Will you let me be the baby’s father?”
She looks at him and smiles for the first time that day. Putting her arms around him, she says, “Of course you’ll be his father. Who else?”
“What about Paul? Aren’t you going to tell him?”
“No.”
Dan is silent for a moment. “If it were me, I’d want to know.”
“Thank God you’re not.”
“But don’t you think he’d want to know?”
Frightened, she says, “But Danny. What if he wants the baby?”
Dan pulls away from her and she can tell he hasn’t thought of that. There isn’t a deceptive bone in his body, so Sheryl is surprised when he answers, “Don’t tell him till after he’s married.”
He’s right. Paul doesn’t have the scruples of a toad, and he’ll never be able to bring himself to tell Kate the truth. And so, that night, Sheryl and Dan enter into their own conspiracy.
Matt, born the following April, is beautiful—perfect. Eight pounds, eight ounces, of fair-haired sweetness. Grandparents, uncle, and parents are thrilled. A baby couldn’t be more loved.
And when Kate and Paul are married, Matt is nearly two years old. Paul is entering his first season in the major leagues. Sheryl will never forget the way making this phone call makes her feel. Her heart pounds so hard she’s afraid she’ll pass out. Her palms are so wet, she can barely hold the telephone.
It’s ten o’clock in the morning and he’s still asleep. The phone has been answered by his roommate, who has to be convinced she is Paul’s wife and it’s an emergency. When a very fuzzy-voiced Paul comes on the line, Sheryl says the lines she’s rehearsed for months.
“Paul. This is Sheryl. Mike’s sister. I have something really important to tell you. You need to call me back from a private phone right now.”
She’s said it all in one breath, so her courage won’t give out. He mumbles something about giving him fifteen minutes and what’s her number? And she waits as fifteen minutes grow into twenty, and then thirty.
When her phone finally rings, she pounces on the receiver. “You said fifteen minutes!”
“Hey, I’m sorry. It took me a while to find a phone. What’s up, Sheryl?”
She takes a deep breath. “Remember that party you had a few years ago? You were celebrating your new career.”
Paul’s swagger can be heard through the phone line. “You mean the one where I fucked my babysitter?”
“I knew I could count on you to be sensitive about it.”
“What about it?”
“I got pregnant that night.”
There is a pause and Sheryl wonders if he’s even heard her. But then he says, “So what?”
“So, you know I have a son named Matt?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You aren’t getting this, are you. Matt is your son. You’re the father.”
His voice drops to a whisper. “Shit, Sheryl! What are you talking about?”
“We didn’t use anything that night. You fucked your babysitter unprotected.”
His voice turns suspicious. “Why are you telling me now?”
“Because Dan thought you deserved to know. I didn’t want to tell you. I was afraid you’d try to take him from me. I should’ve known better.”
“Dan knows?”
“Yes, he knows. And he loves Matt like his own. And if you try anything to take Matt away from us, we’ll fight you with everything we’ve got.”
“Christ, Sheryl! You can’t tell anyone else. You got that? If Kate found out …”
“Don’t worry. Mike doesn’t even know.”
“Look, Sheryl. I want a son. But not now. It’s not …” He searches for a word.
“Convenient?” Sheryl finishes for him. “I have no intention of ever telling Matt about you.”
“Never?”
“No. Why should I?”
“So, you just called to tell me I have a son and that’s it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“By the way, Paul, you have a son, how’s the weather?”
“Yes. And now only you and Dan and I know. That’s where I want it to end.”
“Does he look like me?”
Sheryl hesitates, not wanting to give up any part of her son to this man who has nothing to do with loving him and raising him. “A little.”
> “Tell me.” She doesn’t answer, and he says, “Come on, Sheryl. I need to know.”
“He has your eyes. But he’s not going to be anything like you.”
“I’d really like a photo of him.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Send it to me through the team.”
“I said I’ll think about it, Paul.”
She hears a knocking sound, and he says, “I’ve gotta go.”
“Before I hang up, I have something else I want to say. All your dreams have come true. You’re playing ball with the Giants. You married Kate. You’re gonna be a star. Please don’t ever try to take Matt from me.”
Paul lowers his voice to a whisper. “I just got married, Sheryl. You really think this is something I can tell Kate now?”
When she finally sends the photos, it isn’t because Paul has asked for them. It’s because Mike tells her that Paul and Kate can’t have children.
Sheryl never hated Paul. Didn’t even dislike him. Her feelings for him were neutral. After all, he had nothing to do with her life. But over the years she’d heard the stories that Mike felt he could tell about Kate and Paul. Kate, who’d gone into marriage with all the pomp and circumstance befitting royalty. Who was now married to the man dubbed the Prince Charming of baseball. Who was being treated like something less than a doormat since he’d discovered she couldn’t bear him a son.
And Sheryl suddenly found herself thinking of Kate. She could feel Kate’s pain across the miles. The only mistake Kate had made in her life was loving the wrong man. But no one knows that until it’s too late. Sheryl’s heart went out to Kate Armstrong, and the child she could never have, and the life she’d dreamed of that had turned into a nightmare.
Sheryl’s position changed the day Mike told her the way Paul was pushing Kate away, castigating her for a fault that wasn’t in her control. She found Paul Armstrong not worthy of an emotion as deep as hatred. Sheryl found his behavior offensive, and an offense deserved punishment. She wanted to hurt him because she knew Kate was defenseless.
Remember the Time Page 27
