Chapter Eight
We follow Benji’s car from the insurance lot, my stomach still twisted.I’m not nervous anymore, but I can’t seem to shake the butterflies and nausea all the way.
“I told you.”Alex gives me a knowing look, and a huge smile.“He’s great.”
“He seems nice,” I agree, “and he didn’t kick me out of his office or ignore me altogether.So there’s that.”
Alex shakes his head, clucking, “Ever the cynic.”
“Somebody’s got to be,” I joke.I pause.“Did you notice his ring?”
He takes his time answering.“I did.Wanted to ask you the same thing, actually, but…I don’t know.Seemed in bad taste to bring it up right away.”
“People get married,” I shrug.“It’s not a big deal.”
Alex’s next response comes after an even longer pause: “Do you think they…have kids?”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since Aunt Jane gave me his name.”I look out the window.The sunset hit quickly; the sky’s dark blue, almost black, and cloudless for all the rain and slush earlier.“Guess I can just ask him.Do you think that’s rude?Maybe I should wait for the paternity test results.”
“He looks just like you, Erin.I think it’s safe to assume he’s your father.”
“You think so?”
“Of course.”
“No,” I say, “I mean, you really think he looks like me?Or that I look like him, I guess?”I flip open my visor and check the mirror, as though suddenly, I’ll see something new on the same face I’ve had my entire life.
“Your jawline,” Alex says.“And your earlobes.Your eyes even have the same shape.I can’t pinpoint it completely, and granted, I never met your mom, but yeah—you look like him.In that vague way all kids look like their parents.”
“Everyone’s always told me I’m basically a carbon copy of my mom,” I tell him, flipping up the visor.“Guess I just never thought there was room for anything else.”
Benji’s blinker comes on, signaling the turn-off.It’s for a steakhouse, the exterior covered in faux-aged, blistered wood.
“You guys aren’t vegetarians, are you?” he asks when we step out of our cars, shivering towards the doors.The handles are made of horseshoes.We shake our heads, and he laughs.“Good—because this place has the best prime rib you’ll ever eat.Let’s get a booth and catch up, huh?”
We get seated quickly, and I’m grateful we don’t have to wait and make small talk first.At least here, in the booth, I can wring my hands under the table, or sip my water during pauses.I can squeeze Alex’s hand, if I get nervous.
“You really do look just like your mama,” Benji says, in a kind of awed voice, as though I’ve done anything special simply by existing.“But,” he adds, “I see the Brinsley features in there, too.”He reaches into his wallet and passes me a small picture.“This is my mom—your grandma, God rest her.”
I hold the picture to the light.It’s a wallet-sized version of a black-and-white print, with a woman about thirty dressed in a floral dress.She’s standing in front of a fountain, waving to the photographer, her smile outlined in dark lipstick.I still don’t see much of myself in her, or my father, but I don’t refuse the notion altogether.
When Benji moves to slide the picture back into its place, I notice another photo—two kids, teenaged.The boy, younger, has braces and a buzz cut.The girl is dark-haired and sweet-looking.
“Are those…”I pause, nodding to the photo, trying my best to look unfazed.“Do you have any other kids?”
Benji blinks; I’ve caught him off-guard.To his credit, though, he doesn’t flinch.“B.J.,” he says, pointing to the boy.“Uh, Benjamin, Jr.And this is Chloe.”He hands me the photo.“Sixth and Eighth grade. Chloe’s debate team captain this year, and B.J.’s doing Little League. Been at it for a while now, but just between us…he doesn’t quite have a knack for it.”He laughs sheepishly.“I think it’s just not his game, personally, but his mother’s going on about ADHD and all this nonsense.”
We laugh politely, watching him replace the photo.I take another gulp of water, feeling a tiny piece of ice shoot into my throat and melt there as I try to be casual.“What’s your wife like?”
“Ex,” he says.He turns his ring absentmindedly, or like he’s a little ashamed to have it on.“Divorce finalized around Thanksgiving.”
“Oh…I’m sorry,” I tell him.I mean it, too—Benji’s a nice guy, and even if my life was worse off for not having him around, I don’t want his life to be unhappy.And besides, it’s not his fault he couldn’t be there.
Benji shrugs.“Long time coming, honestly.We didn’t have much in common to begin with.And I’d just turned forty when we met—she was thirty-four—so I think that played into it.We rushed into things, thinking we were running out of time, or something.”He shrugs again.“Got two great kids out of the marriage, so can’t say I regret it, though.And we still get along, their mother and I, which helps. If you gotta get divorced, an amicable one’s the way to go.”He smiles, which we mirror, if only because we don’t know what else to add to this.
“If you’d like to meet them,” he adds, brightening, “they’ll be at my house this weekend.How long are you two staying?”
“Just ‘til tomorrow,” I say, and something in Benji’s expression—disappointment, I think—makes me glance at Alex.He nods, and I turn back to my father.“But we could come back.Next month, maybe?”I scratch my wrist nervously.“It’s just…meeting them would be kind of weird if, you know…we didn’t know for sure.”
Benji nods and takes a sip of his beer.“Guess you’re right.Just in case.”
“Just in case,” I repeat, quietly.
We pick at our complimentary bread a while, plates clinking in the lull. After a moment, Benji says, “Well, I’ve told you some about myself—tell me about you.”
I look at Alex awkwardly, then blush.“I…don’t know where to start.”Where can you start?
“Well,” he says, “tell me about anything.What you like to do in your free time, where you work, all that.What made you decide to track me down?Just as a ‘for instance.’”
“Aunt Jane,” I tell him, and we all chuckle at the mention of her again.“She gave me your name and where you worked on a piece of paper, so I could get to know you if I wanted to.Though I think she had another motive in mind.”
“Yeah?” he asks, smirking.“What’s that?”
I pause as Alex’s hand touches my leg, just a little, for subtle support.“In case…I needed your kidney.”
Benji studies me.“Kidney?”
“Um…yeah,” I say, a nervous laugh forcing its way out.“See…I’m better now, and it’s not like I would have asked you anyway, I mean, we’re strangers, but Jane just wanted to have the option, I guess…”I realize I’m rambling, so I take a breath.“My kidneys were failing, for a little while.Before Christmas.”
Benji leans back in his seat, looking at me, but kind of through me.“Wow,” he breathes.“I’m…I’m real sorry to hear that.”
“I’m better now,” I say again.“Finished treatment a few weeks ago, actually.It was a really good prognosis.And I was kind of mad at Jane for tracking you down, at first.Because I wouldn’t even need a transplant, probably, and because…well.”I glance at my plate.“Because I didn’t even know you, and that seemed weird.Asking a stranger for something that big.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, and something in the way he says it makes me think it’s not just part of his natural vocabulary; he seems to mean it, too.He waits until I look at him again.“We might not know each other, but I wouldn’t call us strangers.I don’t need a paternity test to know my own flesh and blood when I see her.If you ever needed—need—anything like that, or anything at all, for that matter…you can always ask me.”
I look away again.“Thank you,” I say softly.I can’t think of anything else to say, but for once, just a thanks seems like it’s enough.
The waiter arrives with an appetizer, a plate of onion ring
s stacked at least a foot high on the giant plate he sets between us.As soon as he leaves, Alex and Benji start to dig in, but the smell gets to me; I can’t ignore my rolling nausea anymore.
“Um…Alex,” I say quietly, “can you scoot out for a second?I need…”Feeling unconfident I’ll be able to keep speaking without vomiting, I point to the neon sign near the front that reads, “Bathrooms.”
“Sure.”He gets up, offering me his hand to help as I slide from the booth.My instinct tells me to run, but I manage to pace myself and move at a normal pace.
“You okay?” he whispers as I stand up.“You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, smiling.But suddenly, nausea’s not my biggest problem anymore.
It’s just like my bedroom, the first time Alex and I slept together—the day I got sick.The room tilts and sways underneath me.And then, nothing.Everything pinholes into black.
When I wake up, it’s just Alex in the room—a curtained alcove, actually; I realize I’m in the Emergency Room of a hospital.An IV snakes into my hand.
“Hey,” Alex says gently, stroking my hair.“You fainted at the restaurant.”
I nod.“I remember.Well…kind of.Is my dad still here?”
“In the waiting room.Want me to get him?”
“Not yet.”I make the bed sit up and blink my eyes.It’s dimly lit, most of the light coming beyond the curtain.The hushed squeak of nurse’s shoes, low voices, and clacking keyboards skitters through the fabric, growing louder for just a second as it opens.
“Oh, you’re awake,” the doctor says, surprised.He smiles, pulling up a stool. He looks rundown and fake-friendly; it makes me miss Dr. Brody.“Hi, Erin,” he says, shaking my hand.“I’m Dr. Swanson.”
“Nice to meet you,” I answer blandly.I square my shoulders, bracing for the truth: “So I’m guessing I’m sick again, huh?”Alex swallows hard; I think I see tears in his eyes.
Dr. Swanson gets a mischievous smirk.“We thought so, at first.Your blood work says otherwise, though.”He opens the thin folder in his hands, but doesn’t look at it; instead, he looks from me to Alex, then back at me.“Congratulations, Miss St. James—you’re pregnant.”
~~~
THIEF: Part 5 Page 5
