by Deanna Roy
My heart was thudding. Did she think that little of me? That I couldn’t adjust?
But then the due date came up, and I dropped the phone.
“Jenny?” she said, her voice full of concern. “You’re white as a sheet! Are you feeling sick?” She came around the counter to put her arms around me.
I couldn’t stop staring at the screen. I rarely cried, but this did it to me, hot tears pouring from my eyes.
“What is it, baby?” Mom asked.
I pointed to the phone.
She stared at the date. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God.”
It was a date we all dreaded, each of us, separately, on our own little islands of pain, a reminder of what we’d lost.
My baby brother’s birthday.
Chapter 29: Jenny
Mom tucked me into bed in her guest room. I lay there in the gray light that filtered in through the curtains, a cool washcloth on my forehead.
I was a big believer in signs. Of all the days of the year, all 365 choices, my due date would fall on November 27.
Mom tiptoed back in the room. “Thought you might want this,” she said. She sat on the edge of the bed and passed me Mr. Critter, a threadbare bunny I’d slept with when I was small.
I pulled Mr. Critter into my arms and held him close. “Thank you.”
“It makes sense,” Mom said. “I got pregnant with Bryan in the spring too. You were three. We didn’t have the due date calculator sites, so I had to wait until we got to the doctor. Of course, the due date is just a guide. Bryan was a week late.”
“So the baby might not come on Bryan’s birthday?” I felt like I didn’t know anything.
“Probably not,” she said. “But it is still a powerful sign.”
My head popped up. My mother was ever practical. She never talked about coincidences or karma or anything other than cold hard facts. It comforted me that she was bending a little.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said. “I don’t even have a job.”
“You can finish out your degree,” she said, smoothing the covers. “Graduation is in June. One good thing about babies, they take a long time to arrive. You’ll figure things out by December.”
I laid my head back down, my thoughts swirling. A baby. Baby! The closest I’d gotten to one in the past ten years was Corabelle’s stepson, Manuelito, and he was four. Potty trained and all.
“I don’t know how to put on a diaper,” I said in a panic.
“You’ll figure it out,” Mom said. She patted my shoulder. “And you’ll be an expert within a day. They go through a lot.”
“I guess I should see the doctor.”
“Make an appointment. They won’t see you for a few weeks yet.”
I drew my knees up tighter to my belly, then brought them down again.
The baby was in there somewhere. I pictured a grain of sand floating around my gut. So much trouble over something so small.
“Do you…” Mom hesitated. “Not know who the father is?”
I buried my face in the pillow. The washcloth fell away. I didn’t want to talk about this.
“Is he married?” Mom asked. She was clearly trying to come up with a logical explanation.
“His name is Chance,” I said.
She exhaled in relief, glad, I guess, that I wasn’t screwing half of San Diego.
“Are you going to tell him?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I would if I could. But I had no way to find him.
“Jenny? This is important. He should know there’s a baby.”
I turned my cheek to the pillow. “He’s a traveling musician,” I said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Surely he has a schedule or a phone or something,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and now tears threatened again. What was that about? So much emotion. Uggh.
“Do you not want to find him? Is he a bad person?”
I rolled onto my back. “Mom, I don’t know him that well. It was just a — a one-night thing. We weren’t planning on ever seeing each other again.”
Admitting this to my mother was about the worst thing I’d had to tell her.
She sat a little straighter, as if this was a simple thing, something to be dealt with. “The problem,” she said firmly, “is that it’s not a one-night thing anymore. Did you like this boy?”
My voice caught as I tried to decide what to say. “He was nice. He was a really great singer. Amazing, really. He just didn’t seem interested in, well, you know, ties. He likes to roam.”
“Well, his roaming days are over. He’s just as responsible for this as you are.” She adjusted the washcloth back on my forehead. “I assume you protected yourself and it just failed.”
I nodded under her hand. “I was on the pill.”
She sighed. “This is where life's led you. I say we find this boy. Let him decide if he wants to be involved or not. At least you’ll know. You can make him help financially, even if he isn’t around.”
Ha, Chance didn’t even have a home. But one thing about moms, they were usually right. He ought to know about the baby. Maybe he would tell me to abort it, or whatever. Then I’d cut him off. But at least he’d know.
“He was singing with a local band when I met him,” I said. “I could probably track them down and find out where he is.”
“That’s my girl,” Mom said. “Problem solving.” She stood up. “You get some rest. When you’re feeling better we’ll go shopping. You’re going to need different clothes.”
I had a feeling this was coming.
She looked around the room. “I could probably go part-time and watch the baby. We could make this a nursery.”
She walked over to the window and touched the curtains. “A nice crisp yellow that would work for either a boy or a girl.” She clasped her hands together as if she had a purpose finally. “I always wondered if I’d be a grandma.”
Funny how fast she had adjusted to the idea. I watched as she walked the room, touching things, obviously making plans in her head.
Now I had to do the same.
My phone buzzed. It was across the room on a desk. Mom picked it up and brought it over. “Is it him?” she asked eagerly.
“He doesn’t even have my number,” I said. But the listing was unfamiliar. I sat up and cleared my throat before I hit the receive button. “Hello?”
“Jenny Gillespie?” It was a woman.
“That’s me,” I said.
“I’m calling on behalf of Tellmund Rogers.”
That was Frankie’s friend from the party. “Yes, hello,” I said.
“He would like you to come in next week at your convenience to talk about some opportunities for you here at Red Bridge Pictures.”
“Really? That’s great.”
“You will meet with our Director of Human Resources. How is next Thursday, April 2nd?”
“That should be fine.” My head buzzed to remember my new class schedule for the spring quarter. “I am out of class at ten, I think.”
“Why don’t you call me at this number when you have a firm day and time?”
“Okay.” My head was buzzing. “Who do I ask for?”
“My name is June. I answer the line.”
“Great, thanks, June. I’ll call when I’m sure about my classes.”
“That will be just fine. Thank you, Jenny. Bye.”
Holy crap. Did I have a job?
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“One of the contacts calling about a job.” I was still freaking out a little.
“That’s good news, right?” She sat on the bed next to me.
“Yeah.” My head was spinning. So many things happening at once. I felt sick again and pressed my hands against my stomach.
“Are you worried they won’t hire you if you’re pregnant?” Mom asked. “It’s illegal to do that.”
It hadn’t even occurred to me, actually.
“Just a lot of change really f
ast,” I said.
She pushed a pile of dreadlocks away from my face. “It was always going to be, with graduation and all. You’re just adding an extra facet.”
A facet. Right. Like we were cutting diamonds. “I’m going to try and locate that band,” I said, getting up from the bed.
“All right, Jenny,” she said. “I’ll be here. You’re going to need some help. Let me know how it goes with Chance.”
Oh, that was going to go super great. Especially if he was tying one on with Vanessa Price in a story line straight out of a daytime soap opera.
Tabloids, here we come.
Chapter 30: Chance
Chesapeake, Virginia, had a lot of the same feel as Chattanooga. Lots of water. Lots of green. The pace was mighty slower than New York, for sure. I was back in the south, and even though I was still a good ways from Tennessee, it felt like home. Without actually being home, which was a good thing.
I hadn’t called Charlie in a couple days, still smarting over her insistence that I come home and fight for Hannah’s rights. But the only thing worse than talking to a pissed-off Charlie was not talking to her. I didn’t know anything that was going on, although if something big happened, no doubt she’d call.
My hand strummed an easy rhythm and I let the bridge go on for a while, bringing it back around over and over again rather than taking up the chorus.
I had scored a spot in a seafood joint on the east-side outskirts of town, playing for tips and all the fish I could eat. I mixed up the styles as the waves of people came and went. I just had a little corner of the restaurant, but it was pleasant enough. When I took breaks, people came over to chat me up.
I was packing up at the end of the second night when one of the waitresses plopped down on the floor next to me. She was young, barely twenty probably, and had a saucy attitude, like she knew how cute she was.
My trouble radar went off right away. I’d avoided entanglements since LA, and this one looked to be precisely the wrong way to get back in the game. I was betting she had a boyfriend named Buster who had a jealous streak that she liked to tickle. Having him go after any man who laid a hand on her was probably how she got her jollies.
She leaned on her arms, stretching out a long set of legs from her super-short skirt. She wore a flirty white top, off the shoulders, and her hair was every shade of blond and brown all mixed together, straight from a beauty parlor.
“So where ya from, cowboy?” she asked.
Cowboy. I had no idea where people kept getting the notion. Today’s black T-shirt had a worn image of Jimi Hendrix flaking off. Still not exactly country.
I locked down the latches on my guitar case. “Tennessee,” I said coolly.
“I figured, on account of the accent when you were singing,” she said. “Been here long?”
“Just a couple days,” I said, reaching for the tip jar.
The restaurant was shutting down. Wait staff circled the tables, filling napkin holders and checking ketchup bottles.
“I’m Angie,” she said, leaning forward to extend a hand.
I hesitated, then reached down and shook it. Rather than sit around to count the money, I just shoved it all in my back pocket. I wanted out of there.
“You seem sort of antsy, cowboy,” she said. “I don’t think I caught your name when you were singing.”
“It’s Chance,” I said, trying to bring down my anxiousness to leave.
It wasn’t like I had anywhere to go. I’d been sleeping in the bus station since I got to Chesapeake. But since the weather was nice tonight, I might just hang out in a park. I didn’t require a lot of downtime.
“I think you’re just about the keenest thing I’ve seen walk into this seafood dive,” she said.
My radar went off again. I glanced around the room, looking for anybody who might be watching. Buster was probably waiting for her out in the parking lot, getting more pissed off each passing minute that she dallied.
“Thank you kindly,” I said. I set the empty jar back on the ground and picked up my case. “I’ll just be heading out.”
She jumped to her feet. “Now wait a minute! I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink or something.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to offend the girl, but my tingly sense that I was going to get in over my head tonight wouldn’t let go.
“I’m sure you’ve got some hometown boy who looks after you,” I said. “Pretty thing like you.”
“But I don’t right now,” she said. “I had one, but he left town. He’s not around anymore.”
I looked her over again. She was cute. That skirt sure was short. I didn’t have to hurry.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked.
She squealed. “Finally! There’s a place just a couple doors down. Beer’s cheap and the music doesn’t suck.” She glanced down at the guitar. “Though I bet you’d be a lot better.”
I shrugged. “I’m not much on drinking.”
“Seriously?” She made a pouty face. “Well, I’m not legal anyway. We can just drink sodas. They have live music, though. Ain’t much else open around here this time of night on a weekday. Thankfully they don’t really card the girls.” She fluffed her hair out from her slender neck. Her collarbone was smooth and created a little shadow, just right for burying your face in.
Seemed like maybe a place to do some forgetting.
Despite my better judgment, I said, “All right, then, let’s go. You off?”
She untied her short apron that held a pen and an order pad. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it on a table. “I am now,” she said.
Yeah, this one was trouble. But I wasn’t coming back to this place, seeing as they had a regular band the next few nights. So what the hell? I shouldered my backpack and followed her.
We passed through the tables and out into the near-perfect spring night.
I could see the place she was talking about, a big neon sign flashing the word “Woody’s.”
We crossed the parking lot and walked along the road, past a closed-up barbershop that used to be a regular house. It had a padded swing tucked in the corner of its long front porch, and I thought that might be a decent place to spend the night, depending on how it went with this girl.
Our feet crunched on the gravel as we got closer to the bar.
“So, Angie,” I said. “You just waitress or you going to school?”
“I’ve been in and out of beauty school,” she said. “I can’t seem to get the hang of it, though. I got tired of sweeping up hair, so I started waiting tables to get by until I figure out what else to try.”
“Your folks live here?” We arrived at the door and I opened it for her.
“Outside of town. My daddy’s a plumber and my mom’s just one of those busybody church ladies.”
My jaw tensed at this. “I know the type,” I said. “I’ve got one of those too.”
“Ain’t that the worst?” She beelined for a booth in the corner.
The bar was dark, but the stage was bright. A five-piece band of older guys played bluegrass. Just the quality of their sound perked my spirits. This was good stuff.
A waitress followed us to the seats. “Whatcha drinking?” she asked as I tucked my backpack and guitar under the table.
“Two sodas,” Angie said, “and don’t give me no grief about it, Kendra.”
The girl whirled around and headed for the bar.
Angie shoved her chin in her palm, bracing her elbow on the table. “I went to high school with her. She’s a piece of work.”
I sat back against the vinyl seat and watched the lead guitarist pick out a tricky line. The urge to go up there and fill in another layer of sound was fierce.
I don’t know how many minutes I stared at them so intently, but it must have been too long for Angie, because she bumped my shoulder. “Hey, you. You’re mighty quiet.”
“Sorry,” I said. “You were right. These guys are really good.”
“Ah, professional admiration
,” she said. “I guess you’re always looking at other people playing guitar and comparing.”
“Sometimes.”
The waitress, Kendra, came over and plopped the two drinks down on the table. “Six dollars,” she said.
“That is way too much for a dang soda and you know it,” Angie said.
“It’s all right,” I said, before the girls glared holes into each other. I laid the money on her tray. “Thank you.”
She looked me up and down a second, then whipped around to leave. She stomped away as if something more than a drink order had just happened.
“I take it you two did more than just go to high school together,” I said.
Angie pulled her cup across the table. “Maybe she got mad I dated her ex. I don’t know. It’s high school. It’s past.”
I wondered if the ex had actually moved to ex status before the “dating” began.
“When did you graduate?” I asked. I was hoping it had been at least a couple years.
“Not last year, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. “I’ve been out.”
“All right.” My eyes wandered back to the stage. It was worth being here just to listen to these guys, even if Angie wasn’t exactly my type. I found myself comparing her to Jenny and made myself stop. Jenny was gone. A whole country away. We couldn’t be much farther apart than we were at the moment.
Angie sipped on her drink a while, swinging her leg beneath the table to the time of the music, occasionally bumping up against mine.
Then she got antsy again and scooted closer. I knew I should be feeling it, the way she was pressing her body up against my arm. But I wasn’t.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You wanna get on out of here?”
Normally I wasn’t one to turn down an easy invitation. But we hadn’t even said ten sentences to each other. “Let them finish their set,” I said.
She sighed heavily, and I wondered what the deal was. Was she that set on a quick lay? A girl like her could pick up a guy whenever she wanted.
That tingly feeling came over me again. The waitress was leaning against the bar with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
I felt Angie stiffen beside me and mutter a quiet “Oh, shit.” She was looking at the door.
