by Amy Engel
Eventually, he caught up with me. It was after the cake cutting, the party in full drunken swing, and I had taken a breather outside. I leaned back against the ragged brick wall and crossed my arms for warmth. It was cold, my breath steaming in the dark air, but the back of my neck and under my arms were dank with sweat. The baby kicked hard against my ribs, and I rubbed against her foot, willing her to settle down.
I knew it was him the second the door swung open, the sound of laughter and ’90s pop music drifting out behind him. “Hey,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I closed my eyes, told myself to get this moment over with. “You didn’t need to,” I said, without turning my head or opening my eyes. “I’m fine.”
I felt him settle in beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned against the wall. He smelled like flowers from his new wife’s bouquet. “How far along are you?” he asked quietly.
I did look at him then. “Are you asking if it’s yours?”
He shook his head. “I know it is, from the expression on your face. So six months, right? Give or take a few weeks.”
I nodded, brought my hands up to my mouth, and blew on my half-numb fingers. Zach started to shrug out of his tuxedo jacket, but I stopped him, put a hand on his arm. “No, don’t. If someone comes out, it won’t look right.”
Zach laughed at that, but it was a sharp, hard sound. “That’s the least of my worries right now.”
“I’m not asking you for anything,” I told him. “I don’t expect anything. You should go back in.”
Zach turned sideways, braced his shoulder against the wall. I didn’t like him staring right at me, his body close to mine. “What are you going to do?” He reached out, his splayed fingers hovering above the curve of my belly. I shifted away and he dropped his arm.
“I’m going to finish my senior year.” I shrugged. “And then I’ll work full-time at the diner. I’ll figure it out.” It had never occurred to me to do anything other than have the baby. It was what the women I knew did. No matter how many came along or how little time or money there was to care for them, babies were born around here. It had nothing to do with the faded billboards that lined the highway warning that abortion stops a beating heart, photo of a tiny fetus curled up like a tadpole. Hell, my mama would have spit in the face of anyone who told her she had to give birth, anyone who thought they had any right to tell her what to do, or not to do. But it was also a fact that getting rid of either Cal or me had never crossed her mind.
“You’re in high school,” Zach said, not a question, more of a horrified realization, his eyebrows crawling up toward his hairline. “Jesus Christ. You didn’t tell me that.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up the strands.
“Yeah, well, you told me you were passing through. Never heard you mention the girlfriend you had stashed down the road.”
He gave me a weak half smile. “We’re both liars, I guess.”
“I prefer omitters,” I said, and his half smile turned into a real one, warm and bright. My heart squeezed in my chest.
Zach’s smile faded. “For the record, Jenny broke up with me that weekend I met you. We got back together soon after, but I wasn’t cheating, for what it’s worth.”
I nodded, and a loud cheer went up on the other side of the wall, the music swelling against our backs. “It’s getting crazy in there,” I said. “You’re missing your own party.”
“I’m not going to disappear,” Zach said. “You’re not in this alone.”
“Yes, I am.” I held up a hand when he started to speak. “And that’s okay. You have a life and there’s no point in screwing it up. It’s not like you and I were ever going to be a long-term thing.”
“If I’d known . . .”
Now it was my turn to smile. “What? You wouldn’t have married Jenny? You’d have married me instead? Come on. We don’t even know each other.”
He didn’t argue with me, but he didn’t go back inside, either. “You want me to walk away?” He reached out again and this time put his hand on my belly before I could deflect him. The baby kicked out hard, probably because my whole body tightened up at the contact. Wonder exploded on Zach’s face, and when he looked at me, I could see the sadness in his eyes. “Do you know what it is?”
I shook my head. “No. But I think it’s a girl.”
“I want to know this baby,” he said as he pulled his hand away.
I pictured it for a split second. Having someone to help with the bills, someone to hold the baby when I was tired, someone to share the burden. But just as quickly I pictured the look on Jenny’s face when she found out. The look on her mother’s. The talk that would follow my child, the anger, the shame. Being a single, out-of-wedlock mother was nothing new around here. But fucking Jenny Sable’s new husband, forcing him to become a father before Jenny managed to squeeze out a baby herself? That would haunt us forever.
I pushed away from the wall. “You’ll have your own babies soon enough. And then you’ll be glad not to have to deal with this one. Like I said, we’ll be fine.”
“Hey, wait,” Zach said, snagged my hand as I moved past him. “If you ever change your mind, and I mean ever, I’m right here. An hour from now, next week, next month, next year. Anytime.” He squeezed my fingers. “You know where to find me.”
I didn’t believe him, not really. No one would willingly let someone implode their life. I had a pretty strong inkling that if I showed up on Zach Logan’s doorstep a year from now, our baby clutched in my arms, he’d march my ass right back down his front walk and deny ever having met me. But the fact that he’d made the offer warmed me. He was a good man, or at least was trying to be one. If I was going to get knocked up by a stranger, I could have done a lot worse.
I had thought that was the end of it. And for a long time, it was. Until first grade when Junie came home talking about her new friend Izzy, how they both had double-jointed fingers and a birthmark on their elbows. Asking with pleading eyes if she could spend the night at Izzy’s house. Please, Mama, please, please, please. And I realized some things will always find their way back to you, no matter how much you wish they’d stay lost.
FIFTEEN
My mama was the last person I expected at my front door the next morning. When the pounding first started, I thought, Reporters. And then, right on the heels of that thought, Jenny. She’d spied those scratches on Zach’s back and was coming over to re-mark her territory. I was braced for a fight I had no interest in winning when I swung open the door, then stood shocked into momentary stillness when my mama marched into my apartment and kicked the door shut behind her. She looked me up and down, shook her head. “At least you aren’t still wearing that potato sack from yesterday. Good God, girl, did you try and find the ugliest dress in the store?”
Given her torn jean shorts and too-small T-shirt emblazoned with a faded skull and crossbones, I didn’t think she had much room to give fashion advice. But I kept my mouth shut, made my weary way toward the kitchen to start the coffee maker.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. She hadn’t been inside my apartment since before Junie’s birth. Had come sniffing around when I was eight months pregnant and barely moved in; Cal paying the first month’s rent for me so I could escape the trailer before the baby was born. I’d told her then she wasn’t welcome in my life anymore, but she’d still shown up at the hospital, drunk and smelling like sex, when Junie was only a day old. Raking me over the coals for not giving birth in the trailer, called me a stuck-up bitch, a weak, spoiled brat thinking I was too good for the midwife who had brought both me and Cal into the world. Ranting loud enough that security had come to escort her away. That had been the first and last time she’d been in the same room with my daughter.
She slid into one of my kitchen chairs, pulled out a cigarette, and lit up without asking permission. “Is that any way to talk to me?” she said.
“Surprised you’re up this early.” She took a long drag on her cigarette, and smoke billowed from her nostrils. “Seeing as how you had a late-night visitor.”
I froze in the act of pulling milk out of the fridge, kept my head turned away where she couldn’t see my face. “What are you talking about?”
I didn’t have to see her to hear the smirk in her voice. “That Izzy Logan’s daddy. Walked out of here like he was half drunk. And not on alcohol.” She gave a guttural laugh. “Let me guess, he was looking for a certain kind of comfort.” She let her voice linger on the word, making it sound dirty and disgusting. And to most of the world that’s what it would be. A married man and his baby mama, hooking up in her crappy apartment while his grieving wife sat at home alone. But there was so much more to the story. It had never been about the sex. It had been about Junie. And this morning Zach was back where he belonged.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered. When I poured coffee into my mug, it slopped over, scalding my fingers. “Ow, shit.” I flapped my hand. “What were you doing here last night anyway?” Hoping to deflect her attention, already knowing it was a losing battle. When she latched on to something, sensed a weakness, she was worse than a dog with a bone.
“Came to see you. But changed my mind when I saw Logan doing the walk of shame.” She got up and wet a paper towel in the sink, held out her hand for mine and wrapped my fingers in the cool cloth. I used my free hand to point at the oval scar on the back of my hand, below the edge of the paper towel. “Remember that?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Yep. You had it coming.” No remorse, no give. I’d been seven and whining for dinner, not shutting up even when she’d warned me. Cal must not have been home; otherwise he would have stopped me, pulled me away before things went bad. But he hadn’t been there, and Mama’d grabbed the white-hot spoon she’d been using to melt meth and held it to the back of my hand. It was the one constant of my childhood. A refrain as familiar as my own name. You had it coming. Four easy words that excused every variation of sin. Thanks to Louise, I knew more about my mama’s past now, but it didn’t do a single thing to change our present. Even if I wanted a different relationship between us, even if I tried, she never would, because she saw absolutely nothing wrong with everything that had come before.
I started to pull my hand away, and she tightened her grip. “Logan is Junie’s daddy, isn’t he?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
She tsked at me under her breath. “I’m not gonna tell no one, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can keep my mouth shut with the best of ’em.”
My shoulders slumped, and I leaned back against the counter, all the fight, all the denial, gone out of me. “How’d you know?” Someone finally figuring it out, after all this time, didn’t feel like the relief I’d thought it might.
My mama shrugged, let go of my hand. “A feeling I got when I saw the two of you at the press conference. The way he looked at you.”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t look at me any sort of way.”
“Yeah, he does. Man’s got a soft spot for you. I could see it clear as day. Then something about the way he swung his arms when he walked. Reminded me of Junie.” She shrugged again. “Put two and two together, that’s all.”
See? That’s what I mean about never underestimating my mama. Doesn’t matter how many drugs she does or how worthless she appears to be. She’s always watching. Calculating. Filing things away. She always has exactly the right ammunition at exactly the right moment. And before you know what’s happening, you wind up ambushed and gut-shot, my mama standing over you, triumphant.
“Well, at least I know who Junie’s father actually is,” I told her. “Gives me a leg up on you.”
My mama blew air out from between pursed lips. “Doesn’t matter who he was. I don’t care. He was only a sperm donor anyway.” Typical Mama. Trying to shame her always backfired because it was an emotion she couldn’t feel. As a kid, I’d tried every which way to get her to tell me about my father. I even tried crying once, always a dangerous tactic with Mama, more likely to get you smacked than comforted. I told her kids at school were making fun of me. She’d pinched me hard enough to break skin, told me to shut my lying mouth before she shut it for me. Said she knew none of those kids gave two shits about who my daddy was because most of them didn’t have a daddy, either. For a long time, I’d nurtured the thought she was hiding some big, dark secret. Like maybe my daddy was famous and she’d been sworn to secrecy. But eventually I’d wised up and realized Mama was telling the truth. She had no idea who he was, probably couldn’t even pick him out of a lineup.
“You still haven’t said why you were here last night,” I reminded her. “What you needed to talk to me about.”
She flapped her hand like whatever it was barely mattered. “Was gonna tell you to go talk to Marion.” She poured the remains of her coffee into the sink. “But make sure you’ve got some time to kill. That woman ain’t never told a story she can’t manage to drag out half the day.”
I cocked my head. I saw Marion whenever I went into the Bait & Tackle, but I couldn’t imagine what in particular she’d want to discuss with me. “Talk to Marion about what?”
“That guy Izzy’d been fooling around with.”
“Wait, what . . .” I felt about ten steps behind. “How’d you know about that?”
My mama smiled, showed off her yellow teeth. “Same way I know about everything, Eve. I pay attention.”
* * *
• • •
My mama doesn’t really have friends. Not the kind you’re thinking of, anyway. No one she goes to lunch with or tells her secrets to. No one she can count on when the chips are down. But if she was pressed to name a friend, Marion is probably who she’d pick. They’ve known each other their whole lives, from what I can gather. To say they like each other might be stretching the truth. I’ve heard my mama bitch about Marion more often than she’s praised her. But they’re cut from the same cloth, honor the same code. Stick together, don’t snitch, hit first, and hit hard. They understand each other, my mama and Marion.
I didn’t see Marion as often as I used to, when she was a frequent visitor to my mama’s trailer. Her family had owned the falling-down Bait & Tackle for generations, but it was a place I generally tried to avoid—dark, cramped, and smelly. I only set foot inside when I was desperate for some essentials and both the Piggly Wiggly and the general store were closed. I always swore a half gallon of milk from the Bait & Tackle left an aftertaste of rotten fish in your mouth. Buying anything there made you feel poor and dirty. The Bait & Tackle might have been an institution around here, but anybody who could afford it drove ten miles down the road to buy their hooks and worms somewhere else.
The one constant inside the store, besides the smell, was Marion herself. She held court from behind the cracked counter, an ancient cash register on one side of her and an overflowing, ceramic ashtray on the other. My mama smokes, but Marion smokes. Takes after a carton of cigarettes like it’s her job. So it wasn’t exactly a shock to find her puffing away on an unfiltered Marlboro when I stepped through the door.
“Well, good goddamn,” Marion said, loud. “Is that little Evie Taggert I spy?”
“Hi, Marion,” I called, picking my way past buckets writhing with worms.
“Don’t mind those,” Marion said. “Fucking Earl Willows thinks he’s gonna get rich digging up half his backyard and bringing it in here. Man’s a moron.” She shook her head, tapped a long cylinder of ash off her cigarette. “How you been, girl?”
“Oh, you know,” I said, looking away.
“Not good, is what I’m guessing. Some
kind of bullshit, what happened to your Junie.”
In other places, the murder of two little girls would have blanketed the entire town in horror. Here, it was just another bad day. I hesitated, not sure of the appropriate response, before finally settling on a half-hearted “Yeah, it was.”
“You hungry?” Marion asked. “’Cause I got a vat of that roadkill chili in back. Little spicy this time, but you’re welcome to a bowl.”
Marion’s chili was the stuff of legend, and I’d eaten a hundred bowls of it in my lifetime. When I used to come in here with Junie, she’d try hard not to wrinkle up her nose at the sight of it. Said she couldn’t imagine slurping down a spoonful of tire-flattened raccoon or squashed opossum. She was worried she’d barf before she got it swallowed and then Marion would smack her on the back of the head the way she did the boys who tried to steal Slim Jims off the counter. It had always made me a little proud that Junie refused the chili. Proof she wasn’t so hungry she’d eat anything to fill her belly. Tangible evidence that I was a better mama than my own.
“No thanks. No chili for me today.”
Marion eyed me over the new cigarette she was lighting. “What’s brung you my way? I’m not exactly a regular stop.” Her voice was friendly enough, but her eyes were hard. She knew I wanted something from her, wasn’t there to shoot the shit or buy a loaf of bread. And familiarity didn’t buy me any special favors. Another way Marion was like my mama. You had to earn every scrap.
I sidled closer to the counter. The shop looked empty, but someone could be lurking in one of the shadowy corners, listening. I leaned on the ancient floor freezer, the glass coated with a sheen of dirty frost and inside gutted fish stacked right next to freezer-burned popsicles and stale ice cream sandwiches. “My mama told me you might know something about Izzy Logan.” I paused. “And the man she was seeing.”
“Did she now?” Marion shook her head. “Not like your mama to be running her mouth.”
