by K. C. Crowne
Mom stepped over to the stove and grabbed the spatula next to the pan of lasagna. She scooped a big slice onto a plate and set it in front of Dad along with a fork and napkin.
“And a drink?”
Mom used to tell Dad he’d had too much whenever he got like this. But it never worked. As I grew up and met more people like Dad, I realized one of the things addicts like him had in common was never being able to tell the truth – to others, or themselves.
So, Mom brought him a beer from the fridge. He cracked it open and took a long sip, his big, stubble-dusted Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down. He set it down and picked up his fork. Mom and I watched him in silence. But instead of taking a bite, he only poked the food.
“What the hell is this?”
“Lasagna.”
“Don’t you get fucking smart with me. Why the hell is this cold?”
“It wasn’t two hours ago when you were supposed to get home from work.”
He raised a finger. “You know I go out to Sullivan’s with the boys after my shift. You should’ve had it ready then.”
Mom swept her hand toward me. “You want Gavin to wait until this late to eat dinner just so you can have hot food when you get home drunk? Put it in the microwave like a normal person!”
My gut sank. Mom’s expression fell after she spoke. I could tell she knew she’d screwed up big time. Dad set down the fork slowly, then drank a sip from his beer.
He said nothing.
“I...I’m sorry,” Mom said, fear in her voice. “It’s just that it’s hard to time everything, you know? Gavin’s hungry when he gets done with his homework.” Her eyes lit up, as if she’d found a possible way to temper his wrath. “And he did so well on a math test today, right, Gavin? His teacher said he can to math at a twelfth-grade le—”
“Shut up.” Dad’s voice silenced her instantly. “Gavin, go to your room.”
I didn’t want to. I knew what was going to happen, and me, with my kid brain, thought that if I simply stayed put, I could stop it from happening.
“I don’t want to.”
He turned to me, pure rage boiling in his eyes. “I said go!”
The older I got, the more I began to realize Dad was just a man – and one day I’d be bigger than him. Not on that day. His voice put the fear of God into me, and I rushed into my room and shut the door.
It didn’t take long before the screaming started, before the crack of Dad’s palm on Mom’s face cut through the air, followed by her desperate pleas for him to stop.
But something was different about that night. Something different in me. Maybe I’d grown just enough that day to feel like I was a real tough little shit who wasn’t about to stand around and let his old man smack around his mom.
Instead of being scared, I was pissed. And more importantly, I was ready to do something about it.
I took a deep, stealing breath, then opened my bedroom door. Slowly, I stepped into the living room. Mom was crying, leaning over the counter. Dad, beer in hand, leaned against the fridge.
“You learn your lesson yet?”
Mom didn’t say a word, her chest rising and falling as she turned her head slowly to me. A red handprint was on her cheek, tears streaming from her eyes.
It was all I needed to see.
A rage that I’d never known before rushed through me, setting my blood on fire. I let out a yell, running toward the kitchen table and grabbing the fork my dad had used for dinner. Before anyone had a chance to realize what the hell was going on, I jabbed the pointy end of the thing into Dad’s upper thigh, managing to break through the denim.
No one said a single word, silence in the air. My eyes stayed locked on the fork, three small pools of red taking shape in the denim around the three fork tongs.
“Get out of here!” I shouted. “No one wants you around. Go be a drunk somewhere else! Go die for all I care!”
Dad stared down at me, and for a moment I feared the worst. Would he finally cross the line and hit me like he hit Mom? The fear in her eyes suggested she was thinking the same thing.
But he didn’t. Instead, fork still stuck in his leg, he stepped around me and toward the front door. Then he grabbed his keys, opened the door and left.
Mom and I said nothing as he walked out, his car door opening and closing, the lights from his truck flooding the living room. Then he pulled away.
And that was the last time I ever saw the old man.
The next day I was at recess telling my best friend Gia about the whole thing. She and I were unlikely commiserates, both of us dealing with daddy issues of our own, bonding over the subject. My dad was a drunk prick, and hers was locked away for murder.
We were seated in our usual spot outside under the big sycamore tree at school, the rest of our class eating lunch or getting an early start on recess.
“You stabbed him?” she asked. Her eyes were wide with shock and excitement.
“I did.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“I was. But I wasn’t about to let him touch Mom again.”
“What happened after you did it? What’d he say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “He just…left.”
“Did he take the fork out?”
“Nope. That was the only thing he took with him. Other than his car keys. What if he never comes back?”
“You’ll be fine,” she stated without the slightest trace of doubt in her voice. “You’ll be better off for it. I was scared when my dad got sent away to jail, but it’s better now.”
“I hope he doesn’t come back. I…I hate him.”
She regarded me with soft eyes, that caring look I’d come to know from her. Then she did something she’d never done before. Gia reached over and took my hand, giving it a squeeze. The feeling of her skin on mine sent a wave of…something through me, something I couldn’t quite figure out. I’d never really cared much about girls before, but at that moment it was like something awoke in me.
“If you’re brave enough to stab someone with a fork, you’re brave enough to do anything.” We both laughed, then she smiled sweetly. “I believe in you, Gavin.”
Then I was back in my car, driving down the highway, the sky pitch dark.
I felt like I’d ruined it all with the one woman who’d understood me.
And worst still, I feared there was no going back.
Gia
It’d been a week since Vegas, and I was just getting to the point where I could think about Gavin without being totally overcome by the urge to punch the nearest wall. The anger was still there, of course, but it was a steady, even simmer rather than a wild, roaring boil sloshing over the rims of the pot.
And over the course of the week, as part of my cooling-down process, I began to entertain the idea of maybe, just maybe, I’d been a little too hard on the guy. I was still pissed at him, but at the same time he’d had a point about it taking two to tango.
I’d always been the kind of woman who made my own decisions and stood by them. I never liked to pass the buck, and I never liked to blame other people for problems. I’d done exactly that with Gavin. I’d acted as if I were some silly woman who’d been put under a spell by the handsome doctor, swooned with wine and dancing and bright lights, carried off into bed as if I’d had no say in the matter.
But I did have say in the matter. Yes, I’d had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk and had been conscious of what was happening. I remembered my thoughts as Gavin swept me away, how I’d wanted nothing more than for him to make love to me like we had so many times before.
Whatever. It was all in the past. And while my anger at Gavin had cooled, I was certain it was still for the best that we weren’t in one another’s lives. Vegas had been our one shot at being just friends, and while it might not’ve been totally his fault that it’d failed, it had failed nonetheless.
And it was time to move on.
Some Netflix horror series that I was half-invested in played in the background as I scrolled
through emails from clients, a glass of wine on the coffee table. I glanced up from the computer long enough to watch the girl on screen step into some spooky bedroom only for a closet to open and a spectral hand shooting out to grab her. I grinned, loving the cheesy scares.
My phone buzzed – a text from Kenna. We’d been going back and forth that afternoon since Kenna had taken a day trip into Denver to check out some local fabric stores. In addition to being the best damn assistant I could ask for, Kenna also had major talents as a seamstress. And for one of the parties a week or so ahead, she’d offered to make some tablecloths.
How’s this? Attached was a picture of a red-and-white checkered fabric. I regarded the picture for a moment, trying to decide how well it’d fit for a baby shower.
It’s nice. A little picnic-y.
I’ll keep on looking, miss picky ; )
I smirked, setting my phone down and giving a few moment’s attention to my glass of wine and the show.
Then my phone buzzed, then buzzed again, announcing a call rather than a text. Without checking the screen, I grabbed the phone and swiped to accept.
“You having that much trouble deciding on some fabrics? Hell, if I had known I’d have gone with you,” I said jokingly, a laugh in my voice.
“Gia! Where are you?” The voice on the other end was panicked and tense and most certainly was not Kenna. I held the phone away from my face and checked the screen.
“Annie?” I sat up, certain something was wrong. “I’m at my apartment. Where are you?”
Instead of answering, she panted, “Omigod, omigod.”
“Annie!” I stood up and ran to my sneakers, stepping into them without untying them. More moans of pain sounded on the other end. “Oh my God, are you in labor?”
Only labored pants answered, terrifying me.
“Are you having her right now?” I asked, grabbing my keys and snatching my coat off the back of the dining room chair where it was draped.
“Yes!” The word sounded like it had come out with no small amount of effort.
“Where’s Duncan?”
More panting sounded from the other line, followed by sounds of relief. “Ohmigod,” she huffed, less tension in her voice. “These contractions are hitting me like a mother.”
I smiled slightly, relieved that she was relieved. “Okay, take a deep breath and tell me where Duncan is.”
“I don’t know. My water broke a little while ago and now I’m in the middle of this giant house all alone and I can’t even get ahold of my husband.”
Coat on and keys in hand, I cradled the phone with my neck and burst out the door. “I thought Duncan was like Mr. On-The-Ball when it came to this sort of stuff. Especially with a wife that’s about to pop.” I opened my driver’s side door and slid into the seat.
“I know, I know. And that’s what’s so scary. It’s not like him to just…drop off the face of the earth like this.” She began her rhythmic breathing after she spoke, and I knew it’d only be a short amount of time before her next contraction.
“Don’t worry about Duncan right now,” I said as my phone synced with my car’s Bluetooth and pulled out of the apartment complex parking lot. “I’m on my way over, and when I get there, I’ll get your big, pregnant ass to the hospital, alright?”
“No,” she said.
“No?”
“No – our house is too far away from the hospital. We got stuck in traffic when this happened with Oliver. No way in hell I’m risking it again.”
The logical part of me wanted to ask what she’d been planning to begin with. They lived out in one of the richer parts of town, an area where each mansion had its own sprawling estate in the shade of the mountains. And that meant they were pretty damn far away from any medical care.
“We had this whole thing planned,” Annie whimpered, a rare tinge of panic in her voice. “We were going to have a midwife come in and do it here…but my due date isn’t for another week.”
“The due date’s today,” I told her, my eyes focus on the road as I drove through downtown. “And it’s not going to go according to plan, but that doesn’t matter at all – I’m with you, okay?”
More slow, steady breathes came from her end of the line. I worried she’d have another contraction. “I know. And there’s no other friend I’d rather have here with me. But…we need a doctor.”
“We’ll find Duncan. I’m sure his phone just died or something. Nothing you need to worry about.”
I took a left, the mountains looming in the distance as I made the turn. I was doing my best to stay calm, to not let the situation get the better of me. But the idea of Annie all alone in that big house about to have her baby…it was enough to make me dig my nails into the steering wheel as I drove.
“We need to come up with a back-up plan,” she said.
“A back-up plan?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“We need to get another doctor here.”
“Okay, that’s smart. What’re you thinking? Is there a doctor who lives near you that you can call?”
“Sort of – Gavin.”
My blood ran cold at the mention of his name. I had to snap my attention back on the road to make sure I didn’t steer into the thick trunks of the pines that lined the road leading to their neighborhood.
“Gavin?”
“Yeah. If we can’t get ahold of Duncan, we need to try him. He can either find Duncan or get over here and help me with the baby.” She paused, her breathing sharp. “Here’s what we’re going to do – I’m going to try to track to track down my missing husband, and you’re going to call Gavin. He’ll be able to help.”
I said nothing for several moments, trying to work through my internal conflict. I’d just made the decision to keep my distance from Gavin. And what was worse – Annie didn’t know about any of it.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong.” A bald-faced lie, but what the hell else was I supposed to say? “I just…”
I wanted to ask her if she could call him. But I at least had the presence of mind to recognize that as a bad idea – last thing I needed to do was give a woman in labor something else to worry about.
“You just what?” she asked. When I didn’t respond, exasperation entered her voice. “Listen, I’m have to hang up and see if I can get ahold of Duncan. You call Gavin and let him know what’s going on,”
“Sounds good. I should be there in ten minutes or so.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. I arrived at the towering gates of their exclusive neighborhood right as the call ended. I sat there for a moment parked next to the keypad, knowing I needed to call Gavin but not wanting to. A shrill horn blasted, and I glanced back to see a sleek sports car parked behind me, the driver waving his arm out of his window in frustration.
No time to sit around and contemplate. I flicked my hand out the window at him before typing in the gate password on the keypad. The huge gates slowly and silently opened, the car followed behind me and whipped around as soon as we were through. He shot me a mean look and peeled off into the distance.
Bigger things to worry about. I pulled up Gavin’s number and took a deep breath. I didn’t have time to screw around – Annie was waiting for me. I hit call and kept on driving. The phone rang, then rang again.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice dripping with his usual cocky candor. “So much for never talking to me again, huh?”
I wasn’t in the mood to screw around. “Listen – there’s something going on and you need to not say a word. Got it?”
A pause of silence, then he spoke. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”
I took a deep breath and told him what was going on, giving him all the details about Annie and her trouble finding Duncan.
“That’s…that’s weird,” he said. “Duncan’s usually on the ball when it comes to this kind of thing. He most definitely is not the kind of guy to disappear when his wife is so close to having a baby.”
“That�
��s what I thought!” I spoke with a level of excitement that embarrassed me. I cleared my throat and went on.
“Where are you right now?”
I wound along the gently curving road through the neighborhood, mansions visible to my right and left through the thick tree cover. “Almost at Annie and Duncan’s. But I have no idea what to do!”
A beat of silence as he thought it over. “We’re going to hang up and I’m going to move heaven and earth to find Duncan. But before that I’ll call a friend of mine at one of the local clinics. He’ll get in touch with the hospital and make sure they’re ready for Annie.”
“She said she doesn’t want to risk going to the hospital after what happened with Oliver.”
Another pause. “That all depends. Get there and ask her how far apart the contractions are. If they’re around five minutes, nice and steady, that means she’s fine for the trip. And it’s the middle of the day – traffic on the highway should be fine.”
Gavin could be a cocky, full-of-himself smartass, but at that moment he was all business. His calm, even tone was reassuring as hell.
“Get there and take her to the hospital as fast as possible,” he said, restating the instructions. “I’ll find Duncan and get in touch. Got it?”
“Got it.”
We hung up as I pulled up to the huge, three-story chalet-style mansion. The call with Gavin had done a world of good. Not only did we have a plan, it was no small comfort to know things weren’t totally ruined between us. Even his smart-ass greeting was a reminder of how things used to be.
I got out and hurried through the halls of the house, calling out Annie’s name.
“In the living room!”
The house was so big it was almost funny – big enough to follow the sound of someone’s voice to track them down. I rushed to the living room and found her laying on the couch. Her face was sheened with sweat, her hair swept back, her belly huge.
“Did you call him?” Annie asked, her eyes wide. “What did he say?”
“I did. And he said he’d find Duncan, and that I needed to ask you how far apart your contractions were.”