Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’m not judging you. I’m just worried.”

  “I know.” My mom holds out her hand. “Shall we find out?”

  I tremble slightly as I take the comfort she offers. I want to know, but I’m scared. The short walk to the toilet has my chest heaving with anxiety. My mom explains how the test works and sends me into the toilet stall to pee on the stick.

  It’s the longest five minutes of my life while we wait for the verdict. Neither of us speaks. My mom only holds my hand where I sit on the counter between two basins.

  She checks her watch and hands me the stick when it’s time.

  I shake my head. “Do you mind?”

  Offering me a smile meant to encourage, she pulls off the cap. From her grim expression, I know the answer before she holds the two lines up to my face. I go colder than the tiles under my bottom. Frost creeps over my body from my toes to my ears. My heart freezes, and for a moment I’m numb.

  Chapter 5

  My mom’s arms are comforting around my shoulders. She rocks me gently, just like when I sat here on the same spot with a cut on my knee from falling off my bike. I fold into myself, letting the familiar scent of her Blue Jeans deodorant soothe me into the false security of a childhood I can never have back. I’ve not only outgrown it, I’ve lost it irrevocably. The truth has my whole body shaking. I’m facing it in a cold bathroom with chipped tiles while the rest of my class is sipping punch in their evening gowns and talking about their after-school plans.

  My brain races toward the implications and how they impact my future. I won’t go to university. I’ll get a job at the factory. I’ll be a single mom, despised by the whole gossiping town. I’ll have to raise a child alone and live in a trailer for the rest of my life.

  Holding me at a little distance to catch my gaze, my mom asks softly, “Do you want it?”

  “No.” I don’t want this, not for me, not for my mom, and certainly not for Jake who’s about to venture into the world that exists beyond the borders of Rensburg.

  “Then there’s only one option.”

  “You mean an abortion?”

  “I love you, Kristi, and I’ll never, ever wish you away, but I don’t want you to suffer the way I did.” She brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You’re a clever girl. You have too much potential.”

  “We can’t afford it.” Medical aid doesn’t cover abortions, and clinics are expensive.

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Who’s the boy?”

  The hinted meaning hits me like a physical blow in the chest. “No,” I groan. “Please, Mom. I can’t do that. I can’t ask them for money.”

  “It’s Jake, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say on a defeated whisper.

  “You’re not going to ask them for money. You’re going to speak to Jake, and he’ll ask them for the money. It’s small change for Hendrik Basson.”

  She’s right, but my body shrivels in shame when I think about asking Jake for money to terminate my pregnancy.

  Gripping the counter until my nails turn white, I fight to hold in my tears. I don’t deserve to shed them. How could I have been so stupid? Did I conceive the night in the alley, when I all but jumped Jake’s bones, or did it happen by the lake when he didn’t pull out quite as fast as he’d thought? If only I had a way of knowing, I’d have a time and place on which to pin the blame. I could blame it on the vodka. I could say it was the blue sky and sad loss of speckled sparrow eggs.

  “Come on.” My mom takes my hands to help me down. “You’ll get bladder infection sitting on that cold counter. Let’s go make some black tea and toast.”

  Black tea and toast have always been my mom’s solution for stomach bugs. I wish there was something that could help with what I have.

  “Aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt?” my mom asks at the picnic table where we’re having breakfast.

  Shiny trots past with his towel and toothbrush. He waves in greeting and ducks into the ablution building. Besides us, he’s the only other permanent resident in the trailer park. A few people pull their trailers here for the holidays, but they are mostly poor people like us who can’t afford better. The men like to fish in the river cutting through the park, which is just another excuse for drinking beer all day while the women scrape pots in the communal kitchen and run after toddlers in diapers.

  “Kristi?”

  “Sorry, Mom. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you’re not too hot in that sweatshirt.”

  Despite the sun, the chill won’t leave my body. “I’m good.”

  “How’s your stomach?”

  “A little queasy, but at least I’m keeping breakfast down.”

  She pushes her bowl with half-eaten cereal away. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

  “It’s best I break this to Jake alone.”

  “Okay, but take your phone and call me if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  She cups my hand over the table. “We’re going to get through this.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper, hiding my face in my bowl. “Thanks for not being angry.”

  “I’m your mother. It’s my job to support you.”

  She tries to make light, but I only feel heavy. Forcing a smile, I gather our bowls and escape to the room with the big sink and metal table that serves as the trailer park’s kitchen. After doing the dishes, I find a private spot next to the river and dial Jake’s number. I lean my head against a tree as I wait for him to take the call, my stomach squeezed tight.

  The phone rings for so long, I give a start when he finally answers.

  He sounds tired. “Pretorius.”

  How did he know it’s me? I didn’t give him my number. Someone else must’ve. “Did I wake you?” He may be sleeping off the big party night.

  He chuckles. “I’ve been up since sunrise, ginger.”

  I can’t hide my surprise. “Doing what?”

  “Working.”

  “Working?”

  “At the factory.”

  “On a Sunday?”

  His tone is wry. “Saturdays too. My father believes I need to work twice as hard as everyone else to prove I’m worthy of the peanuts he pays me and that I’m not privy to any special treatment because I inherited his surname.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why?”

  “I was hoping I could see you.”

  “I wanted to see you too.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “At work?”

  “I have a tea break in an hour.”

  “I can wait for tonight.”

  “I’m working late shifts, and I’ll be back again at the crack of dawn.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until I leave this godforsaken, pimple-on-the-ass-of-the-world town.”

  My breath catches as Jake brings up his future and the rest of us commoners’ dead-end existence.

  “You all right, ginger?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Come over. Please? You can have half of my sandwich.”

  That makes me smile. “Your sandwich isn’t going to do it for me, Jake Basson.”

  His voice lowers an octave. “Want something else? ’Cause I can do better than a sandwich.”

  I snap out of my entrancement with his humor. One drink, a sweet promise, and a hickey on my shoulder got us into this mess. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I hang up and pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s not going to be so eager when I tell him the reason for my visit. I didn’t want to mislead him, but my news isn’t something I can share on the phone.

  I go back to the trailer to tell my mom I’m on my way. She kisses me on the cheek, watching me with a heartbreaking expression that only adds to my guilt when I walk down the path to the road.

  Nancy calls on the way. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I lie. “How was the dance?”

  “You didn’t miss much.�
��

  I adore her for lying to make me feel better about missing out. “How come?”

  “The punch didn’t even have alcohol and the meatballs were stale. Henley was DJ, so of course, the music was crap. The first dance I danced, Denis stepped on my toe and ruined my shoe. I swear he took the purple right off. I walked around with a big, white mark on my Lady Di vintage all night. No one told me they’d put Cheddar in the breadsticks, so I got a rash. Oh, and my photo is horrendous. My smile looks like a grimace. You’d say I was giving birth to a ten-pound—” She sucks in a breath. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You sound out of breath. Are you walking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you coming over?”

  “No.”

  A short silence follows.

  “You’re going to see Jake,” she cries. “Oh, my gosh. Does that mean what I think it does? You’re sure, then?”

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay? We haven’t decided what to do yet.”

  “You mean… You mean you’re going to get an abortion?”

  “I first have to tell Jake.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kristi.”

  “It’s not your fault. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Do you need my mom to give you a lift? I mean, should you walk? Last night, I thought you were dying.”

  “I’m actually a lot better this morning. Anyway, I’m almost there. I’ll speak to you later.”

  I hang up when the black iron gates of the factory come into view. Supported by two redbrick columns, they guard Hendrik Basson’s empire. Until those imposing gates with the spikes on the top locked us out, we dug clay from the big pit for kleilat, a game where you attach a ball of wet clay to the end of a green willow branch and swing it like a catapult. The objective was making the ball fly through the air to hit one of the running targets. Whoever got hit was out. The last one standing was the winner. Our parents complained about the red mud stains on our clothes, and the clay stuck in our hair, but we loved that game. Coming to think of it, Jake always won, and he always seemed to target me.

  Squaring my shoulders, I sign in at the guardhouse and walk down the tarred road to the office building. I feel the door, but it’s locked. The place looks deserted. I hesitate, suddenly uncertain. Maybe Jake is working at one of the other locations. His dad has several factories in the area, but this is the only one in Rensburg.

  Going around the back to where clay mixed with straw are shaped into bricks and baked in a trench kiln, I stop in my tracks. Jake is hauling a long pole from the kiln. He’s shirtless, wearing gloves and faded jeans. His lean torso is covered in dust and sweat. His biceps bunch and his abs contract as he loads a row of sundried bricks on the paddle before pushing them into the kiln. If this is how he spends his weekends, no wonder he’s so ripped. Wiping an arm over his forehead, he stands back to inspect his work.

  I approach hesitantly, my heart beating harder with every step.

  The movement attracts his attention. His lips twitch into a semi-smile when he spots me. Dumping the pole carelessly on the ground, he pulls off the gloves, drops them, and stalks toward me. The way in which he walks, too fast and too urgent, makes me pause. He grabs his T-shirt from a small pyramid of bricks and wipes his face.

  “Pretorius,” he says, coming to a halt in front of me. “You came.”

  I look around. “You’re the only one working.”

  The half-mast smile masks whatever other emotion is running under the surface. “Paying overtime will hurt the great Hendrik Basson more than he’d ever admit. Lucky for me, family don’t qualify for overtime.” He walks ahead to where a red cooler box stands under a tree. “Come,” he says with a cocky wink from over his shoulder.

  I trail behind, trying to get my words in order. Shit. How do I break the news to him?

  He fishes his phone from his back pocket and chucks it in a rugby cap that lies to the side. Sitting down next to the cooler box, he spreads out his T-shirt on the ground and pats it.

  I lower myself onto his dirty T-shirt awkwardly. I can’t help but inhale the masculine scent of his sweat. Being so close to him sends electric shocks to my stomach, which doesn’t help my nerves. I’m so beyond saving.

  He opens the box and offers me a beer.

  “No thanks.”

  “It’s cold.”

  I wet my lips, which are suddenly dry. “I just had breakfast.”

  His eyes scrunch up as he studies me. “We’re legal, Pretorius. You can have a beer if you want. I already know you’re not a good girl. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

  “It’s not that.” I have every intention to terminate this pregnancy, but it doesn’t feel right to drink knowing there’s something growing inside me.

  He cracks the can, still watching me through the slits of his eyes. “Where were you last night?”

  “At home.”

  “I gathered. I mean why? I was going to fetch you to that damn dance myself, but Nancy said she’d cut off my balls and feed them to me raw if I left the party, so what’s going on?”

  “Um, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  “I’d really like to hear it, especially after you sent me this.” He picks up his phone, scrolls over the screen, and holds it up to me.

  A gasp catches in my throat. It’s me in my pink underwear. Of course. That’s how he got my number. With everything that’s happening, I’m not thinking clearly. “I’m going to kill Nancy.”

  “Pity. I was hoping you sent it.”

  “Jake, I…”

  He lowers the beer and watches me intently.

  “I came here to tell you something.”

  The color drains from his face. He goes as still as the pyramid of bricks. “You’re pregnant.”

  I didn’t come here to cry, but I seem to be incapable of doing anything else since last night. I cried myself to sleep. I cried in the shower. I just don’t want to cry anymore. Pressing my heels on my eyes, I rub hard. It takes a moment to find my composure. He’s kind enough to give me time, waiting until I have enough of a handle on myself to lower my hands before he speaks.

  “When did you find out?”

  “Last night.”

  He puts the beer and phone down and rests his elbows on his bent knees. “That’s why you didn’t come?”

  “I was throwing up.”

  A wry smirk pulls at his lips as his gaze drops to my stomach.

  “It’s not funny, Jake.”

  “I was just thinking I’m so rotten, even my sperm makes you sick.”

  “Don’t say that. Morning sickness is a common symptom for many women.”

  “It’s my fault. If I didn’t fuck you at the lake—”

  “You don’t know that. It could’ve happened at the bar. I don’t want to throw guilt around. That’s not going to help.”

  “Do you want to keep my … the baby?”

  “No.”

  He nods and looks into the distance. “What do you want to do?”

  “I can’t afford to pay for an abortion.”

  “Is your mom okay with that?”

  “Yeah. She’s supportive.”

  “Cool mom.”

  “She is.”

  He brushes a strand of hair over my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, okay? My dad will pay.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t apologize. My dad has more money than what he knows to do with. We’ll fix this.”

  Lowering my head in my hands, I whisper, “Okay.”

  “Hey.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his body. “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  “Yeah.” I let out a tremulous breath.

  “I’ll be there. I won’t let you go through it alone.”

  That means so darn much to me. I can’t explain it, but I need him for this in a way my mom can never fulfill. “When are you going to talk to your dad?”

  “Today,
still. I guess the sooner it gets done, the better for you.”

  “How do you think he’ll take it?”

  He tenses. “Not good. We can take you to a clinic in Joburg. No one needs to know.”

  “I shouldn’t let you face him alone. It’s not right.”

  “I can handle my old man.”

  I don’t doubt that, but he’s so rigid just talking about confronting Hendrik Basson, I feel bad all over again. What must it be like to be in Jake’s shoes? Judging from how involved Jake’s parents are in the church, they’re religious. It’s not going to go down well for him. I can’t let him face the judgment alone.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  He looks at me quickly. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “It’s not fair to let you get grilled alone.”

  “That’s so fucking cute. Told you you’re way too good for me.”

  “Stop saying that. It’s not true.”

  “Your offer is very honorable, and I’m touched, but I’ll face my own music.”

  “I have a right, Jake. It’s my body.”

  He sighs deeply. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose my father won’t be as hard on me as he can be if you’re there.”

  “It’s settled then. Shall I meet you at your house?”

  “I’ll pick you up after work, around six, before I have to be back at eight.”

  “Until what time do you normally stay?”

  “Around eleven.”

  “Why so late?”

  “I have a quota of bricks to make if I want to get paid.”

  “What do you need money for?”

  “Airfare. I need a one-way ticket to Dubai.” At one-way, he seems to catch himself. “Wouldn’t mind being able to buy a car, either.”

  “Why is your dad driving you so hard?” It doesn’t seem kind or fair.

  “To make a man out of me,” he says with poorly disguised bitterness. “To teach me money doesn’t grow on trees.”

  He turns the can over and empties the beer in the sand. “Want me to get you a soda? I think there are some in the office bar.”

  “I have to get home.” And he has a quota of bricks to make.

  What’s the big deal with buying Jake a car? Even if his dad is against giving his son expensive gifts, he could’ve let him pay it back. Denis’s dad is a brickmaker at this very factory, and he bought Denis a truck when he turned eighteen.