Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  “It’s too deep.” She turns to Jake. “Can you drive us?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Take Kristi to the truck. I’ll go grab my bag.”

  The nearest emergency unit is in Heidelberg. It takes twenty minutes to drive to our neighboring town. When we fill out the paperwork, the receptionist asks for payment upfront.

  “I want to pay for it,” Jake says.

  My mom takes her credit card from her bag. “It’s all right, Jake.”

  “I only have fifty bucks on me, but I’ll pay you back.”

  “Forget about it.”

  “I’m serious, Mrs. Pretorius.”

  “Stop calling me Mrs. Pretorius. You’re only making me more nervous with all the formality. It’s Gina.”

  “Fine, Gina, but I’m still getting the bill.”

  My mom is proud that way. She hands over her card without arguing further. She’ll never let him pay.

  We wait two hours before a doctor can see me. After injecting me with a local anesthetic and stitching me up, he asks if I want to lay charges for assault. I decline. Hendrik is a bastard and a sorry excuse for a father, but he didn’t attack me on purpose. Besides, the gossip will be humiliating for Jake. Not to mention that he’d have to testify against his father. I’m not putting him in such a position.

  Jake’s phone rings again. It’s rang at least ten times since we’ve been here.

  “You better get that,” my mom says. “Your parents must be worried.”

  “They deserve to be,” he says bitterly.

  “Your mom too?”

  He clenches his teeth. “Excuse me.” Getting to his feet, he walks a far enough distance away to be out of earshot and presses the phone against his ear.

  The doctor gives me a prescription for antibiotics and explains how to disinfect the wound. When he’s secured a gauze with a plaster to my cheek, Jake comes back, even more tense and withdrawn.

  “It’s late,” my mom says. “We better get you kids home.”

  At the trailer, Jake follows us to the door and hovers on the threshold. It’s clear he’s not ready to go back to his place.

  “You better come inside for a cup of tea, Jake,” my mom says. “You’re both in shock.”

  Jake gives her a grateful nod. He looks around the interior of our small home, taking in every detail while I shift onto the bench by the foldable table and my mom heats water on the portable gas stove.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks. “There are left-over meatballs and spaghetti.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I’ve always thought my mom is a great person, but my opinion of her rises tenfold as she makes tea and heats up food in the microwave without asking what we’re going to do about our dilemma or what happened at Jake’s place. My mom is meticulous about solving problems. First things first. Food and strong tea always take priority. Only when our physical needs have been taken care of will she tackle the emotional issues.

  Jake accepts seconds and cleans his plate. “That was good. Thank you, Gina.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you mind if I stay the night?”

  My mom gives a little start at his straightforwardness.

  “I can’t face my parents yet,” he adds apologetically.

  She thinks for a couple of seconds. “All right, but only if you let your parents know where you are.”

  “I’ll send them a message.” He punches out a text and hits send.

  They refuse to let me help tidy up. My mom clears the table, and Jake carries our dishes to the kitchen. When he comes back with everything cleaned, my mom excuses herself to have a shower while we lie down on my single bed, fully clothed minus our shoes. I’m sandwiched on my side between the wall and Jake’s warm body, a rather nice place to be. It feels safe, much like when I crouched under my towel as a kid and reveled in the cozy feeling of my makeshift tent.

  He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “I’m sorry about tonight.”

  “Is he always like that?”

  “Mostly.”

  His evasive answer says a lot. When I accused him of acting like a victim, I never thought he was a victim.

  He cups my injured cheek, his fingers resting just underneath the plaster. “I’m sorry for the things he said, and I’m really fucking sorry about your face.”

  Placing my hand over his, I let the heat of his palm soak into my skin. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not responsible for his behavior.”

  He shuts his eyes and blows out a heavy sigh.

  “What is it, Jake?”

  “He’s right, you know. If he doesn’t help us out with money, the only solution is to get married.”

  The clinical way in which he says it makes me stiffen. “You can’t possibly want that.”

  “Neither can you, but I’m afraid what we want is no longer a freedom we have.” His lips pull into a crooked grin. “It won’t be all that bad marrying you.”

  “I’m eighteen. You’re twenty-one. Besides, you’re moving at the end of the year.”

  He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at me. “Or I could stay if that’s what you want.”

  “No,” I say quickly. I won’t be responsible for ruining his dreams. I don’t want to become the person Jake resents.

  “Adoption?”

  “I don’t think I can deal with that. I won’t be able to live knowing I have a child somewhere, and not knowing how he or she is, if he’s being treated well or suffering.”

  “Same for me.” Folding his arms under his head, he stares at the fluorescent stars on the ceiling above my bed. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Making the decision my responsibility. That’s not fair.”

  “I’m just saying I’ll do whatever you want. I’m the one who screwed up.”

  “We screwed up, and we’ll make the decision together.”

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  “I have to think about it.”

  “Understandably.”

  I’m strung out, and I don’t see a solution. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  Slipping an arm around me, he pulls me close. “It’s been a rough day. Rest.”

  I snuggle against him and close my eyes. I’m asleep even before my mom gets back from the bathroom.

  I wake with a languorous feeling. I try to stretch, but a big body that occupies most of my bed restricts my movement.

  Jake.

  My eyes fly open. Jake’s lips are slightly parted, and stubble darkens his jaw. His lashes are so long they brush his cheeks. His leg is thrown over my thighs and his arm over my stomach. I’m anchored to him by limbs and a very tangible life growing inside me, a life my body apparently has a hard time adjusting to, because I’m nauseous again. I peek at my mom’s side. Her bed is empty. The time on the alarm clock is six. She must be in the bathroom. If I weren’t so damn queasy, I would’ve tried to sneak in a kiss. I’m dying to feel the abrasive grating of Jake’s unshaved jaw on my lips and neck.

  “Morning, ginger,” he says, eyes still closed.

  “How did you sleep?”

  “Awful.”

  “Yeah?”

  He blinks his eyes open, staring at me with those dark, intense pools. “I’m as stiff as a stick.”

  “My apology for the single bed. Small trailers don’t allow for the luxury of doubles.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He takes my hand and places it over the bulge in his jeans. “It was agony sleeping next to you and not being able to fuck—”

  “Jake!” I jerk my hand from his crotch and cover his mouth. “My mom can walk in any minute.”

  He kisses my palm and moves my hand away. “That was the only thing that saved you.”

  With his light-hearted banter, I almost forget about yesterday and circumstances, but my body is eager to remind me.

  Untangling our limbs, I climb
over him. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  He jumps to his feet, his hair wild and his eyes wide. “What can I do?”

  “Stay here.” It’ll be too humiliating if he witnesses me barfing up digested meatballs.

  I don’t take the time to fit my shoes. I run barefoot to the bathroom but only make it halfway. Bending over, I puke into a flowerbed.

  “Fuck,” a male voice says.

  I fling around. A broody, shirtless Jake is stalking toward me.

  Rolling my eyes, I breathe through a dry heave. When the urge to throw up again passes, I give him an accusing stare. “I asked you to stay in the trailer for a purpose.”

  “Damn, Kristi.”

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “What?” Please don’t tell me I have puke on my lips.

  He frames my head between his palms. “Your face.”

  “What’s wrong with my face?”

  “Outside here, in the sunlight…” His Adam’s apple bobs. “It looks like you’ve been in an accident.”

  I swat his hands away and press my fingers around my injury. My cheek feels like a spongy ball, and it’s the size of one too.

  Tilting his head, he gently grips the plaster. “May I?”

  When I nod, he slowly peels it away. I grit my teeth at the sting. If this is what pulling off a small plaster feels like, I’m never having my private parts waxed.

  “Am I ugly?” I ask when the gauze comes free.

  “Never.” He flinches. “But the cut isn’t pretty.”

  I escape to the bathroom, slipping into the ladies’ toilets, but Jake is not to be deterred. He follows short on my heels. My mother must be on the side with the showers. I stop in front of a mirror and suck in a breath. My hair is tangled, my make-up smudged, and my cheek the size of a golf ball. A bruise has spread to a dark ring under my eye. To round it all off, I have puke breath.

  Jake stares at my reflection in the mirror. “Can I get you anything? Ice? Anti-vomit pills?”

  “You can give me a moment.”

  He hesitates.

  “Please, Jake.” I hate for him to see me like this.

  “Are you done puking?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess I have to be on my way, anyway.” His smile is strained. “Work.”

  “You’re going back there after what he tried to do to you?”

  “I don’t have a choice. I need money for my plane ticket.” He adds too quickly, “If I’m still going to Dubai.”

  My head hurts, my cheek throbs, and I feel like puking again. I can’t talk about this right now. “We’ll talk later, okay?”

  “When you’re ready.”

  I need a shower and to brush my teeth. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  After pressing a quick kiss to the top of my head, he leaves.

  When I get back to the trailer for my toilet bag and a change of clothes, Jake’s T-shirt my mom rinsed and hung out to dry as well as his dad’s truck are gone. My mom stands in front of the gas stove, boiling water for her morning coffee. She’s not dressed in her uniform, but in a T-shirt and jeans.

  “Aren’t you going to work?” I ask.

  “I took the day off.”

  She never takes time off. We need the money too badly. “Why?”

  “Has Jake gone?”

  “Yes. He has to be at work by seven.”

  She pours boiling water into two mugs and puts a cup of Rooibos tea in front of me. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  No more caffeine or tannin for me, at least not for as long as I’m pregnant. Sipping the tea, which helps a little to settle my nausea, I tell my mom what Hendrik had said when Jake confronted him. The longer I talk, the harder my mom’s clenches her mug. When I’m done with my grim tale, the lines of her face are tense with anger.

  She doesn’t say anything. She gets up calmly and rinses our cups in a dish of soapy water. Too calmly. She’s not going to just let this go.

  “What are you going to do, Mom?”

  “I’m going to have a word with his parents.”

  “Mom! You can’t do that.”

  “I should’ve gone with you last night, then this whole debacle wouldn’t have happened.” At debacle, she waves a hand at my face.

  “Please don’t do it. I beg you.”

  She grabs her bag. “I’m not letting Hendrik Basson or anyone treat you like this.”

  Desperate, I search my mind for reasons why she can’t go. “You can’t walk all the way there.”

  “Daphne is giving me a lift.”

  Now she’s dragging Daphne into this. “Mom.”

  “Enough, Kristi. Jake’s parents and I are going to talk about how to best handle the situation.”

  “The situation? You mean the fact that I’m pregnant?”

  “What else? And I’m going to give him a piece of my mind about his violence.”

  “He’s your boss.”

  “This has nothing to do with work. It’s a private matter.”

  “He’ll fire you.”

  “Then I’ll sue him for unfair dismissal.”

  A car pulls up outside. She’s out of the door before I can find my bearings.

  “Wait!”

  Grabbing my backpack, I run after her. I barely have time to jump into the back before Daphne pulls off.

  She stares at my face in the rearview mirror. “What in the sweet heck happened to your face?”

  “Hendrik hit her,” my mom says.

  “What?” Daphne shrieks.

  “It was an accident,” I say.

  “Yes,” my mom replies wryly. “Apparently the blow was meant for Jake.”

  “What’s going on, girls?”

  My mom clutches her bag to her chest. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  Daphne catches my eyes in the mirror again. “I didn’t know you and Jake were dating.”

  “We’re not,” I say miserably.

  Daphne must’ve sensed the tension, because she doesn’t ask more questions. I find a hairbrush and elastic band as well as breath mints in my backpack. Tying my hair into a ponytail, I make myself as presentable as I can. Too soon, the big property with the pristine lawn the size of the entire trailer park comes into view. My stomach turns over.

  “Do you mind waiting?” my mom asks Daphne when we pull up at the gates.

  “Not at all. Take your time.”

  Daphne rolls down her window to press the intercom button, but a gardener opens the gates.

  I try again to discourage my mom. “Maybe we should call first.”

  My mom gets out and walks with determined steps to the front of the house. I try to jump out, but the kiddies’ lock is on. By the time Daphne has unlocked my door and I’ve caught up with my mom, she’s already ringing the bell.

  The door swings open. Elizabeth Basson stands on the step, dressed in a cashmere top and matching cardigan with strings of pearls draped around her neck. Her eyes tighten as she takes in my mom.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth.”

  “Gina, right?”

  “We need to talk. May I come in?”

  “I’m sorry,” Elizabeth says sweetly. “I don’t know who let you in, but I don’t entertain uninvited guests.”

  “Then we’ll just have to talk out here.” My mom crosses her arms. “Kristi tells me you won’t help with the cost of terminating her pregnancy.”

  “Kill our own grandchild? No, we definitely won’t pay for that.”

  “Do you understand the implication this will have on their lives?”

  Elizabeth looks my mom up and down. “Nobody will understand better than you. Unfortunately, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  I can’t believe my ears. It’s last night all over, only this time Jake’s mom is dishing out the punches.

  “Kristi is a good person,” my mom says, “better than anyone I know.”

  Elizabeth snorts. “She’s a lazy little slut trying to c
atch herself a rich husband. This may come as a surprise, but Jake won’t be wealthy until he’s earned it.” She searches me out over my mom’s shoulder. “Sorry, darling, but if you thought you found a way out of having to work for your money by using the oldest method in the book, you’re going to be sadly disappointed.”

  “How dare you insinuate this is all Kristi’s fault.”

  “What better example do we set for our children than with our behavior? Promiscuity obviously runs in your family.”

  “Like violence runs in yours?”

  “How my husband disciplines our son is none of your business.”

  My mom motions at my face. “This is how he disciplines Jake?”

  “Kristi got in the way. It was a stupid thing to do.”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  “I’m afraid so. Just because we’re going to share a grandchild doesn’t mean we’re going to drink tea together at Rosie’s or have Sunday family lunches.”

  “You’re going to do nothing to help them,” my mother says with disbelief.

  “If Jake is old enough to have sex, he’s old enough to solve his own problems. Good day, Ms. Pretorius. I have a Bible group meeting to attend.”

  “I’m not done—”

  Before my mom can finish the sentence, the door shuts in her face. Hands balled into fists, she stands on the step and stares incredulously at the door. I hate seeing her like this, discarded and humiliated, like she’s not worth the dirt under Elizabeth Basson’s shoes.

  I take her hand. “Come on, Mom.”

  She lets me lead her back to the car, her shoulders square and her spirit far from defeated.

  “Always remember one thing, Kristi. What matters is what’s in your heart, not in your bank account.”

  Chin lifted, she climbs into the car and says to Daphne, “Drive.”

  Back home, my mom doesn’t invite Daphne in. She walks to the river and stands on the grassy bank, looking into the distance. By the time I’ve showered and changed, she’s still standing there.

  “Mom?” I say quietly as I approach.

  She turns to me with a sigh. “I’ve thought about it from every angle, but it seems you only have one choice. You’re going to have to marry Jake.”

  “I’m not ready for this. Not for marriage. We’ll find a way. I’ll have the baby at the public hospital.”