by K. C. Enders
So did I, Jenny. So did I.
“Where’d he go? I thought I saw him heading this way.”
“He stepped out with Jake’s mom for a minute.” I lean in, whispering, “I think something’s happened. She looked like someone stepped on her grave. Do you think you could pop outside and see if they need anything?”
Jenny glances at Jake and then back to me. Plastering on her it’s all going to be fine smile, she nods once. “I’ll be back in a jiff. You go sit down though. You look like you could collapse.”
I’m starting to feel like I could, too. I lower myself into the chair with an oomph, grateful for the plush office chair as opposed to the hard plastic one I was going to grab from the cafeteria.
Little by little, parents come by to collect their kiddos and thank me for the year. Jake helps me hand out certificates and small gifts to each of the kids. They grow up so much in kindergarten. Not just learning to read and write, but also how to be in a classroom and work with others. Their little minds are like sponges, soaking up every experience, every nugget of knowledge.
“Is one of those for me?” Jake asks, yawning as he hands over another little bags of goodies.
“Absolutely. Are you getting tired, buddy?”
Jack and Chloe have been gone for well more than a hot minute, and Jenny has yet to come back from checking on them. In fact, the last of my parents have come for their kids, and when I look up, the commons area is just about empty. Only a handful of teachers, volunteers, and the custodial staff.
Jake leans hard on my chair and rests his head on my shoulder. “When is my mom coming back for me?” he whines.
I have never once heard this child whine in the nine months that I’ve had him in my class. Whatever happened, it must be serious because Chloe Triplett is always here for her kiddo. Always.
I run through the short list of things that I planned to do tonight before leaving and decide that I can push them all off to tomorrow or the next day. “Let’s go lock up our classroom, and then we’ll see about finding your mama for you, okay?” I run my hand over Jake’s soft sandy-brown curls.
Needing a bit of space, I nudge Jake up and awkwardly push myself to standing. Lord, I’m huge.
Jake picks up the basket, empty now but for his gift bag and certificate, and carries it down the hall to our classroom. I still haven’t decided whether I’m going to try and stay here, raising these babies on my own, or if I’m going home. Time is getting short, and I really need to make a decision soon, but my head and my heart are pulling me in two very different directions. I love it here, but twins might just be too much for me to handle without another set of hands.
I take the basket from Jake, handing him his gift bag. I’ll keep hold of his certificate, so it doesn’t go the way of the fake ones we handed them during the ceremony. Those were smashed to nothing, and you only graduate from kindergarten once. Best to have a little something to remember the day.
“Hey, bud. You about ready to go home?” Jack’s voice drifts through the doorway, startling me.
“Where’s my mom?” Jake asks shakily.
“She wasn’t feeling well, so I took her home real quick. You want me to carry anything for you?” Jack asks both of us, I think.
Jack scoops Jake into his arms after the little guy mumbles, “Me,” lifting his hands.
Sleepy Jake might just be my new favorite version of this kid because the way he’s curled into Jack—head resting on broad shoulder, arms tucked up between them—melts my heart.
Moisture gathers in my eyes, and I curse the stupid hormones wreaking havoc with my emotions. I sling my bag over my shoulder, grab my keys and the rest of my stuff, and follow Jack out into the hall, locking the door behind us. We silently walk out of the building, and Jack clicks the locks on a small SUV, tucking Jake into the booster seat in the back.
“There you go,” he says, snapping the seat belt into place. He shuts the door and turns to me, running a hand down his face. He looks exhausted, almost defeated.
I shift my bag to the other arm and hoist my free hand under my belly to support the weight, hoping for some relief to my back. “What happened?” I ask softly.
Jack presses his lips into a tight line, the muscles of his jaw jumping as he clenches and releases it. “I have to get Jake home. It’s … it’s not good. Thank you for your help,” he says stiffly. He drops his eyes to my stomach and shakes his head, mumbling, “Fucking hell,” as he pulls open the car door and climbs in.
Fucking hell is right. I walk the short distance to my car—it’s more of a waddle really—but since the principal gave me her parking spot for the last couple of weeks of school, I don’t have far to go. When I’ve wedged myself behind the steering wheel, I look up and meet Jack’s shadowed gaze. I’m glad he came tonight. I know it means the world to Jake, and with whatever went down with Chloe, it’s good he’s here to help. He nods once and pulls out of the lot but pauses before making it all the way to the intersection. My brain cells are dropping like flies, and I can’t even begin to guess what he’s doing. Instead, I start my car, turning in the opposite direction to head home.
This time last year, I was celebrating the end of another successful school year, slamming shots of Patrón at McBride’s with my friends. Now, I can’t wait to drop some cucumber slices in a big glass of water and crawl into bed. How times have changed, y’all.
As I turn the corner, I check my rearview mirror, and Jack’s taillights are gone. It would be so like him to wait and make sure that I was safely on my way before taking off himself.
***
I SLEEP FITFULLY, EVEN for me at this stage, constantly waking, wondering about what happened with Chloe Triplett last night. The text I sent Jack late last night, asking what had happened, remains unanswered. Nothing. So, when my phone rings as I’m pulling up to the school, I grab it and answer without even looking to see who’s calling.
“Hey, how’re my grandbabies this fine mornin’?” my mother’s voice trills over the miles.
“Mornin’, Mama,” I answer, trying to stuff down my disappointment. “They’re good, just wrestling before breakfast.” Car parked, I grunt, pushing and shoving my way out of my Kia. It’s not as easy as it used to be.
“You haven’t eaten yet? Katelyn, go get you some breakfast. Those babies need calories, darlin’ …”
She carries on as I schlep myself across the drive and tap my ID card to the reader, gaining access to the school. I hightail it to the restroom because these two kiddos are not just wrestling; they’re full-on tap-dancing on my bladder now.
“Mama, I have breakfast in my bag, but I’ve got to go. And, as much as I love you, I’m not chatting in the restroom. I’ll call you later. Bye.”
Lord have mercy, I’m not going to make it three more months. Really, a little bit less than that, but still, it seems impossible.
I finish up and wave to Jenny as I pass the front office, determined to clean up my classroom—not just for the summer, but also in case I decide not to come back. If Mama would just come up and help me for a couple of weeks—maybe a month—I’m sure I could get us on a schedule and make my life up here work. It’d be hard, but I know I could do it. Maybe.
But, with my sister-in-law delivering about the same time, I know—I just know—it would kill Mama to have to choose. To miss out on time with one grandbaby in exchange for others. She’d feel like she was picking favorites.
I look around at the classroom I love, knowing in my heart that, unless some kind of miracle happens, I’m most likely kissing Beekman Hills good-bye.
The morning flies by with a million and one potty breaks, tons of boxes packed up, and more than a few tears shed. I really don’t want to go back to Mississippi. Lord, the gossip over my return would about kill me.
Somehow, during the course of packing this particular box, my tape has rolled just out of reach. I need it. I’m starving, I have to pee again, and my damn tape is about three inches too far away. Why the hel
l did I think it was a good idea to sit on the floor to do this anyway? Right, because standing means bending over, and sitting in a chair is just not as practical.
I lean back against my pretty pink reading chair and close my eyes for just a minute’s rest. One of the babies stretches, a small lump forming under my ribs. With two fingers, I push back, smiling as we start what I swear has become one of my favorite games. Push and shove. Hand-to-hand—or maybe foot—I play this little game, wondering which baby is my opponent in this round, guessing at the body part he’s playing with.
“That’s pretty amazing.”
My eyes fly open to find Jack leaning in the doorway, a to-go bag from McBride’s in his hand, the smell of something deep fried tickling my senses.
“It is,” I agree. “Come on in and have a seat. I’d get up, but that could take a while.” My heart skitters in my chest, not sure whether to beat harder or stop all together.
Jack showing up here today was about the last thing I expected, and Lord knows, there’s no way of telling how this conversation’ll go.
Jack walks into the room, filling the space somehow. The tan he had in the fall is deeper now, his skin a golden bronze. He plucks my water cup off my desk and then hands it to me, lowering himself to the floor.
“How’re Chloe and Jake?” I ask, still only guessing about last night’s events.
“Not good.” He clears his throat and pulls black containers of chicken tenders and fries from the bag, setting them on the floor between us. “I took a chance that you’d be here getting shit organized today. Is this okay?” he asks.
“It’s perfect, thank you.” I pop the lid and snag a couple of fries, shoving them in my mouth. “Mmm, God, that’s good,” I practically moan.
“Yeah, I went to that Irish pub you used to talk about. I probably should have gotten something healthy for you, but this just sounded good. Comfort food, I guess.” I’m fixing to ask who was working when he continues, “The girl behind the bar insisted on giving me extra tubs of ranch and hot sauce. She seemed pretty committed to the idea, so …”
“Yeah, that was Gracyn then. My old roommate,” I say. “And this is exactly the way they should be eaten.” I dip a chicken finger in the hot sauce and then dunk it in ranch, licking the extra sauce off my fingers. “So good.”
Chapter 27
Jack
I HAD A SNEAKING suspicion that the girl behind the bar was Kate’s roommate, but former?
“She moved out?”
Kate nods while she chews. “Yeah, her boyfriend bought a house, and she moved right in,” she says, dabbing at a dot of ranch that dribbled onto her belly.
Passing her a napkin, I say, “That was quick. Did she even know him when we were …” When we were what? Dating, fucking? And fast? Jesus, Kate fucking jumped into bed with me while pregnant.
She snorts a laugh through her nose and shoves another bunch of fries in her mouth. She bobs her head from side to side. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was so hungry. Um, it seems quick, but they met more than two years ago, kind of lost touch, and then reconnected right before we met, so”—she shrugs and pushes at the side of her belly—“it’s all good.”
She wipes her hands and grabs another piece of chicken, mixing hot sauce into the ranch as she does her dipping thing. “Tell me what happened last night. I thought Jake’s dad was going to be there.”
I can’t. It hasn’t even really settled in yet, so I sure as shit can’t say the words out loud. I shake my head and look at her—really look at her—not holding back or hiding where my focus is. “Tell me about this first. I think you should have told me you were pregnant when we were together. I kinda feel like that’s not something you just hide.” Maybe I’m being a little bit of a dick. “Christ, especially after the condom obliterated. You should have come clean about being with someone, unprotected, before. Do you have any idea of the risk you threw at me?” Totally being a dick.
“Wow. Okay, I guess we’re doing this now,” she says, dropping the chicken back in the box and laying both hands on her—what’s bigger than a basketball? Because that bump is huge.
“And should you even still be working this far along? You look like you could drop that kid any minute.” I should keep my mouth shut. Should bite my fucking tongue, but I’ve started it now, so I might as well finish. “And where the fuck is the father? He’s okay with you working like this? Packing boxes and moving shit around? What kind of asshole is he?”
I don’t lose my cool—ever—but the past eighteen hours have me so wound up that I can hardly see straight.
Kate’s shock? I see that.
The hurt that clouds her expression? Can’t miss it.
The flip to anger? That starts with a heated red flush at the top of her decidedly bigger tits and rises straight up her neck until I’m wondering if I just pissed her off enough to start labor.
“You tell me,” she says, way too calm for anything good to be coming.
If I were a smarter man, I’d be catching on to what she just said, but no, I’m still stupid kinds of fired up.
“Why? Should I know him? That douche-bag doctor you were dating? Is that who it is?” I snort, honestly disgusted with my lack of control and rational thinking as much as the idea of that asshat knocking her up.
“You know him better than you think. But I’m blown away by how little you think of me.” She struggles, shifting her legs so that one is out straight and the other is tucked in tight, her foot resting on the side of her thigh.
Kate pulls a deep breath into her lungs, blowing it out like the adjustment to her position took a lot out of her. Why the hell is she still at work?
She purses her lips, the dimple on her left cheek popping a little. “I’m due at the end of the summer.” She runs one hand down the side of her stomach and then pushes gently, like she’s repositioning the baby. “And the father doesn’t entirely know,” she says quietly.
“How does that work, Kate? You’ve either told him or you haven’t. Which is it?”
She pins me in place and screws up her mouth again. Tilting her head to the side, she says, “I had no way of getting in contact with him—until now. And, yes, I look like a beached whale, like I’m ready to explode, because there are two babies in there.”
Wait.
“They’re yours, Jack. The condom …” She shakes her head.
No.
“You sent me a text. Said you got your period, that we were clear,” I throw back at her.
How the fuck did this happen?
“The doctor said that happens sometimes, that there’s some spotting when they attach, nestle in there. I didn’t lie, Jack. I didn’t set out to do this on purpose, any of it. It happened. And you were gone.”
Fuck my life.
“Two? Twins? Are you sure?” My brain is not firing on all cylinders because then I add my death knell, “You’re sure they’re mine?”
Kate stares at me like I’m stupid because I abso-fucking-lutely am.
“Yes, Jack. I’m fucking sure that there are two little aliens in there, dancing on my bladder, keeping me awake at night, wrestlin’ and fightin’ already like little boys do. Can I prove that they’re yours? Sweet Jesus, not at this God-given moment. But there’s no need to worry your pretty little head about it. You don’t want to be a part of their lives? I won’t make you. We’ll be fine on our own. Made it this far without any help …”
Wow. I mean, wow.
In less than a day, I went from a happy fucking bachelor—living my life, thinking about a repeat performance of the last time I had been here—to having not just one family to take care of, but two.
It took some time, but I finally pieced together the story from last night. Tripp had taken a knife to the chest. Totally a freak thing because I know—I know—the man can fight. I’ve seen him in a knife fight—trained with him, for fuck’s sake—and if it wasn’t for some stupid fucking luck, Tripp would’ve had the two guys subdued or in body bags without bre
aking a sweat. But some punk got the jump on him. I can guaran-damn-tee, though that, in his final seconds, when he realized he was done, Tripp fought his ass off and did some serious damage to the kid.
Doesn’t matter that it was in a gas station just across the New York–New Jersey state line and not in the desert. He died, looking out for someone who couldn’t help themselves. He died, protecting someone who needed it. Tripp died a hero.
And the calls? Tripp had me listed in his phone as his emergency contact. Thought shit news to Chloe would be better coming from me than a stranger. So, that stream of calls I ignored last night was nothing more than me failing in my duty to my brother. I fucking let him down, and now, I have to pay for that. Step up and take care of Chloe and Jake.
This, with Kate? I don’t know. I just don’t fucking know. I need a bottle of añejo tequila. I need some time to think. I need to process some serious shit and wrap my head around this mess.
She’s sitting as still as can be, the picture of absolute calm in the storm of my emotions. Waiting to see what she’s going to get from me. And I’m not proud of what I give her, not in the least.
No, I stand up, easy as you please because the only body I have to move is my own. And I walk to the door of Kate’s classroom. When I get there, I pause because she asked me a question, and I owe her an answer. And, while the answer to that particular question should be given with some kind of compassion, that’s not something I can find in my shattered heart. It’s out of reach along with my rapidly retreating sanity.
Since I have nothing left today, compassion or sanity, I turn and take in every last detail of Kate. The tendrils of hair escaping her messy bun. The dark smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. The stain from the ranch she dripped on the rolling waves of her stomach. Her hands splayed across her belly, our babies safely nestled in there.
And then I tell her, “Tripp’s dead. He was stabbed in a gas station when he stopped to grab a cup of coffee on his way home from the airport.”
And then I walk away.
***