Hooked

by Ev Bishop

  “Well, well.” Aisha glared at Charlie. “How cozy. When you said you were ‘making out okay,’ Dad, I had no idea—and you.” She pinned Sam next. “I’m so glad the living arrangements are, as you said, um, ‘bearable.’ You guys have what, known each other two days?” A look of horror crossed her face. “Oh, sick—you knew each other when I was born too. You didn’t, you wouldn’t have—gross.”

  Charlie dropped Sam’s foot. Sam whipped her legs under her chair and shifted as far from him as she could without physically shoving herself from the table.

  “It’s not what it looks like.” Charlie stood and moved nearer to Aisha. She stepped back.

  “It’s really not.” Sam got up too, but inched the opposite direction, toward the hallway.

  “Oh, it’s not? So you guys didn’t have dinner with two bottles of wine and a follow up game of footsies?”

  Put like that it did sound . . . not as nice as it actually had been. Charlie shot a look at Sam; she gave him a sad smile and a half-shrug.

  Aisha fired again. “Just tell me you didn’t flirt or find each other attractive when you and Mom were in the process of having me.”

  “You’re over reacting, Aisha.”

  “Save it till tomorrow. I’m wiped.”

  “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

  “No, no. You obviously have your hands full.”

  Samantha spoke up. She was by her bedroom door now, ready to dart out of sight. “Listen to him—and let him walk you. It’s icy out.”

  Aisha glanced her direction, but Sam was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Charles walked Aisha back to Minnow and reiterated that while he could see how Aisha thought it looked “cozy,” it really was innocent. They’d had a nice dinner, yes. They’d chatted, yes. He was massaging her foot—big deal. They were both just interested in Aisha’s wellbeing and trying their best to develop a peaceful relationship so they could mutually support Aisha and not be at each other’s throats.

  “Well, you want to be at each other’s somethings anyway,” Aisha said dryly. “That much I believe.”

  Charlie was suddenly exhausted. “You’re being ridiculous—and inappropriate. Cut me a break, will you?”

  Aisha paused in the middle of unlocking her door and looked up at him, surprised. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. It was just super strange. I don’t know Sam. Maybe for her it was just a casual dinner. But I do know you—and I’ve never seen you look like that or be like that with anyone except Mom. It weirded me out.”

  “Do you want me to come in for a bit? We could watch TV or play Scrabble. . . .”

  Aisha shook her head. “I wasn’t just being a jerk when I said I was wiped. I hope I’m not coming down with something.”

  “No, you definitely are. It’s called About-to-birth-itis. Text or call if you need anything.” He pressed his lips against Aisha’s forehead. “And get some sleep.”

  Aisha side-hugged him, all her girth would allow. “I’ll try. You too.”

  For the first time in his life that he could recall, Charlie wasn’t disappointed his daughter didn’t want to hang out.

  By the time he got back to the cabin, he was soaked to the skin despite his jacket, the candles had burnt out, and Sam’s room was quiet with no light showing beneath the door. He surveyed the congealed remains of their dinner and spent wine and sighed. He’d had a dessert planned and they hadn’t even gotten to enjoy it. All the energy he’d felt earlier had drained away completely, but he cleaned everything up and had a long shower before he hit the sack anyway, and still sleep didn’t come.

  It was good, very good, that Aisha had interrupted them when she had. Wasn’t it? But then again, interrupted what? Nothing was really happening—and nothing had happened. And probably nothing more than what she’d witnessed would have happened.

  He rolled over, punched his pillow and wedged it under his cheek. He was all too aware that just ten feet away, separated by two thin doors and one narrow hall, Samantha lay in bed alone too. Was she awake and thinking of them as well, or was that completely laughable?

  Chapter 13

  Sam listened to the clinking dishes as Charles tidied and considered getting up, offering to help, and discussing what had happened between them—except that nothing had happened, not really, so what was there to say?

  She’d seen the revulsion and near-hatred that flared in Aisha’s eyes when she realized Charlie was touching her. The ferocity of her anger seemed over the top—but then again, Sam remembered all too well what she’d thought of the gaggle of men her mom paraded through her and Jo’s life. She didn’t hate them as much as Jo had—it would’ve been far smarter and way better for her if she had, actually—but to say she hadn’t respected them would’ve been an understatement. Charles didn’t seem like a player, but then again what would she know? Maybe his whole cute, awkward and inexperienced shtick was his shtick.

  She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball as the kitchen noise ceased and Charlie’s feet padded down the hall. Knock on my door, she thought. Say good night or something. He didn’t do anything of the sort—just headed into the bathroom. The shower turned on and stayed on for a long time.

  No, worse than Aisha’s disdain and obvious outrage at the tiny spark of interest between the two of them, was Charlie’s response. He’d dropped her feet like they’d turned into snakes and his widened eyes and instant flush said he was just as shocked and unhappy about the scenario as Aisha was.

  It was, as ever, Sam decided, a case of too much wine and a woman that seemed available for a time—but not the kind you make yourself available to. Still, she couldn’t help imagining him in the shower and daydreaming about those strong hands of his rubbing a couple other areas that could use some attention.

  She spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, and finally, when it wasn’t too, too early, she let herself get up. She did her hair and makeup quickly, packed a bag with yoga pants and a T-shirt so she could hit Dave’s gym, and was out of the house, laptop in hand, before Charlie stirred. She’d eat in town, work for a bit, then hang out with Dave—or call Jo in the afternoon and see if they could meet somewhere for a visit.

  She had, against her better judgment she realized now, promised to stay at least until the baby was born. She wondered if Aisha would even want her to now. Ah, well, time would tell.

  The next three days passed similarly. She was carefully up before Charlie each morning, and stayed gone until he was in bed. It was tedious, and all the hotels—she called them each daily—were still completely booked.

  There was one small bright spot, however. Aisha didn’t seem to hate her after all, “cozy” dinner with Charlie notwithstanding, and it surprised her to admit it, but the girl was growing on her too. They were meeting at The Zoo for the fourth day in a row, and as Sam waited, surprise zipped through her. She’d actually miss their visits when they were done.

  Maybe Aisha was feeling something similar because as she settled her bulk into her favorite window seat, she didn’t bother with a greeting, just launched into talk right away. “It’s odd to me that you’re, I don’t know, so familiar when really we’ve just met. I mean, you don’t feel like my mother or anything—I had a perfectly good mom. I’m not looking for a replacement.”

  Sam nodded, feeling agreement, relief and the tiniest sliver of what, regret? She wrapped her hands around her mug and took a large sip of her green tea.

  “But at the same time, well, there is something there, something between us, that I can’t deny. You’re more than some stranger I’ve just met, if that makes sense.”

  “It does, yeah. It’s kind of how I feel, actually.”

  Aisha studied her. “So I don’t feel like your daughter?”

  “I don’t know. Intellectually, I know that’s what you are, and the family resemblance still catches me off guard . . . but at the same time, like you said, you had a mother, that role was filled. Hearing you say it so firmly makes me happy—relieved actually. I
didn’t know much about your parents at all. I made my decision based on their letters and a few references and photos. We never met in person. Adoption wasn’t open back then, the way it often is now, and even the bit of choice I demanded on having was considered irregular, but I—” Sam’s voice caught a little and she feigned a small cough to mask it, hating her weakness. “I only ever wanted you to have the home I didn’t have.”

  “Well, you succeeded. I had a really good one—or did until the last few years, which have kind of sucked, but that’s not your fault or my dad’s.”

  Aisha turned her attention to her cranberry-orange muffin for a minute, and Sam wondered if she should’ve made a full disclosure instead of opting for the safe half-truth. Absolutely, she was glad Aisha felt she’d had a good life and didn’t seem to harbor any bitterness or anger about Sam’s choice. She’d done enough reading to know that wasn’t always the case in reunion situations. But, maybe especially because she didn’t have other children, Sam did feel like Aisha was her daughter. She had, despite all her denial over the years even to herself, always felt a motherly weight of concern and a desire to protect—hence giving Aisha up in the first place. But saying so would only insert awkwardness into their meetings, or, worse, might make Aisha feel like Sam thought Aisha had some obligation to her—or vice versa—and nothing could be further from the truth.

  “So . . . ” Sam said. “I can’t believe you’re going to get much bigger or go much longer—”

  “Yeah, my doctor says it’s normal for first babies to be a bit overdue, but I’m approaching two weeks. If I don’t go in naturally this weekend, they’ll induce me on Monday.”

  “And that’s okay?”

  Aisha shrugged.

  “So is it time to have that talk you’ve been wanting to have?”

  They had yet to discuss Aisha’s birth father or Sam’s thoughts on keeping or not keeping the child, and Aisha didn’t pretend to not know what Sam meant.

  “Yeah, about that . . . ” She sighed heavily. “I think I’ve already made up my mind—and maybe the reason I didn’t have the nerve to ask you directly when I first laid eyes on you was because I already knew what I wanted to do.”

  Sam nodded and waited.

  Aisha toyed with the saltshaker, rolling it back and forth between her palms. The nervous gesture registered with Sam immediately because Aisha usually came across as rock-steady confident. “I’m keeping the bean. Think I always knew I was going to. Am I nuts?”

  Sam studied the young face across from hers and for the first time saw only the ways it was different from her own, not the similarities. “Well, as you pointed out earlier, we just met so I don’t know you that well. You definitely could be nuts.”

  Aisha laughed.

  “But you don’t seem like it,” Sam continued. “You seem self-assured and competent.”

  “So you think I’m making the right decision.”

  “I don’t think you’ll regret it, no—but it won’t be easy. It means as of the kid’s birthday you’ll be a full-fledged grown up, in charge of someone else.”

  Aisha set the saltshaker neatly beside the pepper in the center of the table.

  “And you’ll need a good job and hopefully an education. It will be a lot of work.”

  A shadow crossed Aisha’s features, then was gone. “I’m on it—and I have enough saved, believe it or not, to live for a full year without income, so long as I keep things simple. And I have lots of support—emotional and financial, though I’d like to take care of us myself if possible.”

  Sam’s shoulders rocked forward in a full body nod. “Sounds like you have it all planned.”

  They were both quiet for a moment, long-cooled teas forgotten.

  “So that’s it? No drama, no strong emotion either way?” Aisha asked.

  Sam bit her lip, then raised an eyebrow. “What’s to be emotional about? You’ll do great. And I’m excited to meet her—or him—when the day comes.”

  Aisha’s jaw tightened, but then she reached out and gently patted Sam’s hand. Sam was at a bit of a loss as to why—and to what it meant—and felt as uncomfortable and deficient and lacking as she ever had.

  “It’s been a long day,” Aisha said. “Do you mind if we cut our visit short?”

  “No, no, of course not.”

  Sam watched Aisha go her own way, then sat alone for a while. She had no place to go, nowhere to be—and couldn’t pretend even to herself she had something to keep her busy—so she went to the drugstore, bought a plethora of magazines about cabin life, RVing, bed-and-breakfasts and the like, then headed back to River’s Sigh.

  Mercifully there was no sign of Charlie’s Toyota, so she didn’t have to go and waste Jo’s time or bother her with inane chatter. She let herself into Rainbow and went directly to her room. She did not pass Go. She did not collect two hundred dollars. She lay facedown on her bed and did something she knew all too well was useless and that she didn’t normally let herself indulge in. She wept. For the daughter she’d given up and the young woman she was getting to know. The one who’d made out okay—and would no doubt go on to great things. The one who’d found herself in the same predicament Sam had, but who’d somehow come through the experience, confidence still intact, knowing and believing she could give a child what it needed to thrive. The one who weighed pros and cons and felt she had options, choices. Who had supports she could casually reference and then say she hoped she didn’t need them.

  And she cried for the girl she’d used to be—who looked a lot like Aisha, but was different in every way. Sam didn’t regret giving Aisha up for adoption, not then and not now, regardless of any maternal twinges she occasionally felt, but she’d also never really considered it a choice—more like the only viable option. And sometimes she had wondered if she’d done the right thing. And now she knew. She absolutely had.

  Chapter 14

  The light was on under Sam’s bedroom door. Charlie hesitated in the hallway. He wanted to knock and say he was home, ask if he could get her anything, see how she was faring—but they were nothing to each other, really. He should take the hint. Besides, it was for the best.

  He made tea, then headed to the living room and turned on his laptop. It was all too clear from the way Sam avoided the cabin and him at all costs that he wasn’t in her way if he worked in the cabin’s main space. Why let it go to waste? He lit a fire and got to work. He was midway through chapter two—a new story though. He’d restarted from scratch, saving the original snippets in a folder named “Cutting Room Floor” that he sometimes perused for scenes or characters that might work in later stories.

  He’d just found his groove when his phone buzzed. He picked it up, glanced at the phone’s face. Aisha.

  “Hey, baby girl. How are—”

  “Dad.” It was Aisha’s voice all right, but tenser and quieter than he’d ever heard it. A huffing sound of exhaled air and stress came over the line. “You should—come. Come now.”

  “It’s okay, Aisha. You’re doing great. I’ll be right there.” Charlie left his stuff in the living room exactly as it lay, grabbed his wallet and keys, shoved his feet into his boots, and ran for Minnow cabin. “I’m almost at your door. Are you able to walk?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She must be between contractions now because her voice was stronger, more Aisha-like.

  “Good. Grab your overnight bag”—they’d organized and packed a small suitcase for the hospital together the day after he’d arrived—“and your coat. Meet me on your porch.”

  She was waiting for him when he got there, bare legged in a nightie, jacket and boots. Just as he climbed the steps, she clutched the banister and bent double, her face pale as skim milk in the light from the exterior bulb above the door. “Oh, Daddy, it hurts—it hurts.”

  The cold wind and driving rain had kicked up again and Charlie considered moving her back into the house until the worst of the latest contraction passed, but decided against it. Once it subsided, they’d have
a few pain-free minutes before the next one hit. He put his arm around her waist, about to help her to the car. Aisha gave a surprised yelp and something wet and heavy hit the ground and splashed his pant legs.

  “It’s okay. It’s just your water breaking,” he whispered, praying that it was just her water—then trying not to panic when the coppery scent of blood hit him. Aisha moaned and her fingers pressed so deeply into his arm he thought she might pierce skin. “It’s okay,” he repeated, willing it to be so. “Things are just moving quickly. Let’s go.”

  It occurred to him as he drove white-knuckled to the hospital that maybe he should’ve let Sam or Jo know—or maybe not. Maybe he was right to leave notifying them in Aisha’s hands, unless she requested differently. Gah, maneuvering the transition from parent of child to parent of adult with a child was going to be rough. The whole experience was like going into a skid on an icy road. You couldn’t hit the brakes, needed to keep steering, even apply some gas, but had to be careful not to overcompensate and throw yourself into a spin.

  The emergency room’s stark fluorescent lights confirmed Charlie’s fear. The spill down Aisha’s legs wasn’t amniotic fluid—or not purely amniotic fluid anyway. Her thighs and calves were streaked a bloody pink, Charlie’s pants crimson-spattered. The nurse behind the desk took one look at them, called someone on the intercom, then pushed a wheelchair over to Aisha.

  “I’ll take her upstairs. You go to admitting and let them know she’s here.”

  “Is everything all right?” Charlie could hardly breathe.

  “Second floor. See you there.” The nurse whisked Aisha away, the wheelchair shushing along the bile-yellow industrial flooring like even the stupid chair was telling him to shut up.

  Thank goodness, Aisha had taken the doctor’s advice and visited the hospital and signed in ahead of time with all her info. It really was just a matter of saying she’d arrived. In five minutes Charlie was upstairs, pulling a blue gown over his clothes, donning a shower cap like hat, and sliding elastic banded fabric slippers over his shoes. He fought the fear, hopelessness and sadness that the smell of the ward sent coursing through him. He hated the stink of hospitals. The scent of death wasn’t the rank aroma of decomposition; it was the antiseptic cleaners of hospital hallways. He hated the overly bright, cheerless light too.