by Susan Wiggs
“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t dump this on you.”
“I’m just trying to figure out the mechanics of...you know.” His face turned even redder.
She was oddly charmed to see him blush. “We were going through fertility treatment. It was our twelfth try. The date of conception was the last day I had artificial insemination.” She hesitated. “Is this too much information for you?”
“Probably. But don’t let that stop you.”
She wasn’t about to. “So while I, uh, was undergoing the procedure, Jack was with someone else.” Mimi Lightfoot, she thought. Mimi-effing-Lightfoot. “I can’t believe I’m airing all this laundry.”
“I don’t shock easily,” he assured her, and right or wrong, she believed him.
“So there I was, with a lifelong dream coming true at the same exact moment...” She shook her head. “This must sound crazy to you.”
“What, a dream coming true? That doesn’t exactly happen every day.”
She let out a breath of relief. “Thank you. So if there’s any decision to be made, it’s when and how to tell Jack, and whether or not this changes things between us. I mean, I figure I should consider reconciling for the sake of the child. That was one of the first thoughts to cross my mind. Doesn’t every child deserve the chance to grow up with both parents in the same house?”
“Are you asking me, or thinking aloud?”
She flushed, reminded of his circumstances. “The latter. And I don’t have any answers. It’s too soon for me to think straight.” She grabbed a couch cushion and held it fast against her, because she needed to hold on to something. “This is the kind of thing you fantasize about, over and over in your mind—getting the news that you’re pregnant, and telling your husband, picturing the expression on his face. It’s always so cheesy, and so romantic.” She was startled to feel a fresh stab of anger at Jack. He had robbed her of that, too.
“My advice?” Will said, and didn’t wait to see whether or not she wanted it. “Don’t rush into any decision. Meanwhile, be happy about the baby.”
“It’s such crazy timing,” she said. “I can’t imagine what my life is going to be like, no matter what I decide.”
He offered a reassuring smile. “Sure, you can. You’re young and healthy and you’re going to have a baby. How can that be a bad thing?”
The words lifted her up and sent her soaring. She was amazed to discover she was still seated beside him on the sofa rather than floating in the clouds somewhere. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m finally starting to feel like this really is the best news I’ve ever had.”
“I have some more advice for you,” he said. “I’ve never been in your situation before, but I know what a breakup is like. Be sure you let yourself be pissed. Get mad. Break dishes. Throw things.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding? You’ll be amazed at what throwing and breaking things does for your mood.”
“I’m not angry. I’m happy about the baby. I mean, it’s going to be a huge challenge, but it’s truly a blessing and I’m...happy. Not angry.”
“You will be, and that’s okay. And when you really want to lose it and not cause any real damage, try taking it out on inanimate objects. You want me to bring you a box of old china from the thrift shop?”
“I’ll manage. But thanks.” She felt him watching her. “What?”
“You have a nice smile. I didn’t remember that about you.”
“I wasn’t nice, and I rarely smiled.”
He chuckled. “I doubt that.” He studied her with an expression she couldn’t read. “So are you going to be all right?” he asked.
“Boy, there’s a loaded question. Tonight, I expect to be fine. This has been a truly strange day, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to. I’m going to do my level best to be all right.”
“That’s good, Sarah. I’m here to help. Remember that.”
She curled herself against the overstuffed arm of the sofa. “I’ll remember.” She felt comfortable with him, and grateful for the reminder that she wasn’t alone. “I’m curious, too,” she said. “You never left Glenmuir. I always thought you’d wind up somewhere far away.”
“That was the plan,” he said. “But plans change. Anyway, I should go.” He planted his hands on his knees. Franny eyed him mournfully.
Don’t go, thought Sarah. “Of course,” she said.
He went to the drop-leaf desk in the corner and wrote something on a piece of paper. “My numbers,” he said. “At the station, at home and my cell.” He handed the paper to her.
“Thanks,” she said as she walked him to his truck. “And tell Aurora thanks, too. She did everything right today.”
“Call anytime. You don’t need a reason.” He tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “Did I say something funny?”
“No.” Sarah couldn’t help herself. He made her smile. “It’s just...you’re the best public servant I’ve ever met.”
Twenty
When she started her social studies project by interviewing Sarah Moon, Aurora had no idea the story would turn out to be so dramatic. She wondered if her teacher would give her bonus points for that. Or put it up on the school Web site, like Glynnis’s interview of Aurora’s dad. Of course, the teacher would want to know the outcome of the emergency, and Aurora didn’t have an answer to that. Her dad told her it was Sarah’s business, and it was up to her to explain what had happened. Or not.
Her dad was a secret-keeper. People thought because he was a fire captain, he spent all his time putting out fires. But also, he got calls to fish wedding rings out of drains or to pry kids out of places they should never have gone in the first place. One time Ethan Parker had climbed the town water tower and was too scared to come down, so her dad had to go up after him. Edie’s mom once called him to get birds out of her chimney, and had answered the door wearing a silk peignoir; Gloria had let that slip.
“How about a game of one-on-one?” Her dad held the back door open and passed her the basketball.
“Beats doing homework.” She went to the driveway and dribbled toward the goal. Thanks to her dad, she was good at sports. It was impossible to be his kid and not do well at basketball, baseball, soccer and lacrosse.
“We’ll leave time for homework,” he assured her, reaching for the ball.
She ducked away and twisted to block him. “It’s going to take you all night to beat me.”
When she was little, he used to cut her a lot of slack. Lately he pushed and challenged her. One good thing about being raised by a guy—it meant automatic acceptance by the jocks at school. And while she and her dad played, they talked. For some weird reason, they had better conversations while trying to beat the crap out of each other than they did while standing still.
“How come you never told me you knew Sarah Moon in high school?” She went for a layup and made it.
He snatched the rebound. “I wouldn’t exactly say I knew her. I knew who she was. We were in the same grade.”
“So let me guess,” said Aurora, guarding him even though it was futile. “You were a jock and she was a dork.”
Her dad dribbled thoughtfully. “What makes you think she was a dork?”
Aurora hid a smile. So he’d picked up on that. “Duh. People who grow up to be artists or computer geniuses were always dorks in high school. Or freaks. A lot of artists were freaks. Which was she?”
“Freak, I guess.” He showed off a little, dribbling behind his back. “For someone who’s never been to high school, you sure know a lot about it.”
She reached for the ball. “You were reading her comic strip on the Internet last night,” she said. “You left the page open.”
“After rushing her to the hospital, I was curious, so I looked her up.”
Aurora
lunged for the ball but he eluded her. There were times when she wasn’t sure what was on his mind.
“Why?” she asked. “Why were you curious?”
He made an easy outside shot that went in. Swoosh. “Most kids who were freaks in high school turn into interesting people.”
“So what was she like back then?”
“She used to draw comic strips,” her dad said, letting her grab the rebound.
“Like for the school paper, you mean?” Sarah hadn’t mentioned it in their interview.
He shook his head. “These were underground comics,” he said. “You know what those are?”
“Were they pornographic?” She dribbled hand to hand, even though the move was technically illegal.
Her dad’s cheeks turned red. “No. I can’t believe that’s the first place your mind went. The comics were satirical, I guess you’d say. They were controversial. She made fun of the school administration and the other students.”
“Ha ha. You mean she made fun of you.” She tried a bank shot but failed to score.
“She made me look like a goon with the IQ of a river rock. She tended to poke fun at people who seemed too satisfied or content.”
Aurora recaptured the ball. Her worry about Sarah Moon eased. “Why didn’t anyone make her stop?”
“She was entertaining, even then. People used to pass around copies of her drawings the minute they came out.”
“So if you’re entertaining, you can get away with anything.”
“For a while.”
“I’ll have to remember that.” She tried another shot and it went wild, bouncing off the asphalt of the driveway and into the rosebushes.
Her dad signaled “time” and grabbed two root beers from the fridge. They sat on the back steps in the cool of the evening air.
“I looked through the yearbooks at Grandma’s house,” Aurora confessed. “There wasn’t much info about Sarah Moon, but plenty about you.” Her father had been an actual golden boy, the kind who looked too good to be true. He’d been so handsome it embarrassed her.
“You must be really bored at Grandma’s house if you’re looking at old yearbooks,” he said.
“Majorly bored,” she agreed, and took a swig of root beer. She couldn’t explain why she felt drawn to the old, oversize books in her grandparents’ study, or why the photographs and scrawled messages from friends intrigued her. She supposed it might be because Dad didn’t really like to talk about himself much.
“Did you learn anything?” he asked. “About Sarah, I mean.”
“Nothing interesting. She dyed her hair black.”
“I think I remember that.”
“What’d you ever do to her?”
“Don’t remember. I probably teased her. I teased everybody back then.”
Aurora took another long drink of root beer and let the carbonation form a hard ball in her gut. When the moment felt just right, she let loose with a prolonged belch.
Her dad glanced over at her. “Not too shabby,” he said, then took a drink and answered in kind, with an even longer, louder belch.
Aurora wondered if her father was interested in Sarah Moon. Maybe he was thinking of asking her out, a possibility that made Aurora scowl. She hated it when he dated. Not that she thought he still felt any kind of loyalty to her mother. That, like Mama, was long gone. Aurora didn’t want him dating because it stole him from her. She would never tell him so. It made her seem like a complete spoiled brat.
She wasn’t spoiled. She simply didn’t want to share her dad. There was too much of that going on already. Every few days, he left her. Even though she knew it was his job and that he would come back to her at the end of each shift, she hated it every single time he left.
She should want him to be happy. She did want him to be happy—but with her, not some woman. She’d been pleased when she saw him looking Sarah up on the Internet, but now that he and Sarah had met, Aurora was apprehensive. When her dad was off duty, she needed him with her. Fortunately for Aurora, the women he dated never lasted long. They almost all fell in love with her dad. Anyone with half a brain could see he was a hunk who was funny and nice. But he never fell for them.
He came close a couple of times. There was that organic tea grower from Gualala who wore natural fiber tank tops and no bra, and had zero sense of humor. He was into her, but Aurora seemed to make her nervous, so she didn’t last. Oh, and that swimsuit model who lived in San Francisco. Some magazine was doing a photo shoot at Wildcat Beach, and all the models and crew had stayed at the Golden Eagle Inn. Her father had dated Mischa for several months, commuting back and forth to the city.
It started to get serious, and then one day, Aurora fell off the jungle gym at school and dislocated her collarbone. Her dad canceled a date with Mischa and she got all mad and broke up with him. Aurora had learned something that day. She had a lot of influence on her father.
She tried not to think of all the times she’d used that influence. Sometimes she got sick to her stomach when he was about to take a woman on a date. Others times, she needed her dad to help her with homework. It seemed that every time he started getting a little interested in a woman, Aurora had some kind of crisis that demanded his full attention.
Aunt Birdie saw straight through her and told her to cut it out. You couldn’t get much past Aunt Birdie.
Fortunately, her dad hadn’t met anybody in a long time. Not someone he clicked with, anyway.
* * *
Will glanced at his watch. He and Aurora were overdue at his parents’ house for dinner. His mother invited the whole family—him and Aurora, his sister and her husband to dinner every Friday night. Will attended as his duty schedule permitted. Aurora was taking her usual sweet time getting ready. He had no idea what it was that she did in the bathroom for forty-five minutes every time they were supposed to go somewhere. In his heart of hearts, he didn’t want to know.
“Let’s go, Aurora,” he yelled from the kitchen.
“Five minutes,” she yelled back.
It was the same reply he’d had five minutes ago. “Now,” he said. “We’re already late.”
Looking none too happy with his impatience, she came downstairs smelling of a slightly fruity perfume, every glossy black hair in place and makeup applied with a sure hand.
Makeup. On a thirteen-year-old.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, grabbing her battered, oversize purse and holding it in front of her like a shield.
“Why do you ask?”
“Your jaw is all tight, like it gets when something is bothering you.”
He forced his jaw to relax and held in a reply. Sometimes they bickered like a couple of kids, and once they got started it was hard to stop.
An unseasonable cold snap had gripped the area. He reached into the jump seat behind the cab and grabbed an ancient but clean letterman jacket—purple boiled wool with leather sleeves and trim and bright red varsity letters. He’d owned it since freshman year in high school, when he had earned letters in three sports, an honor that was practically unheard of. He’d strutted through the ensuing three years wearing the jacket like a mantle of ermine, and now it was a relic. It held no value for him except as a reminder: Don’t get cocky. He kept it in his truck and occasionally dragged it out on foggy nights when the cold drilled into his bones.
They got in the truck, and he turned up the volume on the radio. The Libertines’ “What Katie Did” drifted from the speakers. “Nothing is bothering me.”
“Sure it is. Come on, Dad. You can tell me.”
“Forget it.”
“Why? Why won’t you tell me?”
“You’ll take it wrong, get all mad at me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
He rested his wrist at the top of the steering wheel and reached
over to turn up the radio. Sometimes it was best just to clam up.
She turned the volume down. “I said I promise.”
“I forgot what we were talking about.”
“You forget everything when it comes to me. You forget me.”
“See? You’re already getting mad.”
“Because you never talk to me anymore.”
“We talk all the time.”
“About how much milk is left in the fridge and do I have enough punches left on my lunch card, and what homework I have. That’s not talking, Dad. That’s...taking inventory.”
Damn. Where did she get this stuff? Was Birdie coaching her on the sly, or did the second X chromosome come equipped with pointless, searching questions?
The only stoplight in town was red. They idled at the intersection with the White Horse Café on the corner. Happy hour was in full swing, half-price pitchers and barbecued oysters. Guys like him, finished with work for the day, were inside shooting pool and joking around, in no hurry to be anywhere. Will couldn’t help it. He felt a twinge of envy, because they weren’t guys like him. They were guys his age, but he doubted any of them had a teenager to raise. Sometimes it was hard to keep from regretting the things he’d missed out on.
Will glanced over at the sullen girl beside him. The falling twilight outlined her delicate profile and he reminded himself that she hadn’t asked to come into his life. And it wasn’t her fault her mother had left, and she was stuck with Will, who was finding a teenage girl more mysterious and incomprehensible than the universe itself.
“Light’s green,” she said, gesturing.
He accelerated away from town.
Aurora leaned forward and turned down the volume of the radio. “You never told me what’s the matter.”
They were approximately one minute away from his parents’ farm, where he’d grown up and lived his life until, at nineteen, he’d acquired a wife and child, a job and a house in town.
That was something, at least. The fight would only last one minute.
“You really want to know what’s on my mind?”
“Yes. I really want to know.”