by Susan Wiggs
Sarah flushed. “I didn’t mean this group. Just...in general.”
“So you don’t have anyone specific in mind?”
“No, God...no.” Yet in spite of herself, Sarah’s mind formed a very specific image. At the coffee service table, Gloria picked up a tote bag stenciled with a familiar logo and the initials GFD.
“You work for the fire department?” Sarah asked.
“That’s right. I’m a firefighter. An engineer, actually.”
“Maybe you work with Will Bonner.”
“Yep.” Gloria put on her jacket and lifted her hair over the collar.
“He was the one who took me to Valley Regional the day I found out I was pregnant. I don’t know what I would’ve done without him.”
Gloria slung the bag over her shoulder and offered Sarah a smile. “A lot of people feel that way about Will.”
* * *
Aurora was avoiding Sarah. She started off doing it without thinking, but later realized she was seriously ticked. She wasn’t happy about the fact that her dad and Sarah had finally met.
She’s my friend, Aurora wanted to tell her dad. I met her first. She knew she couldn’t say that, though. It would make her sound like a complete and total baby.
When she got a text message from Sarah asking to meet her after school, she was tempted to ignore the invitation. Trouble was, she liked Sarah and wanted to keep being friends with her.
Shouldering her backpack, she got off the bus first instead of waiting for Mandy and the others in hopes that for once, they’d invite her to hang out. So that was something, anyway. At least she’d quit moping about not being part of the group.
Sarah was right where she said she’d be, with Franny on her leash, sniffing around a clump of wild sage. Aurora found herself checking Sarah out with a worried eye. “You all right?”
She grinned. “I promise I won’t pass out on you like I did last time we were together.”
“Thanks. That was too much drama for me.”
“So I guess your dad didn’t say much about why I wasn’t feeling well that day,” Sarah said.
“He said that’s between you and your doctor.”
“I disagree,” Sarah said. “You deserve to know and besides, it’s no secret.”
Aurora braced herself. What if there was some awful disease? Aurora knew vaguely that Sarah’s own mother had died young, of something terrible. Had Sarah inherited the same condition?
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Turns out I’m expecting a baby.”
Like an idiot, Aurora couldn’t think of anything to say. Part of her reaction was relief. Now she knew it was totally dumb and paranoid to worry about her dad and Sarah dating. What with getting a divorce and being pregnant at the same time, Sarah could not possibly have guys on her mind.
Could she?
Aurora told herself to quit being such a worrywart. She stared at the ground, her jaw tight, her emotions scrambled by confusion.
“It’s good news,” Sarah said quickly, probably rattled by Aurora’s silence. “My doctor says everything is okay, so long as I take care of myself.”
“That’s cool, then. I guess.” Aurora didn’t know much about babies, had never really been around them.
“Why am I getting the idea that you don’t think a baby is great news?”
Because you don’t have a husband, for starters. Because probably the only thing that sucks worse than being a single parent is being the kid of a single parent. Glynnis’s mom was always saying how hard it was. In health class, even the textbooks said it was a struggle. “Kids are a lot of trouble.”
“Parents would say they’re worth it.”
“Not all parents,” Aurora muttered. Then she thought, Shoot, why did I say that?
Sarah narrowed her eyes, tilted her head a little. “You wouldn’t be talking about your own situation, would you?”
“It’s the only situation I know.” Aurora had an urge to talk about her mother, but squelched it. Instead, she said, “Once there’s a kid in the picture, everything has to change, all your plans.”
“Change can be good.”
“Or not,” Aurora insisted. Then, before her mind caught up with her mouth, she said, “I ruined my dad’s future.”
“What do you mean, ruined?” Sarah nearly choked.
“Before I came along, he had all these plans. He was supposed to go to college, maybe even go pro, play for the Athletics and become a celebrity. And make everybody proud. Instead, he got stuck with my mom and me and wound up right back here. So his plans flew out the window.”
“A change of plans is not the same as a life being ruined. Where on earth did you get that idea? Is this something your father told you?”
“No way. My dad acts like I’m the best thing that ever came along. I had to hear the truth from a teacher at school. Mr. Kearns, who teaches health and coaches baseball, told me. He was really disappointed that my dad ended up staying here and taking care of me.”
Sarah remembered Kearns, a mediocre teacher and aggressive coach. What a jerk, saying something like that to Aurora. “And you believe some teacher over your own father?”
“I believe my father would do anything to keep me from hearing stuff like that, but I hear it anyway.”
“A child is the biggest thing that can happen to anyone. I’m just coming to realize this myself.”
“Because you’re pregnant.”
“Because that’s the way it is. You know, before I figured out that there was a baby, I was going to head into San Francisco and find a great bachelorette apartment. I pictured myself living single, like a West Coast Bridget Jones, and I had all these plans for the Bohemian life of an artist. And then—wham. I find out I’m pregnant. This news has changed everything I thought my future would be. Is it ruined? Am I disappointed? Not even close. I feel the way I suspect your dad felt when you came along. Blessed and lucky and overwhelmed. And happier, I think, than I’ve ever been about anything.”
“Does this mean you’re getting back together with your husband?” Aurora asked.
Sarah choked some more. “Not going to happen.” She paused and studied Aurora. “Do you ever think that might happen with your parents?”
Wham is right, she thought, staring at the ground. “No,” she admitted, feeling regret pierce her in a tender place. She felt embarrassed, too, because she had once told Sarah she and her dad were going to move to Vegas to be with her mom. By now, Sarah must have realized that was just a story. “I used to wish for it, but now I know it’s a stupid wish that will never come true. No offense,” she added hurriedly, “but when kids are little, they always want their parents to get back together.”
“You’re awfully smart, for a kid,” Sarah said.
“About some stuff, I guess.”
She and her dad used to be happy, even when it was just the two of them. But lately, she sensed a change. Sure, she wasn’t a little kid anymore. She didn’t expect him to swoop her up in his arms or cuddle with her in bed anymore. He seemed so distracted these days, she practically had to yell fire in a crowded building just to get his attention.
Twenty-Three
Sarah stopped in the foyer of the Esperson Building, found a ladies’ room and rushed to a stall just in time to vomit. This had become a common occurrence lately. Routine morning sickness. Dr. Faulk, her OB, was not concerned.
This morning, however, the nausea had persisted, her silent companion in the traffic surging across the Golden Gate Bridge, down into the parking garage beneath the blocky office building and up the elevator to the office of the Comic Relief Syndicate on the twenty-third floor.
She’d consumed nothing stronger than tea and oyster crackers for breakfast. Most days, she managed to keep her first meal down, but not today. This morn
ing, everything was exacerbated by nerves.
Snap out of it, she told herself. She needed to focus on providing for her child. It was one thing to indulge her own misery, curled in the fetal position under an eiderdown comforter. It was quite another to realize that she didn’t have the luxury to wallow. Not anymore. When you have a child, you have someone else to live for—and to make a living for.
One stroke of luck—she had the entire washroom to herself. It was bad enough being sick. Throwing up in the presence of a stranger would only stress her out even more.
Still a good fifteen minutes early for her appointment, she took her time putting herself back together. She washed her face, redid her hair and makeup, and popped in a Tic Tac. Even the best foundation money could buy didn’t mask her pallor, but maybe people who had never met her would think it was natural. They would think she had the complexion of a Charlotte Bronte heroine.
“I’m Sarah Moon,” she told the guy at the desk. “I have an appointment to see Fritz Prendergast.”
Confidence, she thought. Show nothing but confidence that they’re going to love the material. Forget about the fact that the syndication editor was a humorless, middle-aged male, and that this was one of the most competitive syndicates there was. Don’t think about that.
She nearly crumbled when the receptionist escorted her into a conference room lit by a bank of tall windows with a view of the bustling wharf area. A series of easels had been set up at one end. The mahogany table, as long and gleaming as a bowling alley lane, was surrounded by cushy swivel chairs on wheels.
There was a setup for a PowerPoint presentation. Moments before Fritz and his three associates arrived, she had time to load the program. She met his assistant editor, a managing editor and a female intern who was a senior at San Francisco State.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Sarah said. “I really appreciate the opportunity.” This process was so fraught with tension. She was submitting herself to their judgment, asking them to deem her worthy, to place a specific value on something she had created. No wonder she hadn’t pursued syndication until now.
“We are always interested in fresh talent,” said Fritz, sounding halfway between bored and comatose.
The presentation went as though scripted. Everyone said what they were supposed to say and made all the appropriate noises. Because of this, Sarah understood perfectly well that the meeting was going badly. Just Breathe was dead on arrival.
Once she admitted this to herself, she relaxed. Since she was already a goner, there was no danger of shooting herself in the foot.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she blurted out.
Fritz sent his assistant a glance highlighted by raised eyebrows. “All right,” he said. “I’ll play. What am I thinking?”
“That the strip is not unique enough.”
“Ah. You’ve done your homework, at least. According to the Comics Marketing Guide, that’s the number one reason for rejection.”
“So you’ve probably heard all the answers to that,” she said.
He enumerated them one by one on his fingers. “You’re not giving us uniqueness, but freshness of vision. Your strip features characters and situations readers can relate to. You want to foster a long-term bond between the audience and the material.”
She couldn’t suppress a rueful smile. “You’ve done your homework, too.”
Fritz glanced at his watch. “You’re a good artist. The strip has potential and it’s been well received in a few markets. But I’m not sold, Sarah. You still haven’t given me a reason to take a chance on you.”
Good artist...potential...well received. And those aren’t reasons? she wondered. What more did he want?
“My assessment?” he said, even though she hadn’t solicited it. “The strip is well drawn, sharp and honest. However, as we’ve said before, it’s also not unique and it isn’t all that funny.”
She took a deep breath, trying to fill her suddenly empty lungs. “I’m not funny,” she said. “I agree with that.”
“Then why should I put you in the funny pages?”
“Because Just Breathe is about pain and truth.”
“So is the obituary page.”
“So is comedy,” she said, clicking on a shot of Shirl at the fertility clinic. “My readers don’t laugh at her,” she said. “But they don’t look away, either.”
Nancy, the intern, studied each image, growing more and more agitated. At least, that was how it seemed to Sarah.
Fritz took the remote and swiftly scanned the next few frames. “You’re offering me pain and truth about a young woman who’s trying to save her failing marriage by having a baby, is that it?”
“No.” Sarah was shocked. “You’ve got it wrong. Up until the last possible moment, Shirl didn’t believe there was a thing wrong with her marriage. And she was certainly not naive enough to believe having a baby would fix it. I can’t imagine how the strip gave you that impression. She had a very good marriage.”
He moved to a four-week series about Shirl and Richie remodeling their kitchen. “Doesn’t look so hot here.”
“Every couple fights when they’re remodeling.”
“But I thought the general rule of thumb is that the woman always wins,” interjected Nancy. “Shirl doesn’t get a single thing she wants here.”
“She’s fine with it,” Sarah insisted, indicating the culmination of the story line. “Look at her. This story line was about a woman discovering what’s really important, and it’s not linear feet of counter space.”
“It’s about manipulation and subverting desire,” the intern said. “Richie’s a master at it.”
“That’s crazy,” Sarah objected. “Richie doesn’t manipulate Shirl. She’s in charge in this relationship.”
“Then how the hell did she wind up moving in with her loopy mother?” Nancy advanced to more recent story lines.
Sarah was not about to answer that. “Lulu is not loopy. She is the most self-actualized character in the strip.”
“Hello? She’s fifty years old and can’t even decide on a hair color. She and Shirl are going to drive each other insane.”
“Like a couple of Pomeranians,” Sarah agreed. “Especially when Lulu finds out what’s really going on with Shirl.”
“What’s that?”
Sarah had her hooked, and she knew it. With an almost-smug smile, she advanced to the most recent installment, one that had not yet been published. “Shirl is pregnant.”
Nancy’s jaw dropped. “Shut up.”
Fritz and the others were watching like spectators at a Ping-Pong match. Finally someone mentioned that the meeting had run over.
Sarah fell silent and tried not to look too disheartened as she put away her things.
“I’ll FedEx you a contract first thing in the morning.” Fritz made a note on a pad of paper.
She blinked, thinking she had heard wrong. “I don’t understand. I thought you hated the strip.”
“You weren’t listening. I said it wasn’t unique and it wasn’t funny. I also said it was honest and well drawn. But that’s not what convinced me.”
“Then why?”
“Truthfully, we’ve got three strips slated for cancellation, and there’s room for something new. Besides—” he indicated Nancy, the intern “—when somebody starts arguing that passionately about a fictional character, I have to figure we’re onto something.”
Twenty-Four
It was too hot to think. Fortunately for Will, a firefighter could choose from any number of tasks that didn’t require thinking. There was the mindless polishing of the engine’s grills and chrome, for example. He opted for washing the truck. The water gushing from the hose was a welcome respite from the ferocious heat wave.
He wore only rubber boots and khaki turnou
t trousers with suspenders hanging down, his shirt peeled off and slung over a laurel bush. Within minutes, he was soaked and in a much better mood. He was scouring the running boards and whistling tunelessly between his teeth when he sensed someone watching him.
He killed the stream of water with a twist of the nozzle and glanced around. There stood Sarah Moon, eyeing him with an expression he couldn’t read. She wore a blue sundress and straw hat, and carried a portfolio under her arm.
Will felt different around this woman. And for the life of him, he didn’t know why. He ought to run the other way. This was a woman who had dumped her husband and was newly pregnant—not exactly the picture of stability. But...damn.
“Everything all right?” he asked her.
“Just fine,” she said. “I stopped by to bring you something.” She held out the portfolio.
“I’m dripping wet,” he said.
“I know.” She seemed distracted in a way he found flattering. Her face was flushed and she was trying not to look at his bare chest, yet he could feel her gaze pulled there and he couldn’t deny the feeling that gave him.
“It’s a little thank-you gift. I made a drawing of you and Aurora.”
He grinned. “Uh-oh. Last time you drew a picture of me, it wasn’t exactly flattering.”
“Think of this as my way of making up for it.” She slid a picture out of the portfolio and angled it toward him.
The drawing was matted, framed and signed. It showed him and Aurora sitting on the city dock, dangling their feet in the water. “I based it on a photo I borrowed from your sister,” Sarah explained.
“Wow,” he said. “It’s fantastic. Thank you.”
She beamed at him. “Do you really like it?”
The drawing showed his five o’clock shadow and the slightly rumpled condition of his jeans and plaid shirt, yet it was oddly flattering. Even better, Sarah had managed to capture Aurora’s beauty and the way she was poised between being a little girl and a young woman. “Yeah,” he said, “I really like it.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out to dinner when he got off duty. No, that was too...datelike.