by PJ Sharon
He smiled at me again and then headed for the funeral parlor. I watched him go, a flood of emotions rising to the surface. I suddenly saw him as the man that my mother had loved, and now I understood what she’d seen in him. I thought about him kneeling at her casket saying good-bye one last time. Part of me wanted to run after him—to kneel beside him—to take my rightful place with my mother and father. But I’d been saying good-bye for a long time, letting go of Mom a little every day since she’d first told me she had cancer. Whatever we hadn’t said, it was too late now.
A long sigh escaped my lips, and I shifted my gaze to another handsome face.
“I’m glad you’re here, Carter. We need to talk.”
Chapter 30
“I’m sorry I lied to you, Carter. I didn’t mean to. I should have told you right away that I was only seventeen, but...I knew you wouldn’t give us a chance. I thought once you got to know me, maybe it wouldn’t matter.”
Carter’s expression faltered. “I didn’t break up with you because you were seventeen...well, I kind of did, because your dad threatened me with prison...but mostly it was because you lied.” He looked down at his hands. “My dad was a lying, cheating, drunken bastard. I can’t take dishonesty. It hit me hard when I found out you’d lied right from the start. It made me wonder what else you might keep from me.”
I stared hard at him for a minute, taking slow breaths and calculating the risk of telling him I was pregnant, against the cost of not telling him. If I told him now, he’d feel obligated to be with me whether he loved me or not. I’d be trapping him just like Sami had said. But if I kept the baby from him, it would be the biggest lie of all, he’d hate me for it, and I’d be doing exactly what my mother had done to Bill. I was SCREWED, either way. I needed time to think.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“About my mother and father.” Half-truth, I decided, wondering whether lying was a genetic trait I had inherited from my mother, like hair and eye color, a bad temper, or freckles—none one of which I would have chosen for myself. But there you have it.
“I’m sorry, Penny. This is the worst possible time for me to come around. You must be going through hell.” His expression had gone all soft and sweet, melting my heart and waking the deep need to be in his arms.
You have no idea, I wanted to say. Instead I changed the subject. “So, how are things with you and Cindy?” The tone of my voice probably gave away the fact that I didn’t give a rat’s ass about his relationship with the Miss Piggy look-alike, but I forced a smile anyway.
His face turned a satisfying shade of pink. “I broke it off a while ago. She was pretty clingy. We obviously wanted different things.”
“I see.” I didn’t really see at all. “I guess you don’t want a serious relationship then?”
The pink in his cheeks spread down to his collar. “No, it’s not that. I already have a lot of responsibilities. I actually came by today to say good-bye. I’m going back to Michigan to start school. They have a work study program so I can earn a little money at the same time. That way I can be close to home to help my mom and Meg.”
My heart sank to my toes and I felt that tiny little flutter in my belly. “Oh. That makes sense. They must be happy you’re coming home. I’m sure they’ve missed you.” I swallowed the salty tears that I refused to cry.
“Penny...I’d like us to keep in touch. Maybe after you graduate from high school and I’m done with the engineering program, I can come back and we can try again...if you’ll give me another chance.” He took my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles and sending shock waves coursing through my body. There were no words to describe how much I’d missed the warmth of his touch. I closed my eyes for a second, committing the sensation to memory.
“I know I was a jerk,” he continued, apparently having rehearsed his farewell speech. “I handled things badly, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I really care about you, but right now...the timing just isn’t right. Your dad wouldn’t be at all happy about us seeing each other, and he could make things really hard for both of us. I think it’s best if we take a year or so to get our lives in order. Don’t you think so?” he asked, a lopsided but hopeful smile lighting his face.
“Of course, you’re right. We have school, and family...obligations.” The tuna salad I’d eaten for lunch made a slow ascent up my esophagus, threatening to surface. I stood on wobbly legs, sliding my hand out of his grasp. “I should get back inside.”
Carter stood and came around to my side of the table. Before I had a chance to say anything, he kissed me. His arms wrapped around my back and he pulled me against him, molding his lips to mine in a warm, soft kiss that melted me right to my toes. I nearly fainted in his arms, overcome with joy, sadness, desperation. I folded my arms around his neck and clung to him, losing my heart and soul to his kiss, too far gone to wonder how I’d ever get them back.
Saturday, September18
Grief is like a clogged toilet. Just when you think all your crap is about to be pulled into the abyss of stored sewage, it backs up and spews out in the most unpleasant ways. I keep thinking I have everything under control, but I’ve fallen apart several times at school this week. As soon as I saw Mr. Barstow, I burst into tears. He hugged me for a while and that helped more than I’d imagined it could. Whenever people offer condolences, I cry. If I have to say the words, “My mother died,” I cry. I had no idea the human body could produce so many tears.
After all of the years I spent angry with her for the long list of reasons that no longer seem to matter, I can’t believe how much I miss her in four days’ time. I went back to school right away—maybe too soon—because Mom had made me promise to keep living, and honestly, I was falling behind with all of the insanity happening in my life. Dad insinuated I was being heartless and disrespectful not to take the “proper” amount of time off to grieve.
We made it through the wake and the funeral, a suitable Irish-Italian affair filled with the appropriate amount of hysteria and drunken reverie. There was no discussion of Bill’s shadowy attendance at either the funeral home or the cemetery, where he stood off in the distance looking profoundly sad and alone. Despite the depth of my confused emotions over the whole sordid mess, I feel an undeniable connection to him. The parallel paths my life is taking with his and my mother’s has my head spinning.
The situation with Carter is impossible. I want this baby, but I can’t tell him about it. I’m afraid that he would sacrifice everything and end up as resentful and distant as my dad. But if I don’t tell him, he’ll probably find out the truth eventually, and then he’ll hate me for lying. And we’ll both miss out on sharing the experience together. Whenever the little “bean sprout” moves (I’ve nicknamed him that for the time being since he’s not much bigger than a pea pod at this point), I think about going through this pregnancy alone. I also imagine how much better it would be if I could share it with someone I love.
The real question is does Carter love me? He says he “cares about me,” but what does that mean? Is it enough? Am I willing to settle for someone who doesn’t share my feelings, like Dad did? I’ve seen how he suffered because of loving someone who couldn’t love him back. And worst of all, would I be ruining Carter’s life by involving him? He really could end up in jail. He has his future all planned out, and here I come like a wrecking ball to smash it all to rubble.
I guess for now, I need to focus on being healthy for the baby, keeping my grades up, and getting ready for the big show next week. I’ll tell dad about the baby after that. I don’t know how he’s going to take it, but I imagine it won’t be good. He’s been walking around like a zombie all week and I hear him crying at night. We’re not talking much, but that’s nothing new. I wish I could say something that would make him feel better, but I know there are no words to ease the pain we are both feeling.
It would be nice if we didn’t have to both go through it alone.
Chapter 31
The day of
the big show came, an overcast Sunday that brought a cold wind from the north. The leaves seemed to change faster this year and fell in a sparse orange and yellow blanket over the green grass, thanks to a cool, wet summer and the obvious effects of global warming. I left Dad raking the few offending leaves from his precious yard, and drove to the rink a few hours before show time, hoping to get in some last minute practice since I’d missed quite a bit of ice time over the last month. Marie had gone back to Africa a few days after Mom’s funeral, and I sat beside Sarah in her BMW.
“I guess the Honda is yours now. Dad said Mom wanted you to have it,” Sarah said, making light conversation to avoid the uncomfortable moments of grief in the silence.
“Yeah. He’s working on transferring the registration and everything.” I stared out the window, watching the middle class neighborhoods pass by, rows of capes and ranches with small manicured lawns sitting nearly on top of each other.
Sarah turned the radio off, which I had turned up to hear Pink’s latest tune, hoping to avoid conversation altogether. Performing today, without Mom there for the first time, had my head swimming and my nerves on edge. I needed to keep my mind focused on skating.
“Dad told me about this guy, Bill. That’s crazy, huh? I can’t believe Mom would do that—hide a secret like that all those years. You must be pretty upset.”
“I don’t really want to talk about it. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
I felt her eyes glancing my way, studying my face, probably trying to see me as someone else’s kid other than Dad’s. “Do you think he’ll be there today?” she asked.
“He said he would.” I contained the pleasant sensation that ran through me at the thought. It made me feel closer to Mom somehow, and I was ridiculously happy to know he would be there, watching, unlike Dad, who would probably be at the VFW by then, getting trashed. The past year, with Mom being so sick, they had both cut way back on the drinking—which also stopped a lot of the fighting. Since the funeral though, he was drinking every night. I didn’t have the heart to tell Sarah, but it disturbed me to hear him thrashing about the house at all hours, cursing, crying and talking to Mom like she was still there.
Sarah interrupted my thoughts. “Well, I’d like to meet him. He is your biological father after all.” She sighed. “I don’t think Dad is taking it well.”
“I’d say that’s putting it mildly.” We pulled into the rink parking lot. I unloaded my skates and handed my costumes to Sarah. I’d done my makeup and hair at home, pulling it back into barrettes to keep the growing curls from falling in my face. I had decided not to cut it anymore. It didn’t seem important to keep my hair short, now that Mom was gone. When her hair had fallen out in big clumps, I had cut my own so she wouldn’t feel so bad about losing all her long brown curls. I tucked a stray behind my ear and made my way into the locker room to change.
There would be an hour of last minute practice, a quick warm up for the group numbers, and then it was show time. My legs had that wobbly, nervousness I always got before competitions, tests, and shows. I’d eaten a good breakfast and drank plenty of water, so whatever jitters I had, I couldn’t blame on my normal pre-performance diet of Red Bull and energy bars. We found the locker room and Sarah promised to be cheering in the stands and videotaping the whole show. Even though Mom wouldn’t be around to see it, I had the feeling this was my last performance, and I wanted to have it to look back on.
I’d realized a long time ago that I was skating mostly for her. I loved the grace and athleticism of the sport, but hated the competitive aspect of it. There was always somebody better, faster, stronger, more graceful—always someone to compare myself to and make me feel like I’d never measure up. There seemed no point in torturing myself anymore.
With a baby on the way, I figured I could ask Joanne, the manager, if I could teach the learn-to-skate program in the spring. I’d been helping out since I was fourteen and I was pretty sure she’d be glad to give me the job, and if I could pick up some private students, I’d be able to make a decent living—at least enough to save up and get a small apartment. Once I turned pro and collected a paycheck, that would be the end of competition, but I had more important things to consider. I needed to plan for my future. College seemed like a concept too far ahead to think about. Deadlines for applications were right around the corner and I just didn’t have it in me to do anything about it. So much depended on what happened after I told Dad about the pregnancy. The thought of being solely responsible for another human life had my stomach twisted in knots. I tied my laces and took a few deep breaths before heading for the ice.
I skated through warm-ups half focused and kept glancing at the rink doors as people trickled in and found their way into the stands. Sami and Katie busted through the doors carrying an armload of drinks, pretzels, and popcorn and waved at me wildly as they climbed the bleachers to sit next to Sarah. I smiled nervously and waved back, turning my attention to the little kids practicing a pinwheel for their group number. I clapped my hands and chased after Tiffany, the eight year old who was skating like crazy to catch up to the end of the line so she could latch on.
“C’mon Tiff. You can do it! Faster!” I grabbed her hand and pulled her along, connecting her to Robin, who was ten and whipping by, holding on for dear life. “That’s it. You got it. Bend your knees and hang on!” I let go and watched her whiz around, grinning, and giggling, eyes wide with the thrill of flying. I stood back, a satisfying contentment drifting through me. This is what I wanted to do. The realization struck me with the force of some great epiphany. I wanted to teach kids to skate. Most importantly, I wanted to teach them to love it.
The stands were nearly full and skaters were filing off the ice so the Zamboni could make its rounds, when I spotted him. Bill winked at me from behind the Plexiglas, standing at floor level at the far end of the rink. A strange shiver of familiarity raised the hairs on my arms. I’d seen him there before—more than once. With all of the people in and out of a hockey rink, I’d barely registered his face, but I knew I’d seen him. I smiled and gave him a nod. My “father” was here—here to see me skate. My throat closed and my breath caught, tears formed in my eyes and I brushed them away. I would not cry today. I wouldn’t. I was here to skate. I focused on the smooth, clean surface in front of me.
Moments later, the lights went down and a spotlight shone onto center ice. Carol, the President of the skating club, stood with a microphone. She welcomed and thanked all of the families and friends for their support. The crowd stood for the playing of the National Anthem and the domed building fell to a hushed silence. While the music played, I stood with my hand over my heart, willing the relentless fluttering to slow down.
The first to skate was our star ice dancing team, Kent Peterson and Daphne Myer. They had taken a silver medal at the New England Regional’s only last month. George looked on with pride. They flowed gracefully through an Argentine tango, dressed in matching black and red outfits. A rain of applause rose up from the crowd before the music even finished. Next up, a dozen kids took the ice and performed a well-executed comical routine to “Go on with the show,” an old Ethel Merman tune, a traditional piece that had been skated every year since the club was founded in 1964. Each line moved in unison, keeping time as they bumped hips and danced to the music, making the audience laugh and cheer with their slapstick antics. The kids, in colorful clown outfits, shuffled off the ice in single file, excited and happy with the applause from the stands.
A pair’s team took to the ice, followed by several soloists who performed their programs to a variety of classical and contemporary pieces, some making small mistakes here and there, but no major catastrophes. The audience whistled and cheered for their favorite skaters, throwing stuffed animals and flowers out onto the ice to show their admiration and support. I skated in two group numbers with the older girls, changing costumes in between and rushing around to help other skaters prepare.
Then it was time for my solo. I
changed into a burgundy skating outfit that Mom had designed herself with Sarah’s help. It had sequins along the scooped neckline and layers of chiffon for the short sleeves and skirt that billowed out when I spun. I’d worn it for my last Gold Dance test and Sarah had taken it in to make it fit. Now, the seams tugged a little and my boobs filled it out more than I’d remembered. I stood at the gate, stretching and taking deep breaths, trying to calm my nerves.
Mom’s voice whispered in my head. “God has given you a gift, Penelope. When people watch you skate, it brings them joy. Don’t ever be afraid to show the world what you’re made of.”
My legs shook as I took off my skate guards and climbed out onto the ice. I glided into the spotlight and waited for the music to start, my palms sweating. From up in the bleachers, my cheering squad screamed, “GO, PENNY!” I smiled up at Sarah, Katie and Sami, and lifted my arms into position. “This one’s for you, Mom,” I whispered. Celine Dion’s, A New Day, came through the speaker—and swept me away.
With every edge, turn and extension of fingers and toes, I grew more confident. The practiced pattern flowed to the jazzy, rich, melody mixed with sweet undertones of piano and bass. Celine’s lyric voice filled the air like a choir of angels.
Lost in the freedom of flight, the music carried me around the rink, beautiful words of hope lifting my soul to the stars. I felt airy and light as I spun and jumped. I completed my first double toe-loop combination, landing it cleanly to the cheers of the crowd. Back crossovers pulled me faster and faster, gaining speed before I stepped wide and laid back into a spread eagle, holding the edge through the high note of the song.
I shifted my weight, dropping over to the inside edge, then turned and stepped into a sit spin. I pulled neatly out of the spin and skated a blues footwork sequence before I sat back into a long, deep back outside edge. Looking out over the length of my arm, I saw Bill, his face filled with pride. He looked captivated and my heart swelled.