by Alicia Gaile
“We better get going,” he said briskly to his sons. Keith nodded, looking terrified. He pushed Craig ahead of him toward the sidewalk, but Craig dragged his feet, the only one of them who didn’t seem afraid.
“How—?”
“Shut up!” hissed Keith, going even paler. I glared. What was his problem?
Their father scooped up the forgotten jewelry box and turned to go. A cold gust of wind blew past us, whistling through a hole in the corner beam of the stand. The man took a few hasty steps after them, sighed, and then turned back to me.
"It's pretty cold out." He eyed my jacket and sympathy lit his eyes. I pushed up from my seat, determined not to let him feel sorry for me.
"You're right. It is starting to get cold. I should get going."
He winced and glanced after his retreating boys.
"Do you have someplace to go if Winter—I mean, you’re not…? Is it…? Do you need a ride somewhere?" My scowl softened before I could reinforce it.
In spite of his rudeness he had a kind face. Green eyes sat above a thin nose and square jaw. Not handsome exactly, but he was just good-looking enough for my shyness to kick in. He was the friendly, smiling dad I’d always wished mine would be, the one who knew my friends and teachers by name, who hugged and teased me while projecting an air of confidence and security. He was the kind of dad who stayed.
After a moment his tone sank in. Underneath all the rambling was another question he didn't want to release into the air. His concern wasn't just about me walking home alone in the cold. He kept watching me as if he expected my baby to leap out and grab him. Some guys are uneasy around pregnant women and babies. That didn't make sense for a father of six.
A light went off in my head. He knew. Somehow, this random stranger knew something magical had happened to me. Had something magical once happened to him too?
He also knew I wasn't going to take him up on the offer for a ride. Just to be clear, I shook my head. His sons were already across the street at the gas station, watching us from beside a brand new, white Mustang. The man glanced at my stomach one more time, winced, and then said, "Take care of yourself then," before he rushed away too.
I watched them climb into the car. Craig squeezed himself into a backseat too small to be comfortable. He watched me through the tiny back window. I held my hand up to my nose and stuck my tongue out at him as they drove away. He grinned just before they turned a corner.
A strange loneliness settled over me as they slid out of sight. Whoever their mother was she regularly received roses from her oldest son and beautiful jewelry from the second. I could only imagine what gestures the father made that taught them to shower her with tokens of their love like that. He was a father who’d never abandon his wife and kids. I’d seen the look in his eye as he talked to his boys, a look of pride I’d never seen in my home before.
I rubbed the side of my belly.
One day, if we were lucky maybe Eirawen and I would find someone whose kind, loving eyes gazed at us like that.
Sunset drew closer, and I was only halfway back. Fire ignited in my lower back as I hauled my body to my feet. I groaned like an old woman. Only two more weeks, I reminded myself. Two more weeks and I could carry little Eirawen in my arms rather than at my waist.
Carefully, I returned my old dress to the plastic bag and started off again.
Though I started panting a little as I turned up Miles' Way, I was nonetheless glad to be moving again. The cold seeped into my fingers in spite of my gloves. I pictured a steaming cup of instant cocoa waiting for me at Grandma's.
Just as I reached the edge of the park, I felt the first stab of pain. I gasped and hunched over. It wasn't discomfort but fear that brought me to a halt. It might be just a cramp, but it might be something else.
A squeal drew my attention.
The park was full of kids trying to get as much use out of the leftover snow as they could. Only an inch or so remained, but it was enough to scrape together into rough missiles that could draw blood as easily as tears. The wail of a little girl who’d taken a ball of ice to the cheek rose into the air and hovered like a smoke signal. The other kids avoided her to continue their game, but her cries roused my protective instincts. Not for a minute did I think she’d come to me if I tried to comfort her, but wandering closer gave me an excuse to rest and observe.
Aware of the slush that countless feet packed down into ice, I made my way to the wooden pavilion and decided to wait and see whether my stitch got any worse. The girl’s mother rushed to check on her, reminding her gently that she took her own risks when she joined in big kids’ games. I was a little disappointed when the woman bundled her up and ushered her to a minivan in the small parking lot. I wanted an adult nearby in case I needed to call for help.
The twinge in my stomach faded. I let out a puff of breath in relief. Considering everyone's reactions to me so far, I didn’t particularly want to rely on the kindness of strangers if I didn’t have to. I watched the kids playing for a while, remembering my own snowball fights. Mine usually ended with snow stuffed down the neck of my shirt or in tears like the little girl’s when the boys joined forces and ganged up on me.
Sometimes I wondered if some of us are born with ‘kick me’ signs on our backs. If so, someone printed mine in bold font and all caps.
"Gwen? Are you okay!” The anxious call made me sit up. Even Eirawen gave a sharp kick. Lyall ran across the park, waving to get my attention. The white silhouette of a knight on horseback—our high school mascot—stood out across his chest. Somehow the sympathy of strangers wasn’t nearly as bad as being seen like this by my former best friend.
I sagged in my seat again.
“What are you doing here?”
He slowed down looking sheepish.
“Come on, Gwen. You know you shouldn’t be out here by yourself. You could fall.”
“If you were that worried you sure took your time coming after me.”
I crossed my arms. I wasn’t exactly moving fast. He should easily have caught up with me by the end of Mom’s street while I plodded along with Heather at a snail's pace.
A rush of color dusted his cheeks.
“Your mom and I needed to talk about something.” He gulped and scuffed his foot on a frozen clump of dirt. I stared at him, suspicious. What could he need to talk to Mom about?
“I thought I could convince her to let you come home. Your grandma is…well.... You shouldn’t have to deal with her nonsense on top of everything else.” Lyall never liked being around Grandma. Watching her drift in and out of reality made him uncomfortable.
“And how did that go?” I asked even though I already knew the answer. He shrugged and rubbed his left triceps in a gesture I recognized from my days of spying on his brother in the hallways at school.
“She’ll come around. I left to come after you.” He must have stayed for a while if he had to take a shortcut through the neighborhoods to catch up with me.
“You shouldn’t have bothered. You know how she is.”
“Well, there’s another option.” This was the real issue. He took a couple of deep breaths, working himself up to spit it out fast.
“You could move in with me.”
I snorted.
“Yeah, I’m sure your mom would love that—and your brother too.” A muscle flexed in his jaw when I brought up Ian again, but he rotated his neck on his shoulders until it gave a soft series of pops, and then he fixed me with a determined stare.
“I don’t mean my parents’ house. We could get our own place.”
I stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
Before I could even get the question out, he dropped to one knee on the dirty snow. Dread poured into my stomach as he snatched my left hand and peered up into my face.
“Gwen, we’ve been friends for a long time. I saw how much you dealt with things after your dad left. Your mother was so wrapped up in feeling sorry for herself that she forgot you got le
ft behind too. Then there’s your Grandma…. I never blamed you for throwing yourself after all those guys at school. I knew you needed the attention, and none of them ever gave it to you.”
He started so far off on the wrong foot I'm amazed he didn't sprain an ankle.
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching. From the heat blazing in my face, my cheeks must have turned as red as my coat. I tried to pull my hand away, but he wouldn’t let me.
“You think I didn’t know how you felt about Ian? How could I not with the way you stopped mid-sentence every time he walked by. If I’d told you how I felt before you’d have laughed at me, but things have changed.” He held my hands between his and rested them lightly against my belly. I clenched my teeth and curled my fingers into a fist.
"Nothing’s changed, Lyall. I’m not going to marry you because I’m desperate.” The soft light in his eyes flickered. His lips thinned.
On the breeze floated a low rumble like a growl.
"Look, if Ian's not going to do the right thing then the least I can do is—"
"Oh for Pete's sake!" I ground out, pressing my hand against my lower back and levering myself off the bench. "I didn't sleep with your brother!"
Lyall grimaced and some of the color faded from his face. It was his turn to look around to make sure no one was listening.
"Why are you being so difficult? What’s the problem? Your mom's okay with it. She doesn't want you to end up alone. That's why she invited us both over. I want to take care of you. Isn’t that what you always said you wanted? Some guy to swoop in and ride off with you into the sunset? Well, I’m here. The sun is setting. All you have to do is get on the damn horse!”
At that moment I realized girls weren’t the only ones led astray by words like ‘once upon a time’ and ‘happily ever after.’ Lyall thought he was Prince Charming just because he convinced himself he didn't mind being my last chance instead of first pick. It wasn’t me he wanted to marry, it was the promise of rescuing me that put stars in his eyes. He would wake up every morning and look at me like I was a stray he took in off the streets, and then he’d pat himself on the back for being such a hero. That wasn’t love. That wasn’t the father my daughter deserved. If he considered me a charity case what in the world would he think of her?
I heaved a sigh up from the depths of my toes.
"Lyall, you're eighteen, and you don't have a job. Us getting married doesn't do anything but cause more problems for everyone."
"Gwen, I love you!" He said, furious. My mouth pressed together in an impatient line.
"No, you don't. You want to save me. That's not the same thing." Even if I wanted some boy to wipe away all my problems by handing me a credit card and the keys to a big house, that boy wasn’t Lyall. Maybe that dream worked okay for some girls, but seeing the aftermath as two generations of women in my family lost the men they relied on for different reasons taught me not to put all my eggs into that basket.
"If you want to be there for me then be there for me, but you don't need a ring and a wedding to do that. If I need a babysitter I'll give you a call, but I don't want you, Lyall. I don't. Not like that."
He stayed very still. Twin spots of color dotted both cheeks.
Slowly, he got up from the ground, and I saw wet patches below his knees where the snow melted into his jeans. He turned his head.
One of the houses nearby must've had a fire going. The acrid smell of burning pine stung my nose. I couldn't tell whether anger or ashes inflamed the whites of Lyall's eyes until they took on an unsettling tinge of red.
“You're being stupid, you know.” He took an unsteady step backwards. "If Ian's not going to do the right thing, then I will. If that baby is his then it's my family too."
"It's not Ian's baby!" I half-shouted at him, then winced as another sharp pain dug into my side. At my small gasp, his eyes went round.
"The baby’s not coming, is it?"
"No,” I snapped. “I’m tired, and she’s probably upset by all the yelling." But that was the wrong thing to say. It only let him retake the ground that I’d gained. He stabbed a finger at me.
"You see! You think you can do anything, but you're just hurting yourself and making everything more difficult than it has to be. If you'd called me I could've given you a ride home."
"Fine. Can I have a ride home?" I bared my teeth in a sarcastic smile. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to keep his irritation under control.
"You know I don't have the car with me right now.”
Some ride into the sunset. As if he heard my thoughts, he rolled his eyes.
"If you'd called me before I'd have borrowed the car from Dad.”
What he considered a defense really argued home the point why we had no business even considering trying to be together. If we fought like this as friends I could only imagine how bad things would get if we were dumb enough to get married. Not to mention there was something weird about him trying to fill in for his brother if he really thought the baby was Ian's. How awkward would family dinners be whenever ‘Uncle Ian’ came around?
Rolling my eyes at the pointless conversation, I turned on my heel and started off for Grandma’s again.
"Gwen, we need to talk about this."
I swung around.
"I'm sure in Macho Man Land it sounds great that you're going to step in and rescue the little woman from the life of a single mother, but out here in the real world you sound like an idiot. You and I are friends and only friends. Even if the baby was your brothers—which it is not—how pathetic would I have to be to take you because he didn’t want me. Go home, Lyall. Let’s both forget any of this ever happened. I need to go before it gets dark. I'll see you around."
Anger scratched lines deep into his face. He wasn't handsome, not like his brother. All of his features were too prominent to blend together smoothly: big ears that stuck out on both sides of his head, big eyes spaced just a little too far apart, and a mouth that stretched a bit too wide when he smiled. He was running out of time to grow into his looks, and it didn't seem like Lyall was going to ugly duckling his way into an irresistible swan in this lifetime. I felt bad for him.
At least the cramps stopped.
IV.
There were only a couple more blocks to Grandma’s house. Her lane turned off the main road to wind through a dense, wooded patch. I slowed my pace, afraid the stitch in my side would come back. There were a couple of houses set back from the road but no sidewalk. It wasn't so bad in the daylight, but once I got under the trees the light seemed to fade even faster than before. Heavy clouds rolled in over the horizon with a deep navy tint that promised snow sometime in the night.
Maybe the cold started to get to me because I felt something sinister building in the dark, billowy clouds. I suffered an irrational urge to turn right around and go back. But that was just silly. Besides, I didn’t have that much energy to spare.
Something large crashed through the thicket somewhere off to my left. Deer were common at this time of day, but still I paused to squint through the brush. I might not have thought anything more of it except for the low growl that vibrated through the air.
Adrenaline made my chest tingle and my hands start to shake. Was it a stray dog hiding among all that brush? I couldn’t think of any predators big enough to make such a bone-chilling sound. There were foxes in the area, weasels, raccoons, and skunks, but that noise came from something aggressive enough to view me as prey.
I waited like an idiot for who knows how long, expecting some monster to jump out and eat me. When my toes started to burn from the cold, I decided to take my chances. For all I knew the sound was the echo of a distant motor, and with each step I convinced myself that's all it had been. Still, it didn’t hurt to pick my pace up all the same.
By the time I reached Grandma's house the cramps were back, and I was panting like I’d just run the Kentucky Derby. Even I could admit that I’d pushed myself too hard. The 'hee hee whoo’ breaths came natural
ly as I puffed my way up the steep slope of Grandma's drive. I couldn’t remember the last time I drank water. All that walking bundled in winter clothes would dehydrate me fast. I'd ask Grandma if I should call the doctor just in case.
I lifted my head, willing the door closer as I trudged the last few steps up the long drive. The house sagged with the weight of years and neglect. There were bald spots on the roof where shingles tore loose. Other places were mismatched from cheap patch jobs done by friends. The big square windows always made me think of eyes. Tonight, with all the lights off, they seemed clouded and sad.
The garage door yawned open. She hardly ever shut it, and the door into the house stayed unlocked because she claimed death had already taken what mattered to her most.
The truth was she didn’t know where her spare key was. Mom bought her a hide-a-key shortly after Grandpa died when Grandma insisted on keeping the old house. She told her to put it somewhere no one would think to look for it. Grandma really took those words to heart because in the three years since we never found it again.
Those last few steps into the house were brutal, but finally I pushed open the painted white door and stepped into the den. I heaved a sigh of relief. The warmth of the house wrapped around me like a towel fresh from the dryer. The thin hardwood planks creaked under my feet.
It was a small room with maroon-painted walls and a big black metal fireplace. I flopped onto Grandma’s emerald plaid couch, certain I wasn’t getting up for the next week and a half at least. The faded cushions swallowed me until my butt nearly brushed the floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least it got me off my feet. I stripped off my gloves and unwound my white scarf from my neck. Dropping them on the floor here didn’t bring the same satisfaction it did at Mom’s house, because Grandma wasn’t nearly as fussy about things being in their place. For instance, one of my hoodies from school lay in a heap in front of the coat rack where it must have fallen after she put the laundry away.
When all of my huffing and puffing didn’t bring Grandma rushing to coddle and scold me, I cocked my head and listened to see why she hadn’t come. Lately, Grandma kept the radio blasting holiday music until I was afraid my teeth would fall out from too much artificial Christmas cheer. For once, the house stood eerily quiet. If it weren’t for her car still parked in the garage I’d have thought no one was home.