by Dana Taylor
She cried herself out in the chapel. Unlike other crying jags of hysterical proportions, this was a controlled stream of tears that cleansed her soul. She received some sort of absolution that afternoon. The reckless behavior of a hot summer night seemed somehow predestined. Shame, embarrassment, and guilt lifted off her shoulders and scripture came to her. Go, and sin no more.
The Dream Man appeared in her mind. That's how she thought of him. Dream Man was going to be a father and he didn't know it. She felt a bone deep need to share her news. Maybe she should run a classified: "If you had sex with a stranger by the lake on the night of August 26, please call…" Such crazy thoughts.
Then she thought of Phil and she felt a longing almost as strong as the yearning emotion for the baby. But she knew her budding romance with Phil was over before it really began. She'd be going away. The baby needed to become her top priority. Expending the energy necessary to build a relationship with a man right now was out of the question. Besides, Phil would probably drop her like a hot rock anyway. Pregnancy sent men running.
Phil had his plate full trying to reclaim his identity in Melissa's life and build a career in Beaver Cove. He didn't need some pregnant woman bothering him with her problems. She'd do them both a big favor and make a clean break.
Giving Phil up would be the penance to be paid for her sinful behavior. As she marched back up the aisle of the chapel toward the towering doors, her feet kept beat to the strains of The Old Rugged Cross, and she hummed it on the long ride back home.
* * *
Despite a foul mood and a relentless itch, Phil completed the task of installing the basketball hoop in Pam's driveway. Melissa's excitement and smiling chocolate eyes took the edge off his ill humor. Though he never had the speed or height for a serious basketball player, his natural ball-handling abilities made him a worthy opponent for a one-on-one game with an eleven-year-old.
He bounced her the ball. "Come on, see if you can get past your old man."
Dribble, dribble, feint to the left, feint to the right. He stole the ball away from her and shot a basket.
"No fair," she squealed.
"That's how the game is played, sweetheart."
He passed her the ball. "Try it again."
Round and round they went–running, sweating and laughing. After spending the last twenty-four hours pissed-off at Maddie and sleep-deprived from the torture of poison ivy, Phil found genuine relief in the company of his wiry, tomboy daughter.
They called a time out and panted to catch their breath. Melissa casually bounced the ball. Gone were the sullen looks of suspicion. More and more she reminded him of a love-starved puppy dog.
Her small hand controlled the ball with surprising agility. "Did you know an elephant weighs less than the tongue of a blue whale?"
"You're kidding."
"No. Can you imagine this big, honkin' tongue in your mouth?"
Sometimes his stupid tongue felt that big and honkin'.
Pam wandered out onto the porch carrying a tray of iced tea. The slant of the afternoon sun glinted on the strategically placed sequins that decoratively drew attention to her bust line. Tight spandex Capri pants wiggled as she crossed the concrete in spike heels. Pam’s goods on display.
"Take a break, you two. Come have a seat on the steps," Pam said.
The players wandered across the grass and gratefully grabbed a glass of refreshment.
Phil had to admit, it hit the spot. "Thanks."
"It's just the way you like it. Sugar and lemon," Pam purred.
"Can Daddy stay for dinner?" Melissa asked.
Phil frowned. "Oh, no, I–"
"Of course. I've already got chicken frying and baked beans in the oven. Say you'll stay." Her big, green eyes pleaded.
Though Pam's getup reminded Phil of a three-dollar hooker, her efforts at reconciliation and peace were growing more convincing. Perhaps he should drop his guard and give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe there was some class developing under the big hair. "Okay, beats a stale baloney sandwich."
Just then a group of teenage boys careened around the corner in a convertible. Pam's curvy body caught their attention. "Hey baby!…I want some!" Whistles and catcalls continued as they slowed down and cruised by.
Pam reacted with the aplomb of a barroom tart. "Up yours, assholes!"
Phil gazed down into his iced tea. Class, oh yeah, real class.
* * *
As the harvest moon rose in the dark sky, Maddie and Randy sat in their booth at the Hillbilly Heaven Café. He'd ordered the Cajun chicken. She nibbled on macaroni and cheese, the mildest thing she could find on the menu.
Randy lost his appetite as he listened to her plans to quit her job, pack up her belongings and head north. Well, just take an axe and beat him on the top of the head. He needed her; she needed him. Other relationships came and went, but Maddie was forever. He rarely let the world see his serious side. Being a naughty tease and flamboyant entertainer served him well, but the thought of losing Maddie wiped the merriment off his countenance.
Toying with her food, Maddie said, "So, I'll tender my resignation tomorrow morning and tell McCall that I've got a family emergency that requires I move back to Boston."
Randy leaned back in the booth. He'd come up with an idea musing over afternoon coffee. His wonderfulness sometimes stunned him. "I guess that's Plan A. But I have a Plan B that is much better."
Maddie's face formed a determined mask. "I've told you, I'm keeping the baby."
Placing his hand over her fidgeting fingers, he said, "I know, and I think it's great. You'll be a fabulous mother. I'm sure you're following your Karmic path. Plan B is simple and brilliant. Marry moi."
Maddie froze. "What?"
"Marry me, dear heart. You won't have to quit your job or leave. We'll be the scintillating Bailey family. We're really family to each other anyway. Why not make it official? Let's face it, this will be my only chance at fatherhood and you know I'd be a great Dad. We wouldn't have a marriage in the traditional sense, but really, darling, how much good has sex done either one of us, anyway?"
Maddie blinked in confusion. She'd stiffened her spine in resolve to go through with her plans. Suck it up and head back to Boston. Randy's idea threw her for a loop.
"I don't know…How would we work it out? Would you move in with me?"
"Oh, not really. I can't leave Mother, you know that. But who would know the difference? We live a stone's throw from each other as it is. I spend half my down time on your couch already. We'll get married and pretty much conduct business as usual. Being a married man will probably raise my esteem in McCall's eyes. He'll have holes pierced in his homophobic armor." He lowered his voice an octave. "I can be the macho man who fathered your child." He threw back his head and cackled. "I love it! Playing your husband will be my greatest role."
Maddie chewed her lip. Maybe it would work. A quick marriage would keep her life intact and squelch embarrassing questions. Except from Phil. Phil would surely give her a hard time. Maddie expressed her concern over the coach's questions to Randy.
Randy waved his hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about him, darling. You know I'm the king of improvisation. I'll handle him. Unless, of course, you're madly in love with the man and you think he'd like to march down the aisle with you. But, by my reckoning, it had better be a quick trip because you must be about six weeks along and that bambino is going to be obvious very soon."
Maddie shook her head. "Whatever might have developed with Phil isn't going to happen. You're right about time running out. I'm much better off pulling myself together and preparing for motherhood. Phil has the ability to reduce me to a blithering idiot and I need to keep my wits about me. He's not good for my equilibrium."
Randy looked at her from under knitted eyebrows. "Mmm. I don't know if I like the sound of that. But never mind, I'm not the jealous type. Okay, let's do this right."
Randy slid out of the booth, stood next to the table, and made a graceful d
escent to one knee. Taking her right hand in his, he then projected his voice in his most rounded, Shakespearian tones, causing all heads to swivel in their direction. "Madeleine Woodbridge Harris, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming my bride? I promise to love, cherish and all those marvelous things." Then his voice turned intensely serious and he looked at her with innocent puppy eyes. "Really, Maddie, all kidding aside, will you marry me?"
Feeling a fluttering in her stomach, unsure if it meant joy, trepidation or nausea, Maddie followed the intellectual instructions of her brain. "Yes, Randy, I'd be honored to marry you."
Randy stood, faced the crowd, and became Petrucchio from The Taming of the Shrew. "You shall become my wife; and will you, nill you, I will marry you! Why, there's a wench! Come on and kiss me, Kate!"
* * *
The teachers sat around the long table in the lounge for the usual Monday morning staff meeting. Phil dunked a cake donut in his tepid cup of coffee and tersely offered one-word answers to any questions that came his way.
Most of the room's occupants quickly got the message to bug off, except, of course, Phyllis Green. "Oh, Coach, what a nasty rash! I know poison ivy when I see it. I make a powerful home remedy made from comfrey and jewelweed, guaranteed to take away itching faster than you can say William Jefferson Clinton. I'll run home at lunch and fetch it back for you. You look poorly, if you don't mind my saying so."
Phil felt like telling her where to stick her home remedy, but managed to come up with a polite reply as he escaped to refill his coffee. Where the hell was Miss Punctuality Harris? Maddie and the gay drama teacher had yet to show their faces.
He'd bided his time, taken Randy's advice to back off and let her work through her "issues." Whatever the hell that meant. Patience was an acquired skill for Phil, not a natural inclination, and he wanted to throw her back into that janitor’s closet and not let her out until he got some straight answers. She'd obviously run scared, probably with good reason. Maybe just looking at his ugly, spotted mug was enough to send her screaming into the night. Still, the moments before he'd fallen asleep had been sweet.
No, something had definitely happened.
McCall called the meeting to order as Maddie and Randy made their entrance. Maddie wore her full, uptight assistant principal regalia, dark-rimmed glasses included. Meanwhile, Randy had given up his usual ribbed sweater and slacks for a getup that looked straight out of the World War II John Wayne movie, The Flying Tigers, complete with a bomber jacket and flyer's cap.
Maddie refused to make eye contact with Phil as she took her seat, unzipped her brief case, and opened her traveling office on the table. She appeared fascinated with the order of the pencils and pens in all their neat little slots. Phil watched her with heavy-lidded eyes. She must have sensed his attention even as she studiously remained involved with the contents of her briefcase, because her cheeks took on flaming shades of red.
McCall noted the late arrivals. "Nice of you to join us Miss Harris, Mr. Bailey."
Having shed his shyness and taken on a bold character, Randy looked McCall straight in the eye and said, "Hold on, will you, Chief, while I get the little lady and me a cup of java."
McCall lifted an eyebrow. "By all means. Anybody else need a little extra personal time? Need to file some nails or write a letter?"
Everyone tittered as the meeting got underway. Randy brought back the coffee and then draped a proprietary arm on the back of Maddie's chair.
Phil sat in icy calm as he listened to all the Monday morning crap regarding school fundraisers, junior testing, on-campus smoking problems and vandalism. He tried to appear gracious as McCall congratulated him on their football win of the weekend. That seemed a million years ago. He ground his teeth as the meeting went on and on. When Phyllis Green talked about reciting the nursery rhyme Mary Had A Little Lamb while washing hands to insure destroying all germs, he thought his brain might explode.
By the time McCall finally asked for any more business, Phil wanted to leap across the table and drag Maddie from the room.
That's when Randy stood and said, "Yeah, Chief, I do have an announcement. You know how the old saying goes, 'he chased her until she finally caught him.' Well, I've been chasing this pretty lady for almost twenty years and finally ran her down. Stand up, Sugar." Randy tugged on Maddie's sleeve, bringing her to her feet. Then he put his arm around her as he announced, "Miss Harris has consented to become my wife. Folks, standing before you is the future Mrs. Randall Bailey."
The room burst with excitement, everyone expressing delight and surprise.
"Oh, let me do the cake!" Ms. Green squealed.
Mr. Manchester exclaimed, "Well, you could knock me over with the proverbial feather."
Randy held court, improvising as he went along. "We've been fighting it for sometime, but it was just bigger than the both of us…"
Phil remained the only one seated as the rest of the crowd flocked around the betrothed couple and offered best wishes. The moment seemed surreal. He expected Randy and Maddie to stop the show and tell everyone they were enacting a scene from a play, just kidding around. But as the minutes ticked by, reality struck; this was not some early morning skit. He suddenly felt sucker punched. She planned to marry the guy. His stomach turned over, threatening to puke up donut and coffee all over an English teacher's lesson plans.
Maddie chatted, nodded and smiled, but the joy didn't seem to reach her eyes. Damn her beautiful, blue eyes.
He crammed papers into his briefcase, eager to make a hasty retreat muttering, "I don't friggin' believe it."
Stopping just before the door, he made a quick pivot, shooting Maddie a piercing stare from across the room, over the shoulders of her well-wishers. He'd caught her following his departure and now had her trapped in his line of vision. Anger grew in his gut, the taste of betrayal rising in his mouth with the bitterness of bile. Shaking his head slowly, his eyes turned cold as they projected his disgusted thoughts; Sinatra had it about right—The Lady is a Tramp.
Chapter Ten
It's not the men in my life; it's the life in my men
Mae West
Maddie carried Phil's accusing gaze in her mind's eye throughout the day. She saw the hurt and anger, felt it stab her chest. At first, guilt flooded her emotions, but as the day wore on she managed to rationalize her actions into a self-righteous, loving act of martyrdom. Putting the baby first must be her top priority, not some heated romance with a football thug. She conjured up every negative trait Phil possessed, selectively ignoring any redeeming features she had discovered.
He was a foul-mouthed, overbearing, condescending, disorganized slob. He had no appreciation of the arts, decorating, or window-shopping. They had absolutely nothing in common when she got right down to it. Except… some sort of chemistry, some sort of deep personal understanding. No, no, mustn't go there. Some things were not meant to be. She had to zip up her urges good and tight and send Phil on his way.
Phil took his initial frustrations out on a punching bag. His students came next. His early morning gym class caught hell for gum chewing and normal fooling around. The usual laid back coach with the dry sense of humor morphed into a hard-assed Jack Nicholson-type commander from A Few Good Men. He turned a gym class basketball game into a serious rivalry. Two students wound up in the nurse's office.
In his third hour history class, he announced a pop quiz on the assigned chapter. As groans arose from behind the desks, he slapped a ruler so hard on his podium, the students jumped at the noise, then froze in silence.
"I've been letting you kids get away with murder: turning in late assignments, talking out of turn, hearing you whine about your problems. Well, no more. I'm not doing you any favors letting you screw off. It's a dangerous world out there and if you're not ready for it, the sharks will eat you alive.” He paced the room. “If I give you an assignment, I expect you to come to class prepared, and if you don't, I'll chew your butt so bad, you'll swear I left scars. This is a tim
ed open-book quiz. Open to page thirty-five. You've got exactly fifteen minutes to turn in your papers."
Reba Finn sat at her desk totally unprepared, without text, notebooks or even a pencil. With the chaos occurring at her house nowadays, just showing up at school was an accomplishment. But, Coach Wilcox knew nothing of the drama going on at the Finn residence, nor at that moment would he care.
Phil towered before Reba's desk, staring down with pitiless disapproval. "Where is your history book, Ms. Finn?"
"I guess I left it at home."
"Did you at least read the assignment last night?"
"I meant to."
Ordinarily, Phil would have just found another book and let the hapless student use it, but he gave into his mean mood. He turned her paper around, and wrote a big "F" at the top.
"If you can't bother to come to my class prepared, sweetheart, then don't bother to come at all." Phil walked back to his desk, a grizzly bear ready for the next stupid salmon swimming upstream.
Reba sat at her desk, as tears began to well in her eyes. All the other students kept their heads down, but cast surreptitious glances her way. Holding on to a shred of dignity, she slowly rose from her seat and walked to the door.
Phil looked up from his papers. "I didn't give you permission to leave."
Reba shot him a watery gaze, chin quivering while forcing herself to keep composure.
Phil winced at the despair in her eyes and felt like a shit. "Go ahead."
Reba made a quick exit as the tears overflowed their confines. She ran into the bathroom and shut herself into a stall.
Maddie found her there, as she made the usual rounds seeking errant students. The sound of familiar female weeping reverberated in the tiled room. Maddie assumed she'd happened upon another jilted girlfriend, a regular occurrence in her line of work.
Tapping on the stall door, Maddie said, "It's Miss Harris. Who is in there?"