Francis thought this was unfair, considering how much time he’d been spending with Kevin lately. But he let it go. Kevin had bigger things to deal with.
“Yeah, well, I’ll see you at the game.”
“Yeah. I gotta go. My mom’s calling.”
“Later.” They disconnected and Francis went back to thinking about his promise to Sawyer. He’d tell his parents. But how? Deciding he’d talk it over with Kevin on their walk home after the game, he hoofed it, not wanting to be late again or Coach would take another piece out of him. Kevin wasn’t there when he arrived at the field, hot and sweaty, but on time. Francis cleated up, joining in the banter with the rest of the team, but only halfheartedly, as they went through their pregame warm-up.
A couple of the boys teased him about Sawyer. “Hey, how’s the girlfriend? Haven’t seen much of you lately. You been doing the dirty with that Eastside chick?”
Word got around. Francis ignored them. He needed to focus on the game against Division Five—a tough and talented team they’d lost more than one game to over the season.
“Where’s Croyden?” everyone wanted to know.
“I’ll text him,” Francis said. He texted. Where R U? You’re going to miss the game.
Coach caught him texting and glared at him. “Okay, boys. Phones in bags. Minds on the game. We can beat these guys. Francis, where’s Kevin?”
“I’m trying to reach him,” Francis explained. “That’s why I had my phone out.”
“Okay.” Coach gritted his teeth. “Not your problem. He’s pulled a no-show. That means each one of you will have to put in a little more time on the field.” Not showing up for a game, and not letting anyone know, broke one of the cardinal rules of play and let down the whole team. Coach looked pissed. Unless he had a damn good excuse, Kevin would be in for it at school tomorrow.
But despite being down one player, they won by a goal, and Coach suggested pizza to celebrate. Francis declined. “There’s something I have to do tonight.”
At home, he stripped off his outer muddy clothes in the front hall, thinking about texting Kevin again. But why should he always be the one to make first contact? Screw it, he decided. Upstairs, the twins swished and shrieked in the tub, ignoring their dad’s half-serious laments: “Hey, keep the water in the tub! Which one of you can hold your breath the longest?” Francis smiled, glad to have his dad home for a few days.
He followed his mother’s voice down the long hallway to the den. Even in the semidarkness, he could tell she’d been crying. “Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Come and sit down, honey. We need to talk.” She patted the cushion beside her.
Francis took a deep breath. He’d dreaded this moment and now it was here, and much worse than he’d imagined. Trying to ignore the sick feeling in his gut, he took a seat beside her.
“Francis,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
“No, Mom. I should be the one apologizing.”
She put her arm around him. “It’s not your fault. How could you think that? These things happen, and they are out of our control.”
“No, it’s not that easy. Someone has to take the blame. That someone is me. At least fifty percent of this is my fault.”
“Aw, honey. You’re in no way responsible for any of this.”
“Mom,” Francis ventured, “what are we talking about?”
She dabbed her red-rimmed eyes with a tissue. “Kevin’s father died this afternoon.”
“Kevin’s father died this afternoon,” he repeated numbly. “But I talked to Kevin before the game and I texted him, but he didn’t answer…” His voice trailed off. “Why didn’t he tell me?” Francis hadn’t given him a chance. He’d blurted out all of his own problems and hadn’t bothered to ask Kevin a single question.
His mom sniffled. “I spoke to his mother. Poor Kevin is taking it pretty hard. And I know this isn’t easy for you either. Austin was a fine man.”
Choking back tears, Francis ran for the privacy of his bedroom. He was angry with himself for being so self-absorbed, but relieved he could put off telling his parents about the baby for a little longer. When his mother tapped on his door, he shouted, “Leave me alone. Please.” He listened to her heavy footsteps retreating down the hall, grateful that she hadn’t persisted.
• • •
He didn’t wake up in time for school the next day and his parents allowed him to sleep in. When he finally appeared midmorning in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and worn out, his mother suggested they pay a visit to Kevin and his family. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him,” Francis protested feebly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” his father said. “The fact that you’re there will be enough. Besides, we won’t stay long.”
Kevin’s house was crowded with close friends, cousins, aunts, and uncles. Kevin barely glanced at the sympathy card Francis offered, tossing it onto the growing pile of similar ones on the hall table. He led Francis to the back porch, complaining. “Every room in the house is filled to capacity with people.”
“Look, Kevin,” Francis said. “I should have asked about your dad when I called you. You were right. It shouldn’t always be about me.”
But Kevin didn’t want to talk about his dad; instead, he wanted to know if Francis had talked to his parents.
Francis shook his head.
“Look, I’d rather talk about your problems than my own right now. It distracts me. Nobody knows what to say to me, but I’m still me. I’m just me without Dad.” His voice cracked. Francis realized the effort it took for his friend to maintain his composure. “Humor me. What were you going to say?”
“Sure. Okay. If that’s what you need.”
“I can’t believe she’s keeping the baby,” Kevin whispered.
“She’s going to find it a good home. And I’m not supposed to call it it because it’s a her.”
“Holy crap! That makes it so real!”
“I know. I’m going to tell them as soon as we leave here.”
“Better you than me.” Their conversation ended abruptly, cut short when Kevin’s aunt swept onto the porch and smothered Kevin in her arms. Francis watched with empathy before he slipped away to look for his parents. He found them chatting to Kevin’s uncle, looking as uncomfortable as he felt. “Ready to go?”
They walked home through the park, his mom and dad arm in arm, lost in their own thoughts. Although the cloud cover of the last few days still lingered, a sliver of sunlight managed to break through.
It was his mom who broke the silence. “They’ve chosen St. Andrew’s Church for the service because Austin had such a big family and so many friends,” his mother said sadly. “Kevin’s lucky to have you, Francis, and he really needs your support right now.”
Francis felt a drop of rain and then another and another. “Mom. Dad. There’s something you need to know.” They both stopped and stared at him, alarmed by the tone of his voice and oblivious to the raindrops. Francis plunged ahead. “I’m so ashamed and embarrassed. I assumed she wouldn’t keep the baby. I thought she’d have an abortion. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”
“Francis.” Although the color had drained from his father’s face, he spoke calmly. “Gather your thoughts and say what you have to say in a way that we can both understand.”
His mother had understood, though. “You can’t be saying what I think you are! You’re too young. You’re just a boy!” Her voice rose with every word. “Francis, I don’t want to hear this!”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated helplessly. “Everything’s messed up.”
“Let him talk,” his father ordered in his best pilot’s voice. “Give him a chance to explain himself. Go ahead, son. We won’t interrupt.” He shot his wife a stern look. “Will we?”
She shook her head. “But I’d like to sit down.”
“N
o.” Francis pulled away. “It’s easier for me if we are walking.”
Telling his parents about the baby was the hardest thing he’d ever done. They listened in shock, and when he’d finished speaking, they both stared at him blankly.
It was his father who spoke first. “Poor Sawyer. She’s a brave young woman. And, Francis, I’m proud of you for having the courage to tell us the truth. Everybody makes mistakes, but not everybody handles them with such integrity.”
His mother was less understanding. “Oh my god, Francis. I can’t handle this right now.” She quickened her pace and hurried ahead of them, her small body bent against the rain.
“I don’t think she’s taking this quite as well as you, Dad. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”
“Don’t worry, Francis.” He put his arm around Francis’s shoulder and squeezed. “Your mother will come around. She loves you. We both do.”
He pulled Francis closer into a hug. For the first time in memory, Francis didn’t protest. “Is Sawyer one hundred percent sure she wants to place her baby up for adoption?”
Francis nodded. “It’s too late for an abortion and school is really important to her. This is what she wants to do. She wants to give the baby a chance at a good life.”
“Like I said, she’s a brave girl. Francis, you know how much we love Nate and Devon and what a gift they are to us, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Sawyer’s baby will be a blessing to a family, like your brothers were, and always will be, to us. Her decision is the right one. We need to offer her all of the support we can.”
Chapter Thirteen
In the sixth month, your baby weighs nearly 1.5 pounds (660g) and measures about 14 inches (35cm). Your baby can suck her thumb and you may feel her hiccup. Your baby’s patterns of sleep and waking are developing.
Excerpt: From Conception to Birth
The days leading up to Mr. Croyden’s funeral were difficult ones for Francis and for his parents. Even Devon and Nate sensed the aura of unhappiness that hung over everyone like a dark cloud. They showed their unease with tantrums and bickering and managed to get on everyone’s, including Ralph’s, nerves.
Yet, despite the huge emotional upheaval in the household, Francis’s dad had been correct. As predicted, his mother began to slowly accept the inevitable: Francis had made a mistake, and now they all must do their best to help find the baby a loving family—except that, to Francis’s horror, she wanted to keep the baby. “We can’t send the baby to strangers. After all, we’re blood. We’re the grandparents. The child can live with us.”
“What? Are you out of your mind, Mom?”
“Enough, Francis,” his dad cautioned. “Let me handle this. Honey, are you thinking we might raise the baby in our house and pretend that Francis isn’t the father?” His dad’s voice was heavy with concern. “You know that’s impossible.”
“The baby would have everything. A big family, love, a good life…” Her voice dropped off into a sob. “I know you’re right, but…”
Francis slumped into the nearest chair. He hadn’t expected this. He didn’t want the baby. He didn’t want any part of it. What was wrong with his mother? He flashed her a look of pure resentment. In turn, his father placed his finger on his lips and shook his head. Just keep quiet.
He folded his wife into his arms, rubbing her back gently until her shoulders stopped shaking and her cries subsided. “I know it’s hard,” he soothed. “But we’re going to make sure this baby goes to a fantastic home. A home every bit as wonderful as the one you made for all of us.”
Disgusted with himself for all the heartache he’d caused, Francis left the room, his head hung in shame.
All week, he avoided his mother, afraid that she’d want to talk to him about adopting the baby, but she didn’t broach the subject again. Still, her brave face didn’t fool Francis. He knew she was suffering inside and he hated himself for it. He prayed that she’d forgive him one day.
• • •
The day of the funeral dawned fair and warm, defying the cheerless hours that lay ahead. Francis woke early and lay in bed, listening to the twins’ banter. He envied them for their bright moods, for their innocence. He felt fifteen going on a hundred. He’d never been to a funeral before, unless you counted the time they’d buried Tabitha, their first cat, in the back garden.
His mother tapped on his bedroom door. “Time to get ready, Francis,” she called softly. “Breakfast is on the table. We’ll leave in an hour.”
He dressed in his school uniform, checking his face for stubble in the bathroom mirror. He’d started shaving a couple of months ago, not because he needed to, but because Kevin had assured him that if he shaved, his facial hair would grow in. So far that theory had proven incorrect.
While he inspected himself, his thoughts turned to Sawyer and Jack. He hadn’t seen either of them all week, but he’d texted them both on the day Mr. Croyden passed away. A day later, he texted Sawyer again. I’ve told my parents.
Thx, she replied. I’ll text Kevin.
Kevin had been grateful and relieved that Francis and Sawyer were talking again. “I know you and Sawyer have had your differences,” he’d told Francis, “but I really like her.”
“She feels the same way about you,” he’d replied.
His dad bellowed to him from downstairs, interrupting his thoughts. “Francis, get a move on.”
Breakfast was a dreary affair. Nate and Devon, angry that they were to be left out of things for the day, squabbled. Finally, to everyone’s relief, the babysitter arrived and, under strict instruction to tire them out, she hustled them off to kindergarten with a promise that if they behaved, they would go to the park afterward. Fifteen minutes later, Francis and his parents climbed wordlessly into the car, each lost in their own thoughts. Francis sat in the back, wedged uncomfortably between the twins’ car seats, which nobody had thought to remove. In the front, his mom clutched her husband’s hand, her small hand invisible in his much larger one. She wore a blue dress and a short jacket in a lighter shade of cobalt, with a pale yellow scarf. His dad was equally striking in a black pinstripe suit and a crisp white shirt. “Aren’t you supposed to wear black to a funeral?” Francis queried his mother.
“There are no rules anymore,” she replied. “I’m wearing hopeful colors, garden colors, because I know that Austin would appreciate that.” She opened her purse and handed Francis some tissues. “Put these in your pocket, just in case.”
Close to two hundred people milled around outside St. Andrew’s Church when they arrived, including Francis’s headmaster, Coach, Mr. Haywood Smith, and all of the boys in the two grade tens at Hudson. Everyone stood in small clusters, speaking in hushed tones under the cloudless spring sky.
While his parents chatted quietly to friends and acquaintances, Francis joined his classmates, standing awkwardly apart from the other guests, hands in pockets, heads down. No one knew how to behave.
Paul, a classmate he had little time for, greeted Francis with a smirk. “What a surprise. I thought you’d be hanging with the emos.”
“What are you talking about?” Francis countered. Paul had always been a pain in the butt.
“Over there.” Paul gestured. “Coming your way.”
Sawyer and Jack were pushing their way through the crowd toward him. They caught his eye and waved.
Francis took in Sawyer’s striped leggings, wild hair, big purple shirt and ruby-red lips. No sign of a baby bump, thank god. Jack looked like he always looked—leather jacket, skinny jeans, long hair, rainbow bangs, and something new—a yellow bruise above his left eye. They were inappropriately dressed for the occasion. He jogged toward them, not ready for his worlds to collide. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He chomped down on his lip. “I mean, I’m glad you came.”
Jack gave an almost imperceptible nod. He seemed tense.
“Sawyer wanted to be here,” he said curtly. “I could have given it a miss, but I like Kevin.”
“You don’t even really know him,” Francis retorted.
“Maybe I don’t,” replied Jack. “I hope he doesn’t mind that we’re here.”
Sawyer poked Jack in the ribs. “Relax. You don’t have to be invited to a funeral. We saw your mom and we met your dad, Francis. He’s tall. Good genes.” She patted her tummy. “They seem okay about the baby. At least, your dad did. Your mom looked sad, but I thought they’d be more freaked out.”
Jesus, thought Francis, shooting Jack a helpless look.
“Like she says, relax,” Jack said. “Your parents are all right.”
Francis changed the subject. “What happened to your eye?”
“My dad happened,” Jack replied tersely. “And from what I understand, he was the complete opposite of Kevin’s dad. Sad.”
The church bells rang out, signaling that the time had come to go inside. “So, I’ll catch you guys later?” Francis turned to go.
“Don’t you want to sit together?” Sawyer asked.
“Uh…I have to sit with my parents.” Francis spotted his mom and dad halfway up the steps, scanning the crowd for him. “They’re waiting for me. And I have to go to the reception with them.” The implication that Sawyer and Jack wouldn’t be welcomed there was not lost on either of them. “Maybe we can hang later on?”
Jack’s lips curled into a smirk. “Whatever. Don’t worry; we’re sitting at the back, so you won’t have to explain us to your snotty friends. Come on, Sawyer, let’s find a seat.” Jack turned on his heel and led Sawyer away, leaving Francis alone with his shame.
When he caught up with his parents, his dad asked if Sawyer and Jack would be sitting with them. Francis, furious with himself for being such a snob, didn’t answer. Soft music greeted them as they entered the church.
“Francis?” his mom asked worriedly, “are you okay?” She rested her hands on Francis’s shoulders. “I spoke to Sawyer. She’s a wonderful young woman. Honey…” She held his hand, just for a brief second, and smiled. “I’ve come to terms with your decision—I’ll support you. I’m very proud of you.”
Saying Good-bye to London Page 13