by Paul Cwalina
I suddenly realized that I never watched the video of Roman delivering the speech I wrote. I grabbed my laptop and went to the campaign site and searched for it. I clicked on it, sat back in the recliner, and watched. He was smooth, delivering each line with perfection. He only had the speech for a day or so, yet was masterful in delivering it. He even picked up on the extra lines I had inserted. He knew instinctively what was going on. Greg was right. The reaction to those lines was unmistakable. The audience spontaneously cheered. There were catcalls and whistles. We hit on something.
It was uplifting. Within a couple minutes the video had made me forget Jennifer, the baby, and Mario Santini. I was wanted and needed by the people of the Roman campaign and that’s all I needed to know. My adrenaline was returning to run its course and it felt good...very good. The tension I was feeling seemed to disappear. I picked up my phone and opened the memo app to record some thoughts regarding the speech—shorter sentences, adjust the cadence.
I suddenly had too much energy. I set aside my phone and laptop and got up from my chair and resumed packing for my move to DC. I retrieved my phone and again opened the memo app to get a checklist recorded for the move. Should I sell the house? I’ll call a realtor and see how the market is. Cancel cable and newspaper, again. Maybe I should just have an estate sale and get rid of everything. The only connection I have to this city, now, is that kid. I’m sure my home is DC.
I finally decided to just pack my clothes and essentials for the time being. I’d get a mover for the rest. I left enough clothes for the remainder of the weekend and packed the rest. I grabbed my laptop and looked for a hotel room for a couple nights until I was sure I would have an apartment. When I finally sat back down at 10:30, I received a text from Jennifer.
‘Please meet me tomorrow morning at Jimmy’s Java on Market St at 10.’
I sighed and then replied, ‘For what?’
‘It won’t take long. See you at 10.’
‘Fine.’
I tossed the phone down onto the coffee table and let out another sigh. This is probably her goodbye. Good. It can finally be over. I pushed back the recliner to elevate my feet. The day’s struggles and tensions left me and I fell asleep hard.
I woke around 7:00 a.m. and got ready for the day. I cleaned the kitchen and organized some stuff for the move before leaving to meet Jennifer at 9:45. The air was cold but calm and the sky was a perfect cobalt blue, unmarred by a single cloud. The winter sun hurt my eyes as I drove toward it. It was irritating but I tried to ignore it.
When I walked into Jimmy’s, my eyes took a minute to adjust to the change in lighting. When they did, I saw that Jennifer was already seated at a table across the room. She was dressed casually in nice jeans and an oversized gray sweater. There was a man seated at the table with her. He looked a bit younger and was dressed in business khakis, a white button-down shirt, and a navy blazer.
“Hi,” I said as I reached the table.
Jennifer replied with a ‘hello’ in a business-like tone. “This is Michael,” she continued. “He works with me at Omega.”
Michael stood half-way up to shake my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, mayor,” he said. “I voted for you twice; once for council and then for mayor.”
“Thank you, Michael,” I responded and shook his hand firmly. “That was very kind of you and I appreciate it,” I said genuinely. “It’s good to meet you.”
“Michael is also a notary. I asked him to join us this morning and he was kind enough to do so,” Jennifer said. “I ordered you a black coffee. I hope that’s okay.”
“Thank you. That’s fine.”
“Did you sleep well last night?” she asked.
“Yes. Like a baby. I was exhausted from packing,” I replied.
“Oh, I see. I didn’t get much sleep at all,” she said in a way that suggested she was not happy that I found it easy to sleep after our fight or perhaps because I reminded her that I was moving on when I mentioned packing.
“So, no offense, Michael, but why do we need a notary, Jen?” I asked.
“Jennifer,” she said, sternly and continued, “and if you would like to skip to the business part of this meeting, that’s fine.”
Business? I started to tense up and get nervous.
Jennifer continued, “My brother is an attorney. I had him draw up this agreement last night.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a letter-sized envelope. She spread open the unsealed envelope and took from it a few folded pages and put them on the table. The parchment-colored pages were stapled at the top to a light blue, heavier stock paper backing. It was a legal document in look and feel. She unfolded them and ironed them out the best she could and slid them in front of me. “Sign this. Michael is here to witness your signature. You are giving up your rights and responsibilities to my child. Sign it and you will have no financial obligations for my child. I will not seek support. In return, you will also never have contact with my child. You will be completely free from my child’s life.”
She reached into her purse again and pulled out a blue fountain pen, removed the cap, and handed it to me. I was still processing the words she said as I looked up to slowly take the pen. I leaned back in my chair and started to read the document while Jennifer kept talking. Lecturing, actually, might be a better description. “If you aren’t going to be a man and accept responsibility and raise your own child, then I will find a real man who will. And the last thing my child needs is for you to someday decide you want to be a part of his life and come waltzing back in, upsetting or undermining everything his actual father and I will have taught him. You will be his father or you will not.”
“Jen, I ca...”
“Jennifer,” she said, again sternly.
“Sorry. Jennifer. I can still see him on weekends and...” I said before she interrupted.
“Oh, just stop. That’s not being a father,” she said dismissively. “Give me a break. That’s garbage. A child needs a father every day.” She put her hand on mine and forced it and the papers down onto the table, looked me in the eye, and said, “Listen to me. There is a line and it can’t be straddled. You are on one side or the other. There is no gray area. You will be this child’s father or you will not. Period. I love this child too much to have it any other way. Do you understand?”
I hadn’t met or known a woman that spoke in such definitive terms or with such conviction. Her words carried the weight of finality. She was unbending and couldn’t vacillate if she tried. She was equal parts strength, passion, deep love, and annoying. She viewed life and all of its challenges in black and white. It was fascinating, admirable, and scary at the same time.
I suddenly longed for Chelsea’s easy-going style. Chelsea had her limits and drawn lines, but I felt more at ease with her. I tried to imagine what she would have done or said if she was sitting across from this table instead of Jennifer. I could have talked my way around the situation. She would have been okay with whatever I chose to do.
My attention turned back to the document. “Give me a couple minutes to read this.”
“That’s fine. I apologize for the legal terms and such, but you know...” Jennifer said.
It wasn’t long but I took my time reading it. Some of the phrases jumped out at me; ‘relinquish all rights,’ ‘prohibited from contacting the child,’ and ‘irrevocable’. I got to the last page and looked at the signature lines. Sign it. It’s over. You are free to move on with your life. Sign it and get this behind you and start your new life in DC.
I moved the pen to the page. Michael spoke up, “Before you sign, I need to see your driver’s license.” He pulled a small black bag and a long journal from the floor to the side of his seat. He set them on the table and emptied the bag. He pulled out a raised seal imprinting device, a rubber stamp, ink pad, and pen. Then he opened the journal to one of the recently used pages and laid it out flat on the table.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I said, setting the pen down and getting my wallet fr
om my pocket. I handed him my license and waited until he was done with it.
“Thank you,“ he said. “You can sign while I do this.”
I picked up the pen and exhaled hard. I looked at Jennifer. “Are you sure about this?” I asked.
“Are you?” she quickly replied.
I just stared at Jennifer. I wasn’t sure why I was staring or hesitating. Perhaps it was a bluff. Maybe she was testing me. We played a brief game of poker with our eyes. I tried to remain strong, but there was no flinching on her part. She saw the line she spoke of earlier and waited for me to choose one side of it.
Michael ended the standoff by pointing to the open journal and saying, “Sign this journal here after you’ve signed the document.”
I turned toward Michael. “Yeah. Okay.” I turned my attention back to the signature line. I said to Jennifer, “Maybe I should have my attorney look at this first.”
She recognized it as a stall and was upset. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her chest. “It’s straightforward and simple. There’s nothing hidden. You can see that.”
She was right. Despite some of the legalese, I understood every word and the overall spirit of what it said. I persisted, though. “Yeah, I know, but I’d feel better if I had a lawyer look at it and I’d like some time to think about it. Do I have to sign it now?” I said.
She was frustrated and exhaled. “Michael is here voluntarily as a favor to me. If you don’t sign it now, then you will need to pay him for his time when you do.”
I looked at Michael. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘she’s the boss’. “That’s fine,” I said in response. “How long will you give me?”
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Either sign it or tear it up and be a man and a father.”
“Just give me a few days,” I said. “Actually, make it a week because I will be in DC all week.”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me,” she replied.
“One week. That’s all I’m asking,” I pleaded.
She stared intently into my eyes. It seemed like her anger was mounting. “Fine. One week. Meet me here next Saturday at the same time. Know this, though, I will be married before I give birth to my child. Consider yourself engaged to me until that paper is signed,” she said and grabbed the pen angrily out of my hand.
“Excuse me?” I said incredulously.
“You heard me,” she said and gathered her purse and coat and stood up. “Pay the waitress. I will see you next Saturday.” Michael gathered all of his equipment together, put it back in his bag, and folded close his journal. Jennifer started walking toward the door without him.
“Is she always this fun and care-free at work?” I said sarcastically to Michael.
Michael smiled. “I don’t know what to tell you. She’s very professional at work. She’s firm but people love her. Not sure what it is about you that’s bringing this out in her, but I’ll tell you this. She means every word that comes from her mouth. You can trust that she means what she just told you.”
I shook my head. “Wow.” I folded the document and put it back into the envelope. “Hey, I’m sorry I wasted your time this morning.”
“No big deal,” he responded kindly. “But let me leave you with this. I guarantee you that she will be married before that baby is born. And whoever her husband turns out to be is going to be one lucky son-of-a-gun. She will have her pick of men willing to be her husband and raise your child.”
I didn’t respond at first. I just gave that a good deal of thought as he turned to leave. When he finally had his coat on and stuff gathered together, I said, “Thanks.”
He put out his hand to shake and said, “It was great meeting you. Good luck with the decision.”
I shook his hand and said, “Good to meet you, too. Thanks for everything today.” He left and I remained sitting at the table. I finally took a few sips of my coffee but by this time it was lukewarm. I pushed it away and called the waitress over and paid the check.
I put on my pea coat and put the envelope into one of its pockets. I drew a deep breath and looked around the restaurant. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for or why I hesitated leaving. I was as paralyzed in place physically as I was mentally. The waitress passed by and smiled. I returned the smile, exhaled, and finally made my way to the door.
The pressure and tension of the situation with Jennifer and the impending move to DC were beginning to wear on me. Between the two I felt like I was beginning to suffocate one minute and explode the next. They were in stark contrast to each other in every way as well. The pressure and tension from DC was welcome and invigorating. It was a challenge to be met and overcome. There was a reward for enduring it. I saw no reward for the pressure coming from Jennifer. I wanted to be a father, but not this way and not to this child.
I didn’t want to go back home but I had no idea where I should go. I needed some sort of release. I wanted to talk to someone but I had no idea to whom I should. I found myself just driving aimlessly. I turned on the radio and then turned it off not long after. Despite the temperature, I put down the windows to let the cold air rush over and around me, but rolled them back up not long after. I was on the road that would lead me to Sacred Heart cemetery where Chelsea was buried. Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe just talking to her will help. I needed Chelsea even if she couldn’t respond.
I pulled into the cemetery and followed the narrow, winding road to the northeast corner. I parked the car and walked straight for Chelsea’s grave. I stood in front of the copper-colored stone and read the engravings. There was nothing new. I’ve seen the grave before and read the tombstone enough times, but I was still on the verge of breaking down again. All of the memories were coming back. So was the guilt. I drew a deep breath as a way to fight against losing it. I willed myself against it, but I still fell to my knees right in front of the stone.
I didn’t even check to see if there was anyone around. I wouldn’t have cared if there were. I just bowed my head and started talking to her out loud. My breath curled and billowed in front of me as I spoke. “Chelsea, why is this happening to me? Why does my life continue to unravel and fall apart? Just when it seemed I was getting back on my feet, I get hit again. Help me figure this out because I don’t know what to do, Chelsea. Why didn’t I just stay with you? How could I have been so blind? Help me, Chelsea. Help me.”
I lifted my head toward the sky momentarily and closed my eyes. I saw Chelsea in the rain. I saw her on our first date. I saw her in the museum watching my reactions. “Help me, Chelsea.”
I bowed my head again and continued, “Chelsea, I’d trade all of my days from today until I die for just one more day with you.” I paused then added, “Why must I always lose what I have in order to appreciate it?”
I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and rested my forehead against the cold stone. A breeze swept across the cemetery and I caught the scent of lilies and hyacinths. I remained like that for a minute or two and then pulled away to rest my backside on the heels of my feet. When I opened my eyes and looked at the stone, it read ‘Jennifer’. I leapt to my feet and stumbled backwards a few steps. I looked sharply to my right and then to my left. When I finally looked back at the stone, it read ‘Chelsea T. King,’ just as it was supposed to read. I took in a three-hundred sixty degree view of the cemetery, turning slowing around. I didn’t see anyone. I didn’t see any lilies or hyacinths, either.
I was shaken. I know it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but it freaked me out. I walked briskly back to my car and drove home.
Chapter Six
As the plane approached Reagan National airport, the monuments to American power came into view. The Pentagon was in clear view and the Capitol Building was in the distance. The Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial were small but visible. All of it was beautiful and inviting.