Yours and Mine (Freshman Forty #2)

by Christine Duval

  She is right there to greet me.

  “Come in.” She gestures inside.

  The whole house sits on a cliff and was designed to show off the Shelter Island Sound below. You can see as far as Connecticut, and the way it’s positioned, both the sunrise and sunset are in full view over the water, which is pretty cool. There are more windows and doors here than there are walls. A deck stretches the width of the house, and with the afternoon sun behind us and the wind still blowing from the east, there’s little need for air-conditioning.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  I turn my eyes from the window to look at her. She’s a tiny thing, barely scraping five feet tall. She used to be super-skinny, which I didn’t mind, but the weight she’s gained works fine too.

  My mind reels back to that last night we were together. We had spent the day on my boat, exploring remote beaches, visiting an abandoned lighthouse, and then finally joining some of my friends at a bonfire on a secluded strip of sand. I rarely brought a girl anywhere, but I broke that rule with her.

  A walk around midnight led to more than I ever thought would happen with her. But I should have known she was going off to college and it couldn’t mean much. She never came to say good-bye the next day. I tried texting her to make sure she was okay and got no response. I even emailed her and nothing. That was when I dubbed her the ice princess.

  I shake my head. “I’m good.”

  Muffled crying vibrates out of a baby monitor on a side table. Laurel darts down the hall.

  “She just woke from her nap,” she says when she reappears, holding the infant snug in a blanket. “She’s probably ready to eat.”

  “Where’s your father?” I gaze around the house. There’s no sign of anyone but the three of us. “Are you babysitting?”

  “No, uh, not exactly.”

  I’m beginning to lose my patience with how cryptic she’s being. And with the exhaustion that weights my shoulders, I decide to cut to the chase. “Did something happen to your dad?”

  The baby lets out a huge yelp and Laurel flinches.

  “My dad? No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re here alone with a baby that can’t be more than a few months old…”

  The baby screams again.

  “I might, um, have to go feed her in the other room,” Laurel interjects.

  “Why can’t you feed her here?”

  Laurel bites her lip. “Because I’m, uh, nursing. You know, breastfeeding.”

  My jaw drops. “You’re breastfeeding your little sister?”

  Laurel starts rocking the baby to calm her. “She’s not my sister, Danny. My dad and his wife haven’t even had their baby yet. And they’re having a boy.”

  I lock eyes with her and can see tears welling in the corners.

  She swallows. “She’s my baby…and…”

  I don’t dare move an inch. “And what?” I ask, my body frozen.

  She barely manages to whisper, “And yours.”

  I feel the hairs bristling on the back of my neck. My palms start to sweat.

  “She’s your baby, Danny,” she says again, louder this time.

  The baby lets out a screech that demands attention, and Laurel, tears now streaming down her cheeks, heads to the bedroom. “I’ve got to feed her. I’m sorry.”

  I’m left in the living room with the words lingering in the air.

  My baby?

  The lack of sleep, the crying coming through the speaker and the shock of it all sends the room spinning. I fall back on the couch, my temples pounding so hard it feels like someone is drumming on my head.

  After enough time has passed for me to regain some composure, I follow the corridor back to the bedrooms, looking in each until I get to the one at the end of the hall. It used to be an office, but I see there is now a crib that’s replaced the desk. Laurel is sitting in a rocking chair, tears still flowing while she rocks the baby back and forth.

  She doesn’t look up, but she knows I’m standing in the doorway because she says, “She wasn’t hungry. I don’t know what’s wrong.” She moves the baby up to her shoulder and rubs her back. This seems to do the trick and the baby quiets down.

  “How is this possible?” I say. My voice cracks.

  She bites her lip and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

  I straighten my shoulders. “Weren’t you on the pill?” I ask, my voice stronger now.

  “No.”

  “What girl isn’t on the pill?”

  She looks at me sideways. “Um, a lot of girls.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me to use something, then?” It comes out as a bark.

  “Why didn’t you ask?” she shoots back.

  I slide down onto the floor. “How could you have a baby? My baby! And not bother to tell me?”

  She closes her eyes and whispers, “I don’t know.”

  I can feel the blood warming my cheeks. “What do you know, Laurel?”

  The pitch in my voice starts the baby screaming all over again.

  I stand and storm down the hall.

  Laurel races behind me. She must have put the baby in the crib because her hands are free. “Wait!”

  I head to my car, yelling from the driveway, “This is fucking insane. How do I even know she’s mine?”

  Laurel halts. “What? I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

  I open my car door. “How do I know that?”

  “Danny, I’m positive she’s yours.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Wait! Please. Just one minute.” Laurel runs into the house, grabs something from the foyer table, and then leaps off the front porch towards my car before I can make my getaway.

  “Take this!”

  She shoves an envelope at me through the open window. On the front it says From the Legal Office of Harris and Associates.

  “What is it?” I bark.

  “It’s called a custodial release form. It relieves you of any responsibility. I don’t expect you to want to be a part of her life, but I thought you at least should know about her. My father wrote it up. You’ll need to sign it.”

  “You had your dad draw up legal papers? Jesus, Laurel!”

  “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be involved, that’s why. It’s my problem to deal with.”

  “You show up, tell me I’m a father, and then hand me walking papers before I’ve even had a chance to wrap my head around it?”

  I hit the gas and speed backwards out of her driveway. And then I slam on the brakes and pull forward again. “Just out of curiosity, what did you name this kid of mine?”

  Laurel bites her lip.

  “What’s her name, Laurel?”

  “Carolyn. Carolyn Ramsey Harris. After my mom.”

  “So no room on the birth certificate for Santoro, huh? I guess that would have required an extra line or something.” My head pounds. That Advil didn’t do shit for me.

  Laurel sinks down onto the front porch.

  I put the car in reverse and yell, “Maybe I’ll get a lawyer, too!”

  The baby is now screaming. I can hear her through the open windows. Laurel scurries into the house.

  Chapter 4

  I speed all the way down the streets of the Heights, knowing I am asking to be pulled over, but I don’t care. When I reach the ferry line backed up all the way to the hill, I come to a screeching halt. There are at least twenty cars in front of me, which means I’m going to be here for a while. I punch the steering wheel.

  “Fuck. Fuck. FUUUCK!” I yell. A couple waiting with their mountain bikes glance in the direction of my car. I close my eyes and rest my head on the steering wheel until my phone chimes. I pick it up to see Joe’s sent me a text.

  “Dad was moved to County this afternoon. Court is appointing him a lawyer. No other news. Get some sleep.”

  When I make it to my apartment, I collapse on the couch. I am out fast and sleep until the morning sun glints through
the sides of the cheap shades that cover my window. My phone vibrates.

  “You coming in today?” My boss Carl’s smoky voice is filled with the morning energy of a fisherman.

  I rub the sleep out of my eyes.

  “You were supposed to be here at seven.”

  “What time is it?”

  “8:30.”

  “I overslept.”

  “Clearly.” He laughs. “Why don’t you take the day off? Come in tomorrow instead, alright? I just got a call about a possible charter anyhow.”

  I want to protest because I could use the money, but I feel like crap. “Thanks, Carl.”

  I lug my body off the couch. The envelope Laurel handed me is on the kitchen table. As I walk by, I take a breath and grab it.

  Running my index finger along the seal, it takes me a few seconds to tear it open. Inside is a three-page single-spaced document with a whole lot of legal jargon on it. At the top is a heading in bold letters: VOLUNTARY RELINQUISHMENT OF PARENTAL RIGHTS.

  My name has already been filled in. Of course.

  I hereby in writing expressly consent and agree to the termination of my parental rights concerning Carolyn Ramsey Harris.

  “Harris.” I snort.

  From there it goes on to list ten different “provisions” that I’m supposed to initial, confirming I’ve been advised of and understand what they mean.

  Although most of them may as well be written in Greek, the first two jump from the page. Number one states this agreement is permanent and cannot be revoked. So if I sign it, I can never change my mind?

  The second says that my rights to visitation, custody, or to any say in any decisions on Carolyn’s behalf are permanently terminated. So I’m basically agreeing to never set eyes on my kid again? A kid I just found out existed!

  I toss it onto the table and put my hand through my hair. If Laurel didn’t want me being a part of the kid’s life, why did she come here to tell me about her to begin with?

  I trudge to the fridge and pull out the orange juice, gulping it straight from the carton, and then change into my running clothes. I’ve got to get some air.

  With my phone in hand, tuning out the world to an old AC/DC album, I make my way past the ramshackle houses hidden within the village of Greenport. People think the East End is loaded with wealth, but walk through this neighborhood and you see a whole other world. Generations of families crowd into houses too small to fit them all, mattresses on floors in living rooms, yards that need tending to. Kids whose parents don’t speak a word of English are failed by a system that doesn’t teach it to them in school, so they drop out too soon and work as laborers in the nearby vineyards or washing dishes at the trendy restaurants on Front Street. Street drugs are easy to come by.

  I head up to North Road and turn right, making my way through East Marion and then to Orient. My usual run. It’s a long one, a little over ten miles, but it always makes me feel better.

  The morning sun is already beating down and I can tell it is going to be a hot one today. Cars rush past, filled with people on their way to their beach houses.

  I reach the halfway mark, keeping my mind focused on the music and my pace, and turn to cross the road for the five miles back.

  A green RAV4 slows down, I think to let me cross to the other side, but when I look over, I see Laurel behind the wheel. Panting, I put my hands on my hips. She pulls up alongside and rolls down the window. “Hi.”

  I don’t say anything and try to slow my breathing. Carolyn is in the backseat, sleeping in a car seat.

  “Can we talk?” She reaches over and pushes open the door.

  I pull my shirt up and use it to wipe my sweaty face, then climb into the passenger seat. “How did you find me?”

  She shrugs her shoulders. “I went to the marina and Carl said he gave you the day off. Then I stopped by your house and you weren’t there, but your car was in the driveway. So I took a guess.”

  She knows me well.

  She puts the car in gear and does a U-turn, putting us in the direction of Greenport, but we continue on the North Road instead of turning into town. “If I keep driving, maybe Carolyn will stay asleep long enough that we can talk in peace.”

  I glance back at the baby. She’s got her hand curled up under her chin and she’s breathing softly. Her hair is dark brown, like mine, and fuzzy.

  Laurel sees me looking.

  “She’s got your nose,” she says quietly. “And I think she’ll have your brown eyes, too. Although they say it takes a year before you know what color their eyes will be for sure.”

  I study Carolyn’s face. She could pass for my kid. She reminds me of my brother’s kids.

  “How old is she?” I ask.

  Laurel keeps her eyes on the road. “She was born on April 3rd. A month early, actually. She spent some time in the NICU up in Rochester.”

  “You had her in Rochester? Why not in the city?”

  “I was at school.”

  “You stayed in school?” I ask. “How’d you manage that?”

  Laurel shakes her head. “It’s a long story.”

  I reach over to the dashboard, pointing the vents in my direction, and turn up the air conditioner. “I’ve got time.”

  She sighs, then after a long silence says, “You’re not the only one I didn’t tell about this. I hardly told anyone. Not my father, not anyone on campus except for one professor who figured it out on her own and, a, um, friend from my dorm. Otherwise, no one.”

  “Why not?”

  Laurel shakes her head. “I don’t know. I was scared. And messed up. I almost had an abortion in the beginning, but I couldn’t go through with it. Then, all this stuff was going on with my dad…he was getting married. Then he and his fiancée announced they were having a baby. And Colman, it’s a tough school. Up there, I could drown myself in schoolwork and stay in denial.”

  She picks up a water bottle and takes a sip. “It was wrong of me not to let you know what was going on. I guess I was worried that you would, I don’t know, attempt to do something chivalrous like try to create something between us that wasn’t there.”

  Ouch.

  She continues. “I should have told you. But I didn’t and I can’t change that. All I can do is what I’m doing now and hope you can forgive me. I don’t expect you to want to be a part of this…”

  “You gave me a custodial release form. You want me to sign a piece of paper that says I can’t take any responsibility for or any interest in a kid that is, according to you, my own flesh and blood…” Carolyn stirs as the tone in my voice goes up an octave. I lower it and continue. “Before I’ve even had a chance to…get used to the idea that I’m a dad.”

  A dad.

  Our eyes meet when I say this. It must sound as strange to her as it does to me. She breaks her gaze and turns back to the road.

  “I guess I didn’t think it through. It was my father’s idea. He said he’s seen too many parents battle each other in the courts when it is clear one or the other wants nothing to do with the child. Doing it this way, you’d have a clean break.”

  “But what if I don’t want one?”

  I stare at Laurel, waiting for some response. Her cheeks flush.

  Chapter 5

  We pull in front of my apartment, which is really one side of a two-family house. Carolyn has started to stir and Laurel wants to feed her.

  “Why don’t you come in?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Nope. The living room is all yours.”

  I leave them alone and head to the shower, taking my time and even shaving, which I haven’t done in a few days. I wrap myself in a towel and walk past Laurel, with Carolyn latched to her partly exposed breast. When she sees me, she readjusts her T-shirt. I continue to my room.

  Once I’m dressed, I call out, “Is it safe for me to come out?”

  “Yes, fine, Danny. She’s done.”

  Laurel is up now, her back to me, with Carolyn propped on her shoulder. I walk
closer and Carolyn and I make eye contact for the first time. Laurel crooks her neck in my direction. “Want to hold her?”

  “I don’t have much experience holding babies.”

  “It’s not hard.” She hands Carolyn off to me. “Just support her neck and butt.”

  I do as I’m told, cradling her in my hands. “She’s tiny.”

  “You should have seen her when she was born. She barely weighed five pounds. She’s almost twelve now.”

  Her eyes are bright and wide, and I can’t help but put my lips to her peachy forehead.

  Laurel sits on the arm of my couch and, after watching us for a while, sighs. “So what do we do, Danny?”

  I awkwardly shift Carolyn so she’s resting up against my chest and stroke her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I only planned it one way. I didn’t expect you to want to be involved.”

  “Why?”

  She shakes her head. “I guess I’m good at misjudging people.”

  Carolyn starts to fuss and it is obvious I don’t know what to do about it, so Laurel takes her out of my arms. Carolyn settles back down in hers.

  “I’d like to get to know her, at least. How long are you going to be around?”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t planning on being out here more than a few days. But that doesn’t mean I can’t come out again for longer. I head back up to school at the end of August.”

  “You’re going back to Colman? How are you going to handle college and a baby?”

  “I’m taking fewer classes this year and I only have to be on campus Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, at least for fall semester.”

  “What happens to her when you’re in class?”

  “I found someone who runs a daycare out of her house near the college.”

  “What about studying?”

  “I guess I’ll do it between changing diapers and feedings,” Laurel snaps. I can tell I’ve touched a nerve.

  Then, with her voice softer, she says, “Look, it isn’t ideal, but it’s the best plan I could come up with. Dropping out isn’t going to help me raise a kid. It’s better for both of us if I have a degree.”