Veronica ran track because God had given her a gift, and because it was the only thing she could do. It was in her, but it longed to be out. Somewhere inside her, past her heart and her stomach, deep in the hollow of her gut, a fanciful fairy-tale dream of her and the Train Racer danced. If she could find him, she’d take him by the hand and they’d run, on the tracks, from the front of one train to the back of the next. They’d run so fast they’d lift off the tracks and sprint through cirrus clouds, run through rain and never get wet.
Tiffany ran track because her mother couldn’t. Unlike Veronica, Tiffany was well grounded. All her life, bad luck caught her by the ankles and held her down. She ran to get past the luck that left her mother in a wheelchair, past the luck that pushed her father to drive off Bojangles Bridge into the racing river, past the luck that flattened the tire on her bike in the dark of the Mojave midnight, past the luck that grabbed her with wraithlike hands, undressed her, and left her bruised and beaten beneath the tracks of the trains Veronica so longed to race. Tiffany didn’t run for recreation. She ran out of a sense of self-preservation.
Veronica ran to capture the past; Tiffany ran to escape it.
Veronica slipped a cigarette in her mouth and sat on the side of her bed. She cracked the window and exhaled slowly outside. “I got another one.”
Tiffany lay back on Veronica’s bed. “No thanks.”
Veronica arched an eyebrow. “What’s wrong.”
“Shouldn’t be smoking is all.”
“You’ve been weird all night.” Veronica blew silvery smoke into the black of night.
“Your mom’s going to catch you. She’ll smell it on your clothes.”
Veronica shook her head. “If she were going to catch me, she’d have done it by now. She probably knows anyway, just doesn’t want to say anything. Not like I try to be sneaky about taking them from her purse or anything.”
Tiffany stood up and walked to the corner of the room. “Can’t you put it out? It stinks.”
“No way. I’m not putting it out just ‘cause you’re getting weird. What’s gotten into you anyway?”
Tiffany straightened. “Put it out or I’ll tell your mom.”
“Tiffany.”
“I’m serious, Veronica.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. “Worse than my mother.” She stabbed the cigarette outside the windowsill. “The Train Racer smoked.”
Tiffany waved her hand in front of her face and rumpled her nose. “You don’t know that.”
“I know it. I heard it. I’ve been researching it anyway. I found some old articles about it. He and his girlfriend used to hang out, smoke, and then race. But then one day she got hit.”
“It stinks in here,” Tiffany said. “Let’s go in the living room.”
Veronica shut the window, lay back on her bed and put her hands behind her head. “You’re really acting weird. Like counselor weird. You’ve never minded the smell before.”
“I’m just saying it stinks.” Tiffany’s shoulders slumped, and she looked sad. “Can we just go in the living room?”
“Come lie down. I want to talk. You’re freaking me out.”
Tiffany sat on the bed next to Veronica. She kicked her shoes off and lay back next to her.
“It’s something about before school started, isn’t it? I mean, you know.”
Tiffany nodded, spreading her thick black hair across the faded pink comforter.
“Are you okay? I mean, the doctors said that you’d be okay and all. Is something wrong?”
Tiffany closed her eyes and swallowed. “I think I’m pregnant.”
* * *
Tiffany asked to spend the night, and Veronica’s mother went to bed. Veronica stole her mother’s car keys and drove Tiffany down to the ER in Newland. They came back early in the morning and sneaked quietly back through her window, crawled into the too-small bed, and tried to get a few hours of sleep before waking up early for school the next morning.
The doctor called Veronica’s cell phone the next morning. She handed the phone to Tiffany, who listened, hung up, and covered her face in her hands. She shook and shook as she cried in Veronica’s arms.
Tiffany’s stomach swelled, and week by week, she panicked a little more. She came to Sue’s every day after school and had a malt on the house. They kept the plan simple: tell no one until they had to. And then, inevitably, the questions: Would she keep it? Would she give it up for adoption? Could you even get an abortion this late in a pregnancy? What about a coat-hanger? Veronica prepared her for the worst. Tiffany had her answers all rolled into one: Emily.
She would keep Emily and raise her as her own. She would make up a story about the father being a soldier in Iraq, a genuine war-hero.
She sipped her strawberry malt and asked Veronica, “What in the world am I thinking?”
“Knowing you? Probably food.” She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and put it to the little pad of paper she carried in her red apron pocket. “Don’t I look cute like this? Don’t my legs look good in this skirt?”
In the kitchen, Carl degreased the grill.
“I’m serious, Ronnie.”
“So am I. You don’t think I look good?” She spun around by the table.
Tiffany giggled. “How’m I going to raise a kid? My mom’s a paraplegic, and I’m just a teenager. There’s not enough money from disability to put food on our plates as it is. I can’t get a job, not while I’m pregnant. And then after, I can’t leave the baby with Mom.”
Veronica sat across from Tiffany and crossed her legs. She leaned back and crossed her arms, looking intently into Tiffany’s brown eyes. “You want to run?”
“Yeah I want to run. I mean, what am I thinking? Maybe I should …”
“You can’t. Trust me. I know you, Tiff. You’ll never be able to live with yourself. Emily needs you. And you’re not alone.” She leaned forward and took Tiffany’s hands. “I’m here, and my mom’s here. You know we can help you. My mom can watch Emily, and you can come work here at Sue’s with me.”
Tiffany motioned to the empty diner with broad sweeps of her arms. “Yeah. Business is booming. You could kill someone in here and no one would know about it till morning. After the plant shuts down, this place clears out faster than quicksand.”
“We’ll find a place in Newland. I’ll have my driver’s license by then. We can both get jobs there. We’ll just work a few hours after school each day. That should be enough.”
“Your mom doesn’t even know I’m pregnant.”
“She’ll understand. My mom’s cool. She gets it. She totally knows I smoke and she’s good with it. I swear she loves you more than she loves me sometimes. You’re the good one.”
“Please.”
“Seriously. Know what she says? She says, ‘How come you’re not more like Tiff’?”
“She doesn’t.”
“She does. Like all the time.”
“And what do you say?”
“Why can’t you be more like Tiffany’s mom?”
Tiffany laughed and hit Veronica’s shoulder. “You’re bad, Ronnie.”
“We’ll get through this. You and me and Emily. It won’t be much longer anyway.”
“Three more months.”
“Still seems weird. Weird but cool.”
“Yeah.” She leaned back. “Cool.”
* * *
About an hour after Tiffany left, and about five minutes before Veronica and Carl started to close down, Mr. Walker strutted in. He plopped down at the back table, his back to the door. She almost didn’t recognize her chemistry teacher with his black baseball cap pulled down low to his eyes. His brown coat was much heavier than the dying summer warranted. Must be why he sweat so much.
She ambled over to his table. “What can I getcha
, Mr. Walker?”
Surprised, he looked up. “Veronica?”
“Yeah. Been working here for a few weeks now.”
He nodded. “That’s right. I heard that.” He paused; his face flushed. “I should probably tell you. I’m meeting someone here.”
Veronica tapped her pencil on her pad of paper. “I’m guessing it’s not your wife?”
“It’s not that easy. I mean, I love her, but things have been tough lately. Anyway, she knows I’m thinking about leaving.”
Hot anger burned behind her eyes, and she hoped it didn’t bleed through. What was it with men that made them run? She remembered her father’s late nights and how he finally didn’t come home, and that was just last year. She thought of Tiffany’s dad, taking the only family car and driving off Bojangles Bridge when the water was high.
“It’s your life.” She wondered if he heard her voice cracking.
He smiled, and she hated him for it. “Thanks, Veronica. It means a lot.”
Desperate for another subject, she asked, “What can we fix for you?”
“Double bacon burger, extra mayo, onion rings, a chocolate malt, and a Diet Coke.”
“Good you’re getting Diet. That will cancel out all the other calories.”
“I’m sharing it.”
Then, Melissa Crenshaw walked in. Veronica recognized her immediately, though she hadn’t seen her since the beginning of summer that year, when Melissa graduated from Newland Valley High School. They’d run track together. Melissa was a senior and Veronica a sophomore.
When Melissa sat down with Mr. Walker, Veronica wanted to punch her.
“Are you working here now, Veronica?”
Veronica looked down at her neon pink uniform and milk white apron. “Nope, just a big fan.”
Melissa smiled. “You’re not still mad about when I said you were pregnant, are you?”
Veronica did her best to swallow her seething fury. “You almost got me kicked off the team.”
“You were getting kind of big, and I was worried about you. I thought you might need help with the baby or something. I didn’t mean anything by it. And besides, Coach would never kick you off the team.” She smiled again, amused by the conversation. She knew it dug at Veronica.
Veronica’s mind swirled with curses. “Can I get you something to drink?” She thought how satisfying it would be to slip a laxative in her Coke. That would serve her right. Her and Mr. Walker, a man twice her age.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
“Probably a good choice.”
Melissa giggled like a junior higher. She took Mr. Walker’s hand. “Veronica’s such a kidder. A real Ellen DeGeneres.”
Mr. Walker wore a love-stupid smile. “A real kidder.”
Veronica returned to the kitchen quickly and spent the next twenty minutes sitting on the back counter window to the kitchen. She’d make small talk with Carl and try not to watch them eat. She thought about spilling hot coffee on them, but the pots had been off for hours. Maybe she could just spill a soda down Melissa’s plunging neckline and on her oh-so-short skirt. But that’d be juvenile.
“Let it go.” Carl packed up the hamburger buns. “It was a long time ago and you’re still steaming.”
“I’m not.”
He wiped his hands on his apron and stared at her. “You’re steaming, babe.”
“And with good reason.”
“You’re better than them, Veronica. They suck. They’re perfect for each other. The lowest of the low.”
She bounced her leg on the counter. “He’s got a wife and two kids. Says he loves them all the time. It’s all he talks about. How cute his kids are, what they did the day before, whatever. It sucks. Right now, his wife is at home, starting dinner for her and the boys, tired from working all day, and now she’s going to have to find child care, and she’s going to be stressed out and won’t be able to pay her bills, and that’s going to be her life, Carl, the whole rest of her life.”
“Was that all one sentence?”
“Shut up.”
“I get it, but what can you do? Really?”
Mr. Walker got up from the table as Melissa finished her soda. He handed Veronica his credit card and smiled. “Really, thanks. It means a lot.”
* * *
Carl picked up his keys from a basket on the corner of his desk. “Sure your mom’s cool with you staying here while I’m gone?”
Veronica smiled. “Mom doesn’t care. She trusts me. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to be gone for weeks or anything. You’ll be back in a few hours.”
“Just seems weird leaving you here alone and all.” He slipped his keys in the pocket of his jeans and scratched his ear.
“It’s fine. I have to get this research done for my paper.” She sat at the desk and started his web browser. “It sucks not having Internet at home.”
“I guess. I got to be down at class in forty minutes. I better get rolling. Be back in a few hours. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”
“I always do.”
He opened the door to a dark, cloudy night. He zipped his navy blue windbreaker.
“Hey. It’s been cool the last few weeks, having you at Sue’s. It’s been cool talking with you and such.”
Veronica smiled. “What’re you trying to say, Carl Catcher?”
He grinned. “Just that it’s been cool.”
“Likewise. Now get to class, college boy, or you’ll be late.”
He closed the door and said, “What if I didn’t go to class? What if I just stayed here, you and me, and we watched some TV or something?”
And though the idea sounded particularly nice to her, Veronica swallowed. “You’d fail your class. Remember, you’re paying for your education now. Skipping classes is not good business.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I always am.”
“True that. True that.” He opened the door again and turned to leave.
“Carl, if you want, you can pick me up an apple pie from McDonalds on the way home.”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’d be romantic, wouldn’t it?” He closed the door.
She locked the door quickly, jumped back to the computer, and typed in BabyMart.com. She told herself she was doing something good, and felt a little like Robin Hood as she scrolled through different cribs and changing tables on the Internet. Finally, Tiffany wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Veronica would get everything Tiffany needed to raise Emily right: diapers, wipes, pacifiers, clothes, bibs, everything. She’d have to make up a story, something about winning a contest, but Tiffany would believe her. She’d have to trust.
And was it really stealing? She took from someone evil to give something good to someone who deserved it. Tiffany needed these things more than Mr. Walker needed a low balance on his credit card. And the beauty of it, the sheer genius, is that he couldn’t say anything. Even if he did figure it out, would he really turn her in? Of course he wouldn’t. Not when she knew about him and Melissa, a relationship that likely began while she was still a student in his Chemistry class. Even if it didn’t, she could say it did. The accusation alone would be enough to ruin his teaching career, and then what would he do?
They had this coming. Melissa with her slanderous rumors, her coy attempts to have Veronica thrown off the track team; Mr. Walker leaving his wife and kids for a girl half his age.
She clicked “add to cart” and punched in Mr. Walker’s credit card number again.
* * *
The next day, after Tiffany left, Veronica sat on the back counter closest to the window to the kitchen. She crossed her legs, turned at her hips, and leaned through the window. “I need a favor.”
Carl scrubbed the flat grill with steel wool. Water hissed and steamed. “Name i
t, babe.”
“I need you on Saturday.” She slipped a stick of cinnamon gum in her mouth and chewed.
He turned away from the grill and grinned. “You got a meet?”
“Nope.”
“Going to make me guess?”
“Yup.”
“We playing twenty questions?” He tossed the steel wool into a bucket and turned the grill off.
“I’ll give you ten.”
“I’ll take three: You want to make out with me, you want to rob a bank, you want me to kill someone.”
She smiled. “You think you know me so well. No, maybe, and no.”
He laughed and pulled off his hairnet. “You kidding me?”
“I’m kidding. But I need your pick up. We’re going to do some shopping for Tiffany.”
Carl scratched his arm and shook his head. “Saturday’s a busy day. No way Sue will give me the day off.”
She leaned back and put her feet up on the dining counter. “She’ll have to if you’re sick.”
“And I’m guessing you’re going to be taking the day off too? Sue will have to close down. She’ll lose, like, a couple hundred dollars. Money she pays us with. She’ll be pissed.”
“She going to fire us? She going to find two other honest employees in this town?”
“Why Saturday? Why not tonight?”
“We need all day.”
“What are you planning on getting?” Carl took a piece of Veronica’s gum.
“A crib, a bassinet, baby monitors, the works.”
He laughed. “You hit the lottery?”
“Credit card.”
“You’re not eighteen. How’d you get a card?”
She smiled. “Not mine.”
* * *
Veronica woke when Tiffany shook her shoulder. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. Tiffany hunched over and grabbed her stomach. She stood in a puddle on the hardwood floor. “I think we need to go now.” Veronica tried to keep her cool. “Right.” She rolled out of bed and raced to wake her mother. “Tiffany’s water broke!” She punched in Carl’s number on the phone in the living room.
The Bargain - One man stands between a destitute town and total destruction. Page 18