Wannabe More

by Billie Dale

  “Love you too,” he responds. I hate the heavy sadness in his voice, but with Samantha’s mad dash to the bathroom I have a huge dilemma here to handle.

  Through the generations of Vortex women, one constant remains. When carrying Vortex offspring, the smell of the family’s tried-and-true meatloaf makes them puke for the whole nine months.

  While unconfirmed, if I were a betting woman, I’d wager big money that Samantha Gentry is pregnant with my grandchild.

  I TUCK SAM IN MAZRIC’S bed, sweeping back her sweaty hair I urge her to rest while I run to the local drugstore. My brain spins a million different scenarios as I climb behind the wheel of Joe’s reliable piece of shit truck. At the end of the driveway we share with the Gentry’s, I meet Johnny heading down his side of the split.

  He stops. I see his bicep working the crank of his window so I do the same. “Hey, Carrie Lynn, where ya headed?” His thick Southern accent rolling my name is one of my favorite sounds, but my head is a vat of overcooked grits so it goes in one ear and out the other.

  “To the Pill Popper to grab a pre—” Holy shit I can’t tell him. “Preemptive strike on Sam’s flu. Might be too late to save us but dousing the house in Lysol couldn’t hurt.” A nervous laugh shakes my chest.

  “She still feeling funky?” I respond with a nod. “Surprised we don’t all have it by now.” His tone is curious but there’s an accusation wrapped in his simple statement.

  “Right? Well, I better go. I think crackers and ginger ale might help.”

  “Her momma used to live on those when she was pregnant with Sammy Lee. Funny, huh?”

  My tongue doubles in size, trapping the gulping swallow I’m trying to work down my throat. Does he know? No way. If Johnny Gentry knew my son knocked up his daughter, he’d storm to California with a shotgun and not be smiling at me at the end of the driveway.

  “Well, gotta get her better so she’s in top shape for school.” I hedge his suspicion.

  “Thanks for taking care of her. I’ll stop over later to bring her home.”

  “Sounds good.” I ease up my window.

  “Hey, Carrie.” My hand stops. “After Sam leaves you want to grab dinner, see a movie?”

  Shit, I’ve been wanting this man to ask me out for years, and here it is at the absolute worst time. If I turn him down, will he ask again if our world doesn’t come crashing down? “Uh yeah, sure, sounds fun,” I answer, leaving the possibility open but not set in stone.

  He nods, cocking his lips in a sideways grin before pulling away.

  I park outside the Pill Popper. When I spot several of the known gossips in town exiting, I rethink my decision to purchase pregnancy tests in this small town, opting to drive thirty minutes to the Millersburg Walmart instead. Don’t need any rumors spreading around.

  When I return to the farm, Sammy’s color has returned to a peachy tan with flushed cheeks, and she’s eating a bowl of soup with Hendrix sitting next to her on the bed.

  How do you ask a sixteen-year-old genius to pee on a stick and risk the possibility of derailing the future she planned? Trust me, I used the entire drive to and from figuring out a way to get it done without her knowing. There’s not one lie or occasion I could create to do it without her participation.

  Thirty-Four

  SAMANTHA

  CARRIE’S MEATLOAF USED to be my favorite, but the damn thing creates a vomiting rave in my stomach. It’s a delicious chunk of seasoned hamburger, but two weeks ago it became the plague.

  Though this bout of toilet praying came in handy because it got me off the phone. Listening to Mazric bitch about me spending time with Hendrix infuriated me. He’s got serious gall and if his mother wasn’t listening, it would have been a whole different conversation filled with more curse words.

  Hendrix joined me after he ate with Joe, though I insisted he change his clothes and brush his teeth to rid him of the beefy scent. “It’s time you visit the doctor, Samantha.”

  “The teacher at the school said the doc confirmed the outbreak of influenza. Nothing he can do to treat a virus but let it run its course.”

  “Samantha.” His long fingers wrap around mine. “You’re premed with substantial medical knowledge. There is more going on here than the flu, right?”

  “What?” His words hit like a load of bricks to the head. I’ve been so out of it since Mazric left, I haven’t been able to see past my sadness. Worry, stress, regret, and the image of him blowing me a kiss spring forward the second I wake, and for the first time I’ve been a scatter-brained mess trapped in broken spirit hell. Hendrix’s arrival brought more than comfort, having a friend cleared the cobwebs and he’s right. A viral infection averages three days with a few after for recovery. Come to think of it, I noticed most of the kids from the center playing at the park earlier when I left to pick him up.

  Nausea, exhaustion, lightheaded, loss of appetite. “Oh, God. I have a tumor.”

  A barking laugh shakes his shoulders. “For once, I’m smarter than you,” he gloats.

  “You’ve always been when it comes to music. So?”

  “Well, you’re on the right track. It’s a life sucking growth all right. Keep self-diagnosing.”

  “Certain foods make me sick, only to be what I’m craving later. I’m bloated and more emotional than usual, but it’s that time...” Calendar days flip through my head. Two months. I haven’t had a period for two fucking months. “No. It’s not possible. We used protection every—oh fuck.”

  The rainstorm. We were out doing chores when a summer storm blew in. Soaked by the time we reached the barn, we shed our wet clothes and lost ourselves in each other in the hayloft, while thunder shook the walls and lightning lit the sky. I get goosebumps every time I replay our slick chilled bodies rubbing against each other. It was hot, romantic, and unprotected.

  “Hendrix?” His name whispers like a prayer, hoping I’m wrong and he has a magical answer.

  “How about we find out?” Carrie Lynn stands in the open door. She tosses a gray plastic bag on the bed. I peek inside finding several brands of pregnancy tests.

  Fisting the sack, I leap from the mattress running to the bathroom, only this time it’s not food making me sick.

  FOUR STICKS LINE THE sink, each screaming the same result.

  You. Are. Pregnant.

  Hell, one of them even taunts the word in the damn response window. It should say you are fucked. Oh, wait that’s what got me in this mess to begin with. Fucking. Screwing. Sex. P in the V. All without a condom. The first test I never wanted to pass.

  A light tap on the door echoes through the empty room, “Sammy, honey, you’ve been in there for an hour. Please come out,” Carrie’s soft voice begs.

  I collect the tests of doom, toss them back in the bag, school my face with impassiveness, and yank open the door to her expectant stare. My effort to seem indolent fails, and she reads the freak out written all over my face. “Oh, baby girl.” She pulls me into her arms, squeezing me in the tightest embrace. She should hate me, blame me, yell, scream, rage but she pats my head mumbling assurances.

  We move back to the bedroom; she sends Hendrix away. He’s reluctant but Carrie’s stern kick out and my promise to talk to him tomorrow send him jogging for the door.

  “The tests could be wrong. False positives happen.” I’m holding on by my fingertips to one last hope.

  “Yes, perchance. We need to schedule with Dr. Hart to be sure.”

  Want to know the downfall of having an eidetic mind? You forget nothing. It’s great most days, but not when words you spewed in mock superiority come back to slap your ass and call you Shirley.

  Part Two

  “YOUNG AND DUMB ONLY carries you so far. The mistakes of the parents become your responsibility when you accept your life as your own. Correct their misgivings and raise your children with all the love you were denied.”

  ~Anonymous

  Thirty-Five

  SAMANTHA

  Forty-five weeks ago, I was
blissful in my ignorance believing a broken heart and repairing a friendship would be the biggest speed bump I’d encounter.

  Thirty-six weeks ago, my future screeched to a halt, I can show you the tire marks.

  Thirty-five weeks ago, Carrie Lynn helped me withdraw from my scholarship to Johns Hopkins and petition for one from the University of Kentucky. With my transcripts, the admissions office tripped over themselves with joy until I told them I was pregnant. Their greedy publicity fed smiles melted like ice cream on a sweltering day over the loss of advertising potential.

  Thirty-four weeks ago, I told my father. It was the Sunday before I was supposed to leave and Carrie invited us all for dinner on the pretense of farewell. She and I had a difficult conversation that morning, but it was a needed talk.

  I staggered across the meadow, exhausted from another sleepless night. The alien inside hates cinnamon so the second I strolled through the farmhouse screen door the sugary aroma of Carrie’s homemade rolls sends me running. After the initial purge my whacked-out fetus wanted the sticky buns.

  “Sammy Lee, when are you telling Mazric?”

  I choke on a bite, coughing and sputtering. She hands me a glass of milk to wash it down but the thin line of her lips demands an answer. Part of the reason for my sleepless nights is this question, the rest well that’s obvious. “Look, Carrie, Mazric is just starting his future. He’s destined for the NBA and not telling him about the baby is the best way to go.”

  Her brows touch her hairline with her saucer wide eyes. “How do you propose to keep this from him? You might be able to hide it at Christmas, but he’ll notice a baby when he comes home for the summer. Unless...”

  She’s wringing her fingers together on the table. “What?” I ask.

  “I could adopt the baby, make up a story for him until the time is right. You could get the degree you want and his future would go unchanged. The both of you could stay in the child’s life.”

  “Thank you, Carrie. I know you would love this kid as though it was yours. I’m hoping you’ll help me, but I want to keep it and after a lot of thought, I have a plan on how.” Doubt narrows her eyes, before she can retort I continue, “Mazric can’t afford impromptu trips home. His visits coincide with Preslee. If we all survive the wrath of Johnny Gentry then when he’s home, I’ll go to Joe’s fishing cabin.”

  She shakes her head, “And what happens when he goes to town and someone asks him about your child? There’re no secrets in a small town. After eight years of friendship, how do you think you will keep him from finding you?”

  Shame builds tears in my eyes. “I can’t be that girl, Carrie.”

  She pushes a napkin across the table. “I don’t understand?”

  “On prom night I accused Asia DeMarco of being a jersey chaser. One of those women willing to do anything to get out of the small-town life. While I didn’t plan this, it happened, but the haters in town will accuse me of sabotaging the golden boy. Mazric can’t know. Not yet.” Admitting how hateful I’d been sucks but accepting the justice karma served is detrimental.

  “Oh, honey, no. The people here will stand beside you, they love you.”

  “No, they don’t,” I snort. “I’m the smart chick who tells them they’re wrong and talks too much.”

  She hides her smile behind a cup of coffee but she knows I’m right.

  “Joe’s cabin isn’t in Seven Mile Forge. I’ll stay out of town, away from people until I finish my degree and the baby’s born. Hopefully, with my new path in agricultural engineering, I can help take Double V to the next level and turn a dying farm into a moneymaker. When it happens, you and Joe will visit Mazric in California, giving him no reason to come home.”

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with this.” She shakes her head. “The campus is an hour from the cabin. Three days a week, while you’re in class, I’ll stay with you then the other four you’re coming here and working on the farm. You’ll save the scholarship stipend to raise your baby, and when you start to show, we must keep you outta sight until we come up with a story to tell the townspeople. I don’t agree with this, but it’s your decision. Maz won’t give up easily.”

  “He will if I eviscerate his heart and make it clear I never want to speak to him again.”

  Her top lip pulls behind her bottom and the skin between her brows curls. She’s biting back her words but nods agreement.

  “Great, now will you help me tell my dad? I mean the man ran when I asked him to buy feminine napkins the first time. He can’t know who the true father is because he won’t keep his mouth shut. I’d rather he thinks I sleep around than spill the beans. Perhaps if you’re there, he won’t bury me in the backyard next to Princess Glitter Pig the First.”

  “If this plan goes belly up, we’re all gonna be buried next to PGP number one,” she groans.

  We broke the news to Dad over coffee and lemon meringue pie. I concocted a stellar lie about a party, alcohol, and an unknown stranger. A hint of anger flashed in his eyes, but the longer I rambled and explained my well thought out plan the more serene he became. We’re talking pod people calm. Smoke should’ve been steaming from his ears but he hugged me, told me how much he loved me, and promised we’d be fine.

  His acceptance eases some of my stress and my tossing and turning nights caught me. My eyelids fell heavy as my head started to droop. I must’ve dozed off because when he kissed my forehead, I almost fell off my chair. He sent me home offering to help Carrie clean up in my place.

  On my way across the drive I ran into Joe. “The cabin’s not a suitable place for a pregnant woman.” His arms cross his chest and the anger my daddy didn’t show radiates from Mazric’s grandpa. “Your story is full of holes, little girl. If that baby belonged to a stranger you wouldn’t need to hide in the woods. You love my grandson and it’s his. Now why don’t you go on home, sleep, and build a better lie. You’ve got nine months to convince me, if you can’t, I’ll tell Mazric myself.”

  All the tired I’d found vanishes replaced by the truth he threw at me. If everything I told Dad was flawed, why in the hell didn’t he call me on it? Shoulders curled inward, I sulk across the meadow, climb the stairs, and cocoon myself under the covers allowing the tears to fall. My phone rings and my text alert chimes but I ignore them both.

  Thirty-Six

  CARRIE LYNN

  SAMMY’S PREGNANCY IS throwing off her perception. Johnny may not have shown his rage with words but any fool can see he’s a bubbling volcano.

  He waits until she’s on her way home before he rounds on me. “I’m gonna kill your son. First Imma dig a hole in the woods then me and my pal shotgun are gonna drive to California and fill his ass with lead before I load him up and throw him in my hole. Just a heads-up.”

  “Johnny Gentry, don’t you threaten my only boy.”

  “Carrie Lynn, you sat there and helped my baby girl lie to me and didn’t even come up with a good one. No one’s gonna buy that bullshit, this town will eat her alive. Mazric helped get her in this mess and if her life’s going down the shitter, so is his. Why should he get to live his dream when his dick shot hers all to hell?”

  “Because it’s what Sammy Lee wants. Johnny, I offered to raise the baby but she turned me down. She needs all of us to get her through this. Her goals might change but she can still thrive if we help. Yes, we need a better story, but killing Maz isn’t the answer.”

  He yanks the ball cap from his head, throwing it across the room. “Maybe not, but it’d make me feel better.” His weathered hands fist in his hair and a single tear catches on his lashes before slipping down his stubbled cheek. The rugged edges of his face show the years catching up with him. Lines spider out from his dark circle shadowed green eyes and deep wrinkles mar his forehead. The toned lines of his body slump, and where a solid strong man stood minutes ago now hunches the picture of defeat. All six foot four inches of him disintegrate on my kitchen chair. “I failed her, Carrie.” His boisterous voice turns soft. “If I hadn’t ch
ased her momma away, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She’d be on her way to medical school, away from my dumb ass, and this stupid fucking town.”

  It shatters my heart to see him break. My hands itch to wring his ex-wife’s neck. But most of all my foot twitches to kick his ass. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Johnny Lee Gentry.” I plop in the seat next to him, wrapping my tiny hands around his giant ones. “You did the best you could raising Sam. She’s a great kid with a good head on her shoulders. Mistakes happen. What’s meant to be will be and we can’t stop it. Now pick up your big ass, and pull it together, because in a matter of months we’re gonna be grandparents, and we will make sure Samantha gets her dreams too.”

  He heaves a nostril flaring breath, rising to his full height. “Okay.” He sweeps a hand under his nose. “But if I see that boy of yours soon, I might have to punch him just for the hell of it, he doesn’t have to know why.”

  If his plump lips hadn’t tilted sideways, I would’ve worried but jest sparks in his eyes, followed by the steel hardness of determination. He grabs his hat, offers me a nod, and jogs out the door as Joe enters.

  The stubborn angry posture of my father-in-law signals, despite my bone-weary exhaustion, my night is just beginning.

  Thirty-Seven

  SAMANTHA

  THIRTY WEEKS AGO, I started classes. For the past month I’ve avoided Mazric’s calls and according to Preslee, he’s pissed. Carrie and I began fixing up the cabin, and Daddy put my car up for sale, claiming it’s not a good child carrying vehicle. I tried to argue but buckling in the safety seat will be impossible, plus when I’m big as a barn I’d need a winch and pulley to get out of the damn thing.

  I rehearse in the mirror, reciting my story so many times I’m starting to believe it myself. Carrie explained I don’t need to keep the pregnancy from Mazric, he just needs to think it’s not his. He deserves the truth and he’d do the right thing and be a great dad.