okay? Oh, wait. Here’s your phone.”
Before I hand it off, I take the time
to send myself a text with the phone
number I found for her father,
just in case ol’ Peg is a no-show.
Somehow, I wouldn’t put it past her,
though I guess I shouldn’t judge
a book without actually seeing
its cover, either. Meanwhile,
I focus on delivering Niagara.
The Ranch
Is over a mile back toward town.
By the time we start in that direction
the sun has dropped below the horizon
and it’s turned damned cold. The EMTs
returned Gabe’s jacket, so I bum it
to mitigate the teeth-chattering ride
ahead. “Follow me, but not too close,”
I tell him. The mare’s game for a fast
pace home and, in Thoroughbred style,
gallops long-legged strides most
of the way there. Despite the chill,
it’s exhilarating in a way few things
are. Going fast in a car is exciting,
but this is elemental. Approaching
the gate, I slow her to let her catch
her breath and cool off gradually,
though she’d rather hurry to the barn.
It’s dinnertime, after all. I brake her
under the big over-the-driveway arch
bearing the ranch’s name: the Triple G.
Triple! That’s it. I’ve been past here
so many times I can’t believe I forgot.
As promised, a man who I assume
is the foreman comes trotting up on
a stocky bay gelding. I dismount and hand
him Niagara’s reins. “Great horse.”
Thank you, young lady. She is, and we
appreciate your intervention. I’d sure
hate it if anything bad had happened
to her, not to mention to Miss Hillary.
A lot of people would’ve kept on going.
Be sure and thank your friend for us, too.
He nods toward Gabe, who’s sitting
in his idling car, where I hope it’s warm.
“I will. I think Hillary’s okay. She was awake
and talking when they took her away.”
That’s real good to hear. The Lord
willing, I’m sure Miss Hillary will be fine.
By the way, Niagara here is a handful.
You’re not looking for a job, are you?
Mucking Stalls
Wouldn’t be the worst job
in the world. But he offers
to let me exercise horses,
and that would definitely
interest me. However,
“I’d love the work, but
I’m afraid transportation
would be a problem. I don’t
have a car or a way to get one.
My dad can’t help out, so I’m
stuck riding with friends.”
Shame. Well, if something
changes, please let me know.
My name’s Max, by the way.
I’m in charge of the barn.
“Thanks, Max. I’ll for sure
anything happens to change.”
Wow. Getting paid to ride
horses, and top-flight
Thoroughbreds at that?
Great proposition. Too bad
I can’t take advantage of it.
Catch-22 sucks.
Maya
I broke the baby news to Jason a week ago. At first I thought he was going to freak out. His expression mutated a few times, like he was trying on masks. But he held it together. “Are you sure it’s mine?”
“Positive.” Once I might’ve had to guess, but I haven’t been with anyone else since I met Jason, and that’s what I told him. He seemed to believe me. So then we played the Q & A game.
Question: “How far along are you?”
Answer: “Ten weeks, I think.”
Question: “How did it happen?”
That one made me laugh. I don’t think he appreciated it. I coughed back the giggles and tried again.
Answer: “I must’ve forgotten to take a pill.” Total lie. I’ve never been on birth control, and I have no idea if skipping one time can result in pregnancy. But Jason didn’t call me on it.
Biggest question: “What do you want to do about it?”
Answer: “Keep it. It’s the only thing I can do.” Okay, the second sentence wasn’t accurate, but I wanted him to believe there could only be one choice for me, so I added, “I love you, Jason, and this is your baby. No way could I kill it or give it away. I’ll raise it on my own if I have to. Not sure how I’d manage it by myself, but I’d figure it out.”
At first he didn’t say a word, just stared off into space for probably five minutes. I gave him that time. Not like a life-changing event gets dropped in your lap every day. Finally, he reached for my hand. “I guess it’s time I had a son.”
I dropped my head against his chest. “I’m scared, Jason. When my mom finds out . . .”
He kissed me gently and said, “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
We had another hour together, and spent it in bed. No discussion of babies or just how everything will be okay. It only crossed my mind once to wonder if having sex could hurt the baby inside me. Don’t think Jason worried about it at all. I have no idea who to ask about it, at least not until I see a doctor. Now I guess I should.
So yesterday I turned seventeen. It started off as expected, with little recognition from my human incubator. She barely looked up from her newspaper when I sat down at the breakfast table. I worked real hard to come up with the right thing to say. “Hey, Mom. What was it like having me? I mean, the birth experience. Did it hurt like everyone says it does?”
I studied her face as she considered the question. Despite all the ugliness inside her, she’s actually kind of pretty for forty-two. Her hair is like brass—shiny, with just a few hints of gray—and the few wrinkles she has are thin filaments. Maybe all that clarifying is good for the skin, if not the psyche.
“It was god-awful, if you want to know the truth. Felt like you were going to pull my insides out. I don’t recommend childbirth.”
Not exactly comforting. And I realized we’d never discussed it before. Of course, we’ve never discussed lots of things before. What did I have to lose? “Did you breast-feed me?”
She snorted. “Are you kidding? A nurse talked me into trying it at the hospital. ‘Your baby needs colostrum,’ she insisted. I tried, but all it did was give me sore nipples and frustrate you. You sputtered and cried. Wailed. Finally she gave up and offered you formula. You were happy with that.”
“How long did you stay in the hospital?”
“Overnight. Why are you asking me all these questions?”
“Just curious. I mean, I guess because it’s my birthday, and . . .” I couldn’t figure out where to go from there, so I shoveled cereal into my mouth.
“It is, isn’t it? And look how gloomy it is outside. Just like the day you were born. Do you have plans?”
I almost got excited, thinking for once she might offer to spend quality time with me. Yeah, right. “Not really. Tati and I will probably chill.” I figured a guilt trip wouldn’t hurt, though. “Unless you’ve got something in mind.”
Guilt is not in Mom’s vocabulary. “I’ll be tied up at services most of the day. You should come. Birthdays are good days for audits. Lots of people tap into past lives.” The crazy rose up in her eyes.
“One life at a time, thanks.”
She got up and went to the hook by the door, reached into the purse hanging there. “Here’s ten dollars. Have a pizza with your friend. And happy birthday.”
I took the money and didn’t mention I was actually planning to hang out with my boy
friend. Tati’s still upset with me, though she has forwarded Jason’s messages as promised, and doesn’t sound quite as pissy. She has a hard time staying mad at me. Still, when she called to wish me a happy birthday, it was a nice surprise.
“I know you’re going to see Jason today, but I was hoping we could get together for a little while. I’ve got a present for you.”
“Of course!” Knowing she’d forgiven me, at least mostly, would’ve been enough of a gift, but it wasn’t all she gave me. She picked me up midmorning and we drove to a little park, which was mostly deserted. Late January, too cool for kids to swing or slide, there were only a few people walking their dogs, and I was happy for fewer distractions so we could finally talk.
We sat quietly for a few minutes before she asked, “You’re really pregnant?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
“And you’re going to stay that way?”
“For six more months, give or take.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Totally.”
“Have you told your mom?”
“Not yet. I wanted to make sure . . .” I paused because I realized I still wasn’t sure. “Jason says everything will be okay, but I don’t know what that means yet.”
“I’m jealous.”
That one stopped me. “You’re jealous I’m pregnant? You want a baby?”
“Don’t be dense. I’m jealous of Jason. I hate that you love him. And if you’ve got a baby to love, too . . .” Her voice cracked, but she pulled it back together. “What will happen to me?”
I reached for her hand. “Tati, you’re my best friend. I will always love you, and I need you now more than ever!” My eyes stung. I let the tears fall. I’ve held them back too long.
Tati leaned across the seat, opened her arms, and I pleated myself into them, gathering warmth and strength. Dove soap perfumed her skin and her breath was cinnamon. Home, that’s what I thought. Tati smells like home.
Finally, she pushed me away. “Okay, I know you’ve got plans, so let’s get the birthday stuff over with.” She handed me a silly card with kittens eating birthday cake, and inside it were two tickets to an Astros-Rockies game. “It’s Houston’s first home stand this season. I was going to try for opening day, but this one is on Saturday. You can take Jason instead of me if you want.”
My jaw actually dropped. “No way. I want to go with you. But since when do you like baseball?”
“I don’t really, but maybe if you teach me about it . . . I know they have cute players.” She sighed. “I just . . . when you told your favorite memory of your dad, I wanted to make a memory like that with you.”
Happiness poured into my heart, like water from a pitcher.
It was a strange sensation, one I’ve never experienced before. I didn’t exactly know what to do with it. “This is the best present, ever. And I’m damn sure going to go with you, as long as you’re driving.” I reminded myself to put the tickets in my secret stash spot under my dresser, along with Dad’s manila envelope. “Mom gave me ten bucks. Let’s have lunch before I meet Jason.”
We opted for subs rather than pizza, which makes me queasy at this point in time. Then she dropped me off at Jason’s friend’s apartment. Jason was there, beer in hand. He’d had a few before I arrived. “What took you so long?” he demanded.
I was only a half hour late, so I’m not sure why I felt compelled to apologize. “Sorry. I had lunch with Tati. She wanted to give me a present.”
“Just so you know, I’ve got something for you, too. Come here.”
“Can I get a beer first?”
“No. Not good for the kid.”
It was the first time he’d ever denied me, and even though he might have had a valid point, it pissed me off. “I don’t think one beer will hurt her.”
“Him. And it’s not up to you. I’m saying no. Now come here.” He softened slightly. “Please.”
Everything about Jason seemed different, and I hesitated to go closer at first. But then he smiled and held out his hand, which held a little box, gift wrapped in blue-and-silver foil. Inside it was a sapphire-and-diamond ring. Small stones, but real, and set in fourteen-carat gold.
“Let’s do it,” he said. “Maya McCabe, will you marry me?”
Ariel
Headed Home Again
It’s almost like nothing unusual
happened. Well, except it’s later,
and now Gabe and I know a lot
more about each other than we did
before. Still, we’re both on the hunt
for information. Before diving
into that dialogue, however, I
put in a call to the hospital and
ask about Hillary. Whoever’s on
the answering end of the phone
can’t—or won’t—tell me much
except she’s still in Emergency.
“Maybe I should’ve told her
I was Peg Grantham,” I joke.
“Although the real Peg would
probably have me arrested
for impersonating her if she
ever found out.” I give Gabe
a quick overview of my earlier
conversation with the shrew.
Maybe she was having a bad
day. And, face it, your call wouldn’t
have made it any better, you know?
He’s Got a Point
“You’re right,” I admit. “Maybe—
maybe—I’m too quick to judge. I think
it’s a defense mechanism I designed
somewhere back in my childhood.
Better to push people away than get
too close and then have to leave them.”
Gabe has skeletal knowledge
of Dad’s and my prior nomadic
existence, but we haven’t discussed
it in depth. Now, however, he asks,
Why did you move around so much
anyway? That must’ve been hard.
Remembering some of the people
I allowed myself to call friends,
a fog of wistfulness blossoms.
“I didn’t always mind, but once in
a while we stuck around long enough
for me to connect with someone and
it hurt to know I’d probably never
see them again. I can’t really tell you
why Dad refused to put down roots.
He said it was itchy feet, but there
were times it felt more like he was trying
to run from ghosts of his past.”
The Danger
In opening up is allowing too much
to spill out. Because now Gabe feels
comfortable asking, What kind
of ghosts? You mean, like, your mom?
I take a deep breath, hoping to slow
the stumble. “She’s one, I guess.”
You never talk about her. Do you
ever see her? Where is she now?
All vestiges of my earlier regret
disappear, blown away by a giant
hot wind of rage. “No, I don’t see her,
and I have no idea where she is.
For all I know, she’s rotting in jail
or hell, and I couldn’t care less
because the bitch never gave one
good goddamn about me.” Out of
air and steam, I pause and he says,
Hey, take it easy. How do you know?
My temples pulse noticeably.
“How do I know what, exactly?”
How do you know she never cared?
When was the last time you talked to her?
“I don’t know. Let me see. Guess
I must have been two. That’s when
she walked out of my life. Fifteen
years, no calls, no letters, no visits.
Hmm. Wonder why I might assume
I’m not a bullet point on her priority
list. I mean, how woul
d you feel if one
of your parents up and deserted you?”
I realize my mistake just as he says,
Desertion might be preferable to death.
At least it’s reversible. But I didn’t mean
to upset you. Let’s change the subject.
Anger cools, dissipates into a reddish
haze, and I’m not sure if what’s left
is directed toward Gabe or my mother.
Most likely the latter, because now that
we’re talking about fast cars again,
a small blush of desire paints my cheeks.
I Have a Hard Time
Believing he can
make me feel this
way at any time,
let alone after stoking
such an overwhelming
inferno of negative
emotions. He must
be a warlock, hungry
for a bite of my soul.
“I don’t suppose you
have a cauldron and
broom somewhere?”
That was off the wall.
Are you accusing me
of witchcraft or what?
“Not exactly. It’s just
you have this strange
effect on me, and I was
wondering if you cast
spells in your spare time.”
If I do, it’s my secret.
But I’m curious about
this strange effect.
Care to elaborate?
“Better not. Anyway,
there’s the house.”
Gabe Steers the GTO
Into the driveway, pulls close
to the walk, stops the car.
When he turns in his seat
to look at me, the orange
rings in his eyes almost glow,
and I think maybe he actually
is a creature born of magic.
“Thanks for the ride. And for
the adventure.” I should exit
the automobile, go on inside,
but suddenly I don’t want him
to leave. Can’t stand the idea
of spending the evening alone.
As a way to delay the inevitable,
I ask, “Would you like to come in
for a little while? To talk, that is.”
Don’t want him to get the wrong
idea, not that he’s ever offered