Wings of Glass

  “Where were you tonight?” I asked. “You can’t just leave me here when I’m this far along without any way to contact you. What if it had been the real thing?”

  The crease formed between his eyebrows. “I had to give Stu a ride home.”

  “And it took you four hours?” When he stared hard at me, I averted my gaze to the winged statue.

  “Come on, One Cent. I just stopped off for a few. You won’t let me smoke in the house, and you know I like a stogie when I drink. I’m getting ready to be a father—give me a break. Soon I’ll be stuck here all the time changing diapers. Let me live a little while I still can.”

  The thought that he might really settle down after you came gave me hope. I patted the bed for him to lie beside me. I wasn’t crazy about him referring to settling down as being stuck, but back then I was more than willing to take what I could get.

  He looked down at my hand with those bloodshot eyes of his, and I could see his whole body sigh. “Sorry, babe. I just want to watch a little TV.”

  Why did it always have to be about him? I wished that just for once he could put aside what he wanted and give me what I needed. I turned on my side, placing my back to him, and fluffed the pillow under my head. Another contraction came, and I curled into a ball.

  “Penny, you okay?”

  I held a finger up indicating I couldn’t answer right then. When the wave of pain passed, I kicked the mattress with my heel. “I wish this baby would either come on or leave me alone already.”

  Tracing circles on my back, he said, “I’m sorry, darlin’. I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but it don’t look pleasant.”

  “It’s more aggravating than anything.” I shifted in the bed trying to get comfortable. “I’m just so tired of being pregnant.” I looked down at the map of thin, blue veins sprawling across my bulging belly, then at the dark line splitting me in half from the navel down. “I feel fat. I have gas and heartburn all the time. I can’t see my stupid toes, and the little bugger’s always kicking me. It’s starting to really hurt.”

  He chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

  I moved away from his touch. “It’s not funny.” Staring at the yellowed wall, I wished he would go away, but then thinking of him doing just that made me want to bawl. I flipped back over to face him. He was looking down at me with that Cheshire grin of his.

  Despite my trying to look mad, the corners of my mouth curled upward. “What?” I pulled the cover up over my belly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  His expression grew stern. “I’ll look at my wife any way I please.” Softly, he ran his index finger over my cheek and down my neck. “You’re just so beautiful, Penny. And you’re having my baby. My baby.”

  I tucked in my lips and looked up at him. He was a few years older, a few pounds heavier, but he was still that swaggering cowboy I’d fallen in love with. I pulled back the cover, lifted my pajama top, and placed his cold, rough hand back on my stomach. You kicked so hard right at that moment. I gritted my teeth as Trent’s eyes filled with wonder.

  “Did you feel that?” He sounded like a little boy.

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “I’ll bet that does hurt.”

  “It does,” I agreed.

  He sighed and lay beside me, with his arms bent behind his head. “You think we’ll be good parents?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m sure going to try,” he said.

  You better, I thought. “You will,” I said.

  “I hope he has your laugh.”

  I leaned on my elbow and rested my head in my hand, studying his profile. “I hope he looks like you.”

  He turned his head and stared into my eyes for the longest time as if trying to read something there. Finally he said, “Penny, don’t ever leave me.”

  A pang of longing squeezed my heart. “Where did that come from?”

  “I know I can be a jerk sometimes, but you know I love you. And I love our baby. I don’t want little Manny coming from a broken home like I did. I want him to have his mama and daddy. Every child should have that.”

  “They should,” I agreed.

  “You know, I never told you, but I was jealous of what you had with your folks.” He looked up at the ceiling as if the water stain suddenly intrigued him.

  “What do you mean?” I reached under his sweatshirt and twirled a tuft of chest hair.

  “You had both your mom and your daddy. I know your father was tough and all, but at least he looked out for you. Mine did nothing but call me a worthless puke and tenderize my face. My mom was so busy shooting herself up with heroin, she didn’t even know she had a son half the time.”

  He looked like he might cry for a minute, but then humor glinted in his eyes. “Man, do you remember your father’s face when I was talking to you that day you were pinning up laundry?”

  I smiled. “Like it was yesterday. If looks could kill—”

  “—I’d have been laying in the bottom of the ocean with a bullet in my head and a knife in my back.” He flipped over to his back again.

  “Trent?” I laid my head on his chest. The familiar scent of his musky deodorant met me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why did you do that to Norma?”

  “She put her hands on me.”

  “You didn’t have to punch her.”

  “She’s on meth. She don’t need to be hanging around my house and family begging for money.”

  “Is that all she wanted?”

  “I ain’t going to let no one mess with what I got.”

  “You could have just told her to leave, or called the poli—”

  When he sat up, my head hit the mattress. He slid his legs over the side of the bed, then looked over his shoulder at me. “No one.”

  Soft light from the moon streamed in through the bedroom window and across my face. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared up at the blurry halo. I pushed myself up and looked around. Beside me lay a rumpled pillow where Trent should have been.

  As I slipped out of bed, I glanced over at the alarm clock. Three in the morning. Mama used to say if God woke you up at three, it meant you were supposed to pray for someone. I always thought she was a little superstitious, but just in case, I sent up a prayer for whoever might need it, then made my way to the living room to see if your father had fallen asleep in front of the television again.

  The TV was off and the couch sat empty. I walked to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there, either. Our house was small, so it took only a minute to make my way through it. Finally, I pulled back the curtain and checked the driveway.

  Empty.

  Staring out the window, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How could he leave me there after what had just happened? How could he say he loved me but abandon me again in my condition? After a few minutes, I wiped my wet eyes across my pajama sleeve, but more tears just came to take their place.

  I sat down on the carpet with my arms wrapped tight around my bent knees, feeling as sorry for myself as I ever had. Watching the shadows from the window move across the wall, I rocked myself back and forth, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

  I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until the sound of a slamming car door woke me. I opened my eyes, confused to find myself on the living room floor. Outside, I could hear Trent coughing and mumbling obscenities like he sometimes did when he was in a foul mood and there was no one around to yell at.

  Not wanting him to know I had been up, I hurried to the bedroom and crawled under the blankets. The front door opened and shut, then the refrigerator door. Footsteps sounded down the hallway and into the bathroom. A flush. The sink. More footsteps. Then, quietly, he tiptoed into our room and slowly pulled back the covers.

  I pretended he woke me. “Trent?” I said faking grogginess.

  He closed his eyes as though he were sound asleep.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  He groaned like I’d just woken him.

  ??
?Where were you?” I repeated.

  His eyes flashed open, and he gave me a foul look. “Watching TV. Where do you think?”

  Blood rushed to my head as I sat up. “No, you weren’t. You just came in.”

  He threw the blanket off his fully clothed legs. “I’m warning you, Penny.”

  Enough was enough. He left me not once, but twice without a car that night, and then he had the audacity to lie about it? Manny, I saw red. “Where—were—you?”

  He jumped out of bed and jabbed his finger in my direction. “Don’t start with me. I’ve had a rough night.”

  I yanked the covers off me, turned on the bedside lamp, and got out of bed. “You’ve had a rough night? You’ve had a rough night?”

  He stepped into a shadow. “I pay the bills around here. If I want to go out, I’ll go out. I don’t answer to you. I don’t answer to nobody. You hear?”

  My temples pounded with rage. “You don’t pay the bills. I do. You don’t do a thing but drink away what little money you bring home and make messes for me to clean up. And I’ve had enough.” The temporary insanity that comes with anger gave me just enough amnesia to forget his fists. “I’m having your baby. I’m due any time now. You need to be in the house and in our bed.”

  “Is that right?” His voice became a whisper. Before I could step back, he grabbed my wrist, so tight it felt like a tourniquet. His fingernails dug deep into my flesh. I yelped and broke free. Courage left me as I backed against the wall.

  He picked up a hand mirror from my dresser, and before I could react, whirled it at me. The handle just missed my head. Glass and plastic shattered against the wall. “You think you can control me? You’re just like my mother.”

  The only other time he’d compared me to his mother was just before he broke my arm. I was sorry now that I hadn’t just let him be. All I could think of was that I needed to protect you at any cost. “What happened?” I asked, softer, trying to get him to calm down.

  “Like you care,” he hissed.

  I rubbed at the indents he’d left on my arm. “Baby, I care. Tell me what happened.”

  “You don’t care about nothing except that baby and those stupid friends of yours.” He walked to my dresser and yanked up the statue Callie Mae had given me. He pointed it at me. The light from the hallway shone across his angry face. “They laugh at your stupid jokes and buy you a few presents so they think they own you.”

  “Please, Trent,” I begged. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “Please, what?” he asked, in a mocking tone. He glared at me, then looked down at the statue. “What’s this ugly thing supposed to be anyway? Some kind of human insect?”

  I held my hand out to take it from him, but he pulled his arm back. Before I could lunge for it, he threw it at the head of the bed. I heard myself scream, then a crack. I thought for sure it was broken. I hurried over to it, examining the stained-glass wings. Miraculously, they were intact, except for a few hairline fractures.

  Holding it behind my back, I put my hand on his arm. “Just come to bed. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

  He moved back into the shadows again. “I’ve got to get up in two hours.”

  “I know, so let’s go to sleep.”

  He grunted and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  TWENTY-SIX

  AT FIVE THIRTY in the afternoon, Trent crashed through the front door.

  Knuckle deep in ground beef and spices, I hurriedly formed the meatloaf on the sheet pan and slid it into the oven, careful not to burn myself on the wire rack. As I washed the grime from my fingers, I felt his cold lips on my cheek and knew right away something was wrong.

  He ran a hand down his chin, red from the cold, and looked everywhere but at me. “The cops might come to ask you about Norma.”

  I turned to give him a questioning look. “The cops? Did she file assault charges on you?” My first thought was he had it coming if she did. My second was dread over what the legal fees might add up to on a charge like that. We barely had enough money for a roof over our heads and a case of Trent’s beer in the fridge, and that was before the added expense of diapers and pediatricians.

  “No, they found her dead.”

  Stunned, I just stared at him.

  He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it. “On that farm that’s for sale—you know, the one over on Gaston Road.”

  I had to catch myself on the counter. “She’s dead?”

  He walked to the back door and locked it. “She’s dead, Penny. Dead. It’s all over the news. She was beaten and strangled.”

  A bad case of heartburn had had me feeling sick to my stomach all day. The news Trent had just given me triggered what I had, until that moment, managed to avoid. I ran to the bathroom and vomited. As I rinsed out my mouth, I looked over to see that your father had followed and was staring at me with wild eyes. “They’re going to finger me for this. You know they will.” He started to pace. “People at work are already talking. I can’t go to jail. You know what they do to men who look like me?”

  Using the hand towel to wipe my mouth, I looked at him in the mirror. “Please tell me you didn’t have something to do with this.”

  He flashed me an incensed look. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  Norma was choked—Trent had wrapped his fingers around my throat more than once. She was beaten—he had beaten me too many times to count. And he had disappeared last night.

  I followed him to the living room. “Have they talked to you?”

  “Who? The cops?”

  I nodded.

  He slid his flannel jacket off and threw it onto the couch. “They came by the shop, but they questioned all of us. You know she was fired.”

  I hadn’t known, because he hadn’t told me.

  He rubbed his mouth and paced the carpet. “They were just asking questions like if we knew anyone that would want to hurt her. If she had any boyfriends. No one said anything about me specifically that I know of, but I was scared. They asked me when the last time I saw her was.”

  My mind began to fill with fog. “What did you say?”

  “What could I? I tell them she was here and we argued, and I become their chief suspect. You watch those shows. You know how it works.”

  I moved his jacket over and sat down on the couch, feeling the full weight of you on my pelvis and Trent’s predicament on my shoulders. As much as I wanted you to come, Manny, now I prayed you would hold off as long as possible. I couldn’t imagine giving birth to you while worrying every second the cops would come to take your father away.

  Trent ran both hands through his hair, making it stick up. “I know how your mind works. You want to do the right thing—so do I. But you can’t tell them. If they come here, you have to back me up. If you don’t, who’s gonna take care of you and Manny?”

  God, I wanted to say. God will take care of us, and a whole lot better than you’ve been doing. But the truth was I didn’t really believe that—not the way I do now. “You were gone last night,” I whispered. “Until almost four. What time was she—?”

  His eyebrows knit together. “I already told you where I was. And how am I supposed to know what time she was killed?” No, he hadn’t told me where he’d been, but that didn’t seem like the right time to call him on it.

  Out of nervousness, I tried to cross my legs, but could no longer manage it with you in the way. “That’s good. Then you have an alibi. Your buddies will tell them.”

  When he leaned against the front door and closed his eyes, my heart dropped.

  “You do have alibis right? I mean, you were at a bar, drinking. People had to see you.”

  Blotches of red formed on his neck. “I was at Zoe’s until three. Norma showed up there, high as a kite, hanging on the drunks, trying to pimp herself out.”

  I stared at the tracks he was wearing in the carpet, trying to swallow the pill he just shoved down my throat. “She was at the bar with you?”


  He let out a disgusted grunt. “Not with me. Ain’t you listening? I said she showed up there, but then left with some dude.”

  Were you the dude? I wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. “Did you know him?”

  He stopped pacing and looked down at me. The irritation on his face melted. “Not really. I mean I’ve seen him a few times. A real scumbag.”

  A siren sounded in the distance. We both turned toward the window, holding our breath until it faded. “Did anyone else see him leave with her?”

  He looked off to the side, like he was trying real hard to remember. “Maybe the bartender. The only other guy that would have seen me was in the can. What if they don’t remember?”

  My thoughts turned to how pathetic his story sounded, even to me. Maybe especially to me. He had just told me she was hanging on drunks, plural. Suddenly the only guy in the bar besides the bartender and the so-called john was in the bathroom? A prosecutor would eat him alive. “So, you saw her leave with him, and that was it?”

  “I followed them out. She’s my friend, so I was worried about her.”

  His friend that he had punched to the ground. “You followed them out. Then what happened?”

  He buried his hands in his pockets and started pacing again. “I told her she needed to get help. She’s got kids, and there she is hooking for drugs. It ain’t right.”

  The strangest feeling of calm came over me, distancing me from the emotions I could no longer handle. “Are you sure you didn’t fight some more?”

  He raised his palms in explanation. “We had a few words and I might have pushed the man, but that was it.”

  I should have felt panic at hearing this; instead, I felt numb. “And then?”

  “Then nothing. She told me unless I was willing to pay for it, I needed to bug off. So I did.”

  Willing to pay for it. Those words repeated themselves in my mind. Had he been willing in the past? If not with money, then with booze or drugs? I didn’t want to know. “So, you’re not the last one with her. He was. He’s the suspect, then.”

  He sat down and put his head in his hands. “Yeah, but I don’t know the dude’s name. I don’t know anything about him, except he’s a tattooed greaseball. If the cops can’t find anyone to corroborate my story, that leaves me holding the bag.”