Pearl

“Why?”

  She looks at me for just a minute, then puts her hands over her face and groans. “I can’t do this.”

  “It’s because of me, isn’t it? That’s when you got pregnant.”

  “I need a drink.”

  I lean back on the seat. It always comes back to me.

  “Why didn’t you just get an abortion?” When I say the word, I can almost feel myself being sucked into sweet oblivion.

  “You say it like it’s that easy, Bean.”

  “It would have been! Just think how different things would be if I’d never been born!”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “Why not? Don’t tell me you wanted to have a baby.”

  “No. No, I didn’t. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? That I didn’t want you? Will that make you feel better about feeling sorry for yourself?”

  “Yes!”

  “Of course I didn’t want to have a baby. I was barely freaking fifteen years old! Would you want to have a baby right now?”

  I can barely imagine making out with someone, let alone doing what she did.

  “Then why did you have me?”

  She shakes her head. “You act like it’s so easy to answer. It’s complicated. For one thing, my periods have never been regular, so I didn’t think much when I missed a couple of months. Then, when I started feeling sick at work, I got scared. I was too embarrassed to buy a pregnancy test. I didn’t have anyone to go to for help. I was so ashamed. Finally, I knew I had to tell Bill. I figured he’d at least help me figure out what to do. What a joke.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “He freaked out. We were in his truck and when I told him, he went nuts, slamming the steering wheel with his fists. The dashboard. Everything but me. Then he reached in the glove compartment of his truck and pulled out his wedding ring and told me he didn’t need another wife and definitely not another baby. He said this wasn’t his problem and to get out. Then he drove away, leaving me all alone.

  “I walked all the way home that night. I knew I had to go to a doctor to be sure. I knew I was going to have to tell Gus. I knew, walking in the dark, that no one was going to help me. The next morning I finally went to the clinic and had an exam. It was awful. And that’s when I found out I was about four months pregnant and it was pretty much too late to do anything about it.”

  She takes a deep breath and finally looks over at me.

  “And then I just waited. Pretty soon, I couldn’t hide it anymore. I was afraid Gus would kick me out of the house, so I made up the story about being raped. Gus went nuts, naturally. At first he didn’t believe me, but after a while it was obvious I was on my own. No guy was coming around to do the right thing. I think he wanted to believe my story as much as I started to. Needed to. And then I had you and Gus changed a little, I admit. He was so in love with you. He insisted on taking care of you so I could finish school. I would work all day, then go to night school so I didn’t have to face all my old friends. I didn’t have time for anything else.”

  “Where was Claire all this time?”

  “She wouldn’t talk to me, she was so upset about my fling with Bill. As much as I missed her, I figured it was probably best for everyone. But eventually, she started coming by the restaurant again. And, well, we love each other. We always have. So she forgave me.”

  She takes a deep breath and lets it all out. “That’s it. That’s the truth. I know it’s probably hard for you to take it all in, but that’s all of it. I promise.”

  She breathes in slowly again, like she’s trying out a new body, free of extra weight. Her hands are shaking.

  I look at the lines on the palms of my own hands, wondering which ones I inherited from her and which from the father I’ll never know. Her words echo back to me. Another wife. Another baby. I have a brother or sister somewhere.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I should have known you’d be okay with it. You’re right. But the more time went by, the bigger the lie felt. And then I got so used to living that way, I just accepted that was how it would always be.”

  “God, Mom.”

  She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand again.

  “Give me a chance. Please. Give us both a chance.”

  I’m not sure if by both she means the two of us, or her and Claire. But I don’t want to think about Claire. I don’t want to think about how things will be now, with Claire living with us. With her acting like she belongs here and I don’t. I was just the result of some stupid mistake.

  At least now I understand why Claire doesn’t like me. I’m a daily reminder that my mom was with someone else. I represent the worst time of her life.

  A warm breeze comes through the window, blowing my hair across my cheek. My mom leans forward to brush it away, but I lean back and away from her instinctively.

  “I have to go find Henry,” I say.

  “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

  She moves her legs to the side so I can walk past her. She doesn’t try to touch me again. I can feel her eyes on me as I walk away, down the hall. I picture her sitting on the edge of the tub, watching me leave.

  As I walk by Gus’s closed door, I stop. I try to imagine him saying the things my mom claims. I try to imagine his angry face when he caught her with Claire.

  But I can’t.

  I just can’t believe it.

  chapter eighteen

  The stairs seem steeper. The clock in the hall taller. The old house smells stronger. I step out onto the porch, quietly shutting the screen door behind me. The peepers are already echoing through the early night. Weep, weep, weep.

  It’s dusk and the sky is gray and overcast. The air smells like rain, though the drops haven’t started to fall yet.

  Weep, weep.

  I move forward but stop at the top step of the porch, looking out at the tiny bit of grass that needs to be mowed. Claire’s gold Honda Civic is in the driveway.

  I make my way down the steps and along the cracked pavement. As I walk down the sidewalk, I avoid stepping on the cracks.

  A car comes along and slows down. I walk faster.

  “Hey, girl,” a voice says.

  I look, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  The first thing I see is a muscular, tan arm hanging out the window. The face is tan, too. Dirty blond hair and big teeth.

  I look away. Just a few more houses and I’ll reach Henry’s.

  “Wanna go to a party?”

  I shake my head.

  “Aw, come on!”

  My cheeks burn. I shake harder.

  He revs the engine a bit.

  Weep.

  “Pleeeeease?”

  I look straight ahead. “I have plans,” I say quietly.

  Why am I crying?

  I run.

  He speeds up.

  “Hey!” he calls. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

  I shake my head again and keep running.

  “Freak!” He speeds up and leaves me behind. Small drops of rain touch the sidewalk. They make a polka-dot pattern on the street.

  I wipe my eyes but the tears keep coming.

  Up ahead, I see Henry’s small house. It’s a ranch-style house built on the site where one of the old, painted ladies burned to the ground. It sits between two larger Victorians, like a sad unwanted child. Mr. Clancy, who likes cats, has a house on one side, and Ms. Bea, who hates them, is on the other. The red tip of her cigarette glows in the wet dark of her porch as she watches me hurry to Henry’s.

  I run up the crumbling brick path to the front door and hesitate. In the past, I always gave a few quick, happy knocks. But tonight, when I step up to the door, it feels different. I feel different.

  I knock once and wait.

  Heavy footsteps hurry to the door, which opens to Sally’s thoughtful, cheerful, “you okay hon?” face.

  “Hi,” I say. I cry harder. My body shakes. I didn’t realize how scared I was until the door to safety opened.

  ?
??Sweetie.” Sally makes a sad face to mirror mine. “Aw, sweetie.”

  She opens her large arms and I lean into her. They wrap around me and hold me up. Her polyester rose blouse smells like real roses and a hint of talcum powder. And maybe under that, a little sweat. Sally.

  “Ah, girl. It’s okay,” she says into my hair.

  I know she thinks I’m upset for all the wrong reasons, but I don’t have the energy to correct her. I just want her big, soft arms around me.

  “I’m all right, really,” I say, when I finally pull away from her. “I’m just—glad to be here.”

  I wipe my eyes dry with the palm of my hand.

  “Is Henry here?”

  “Of course. He’s in his room.” She makes a cautious sort of face. “Beany, honey. You know your mom is in love, don’t you?”

  Oh, brother.

  “I know, Sally.”

  “She was just trying to protect you, honey. Sometimes people do crazy things to protect the ones they love. Sometimes they do the wrong things.”

  I have the keen sense that Sally is quoting from a recent episode of Days.

  I nod. I can feel Sally loving me in a way I’ve never felt before and I instantly forgive her for keeping the secret. It doesn’t even seem to matter anymore. She looks changed to me, standing there in the hallway instead of sitting on her couch. She seems happier.

  The house smells like fresh-popped popcorn. As I pass through the tiny living room to get to Henry’s room, I notice the familiar metal mixing bowl on the coffee table. It’s full of popcorn instead of the usual Doritos.

  I walk down the hallway, passing a series of framed school photos of Henry—one per grade. His hair never changes. The background is always the same sky blue. Henry’s pudgy elbow rests on the same stupid fake wood fence, his chin held expertly in his hand. He fake smiles at me year after year, until I reach the end of the hallway.

  His bedroom door is closed, so I knock.

  “Yeah?” he asks.

  “It’s me,” I say through the particle-board door.

  “Oh. Uh, it’s open.”

  I turn the knob slowly. He’s sitting on his bed with his Frank Lloyd Wright architect book open on his lap. He always looks at it when he’s upset. He says the photos calm him.

  “Hi,” I say.

  He closes the book and sits up a bit.

  “Hey.”

  I step inside his immaculate bedroom. The walls are wood panel, which he hates. The floor is covered with dusty blue carpet, which he also hates. His comforter matches. There aren’t any posters on the walls, just an Ansel Adams calendar. Henry likes spareness. Sometimes I catch him cringing just looking at the porcelain knickknacks Sally has on every available surface in the rest of the house.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, wondering if he can tell I’ve been crying. I’ve shut the door behind me but I swear I hear Sally’s footsteps creaking down the hall.

  “You sure?”

  I sit on the edge of his bed and stare at my hands. They’re still shaking.

  “I’m all right.”

  “What happened after I left?”

  “My mom and I talked. She told me the truth. About everything.”

  He shifts on his bed to make more room for me.

  I slide back and lean against the paneled wall. “She told me the truth about my dad.”

  “Oh.”

  “He didn’t rape her. It was a lie to keep Gus off her back about Claire.”

  “I’m so confused.”

  “Before the Bill incident, Gus caught my mom and Claire—you know—together. My mom said he totally freaked out and forbade my mom to see Claire again. So then she decided she’d show him by having an affair with some older guy. Maybe she was also trying to prove to herself she wasn’t gay or—who knows. Anyway, she wound up getting pregnant. She thought Bill would take her away or something. But he freaked out when she told him. Turns out he was married and already had a new baby!”

  “Whoa!”

  “Yeah. I know. It’s so Days.”

  There’s a noise in the hallway.

  Henry rolls his eyes. “Spy,” he mouths.

  But I don’t mind if Sally hears.

  “Anyway, by the time my mom found out Bill wasn’t going to stay with her, it was too late to have an abortion. So she made up the story about being raped by some stranger in the parking lot so Gus wouldn’t kick her out of the house.”

  “That is the most messed-up story I ever heard.”

  “I know. It’s even more messed up than Days.”

  He smirks. “Totally. So, what happened to Bill?”

  “I dunno. Some of the other customers who knew him told her he’d left his wife and baby and everything. Just disappeared.” I sigh. “Great dad story I have, isn’t it? He deserted not just one baby, but two.”

  There’s another sound in the hallway. A human sound. Like a choke. And then footsteps running down the hall.

  Henry jumps to his feet. “Mom?” He runs to the door and down the hall, leaving me alone. “Mom!”

  I race to the living room. Sally is lying on the floor, sobbing. Henry is on his knees, bent over her.

  “Mom!” he says. “What is it?”

  Sally doesn’t answer, just sobs and sobs into the carpet. Her huge body heaves up and down. I’ve never seen Henry hug Sally before but now he’s hunched over her, holding her.

  “What is it?” he keeps saying.

  “William,” she finally manages. “My William!”

  Henry turns to me but I don’t know what to do.

  “Who’s William?” Henry asks quietly.

  Sally sobs louder.

  “Your father’s name!” she wails. It was William! Bill!”

  Henry’s face falls. Sally always refused to tell Henry anything about his dad. She said it was too painful and that they had to move on.

  Henry looks at me, confused. I feel my mouth hanging open. I shake my head.

  No.

  That’s all I can think.

  No. Impossible.

  Sally lifts her face to Henry. Her mascara is smudged all down her cheeks. Large streaks of hair have fallen out of the bunnish thing she has it in. They’re soggy with tears. I’ve seen Sally cry over her soaps plenty of times, but nothing like this.

  Henry turns from me, to Sally, and back to me. His mouth hangs open, too. And I know what he’s thinking. What it means if our dads are the same person. My heart twists in my chest.

  “It couldn’t be,” I say.

  Sally sobs harder and hides her face in Henry’s neck.

  “It’s just a coincidence!” I’m crying now, too. Almost choking.

  Henry looks at me helplessly as he tries to hold Sally’s head up.

  “I have to go,” I say. Fear rises up in my throat, and I know I’m going to throw up. “I have to go.”

  I leave them there, on the floor, and run.

  chapter nineteen

  It’s pouring rain out, and dark. My flip-flops squish as I run through the wet, stepping in puddles. I slip and the plastic cuts between my toes. I kick them off and run barefoot until I reach my house.

  The lights are on in the kitchen but nowhere else. I wait on the porch to catch my breath, then sneak inside and upstairs.

  I don’t look at Gus’s door as I pass. I head straight for the bathroom, the window, the roof.

  The asphalt shingles dig into my bare knees as I crawl to my mom’s spot. The rain is lighter under the leaves, but it still drips down on me, mixing with my own tears.

  They’re wrong. It’s ridiculous! This isn’t a soap opera. Things like this don’t happen in real life!

  But the look on their faces makes it feel real. And if it is, then it all comes back to me again. If I didn’t exist, everything would be better. If I’d never been born, they’d be a happy family. Henry would know how to fish. Sally would have her perfect man. My mom would have graduated from high school, gone to college, and escaped. Gus c
ould have lived in peace.

  If I’d never been born, everyone I know would be better off. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. It’s just a fact.

  I imagine Henry and his dad fishing happily while Sally sits in the bow of their own rowboat. They are a family. I imagine my mom going to college and getting together with Claire in some other state, far away from Gus. I imagine Gus living in the house. Alone, but content to be that way. Maybe he would have friends over to play cards and share his wine with. Maybe the whole end of his life wouldn’t have been spent fighting with my mom and helping to take care of me.

  I lean back on the roof, letting the wet shingles seep through my shirt.

  There’s thunder in the distance and a shock of lightning far off. I can’t remember the rule for counting and figuring out how far away the storm is. I will it to come closer and blast me.

  The rain slips down the roof and pools around me, cold and soaking. My head aches. A crack of thunder claps again. Louder. The rain gets stronger. I slide a few inches down the slippery shingles. The darkness below me looks bottomless. If I just pick up my legs and let myself slip …

  “Beany!” My mom’s voice is louder than the thunder. “What the hell are you doing out there!” She’s halfway out the bathroom window, squinting at me as the rain splatters.

  I don’t move. I don’t acknowledge her. I just peer down at the inviting darkness.

  “Beany!” she yells again.

  I look up at the leaves on the tree—small, dark hands blocking out the sky.

  “Bean, you get in here right now! You’ll get electrocuted!”

  I turn away from her. For the first time in my life, I know where the word heartache comes from. Everything hurts. Everything’s wrong. Who cares if I get electrocuted? They’ll all be better off if I simply let myself slip down over the side of the roof into the nothing.

  There’s a rustling and a “hummph” as my mom heaves herself through the window.

  “Stay away!” I yell through the rain.

  “Come inside!”

  “No! You left this place to me, remember?”

  “I didn’t mean when it’s pouring rain and thunder and lightning, for Christ’s sake!” She pulls herself out the rest of the way and crawls across the roof.

  “Are you crying?” she asks.