Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel (21 page)

“You’re sure,” he said. “And I’m sure too—that you’re a liar. Remember, Natalie, words are just warm sounds that come out of your pretty little mouth.”

The sky was darker now, and Natalie cried some more. “We can make it. We can make it if we both want it, I know it,” she said. Tears rolled down her face and dripped onto the front of her uniform.

“Maybe I am a liar, by nature,” she said, “but I don’t lie anymore. We can all learn to resist our natural inclinations.” She took his hand and pressed it against her belly. He didn’t pull away. “I wasn’t with anyone but you around the time I got pregnant. I’ll pay for the test if that will convince you. You said you wanted a child, well, now you have one. Not that I planned it. You say you dreamed all your life about having a family. Even if you reject me, you can’t reject him. It’s up to you to decide how much of his life you want to be in. But he’s yours, alright, and I’m due soon.”

Lock stared, his hand lingering on her belly. He looked at her nametag. “I thought you hated it when people called you ‘Nat.’”

“I do,” she said, straightening out the tag. “But that’s what they gave me. I accepted it and didn’t say a word. The old me wouldn’t sit still for that. But I do tell the regulars to call me Natalie.”

Lock looked her in the face, then leaned down and pressed his ear against her belly. He listened for a long moment. He thought he could hear the heartbeat, and then, something poked him in the cheek. He stood straight up, with just a hint of a smile.

“Abby,” he said, looking through the car window toward the old man. “I think I felt him kick.”

Abby grinned.

“He’s a little soccer player, alright,” Natalie said. “Keeps me awake half the night. I play music for him and I swear it calms him down right away.”

“What does he like?” said Lock.

“Definitely not hip-hop or show tunes,” she said. “Mostly Bob Dylan. Sometimes B. B. King.”

That caught Lock’s attention. They were two of his favorite musicians. He couldn’t recall ever telling her that. They hadn’t listened to much music together.

“Don’t tell me to go to hell, Lock,” she said. “Meet me for coffee. Let’s talk. Hear what I have to say.”

“What are you going to say that you haven’t just said?” Lock asked. “No thanks, Natalie. Let it rest in peace. And I doubt the baby’s mine.”

“He is yours. It’s biologically impossible that he’s anyone else’s. And a simple test will prove it.”

Abby cleared his throat. “Go ahead, son, meet her. Go see what she has to say. You do need to know if he’s yours to have a conversation.”

“Abby, please, keep out of this.”

“You might be interested to hear,” Abby said, “that after Natalie got out of prison, she called me. We’ve grown to know each other in the last couple of months. You know I’m a pretty good judge of character. I think she’s learned her lesson. And she’s not a bad cook.”

Lock was stunned. She was an even better liar than he thought, or age was catching up to Abby.
No way has she changed. Not possible.

“Please, Lock,” Natalie said. “We loved each other.”

“You loved me? I loved you. You loved what I could do for you.”

“Don’t you owe it to that family you’ve always wanted?” she asked.

Lock stared off in thought. Was she making sense, or was she conning him? Again. He didn’t know. In the end, he agreed to meet just to get away from her. He didn’t know how she had fooled Abby, but he knew he couldn’t stand in the street for another minute.

When Abby drove away, Natalie waved, but Lock just looked straight ahead at the road before him.

Lock let forty miles pass before he spoke. “There was this tree outside the fence, a white ash. The guards cut the lower branches off so no one could use them to escape, you know? But the high ones hung over the yard, the part of the yard I used to exercise in, and I could see the tree from my cell, too. That was good. I’d look out every morning and every day, and that ash would be there, and I knew soon enough I’d be outside the fence too.”

Lock reached into his shirt pocket and carefully pulled out a brittle red-and-green leaf. “The leaves used to fall into the yard. You can use them to stop mosquito bites from itching, so that was a good thing. Lots of mosquitoes this year, or that’s what it seemed like.”

He held the leaf up so Abby could get a look at it. “This is the last one I kept. I had it pressed in a box jammed full of letters I had received, but it still got a little beat up. It was perfect, though, perfect shape, and how the colors are all there—green shading to orange and then red. Just, you know, a perfect example of something nature gives us. That’s what I like about it.”

Abby took a good look at the leaf and nodded.

“I don’t know why I told you that,” Lock said. He took a deep breath. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“That’s an easy one, boy. Go meet her. Tomorrow, noon, Main Street café, like you agreed.”

Lock carefully put the leaf back in his pocket. Darkness fell and no one spoke for a while. Lock drank in his new freedom.

“There are very few right angles out here, out in the world,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” said Abner.

“Compared to inside the walls, I mean,” said Lock. “Everything in prison is constructed of right angles. The cell, the bars on the cell. You walk down a short hallway, and you have to turn right or left. There’s nothing circular, and nothing that goes straight for very long. All these right angles you’re forced to adapt to. It makes your mind think in right angles. Everything is right or left, yes or no, up or down, on or off. I couldn’t think abstractly in prison.”

“Not quite following you, son,” said Abby. “But whatever you went through, it’s behind you. Unless you drag it around in your head. It’s up to you.”

Abby drove only a bit faster than the posted speed limit, but as he made his way down the road, his car drifted slightly out of its lane.

“Maybe you’re getting a little tired, Abby,” Lock said. “I’m itching to drive. Pull over, would you?”

“I’m fine,” said Abner.

“Well, if you start to feel weary, let me know. I haven’t driven in almost half a year.”

The image of Lock’s cell flashed in his head. The cot, the sink, a few prison-approved toiletries on a stainless steel shelf, and a small stack of books and magazines. And besides the world’s thinnest pillow, not much else. Then he looked around the car and into the backseat. The cabin of the vehicle was smaller than his cell, but to Lock, it offered much more freedom.

Abby cleared his throat as if he were about to say something, but he remained silent.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you see in her,” Lock said. “You’ve read all the police and D.A.’s reports, the psychiatric evaluation, and you know what she did to me. She must have hypnotized you or something. Or she’s gotten you to fall in love with her.”

Abby glanced over at Lock, who was staring straight ahead at the road. “I’m too old for romantic love, and I know it. She hasn’t fooled me. I feel for her. She’s just a mixed-up human being.”

“You could say that about most everyone in prison.”

“I could say that about almost everyone walking down the street, too, and I’d be right,” said Abby. “She’s got her own story, like all the rest of us do, Lock. She’s no better or worse than anyone else. As I always say, we are our choices, and hers were inexcusable. But I made worse when I was younger. And yours weren’t anything to crow about, either.”

“I know all that. But what I don’t understand is how you could—”

“Befriend her?”

“Yes.”

“That’s another easy one, son. As you know, in AA we say the only requirement for membership is the desire to stop drinking. So when Natalie called me, I expanded that philosophy a bit and decided that the only requirement for me to help her would be her desire to grow into being a better person. And I absolutely believe that’s what she wants.”

“I don’t know, Abby. She’s a genius at manipulation.”

“We drunks all have our doctorates in manipulation. She’s not unique in that.”

“Well,” said Lock. “Just be careful. You know the scorpion and the frog story?”

Abby shrugged. “Enlighten me.”

“Okay,” said Lock. “One summer afternoon, a scorpion and a frog meet on the bank of a stream. The scorpion asks the frog to carry him across to the other side. The frog says, ‘How do I know you won’t sting me?’ The scorpion says, ‘Because if I do, I’ll die too.’ That makes sense to the frog, so he agrees. Midstream, however, the scorpion stings the frog in the neck. So the frog asks the scorpion, ‘Why? Why would you do that? Now we’re both going to drown.’ The scorpion shrugs and says, ‘Because, my friend, that is my nature.’”

Abby said nothing for a beat, then spoke up. “Natalie has a heart and a higher power, son, and you can’t necessarily say the same for a scorpion.”

Now it was Lock’s turn to be silent.
I hope you’re right, Abby,
he thought.
But probably you’re just like the frog and you can’t see it.

Abby pulled into the driveway at Lock’s carriage house. Lock had used his savings to keep the place while he was away. Lock leaned over and gave him a hug of gratitude. Lock picked up Natalie’s envelope filled with letters and got out to get his box from the back.

“See you in the morning at the six thirty meeting,” Lock said, leaning in through the open door.

“How’s that make you feel?” Abby said.

“How’s what make me feel?”

“Tomorrow will be the first time you’re at the Hang-About since the last time.”

“Since the morning I overdosed?”

“Yes. Since then.”

“It will feel fine, like being home again. I’m looking forward to it. I’ve been looking forward to it for almost six months.”

“Okay, then. Don’t oversleep. I’ve been coming here every couple of weeks as agreed to start your car for you, so don’t use a dead battery as an excuse not to show up.”

“I know. I appreciate it. And when was the last time I ever tried to duck a meeting?”

Abby nodded. “Okay, you’re right. You’ll be there, bright and early.”

“I guess the coffee is still terrible,” said Lock.

“Then come with a Starbucks in hand if you’ve developed a gourmet attitude, now that you’re used to all that excellent prison coffee.”

“Good night, Abby. Thanks for picking me up. Literally and figuratively.”

Lock stood in the driveway and watched the red lights of Abby’s car pull away. He looked up at the stars, took a deep breath of the chilly air, and climbed the stairs to his apartment.

Inside, Lock’s first instinct was to light a fire in the wood-burning stove and burn Natalie’s envelope. He put his box of things down and then had a bad feeling. He had been holding the box tight against his chest while he fiddled with the lock, and when he reached for the leaf, he found it broken into a dozen pieces.

He took the biggest pieces and reassembled them on the coffee table. He looked at the puzzle he had made for a minute. Then he looked at the envelope Natalie had left him.

What if the baby really is mine? What if I’m tied to Natalie for the next twenty years? Shouldn’t I at least read what she wrote? Shouldn’t I give her a chance to explain herself?

Lock placed the envelope on his kitchen table, went into his bedroom, and immediately fell asleep, fully dressed, on the most comfortable bed he’d ever felt.

30

As Lock drove to the café to meet Natalie, he couldn’t keep his mind off of one thing—her bulging belly.

Whose baby was she carrying? If he knew beyond a doubt that the boy was his, well, that would change everything. He’d put up with anyone to have a son—or a daughter. Pink or blue, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest.

Lock had imagined he would intentionally arrive a half hour late to his meeting with Natalie, just to show her he wasn’t over-anxious to see her, but on second thought he decided that would be childish.

He was at least pleased to realize he’d continued to think of it as a meeting rather than a date. He’d stay in control of his feelings if he saw it that way. Part of him wanted her back, and another part thought she was shallow, gorgeous, psychotic, ruthless, and driven to get anything denied her, all at once. That was what this might be about. Maybe she wanted him now because she thought she couldn’t have him.

He had dreamed of prison the night before, of his cell and the yard and then the tree beyond the fence. Natalie’s snake tattoo had been in the dream, too, and the snake was wound around the base of the tree. He didn’t remember any more, but he had been wondering all morning if she still had the tattoo. It had been henna, not permanent, and she had told him it needed to be reapplied every three or four weeks. If she’d changed as much as she claimed, he guessed that the tattoo was long gone. It had been a symbol of her darker side.
It’s her nature
, he thought.

When Lock drove up to the café, he wasn’t surprised to see a very pregnant Natalie already there, waiting out front. She was dressed as usual—an ankle-length sweater most likely covering shorts and a colorful t-shirt that he figured would accommodate her bulging belly. Her toes didn’t disappoint, either. They were bejeweled and sparkling.

“I have to admit, I thought I might get stood up,” she said, walking toward him.

For the second time since he’d known her, Lock saw that she wore makeup.

“I might have canceled,” he said, “but I wouldn’t have stood you up. I don’t do things like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t. I guess I’m a little paranoid when it comes to what you think of me. Thank you for coming. It means everything to me.”

“Let’s get a table,” he said.

He held the door for her and they entered the café. It was crowded, but not too noisy. Natalie spotted two teenagers leaving a booth and claimed it immediately by putting her bag on the table. The previous occupants didn’t bother cleaning off their debris. Natalie picked up two cardboard take-out coffee cups and a sandwich wrapper and threw them into a receptacle before sitting down, struggling to fit her belly between the seat and the edge of the table.

“I’m used to clearing tables now,” she said.

Lock slid in and sat opposite her. He realized now how uncomfortable he’d been the day before when she’d surprised him at the prison gate.

“What do you want, Lock?” she asked, rising with some effort. “I’ll go order it. I’m having decaf. Iced tea for you, as usual? Even though it’s freezing out?”

“You’re a good waitress,” he said. “I half expect you to whip out an order pad and write it down. I bet you charm some big tips out of your customers. Yes. With lemon.”

“I was a waitress long before I met Witt,” she said. “Remember, I grew up poor in Jersey City.”

“Then you got rich in Red Cedar Woods,” he said. “My mother was a waitress, too.”

She nodded. “I was an actress and living that life was playing a part. Poor growing up, burning to be rich. Cause and effect, Lock. I was infatuated with the idea of living a life of luxury. Witt bought me that Mercedes two months after we started dating—and he put the title in my name.”

She took a breath and touched her belly.

“He’s kicking,” she said. “You know, my parents worked every day of their lives and were never able to put two nickels together. Now they’re retired on social security and have nothing else. When I was with Witt, I’d send them money every month, sometimes a thousand, sometimes fifteen hundred. Snuck it out of the allowance he gave me when things were okay between us. Now I can’t send them a dime, but they’re fine anyway. Especially when they get to see the girls.”

Lock hadn’t known that. He had always imagined her spending those thousands a month on herself.

The moment Natalie stood up to get the beverages, Lock slid to the end of the bench and placed both of his hands on her stomach. He didn’t look up at her face.

“He’s not kicking now,” he said.

“Maybe not this second, but he’s been at it all morning.”

Natalie walked away. She was gone a few minutes. Lock tapped his car keys on the table. She arrived carrying the coffee and iced tea and placed his drink in front of him.

“I don’t want to be crude, Natalie,” Lock said. “But exactly what do you want to talk about? I’m basically here so I don’t disappoint Abby, who’s strangely gung-ho on you.”

“Whatever got you here is fine with me. It’s up to me to get you to stay.”

“I have to be out of here by a quarter to one. I have a dentist appointment,” he said.

“Okay. Then I’ll get right to it,” she said. “Did you read my letters?”

“No, but I didn’t burn them, either, and I don’t see the point of tearing open a wound that’s barely healed.”

“Thanks for not destroying them, at least. Maybe you’ll read them someday.”

“Anything’s possible.”

Lock kind of liked the idea of being pursued by the woman who’d broken his heart and cheated on him. He was trying to get himself to feel sorry for her, but it wasn’t working. She was still too in control, despite what Abby might think, to let herself get frantic over anything. In the midst of everything falling apart, she kept cool. Wasn’t cool defined as grace under fire? When the judge had sentenced her to six months at Dauphin County, she had just smiled and thanked him. It could have been much worse, she knew. Her lawyer had warned her that a year or two of incarceration wasn’t out of the question.

“You’re all I have, Lock,” Natalie said. “Actually, that’s not totally true. I have my parents and I have the girls. And it’s true I want you. But more than that, I need you. Disturbing experiences change people, sometimes for the worse, sometimes for the better. I’m one of those who’s changed for the better. And I’m continuing to grow.”

“I’ve changed too,” he said. “And one thing that’s changed is that I’m not so gullible.”

“I need more gratitude and more humility in my life,” she said. “And I work on that every day. One thing I learned in group therapy is that if I have the capacity to be honest, I’ll get better, and that’s happening. I’ve stopped being so hypercritical. Except when it comes to me. I’m too harsh on myself. I need to work on that. And I want to go to meetings with you.”

“You don’t drink, Natalie,” Lock said. “And you don’t take drugs, at least as far as I know. I admit I don’t know as much about you as I thought.”

“I used to drink a lot,” she said. “Drinking and drugging are addictions, and we’re all addicts of something or other. A substance, a way of thinking, a behavior. So, I never want to drink again, and the only requirement for membership in AA is the desire not to drink. I qualify right there.”

“Another thing you don’t know about meetings—there’s a lot of talk about a higher power, God, and I know that won’t sit well with you.”

“Just so you know,” she said, “I’ve already gone to a handful of AA meetings, some with Abby. And I like them just fine. Two women there invited me out to lunch. I didn’t follow up with them yet, but I will. And Abby and I talked about the God thing. He said it bothered him, too, until someone told him that in AA, God stands for Group Of Drunks. When you look at the wisdom you get from the people at the meetings, it makes sense.”

Natalie winced. She put her hand on her belly.

“You know more about me than you realize,” she said. “I want to go to meetings because there’s a lot to be learned there. Abby’s right when he calls it the greatest show on earth. You hear some funny stories, and some heart-breakers, too. And a lot of them have happy endings. I want to attend meetings with you so we can grow together. Abby’s been going for thirty years, and he says he learns something new every day.”

“Abby goes to meetings because he likes to socialize,” he said.

“That’s bullshit. Maybe he likes to socialize, but he goes for the wisdom, too. He says it keeps him green.”

“You seem to be quoting him a lot. Didn’t you once call him an old goat?”

“That was before I knew him. He’s quotable, what can I tell you? He’s an amazing man. He’s full of love and experience and he’s nonjudgmental. He’d have to be to put up with me.”

“He wasn’t always that way.”

“I know that,” she said. “And so does he. He knows how he’s hurt people, but that was long, long ago. All he can do now to make amends is live right, help others, and stay sober.”

Lock sipped his iced tea, and Natalie stirred her coffee while toying with a napkin. A rush of customers entered and the café got noisier. Natalie and Lock leaned in slightly to better hear each other. His hand rested on the table, and Natalie put hers on top of it. He let her hold his hand for a few seconds before sliding it out from under in order to pick up his glass. She left her hand where it was.

“You wanted to talk about us, Natalie.”

“I don’t know where to start,” she said. “I don’t want to babble. I was so afraid you wouldn’t meet me.”

“Well, I’m here, and we only have another half hour. Speak your mind.”

“I want to talk about building a relationship and a genuine emotional connection, but there’s something else that has to come out now,” she said. She twirled her napkin on the table and looked into Lock’s eyes.

“This is a horrible place to start,” she said, “but here goes. In all of my life, from the day I lost my virginity until the last time I was in bed with a man—you—I’ve never been able to make an emotional connection before, during, or after sex. And until now, that was fine with me. It had always been about the physical sensation, the power, the orgasm. But recently, ever since Abby told me they moved up your release date, I’ve been thinking about you, and sex with you, and how one-dimensional I’ve been in bed. I was goal-oriented, and didn’t care how I got there. But it’s different now, and my feelings aren’t theoretical, they’re specifically directed toward you, Lochlan Gilkenney. Toward you. Not anyone else. I want more from you. I want more from us. I’ve never seen the possibilities before, but I can see them now. Clear as day.”

Lock sipped more iced tea. “Listen, Natalie,” he said, “I’m here because Abby wanted me to hear you out. But it’s also true I still have feelings for you—maybe they’re even stronger than I’d like to admit. And I can believe you’re recovering from whatever your problems were. But that doesn’t mean we should be together, and it doesn’t mean we’d be good for each other. Look at how much trouble we got into before. We broke a hundred laws and we saw to it that Dahlia got hurt. That was pretty sick.”

“Those are the negatives,” she said. “Forgive, but don’t forget—play it that way. And keep in mind, there are positives, too. We’re both damaged people who’ve survived. We’re stronger for it. See the past as winter and the present as spring. Now we can thrive. You’ve always wanted to be a father and have a family. Whether you believe me or not, this baby is yours. Funny, but it doesn’t matter if you believe me. I wish you would, but I understand why you might not. But anyway, he’s yours, and now is as good a time as any to start thinking about names.”

“Baby names?” he asked, his eyes opening wide. “Isn’t that getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Listen, Lock. I understand your lack of enthusiasm about getting together with me again. I’d hesitate, too. But I think you may be in a little bit of denial about how your life is about to change. In a month or so, you’re going to have a baby. You need to get that into your head.”

Natalie reached into her handbag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She slid it across the table. He took it and unfolded it.

“It’s a sonogram from my ultrasound,” she said. “That grainy picture is your son at almost seven months.”

Lock stared at the image. It took his breath away. He felt his heart pound.

“I think he looks just like you.” She laughed. “And while you’re letting that sink in, there’s something else.”

Lock, still lost in thought, looked at the image of what might be his son, barely paying attention to Natalie.

“Do you know what Lamaze classes are?” she continued. “They’re birthing classes that help pregnant women and their partners understand and prepare for the whole process of being pregnant and giving birth. Breathing techniques, exercises, what to expect during labor, everything. You’re supposed to go during the last trimester. I signed up and I’ve already gone to one…”

“And…?” he asked, finally glancing up.

“… and I’m the only woman in the class without a partner.”