Blue Plate Special (22 page)

Finally, her arms lift and land, tightening around my shoulders.

My grandmother hugs me back.

“L
ook,” the police officer says
, “this woman says she’s Leona Fitch, but she doesn’t have any ID. She claims you’re her daughter and you can verify that she lives here at fourteen and a half Center Street.”

People gather below the streetlight.

“What are you staring at?” I yell. It feels good to get angry. Freeing. Like something knotted tight inside me has loosened.

I check my watch—it’s close to ten—and turn to my mother. “I need to go someplace. Where’s the car?”

She doesn’t answer.

I glare at her—at the dry cracks in her lips, the uneven pencil lines drawn above her eyelids, the mascara chunks perched on her lashes. “I asked you something. Where’s the goddamn car?”

“Mad’line”—she pouts—“that’s notta nice way to talk to yer mother.”

“Too bad. I’m through with nice. Nice is for people who don’t mind getting walked on. Nice is for losers who take seventeen friggin’ years to see what’s right in front of them. You don’t care about me. Why should I care about you?”

The policeman folds his arms. “Miss, please. We haven’t got all night. Are you this woman’s daughter? Are you Madeline Fitch?”

The people under the streetlamp crowd closer.

My rage eats a hole through my stomach. I turn to my mother and holler, “You can screw up your own life all you want, but you’re done screwing with mine. Do you understand?” I grab her arm. Roughly. “Now, listen to me. I have to go somewhere. To check on someone. Someone who matters to me. So tell me, where’s the fucking car?”

“Look,” the cop says, “you’re not gonna be driving anywhere in the car this woman was operating. There’s been an accident. Your mother—if we can determine that’s who she is—was at fault. She ran a red light and hit a pickup truck broadside. Totaled both vehicles. Now we need your cooperation.”

Horrified, I shrink back. “Was anyone…
hurt?”

He clears his throat, lowers his voice. “A young man—the other driver—was rushed to the hospital.”

“Will he be okay?” I ask.

“I can’t release any information about his condition at this time.”

More people gather to gawk at us. There must be twenty of them now.

“Go home and watch
The Love Boat!
” I shout, waving my hands in the air.

They step back, afraid. I feel powerful.

But then the cop reaches out, as if he might restrain me. He probably thinks I’m a nutcase like my mother. So I act normal. I tell him what he needs to know. “Her name is Leona Fitch,” I say calmly. “She’s not supposed to drive because of her DWIs. That’s why she didn’t have a license with her. It was revoked.”

I glare at my mother, penetrating her cloudy gaze. I hate those
eyes. I hate all they don’t see. All they’ve never seen. Like me. The person she gave birth to. Her daughter.

The cop tugs my mother’s arm, directing her back down the steps toward the cruiser. He holds the door open and motions her in. After closing it, he turns to me. “Miss, your mother will be spending the night in jail. Will you be all right here alone?”

I want to tell him,
I’ve been alone my whole life.
But I don’t. I’ve behaved badly enough. “I’m fine. My boyfriend’s on his way here to pick me up.”

“Well, give him some extra time,” the officer says. “Traffic’s tied up for miles on account of the accident.”

I swallow hard. “It’s that bad?”

He nods. “’Fraid so.”

My mother watches me through the window. She’s crying, and her mascara’s running.
I’m sorry,
she mouths, over and over.

Except I don’t care that she’s sorry. And I don’t care that she’s crying. I hope they keep her in jail so long she rots. Dissolves to dust. Disappears. Because my mother doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is telling Tad I’m pregnant so he can ask me to marry him. He’ll be a wonderful daddy and I’ll learn to be a mom. That part scares the hell out of me, but with Tad’s help I’ll figure it out.

As I walk toward the apartment, a song pops into my head—“Desiree,” by Neil Diamond. It played on the radio the night Tad and I made love at his trailer while his dad was working—the one time he didn’t use a rubber. The time I must’ve gotten pregnant. I decide that’s what I’ll name my baby if it’s a girl. I place my hands on my stomach. “Desiree,” I whisper, “your daddy will love you, just like he loves me. He’ll make sure we’re happy.”

An owl hoots in a nearby tree. I’ve never heard a real owl before, only a TV owl. I tell myself it’s a sign.

Inside, I lock the door to our apartment, glancing outside the window one more time. The sidewalks are empty now. The night is glued together again. Solid and dark. Life will finally work out. Because Tad loves me and he wants a family. I plan to give him everything he wants. Everything will be fine.

Just as soon as he arrives.

after we leave ariel

with jeremy’s dad,

we drive to a bar in vestal

that doesn’t card.

jeremy has a shot of tequila

and follows it up with a beer.

i order a glass of white wine.

we find a table in the corner,

next to a pac-man machine.

when i lean my elbow

on the table, it wobbles,

so jeremy props

a book of matches

underneath one of its legs.

that’s jeremy in a nutshell—

the one who makes the wobbling stop.

i pray he can make it stop now,

in this moment we teeter on the edge of,

and the one that will come after that,

because what i am about to tell him

could change our whole life as we know it.

i take a deep breath,

pull my chair closer to his

and lean into his shoulder.

you’re shaking,
he says,

looping an arm around me.

i sip my wine.

actually, i gulp it—

three big swallows

that warm me up and

make my mouth feel loose

enough to say what it has to.

jeremy, i have to tell you something.

i know i should’ve told you sooner,

but that guy in wal-mart,

the one with my mother,

her boyfriend,

he—

he—

i can’t say it.

jeremy lights himself a cigarette,

then he lights a second one for me.

i haven’t smoked since the day

i told him i was pregnant.

i’m tempted,

but i shake my head no.

he what?
jeremy asks.

something happened,
i whisper

the day I got a ride from him,

and again,

after the harvest dance.

he—he forced me to have sex.

i tried to stop him,

but i couldn’t.

jeremy
—i start to cry—

he got me pregnant.

jeremy presses his hands

together like he’s praying.

he balances his chin on his fingers.

staring into space, his eyes fill.

is he ariel’s father?

i reach for his hand, but he pulls away.

jeremy, you’re the only father

ariel has ever known.

you’ll always be her daddy.

that will never change.

sadness vanishes,

replaced by rage.

i mean biologically, desiree.

is that asshole her biological father?

my bones rattle.

if i were a building,

i’d implode.

i blink back tears.

yes.

jeremy swallows hard.

his adam’s apple

leaps up then plummets,

making a dry, scraping sound in his throat.

why didn’t you tell me before?

i wanted to, jeremy.

i kept hoping there’d be a right time,

but there never was.

then today,

when i saw them,

when i saw him—

jeremy walks to the bar,

orders two more shots,

slams the empties down so hard

i’m shocked the glass doesn’t shatter.

when he returns to our table,

the wobbling starts up again.

what’s his name?

larry murdock.

where’s he live?

i remember their matching gold bands.

at my mother’s, probably.

they’re married now.

sick fuck,
jeremy mumbles.

he stands, so i stand too.

i’m going alone
—he reaches for

the car keys—
wait here.

as he starts toward the door

i follow him anyway.

he whips around,

jaw clenched.

with fire in his eyes

and fire in his voice, he yells,

i said wait here!

then he’s out the door fast.

i watch through the window

as jeremy sprints toward our car,

watch as our green cricket kicks up gravel

as jeremy peels across the lot.

i find a booth in a back corner,

drink another white wine.

when someone drops a glass

i think of the plate

i broke my first day

working at the diner,

recall charlotte’s words,

as she shoveled shards into the trash:

relax, honey, it’s only a plate.

she was right, i should have relaxed

because look what’s broken now—

something that can’t be swept up and tossed.

my life.

jeremy’s

my baby girl’s.

shattered.

i stand,

shovel change

into a vending machine,

punch the buttons for an almond joy,

the first i’ve paid for.

when i reach to put

my wallet in my pocket

i see dr. stemple’s card again.

call me if you’re in new york.

i mean that, desiree.

i want to know how you’re doing.

glancing at the pay phone,

i tell myself,

you can’t call her now,

it’s too late.

but my feet move me toward it.

i pull out our long-distance card,

punch in numbers.

four rings.

then silence.

throat clearing.

hello?

my hands shake.

dr. stemple?

yes? who’s there?

um, it’s desiree.

you know, from the

clover diner in florida?

i’m sorry for calling so late.

you’re probably sleeping.

i—i—i start to cry.

desiree,

what’s going on?

where are you?

i wrap the phone cord around my finger,

pull until the tip turns blue.

in new york. vestal.

we—we had to come back

because jeremy’s mom’s

in the hospital and—and—

i’m drowning in a deluge of tears.

is she okay?

dr. stemple asks.

i don’t know.

i mean, that’s not why i’m upset.

i—i saw someone today.

someone i knew from

before we left new york.

i never wanted to see him again.

but i did.

and everything’s changed.

i’m so freaking scared.

desiree,

who are you talking about?

larry.

my mother’s boyfriend.

excepts he’s her husband now.

desiree, i’m not following you.

what does he have to do

with why you’re upset?

i turn my back to the bar,

whisper hoarsely,

before we moved to florida,

he—larry—he raped me.

the syllables scald my tongue.

i taste ash,

swallow hard,

bury the fire in my gut.

oh, desiree,

sweetie, i’m so sorry.

the words hurt to hear—

they’re the ones

i wish mam would have offered.

larry got me pregnant
, i continue.

except i never told jeremy.

not till tonight.

he just found out that ariel—

that she—

isn’t his baby?

she finishes.

yeah.

i feel like i’m going to die.

no, you’re not, desiree.

you’re going to be okay.

not in the next ten minutes,

but eventually.

please trust that. trust me.

your daughter is counting on you.

now, is jeremy there?

can i talk to him?

no. he took off.

i think he went to look for larry.

he’s been gone a long time.

where’s ariel?

at jeremy’s parents’ house.

good.

long pause.

here’s what we’re going to do.

you and i will stay on the phone

until jeremy gets back.

you shouldn’t be alone.

i nod.
okay.

what are you thinking?

that i screwed everything up.

i should have put ariel up for adoption,

given her a shot at a decent life.

she’d be better off without—

no, desiree!

you and ariel belong together.

no one will ever give her what you can.

she hesitates.

you’d regret losing her

for the rest of your life.

i grip the phone.

what are you saying?

desiree, i was pregnant in high school.

except i didn’t keep my baby.

i had my mind made up:

glenn and i would wait until

after college to have children.

but we were never given

the opportunity again.

she sniffs.

i’m sorry i upset you.

i shouldn’t have—

desiree,

she interrupts.

don’t gamble with things

you might never have a second chance on.

the jukebox cuts off.

the bartender yells,
last call!

the overhead lights flicker on

and the room goes white

as a bleached sheet.

i wince at the sudden brightness.

the place i’m at is closing now.

i have to go.

do you have somewhere to wait

until jeremy gets back?

i glance outside at a bus cage.

there’s a bench inside.

yeah. i mean, yes.

desiree, promise me you’ll call

as soon as you know something.

i promise, dr. stemple.

please. lee.

lee.

okay.

thanks.

bye.

i head outside,

duck inside the bus cage,

and wait.

i wait and wait and wait.

* * *

at two a.m. jeremy pulls to the curb.

he leans across the front seat,

pushing open the door on my side.

the dome light blinks on.

ariel’s in the back,

asleep in her car carrier,

eyelids pink as seashells.

our suitcases are beside her on the seat.

jeremy says,
get in! fast!

so i do.

i close my door

and the dome light cuts off,

a moon blackened from the sky.

what’s going on?
i ask him.

why is ariel with you?

jeremy doesn’t answer.

instead he checks his mirrors

before pulling away from the curb.

anyone following me?

i glance around.
no.

that’s when i notice

the blood on his shirt.

jeremy
—i touch his sleeve—

what is—how did—?

he pushes my hand away.

i’ll tell you when we

get on the highway.

ariel starts to stir,

then cry. i reach for her

and hold her close to me, saying,

mama’s baby girl, mama’s baby girl,

over and over and over.

* * *

jeremy drives the speed limit,

something he never does.

where are we going?
i beg.

can’t you at least tell me that?

jeremy check his mirrors again.

home.

home as in florida?

when he nods,

i’m so relieved

i almost forget

about the blood.

* * *

we drive without talking.

we’re a mile from the

pennsylvania border

when a police car speeds

to catch up with us—

siren screeching,

red lights slashing gashes

in the black fabric of the night.

shit, jeremy,

what the hell does he want?

jeremy flips on his signal,

pulls to the side of the road.

his head drops against

the steering wheel

and the horn blows.

when he sits upright,

the sound stops.

the silence is deafening.

jeremy feels for my hand,

closing it inside his own.

he stares ahead,

at the exit we should have taken.

remember, dez, i love you.

i’ll always love you. and ariel too.

don’t let her forget that, okay?

she’s my little girl now. all mine.

she’ll never have to look at

that fucking bastard again.

and neither will you.

he’ll never have

another chance to hurt you.

i choke on my sobs.

j—jeremy, w—what the hell

are you t—talking about?

the cop raps on the window