Exposed: A Novel (25 page)

Chapter 57
Ally

After we ruined Jessie’s romantic scavenger hunt with our argument about Sean and other women, we drove away in separate cars.

I called Mom to distract myself from thinking about Jessie. She picked up after the first ring.

“I didn’t think you would call,” she said.

Words hung from the tip of my tongue, but none were said.

“You have been talking to your father a lot now?”

“Have you been treated?” Last thing I wanted to talk about was the life of Allyson Graham. “What kind of cancer do you have?”

“I’ve got breast cancer. It’s treatable.” She paused. “They say the tumor is small and once it’s removed I won’t need any other treatment, but who knows.”

“Well, I’ll be praying for you. When will you have it removed?”

“Next week. But I think this might be it.”

“It? What do you mean it?”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it, Ally. I think the cancer has spread.”

“You’ll be okay, Mom.” I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. “Trust the doctors, they deal with cancer all the time. They know what they’re doing.”

“Not always,” she said. “Remember our old neighbor, Mrs. Lindell? She died of breast cancer when they thought they could get rid of it. Doctors don’t know everything. It’s just like the weather channel. Sometimes it’s wrong. They do their best, but sometimes they can’t predict everything right.”

“Mom, really, calm down. You will be fine.”

If she wasn’t known for her explosive panic I would’ve assumed her pity party was bait to jerk me back to her side, but no, she genuinely worried more than anyone I knew.

Finally, I convinced Mom to calm down and we hung up. She never brought up the incident and I didn’t care to either. I wasn’t ready to forgive or forget, so I played her game of ignorance and hoped I’d forget before I needed to forgive.

Jessie and I didn’t talk to each other much of the night. He cleaned the house from the laundry room to every toilet in the house while I wrote to God in our bedroom.

God, I don’t understand why everything had to go wrong at once. If you were trying to teach me something, couldn’t it have been in pieces? I’m trying the best I can, but the amount of baseballs flying at my face is insane.

Will I ever stop comparing myself to other women? Will you always throw porn stars in my path to make me remember what he did? Why didn’t you make her show up the next day when I wasn’t there? Why do I have to remember? Why can’t I forget everything, all of this, and move on?

What was the point of the porn star girl today? What is the point of Mom’s cancer? What’s the point of Jessie’s struggle? And my thoughts of Sean? What’s the point of all this negative, God? Where’s the peace? Where’s your goodness, faithfulness, and love? I don’t see it right now, in anything.

Have you abandoned me?

Jessie walked in the bedroom. I put my pen inside my journal and placed it on the table next to my side of the bed.

He undressed, turned the light off, and sunk into bed beside me. “Let’s live in the right now, not the past, not the future, just here, you and me, right now.”

I agreed.

Four months after Jessie turned off the lamp that night, I woke up alone, which would’ve been normal if it wasn’t 3:29 in the morning. The date—January tenth—is practically written on the back of my eyelids.

I rolled out of that bed like a snake crawled up my leg and walked to the door as fast and quiet as I could.

My hands shook as I turned the doorknob and lightly pulled the door open.

Jessie’s voice trailed up the steps and into my heart.

I can’t repeat the words he said. They’re the only words I’ve shut out of my heart and head forever. And I hope they stay that way.

When I realized what he was doing I sprinted down the steps, broke one of the cracked banister bars off on my way down, and stopped on the landing.

Jessie, on the couch, looked over his shoulder with the phone still attached to his ear, the girl’s voice on the other end still attached to his sexual gluttony.

Arms at my sides, fists clenched, I walked over to him, took his cell phone from his ear and said, “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can,” the sultry voice said.

“No, I can’t and neither can my husband.”
Click.

Jessie stood, looking like a five-year-old kid who stole candy from the grocery store.

“How could you?” I said. “Who is she?”

“She’s not real.”

“Humorous,” I said, without a laugh. “Who is she and why is she better than me?”

“It’s just”—he cleared his throat—“uh, I called a 900 number.”

Hands in his pockets, he looked down and nodded his head.

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’re not mad?”

“Of course I’m mad, but I can’t believe you actually bought that.”

“I don’t think it’s real, but I justified it because I thought it wasn’t as bad as porn since I wasn’t looking at anything.”

I climbed over the back of the couch and sat cross-legged on the cushions in front of Jess. “Not as bad as porn? You were physically talking to another woman.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t real.”

“That’s what you always say. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s all a fantasy. Okay. If it’s all fake then what is so alluring about it? Can’t you get over it already? Why don’t you want to have sex with me?” I looked at my swollen belly. “It’s the pregnancy, isn’t it?” I smiled. “Look at the bright side, I’m a little bigger now, more curvy like you like.”

Jessie closed his eyes. “I like you the way you are.”

“Okay.” I stood. “Then prove it.”

Chapter 58
Taylor

The orange-lit gas pump in my dashboard quickly became my enemy. I assumed I had ten miles or so left before the car ran out of gas. So I decided to do two things.

First, I drove to the nearest church, a St. Something Epiosiotical church—at least that’s what I called it—and walked up to the front of the building. It wasn’t a Sunday so I figured not many people would be around, but I hoped someone would be.

The front doors, wood painted red with black trim, were locked, so I walked around the side to find another door. A sign pointed to a rectory or something. I followed its arrow.

The doorknob clicked and opened as I twisted.

A strong powdery smell, like the perfume of an old woman, filled my nose. I sneezed and walked in, shutting the door behind me. When I looked up I saw an older lady with orange hair high on her head.

She put a tissue on the edge of her desk and pointed to it. “You didn’t cover your nose when you sneezed.”

“Um, I’m sorry, I was wondering if, um.”

She pushed the tissue toward me. “Yes?”

“I kind of need help.”

“Kind of? What sort of help are you inquiring about?”

“I need money.”

She stared at my body. I could see her gaze stop at the length of my skirt and look back up to my stomach.

Layla kicked my hipbone. I jumped.

“I’m sorry,” the lady said. “You will need to come back later. There’s nothing of the sort we can do at this time.”

The phone rang. She answered it, pushed the tissue toward me again, and shooed me out the door like an unwanted critter.

Church seemed absolutely hopeless to me, so I tried my alternative. Please don’t judge me, I really had no other options.

Hungry, six months pregnant, and tired, I needed something to pay for gas and food and some sort of shelter.

I drove into Baltimore City the I-83 way, knowing I-95 would cost a toll I didn’t have, and went down one-way street after one-way street until I found what I needed. The Block on Baltimore Street. I knew enough about it to know I could get what I needed, hopefully. If porn used pregnant women, I figured prostitution would too.

I parked my car in a safe parking zone where I didn’t have to parallel park—I still didn’t know how—and turned off the ignition so I wouldn’t waste any more gas than I needed to. The sun hadn’t fully disappeared for the day, but the street felt so dark and cold that it seemed like the sun never shined its face there, but at the same time, it didn’t look as bad as I imagined.

The buildings, beautiful and historic, watched as cars drove by, lots of cars, so many I had to make sure I was on the right street. The neon lights, curved into the names of strip clubs and bars, reassured me. I came to the right place.

Layla twisted her body. I placed my hand on the top of my stomach and pushed her foot from my rib.

The glow of The Block waited for me. I didn’t think any of the clubs would want a pregnant girl, but maybe I could stand on a corner, make enough money to get through the last three months of my pregnancy, and go from there.

Prostitution had to be better than porn, I told myself. Nothing could be as bad as porn.

I looked at the dimmed gas pump on my dashboard and sighed.

Alone.

Chapter 59
Ally

The clock chimed. Four o’clock in the morning. Jessie didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Did you hear me?” I said.

“How do you want me to prove that I love you? You know I do.”

I walked behind the couch, toward the step landing. “You’ll figure it out.”

I went upstairs. Despite my pride for not firing angry bullets at his heart, my shoulders still pulled me down. I ran my hand along the railing, remembering the many counseling sessions I spent wondering why the woman across from me couldn’t handle her husband’s struggle with lust. It’s his problem, not yours, I’d say in my head, listening to her sobs.

But I didn’t feel the same now.

I went into the bedroom and reclined in bed.

I am the crazy woman, I thought. Losing my mind, comparing myself to women every day of my life, never measuring up, and being paranoid about everything Jessie does.

Staring at the ceiling, my mind carried me down a stream of smiles and tears from childhood until now.

I clicked on the light and picked up my journal, which never left my side, and started to write.

Dad left. Mom got married and her husband did a good job at keeping out of my life, even still. I didn’t seek attention from boys in school, like so many fatherless girls. I never questioned my value. Then I turned my face to Jesus and placed my life at His feet.

Now, here I am.

This doesn’t make sense, I thought. My life was never like the typical fatherless girl who seeks her value in the opinions of men and then flies off the track, gets married to the first guy who asks, and ends up in trouble.

I touched pen to paper again.

Did I really place my life at your feet, Jesus? Is that the problem? Do I seek affirmation from other things, maybe even myself, but not You?

Please, just help me fix myself and my marriage and everything.

I woke up the next day to an empty bed and a tiny person moving inside of me. Jessie and I chose not to find out the gender of the baby, but part of me wanted to know the baby’s name, bond with it in a deeper way, you know, maybe stop saying it. Sounded too Stephen King. I wanted a name.

Well, I thought as I rolled out of bed, he better prove himself today and continue to for a long, long time.

Down the stairs I went, hoping to find a thousand rose petals on the floor. I’m not saying it would have made any butterflies return, but at least it would have been a start.

The house, empty and cool, didn’t conceive hope. Quiet and still, everything remained untouched since last night.

Craving a tangy glass or three of orange juice, I went to the kitchen and reached in the fridge for the Tropicana carton.

Jessie’s handwriting caught my eye.

A note, taped to the orange juice box.

Don’t worry. I’m working on proving it. –Jess P.S. I knew you’d go for the OJ.

I poured a glass with the note still on the carton and wondered what he’d do to prove his love. Then I called my midwife and told her I’d like to schedule an ultrasound for this afternoon’s visit.

“Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll see you two later.”

We hung up and I called Verity.

“Can I come visit before my prenatal appointment today?” I said.

And of course she didn’t deny.

Verity’s house smelled like rotten apples.

I kicked my shoes off and lounged on her sofa. “What is that horrid smell?”

“What smell?” She sat down across from me and tucked her feet underneath mine.

“How can you not smell that?”

She shrugged. “So, what’s new with you? How’s staying at home going?”

I nodded.

“Nice, isn’t it?” She smiled.

“When are you getting a job?”

“Probably when Timmy boy settles in and we know for sure we’re staying in Maryland.” She leaned forward and touched my stomach. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m finding out today. Going to surprise Jess.”

“How is Jessie? Ah!” She jumped back. “The baby poked his hand out. I saw it.”

I shook my head and smirked. Verity placed her hand on my stomach again and we laughed.

“So, really, what are you gonna do about this whole porn shebang?” She pressed her lips together. “Um, no pun intended.”

“I’m trying. Honestly, I don’t know what to do. How do you not compare yourself to other women?” I rubbed my face. “Doesn’t it bother you if Tim thinks someone is prettier than you?”

“Eh, nah. I don’t think about it like that. That’s all fantasyland. If he needs that, whatever. I’m not gonna stop him, it’s just what men do. All of them.”

“You sound like Jessie. With the fantasy part, I mean.”

“Well, it’s true, Ally. Why do you care so much about what you look like anyway? Those models are all airbrushed to appeal to men in that fake way. It’s not real.”

“No, porn stars are different. They are real. And besides, he flat out told me tall blondes are more beautiful. Not to mention, it’s not right what you do. You know you don’t like it, but you give in because you can’t get him to stop. That’s not going to help the intimacy in your marriage. It’s going to deteriorate it. Maybe a slow death, but a death nonetheless.”

“Honestly, I don’t get anything out of it, but still. It’s not that big of a deal compared to what he could be doing.”

“Except that it could easily lead to worse things. Fantasyland can go wherever your fantasies take you. What if he decides one day that he wants to have another woman come into the bedroom?”

“He’s not like that. Look, you are beautiful. You’ve got beautiful hair, eyes, lips—what’s the big deal? Stop freaking out about those other women and just be yourself. He married you, not them.”

My hands moved from one side of my stomach to the other, keeping track of the baby’s position. “I just want to be the most beautiful woman to him. Not in the world, just to him. And I don’t want to be competing with these sexual fantasies.”

“So don’t.”

Hopeless. Somehow I thought she’d provide me with insight, you know, something wise, maybe a way to fix my stupid insecurities and stop thinking about other women so much. But of course she’s Verity. She doesn’t live based off feelings, and sometimes I wonder if she has any at all.

Our conversation, thanks to me, veered into another direction, a rather pointless direction. We talked about everything from moon bounces to orange popsicles, killing time until my next prenatal appointment.