OUTCAST: A Stepbrother Romance (27 page)

M
y dad started
to pace around us. He looked for an available policeman. He wanted to tell them what happened. He wanted them to act quickly before it was too late.

“
T
hey already called the divers
,” I told him. “They should be here soon.”

T
hat’s
what the police said. It should be true. They know what they’re doing. They’re experts when it comes to matters like this. They would find Nash. They would bring him back to us. They would provide for him the medical attention he needed. In an hour or two, we would be home, together... one big happy family... the way it was meant to be... the way it should be.

F
inn joined
us and we all spent the next three hours waiting. Aunt Susan was still inconsolable, regardless of how much we tried to tell her that the police were on the case and that they’d deliver Nash to us very soon.

M
ost of the
basketball players have left, but all of them approached us to share their prayers and show their support. Whatever we needed, they said, they’ll just be a text or a call away.

T
he area
where Nash was shot has been cordoned off, and investigators have flocked to the scene. They studied every inch of the field, gathering evidence that they deemed essential for the prosecution of the gang members. We loitered at the side of the building, waiting for someone to come to us, to inform us about what has happened to my brother.

I
t was
a little past one in the morning when a police officer finally met us.

“
A
ndrea Higgins
?” he asked.

“
Y
es
,” I answered.

“
A
nd you must be
her parents?” he turned his attention to my folks.

“
T
hat is correct
, yes,” my dad confirmed.

“
O
ur divers have searched
the river,” the police officer said and we all held our breath at the ray of hope that shone our way. “The coastguard has sent some men east and south of Placerville, as far east as Nevada and southeast as Yosemite Valley.”

T
hose were really far places
.

“
A
nd
?” Aunt Susan asked impatiently, the first word she spoke since I told her about Nash.

“
A
nd
...” the police officer strived to find the right words to say. He removed his cap, clutched it near his heart, and bowed his head.

O
h God
... please no...

T
hey’re the police
! It’s their job to save lives! It’s their job to save him!

“
A
nd what
?” Aunt Susan was hysterical. She stood up and started pounding on the police officer’s chest. She was crying once again, even more uncontrollably than before.

“
I
’m so
sorry Mrs. Higgins,” the officer sullenly said, “we will keep searching for the next 20 hours... but it doesn’t... it doesn’t look good.”

I
n the past month
, my world has crumbled and burned.

B
ut in that instant
... I realized that the worst kind of pain isn’t caused by what was around me. The worst kind of pain... the kind that I just know would linger and would never go away... the kind that not even eternity would be able to heal... is caused by the loss of something within me... something that I hold so dearly... something that I feel I couldn’t live without... something that I would never, ever want to go away.

I
n that instant
, I felt that a great part of me has died with the man I truly love.

T
wo days
after the funeral and I have yet to eat a single meal.

I
tried
to compel myself to get back to my normal eating habits. Grief wasn’t a reason to compromise my health, more so the health of my baby as I was six weeks into my pregnancy.

D
espite my constant reminders
, however, I just couldn’t force myself to eat. I just felt so bad. The emotional pain has made my body numb.

D
uring the wake
, many people from my school paid their respects. They took that opportunity to see how I was doing. I was touched by the support and kindness they showed.

I
’m so
sorry to hear about your brother, Andrea.

I
f you need anything
, anything at all, we’re just here for you.

I
can lend
you the notes for the classes you missed.

W
e’re just so relieved
that you’re safe.

S
omeone actually asked
about my pregnancy. I just changed the topic. I didn’t want anyone to hear. No one outside of school knew. I haven’t told my folks yet. It wasn’t the right time, considering the tragedy that my family was dealing with.

I
t’s quite heartwarming
to know, however, that the students in my school - the very same people who witnessed my humiliation during the Homecoming party, or at least
what I thought
was my humiliation - were actually concerned about me. All the while, I always believed that High School was a breeding ground for pretentiousness, where one can easily be judged for how cool or uncool her fashion sense was or how hip or unhip her preferences were. All the while, I thought that they have found a pariah in me, someone they can condemn and ridicule just to make them feel better about themselves.

A
ll the while
, I thought they were shallow.

B
ut it was
me who has been shallow for failing to realize that they were so much more than the stereotypes I painted them to be.

T
heir presence during the wake
, admittedly, alleviated a little bit of the sadness I was feeling.

A
little bit
.

B
ut the pain
of Nash’s loss was too much to bear.

A
unt Susan hasn’t really recovered
from the death of her son. I doubt if she ever will. She has barely started a conversation with any of us. The only words I have heard from her since that incident at Paydirt Drive were simple responses:
yes, okay, I’m fine, good night
. Dad worried about her so much that I started feeling afraid for his health. It’s been less than five years since he suffered from a mild stroke, one that forced him to quit smoking and to eat less fatty meat. The stress might take its toll on his body again.

H
is health
...

T
hat’s
the primary reason why I can’t push myself to tell them about my pregnancy. It was bad enough that I got knocked up. But if they... especially my dad... would find out that Nash is the father of my child, he’d get so mad and so disappointed. He won’t talk to me for weeks, if ever he’ll talk to me at all. I don’t think he’d disown me, but I doubt if our relationship will ever be the same again.

B
ut he had to know
, and soon.

A
rather loud
explosion jolted me out of bed that morning. I quickly put on my bathrobe and darted downstairs. My heart was pounding. I haven’t really fully recovered from the terror of my abduction and the tragic events that followed.

A
s I reached
the first floor of the house, I saw Aunt Susan sitting dejectedly on the chair by the dining table. My dad was throwing a fit, screaming and stomping his foot all over the place.

“
W
hat was that
?” I asked with concern. “I heard a boom.”

“
D
amn microwave just exploded
,” he said without even turning to face me. He kept on cussing - using the most PG terms imaginable, as my dad never really uses foul words - with his hands curled into fists as if he was looking for something to hit and vent his anger on.

“
W
as there
an electric surge or something?” I queried, trying to look for a possible cause.

“
N
one
,” he answered. “The damn thing just exploded. The stupid box chose the wrong f..f...f... freaking time!” He tried very hard not to say the other F word.

“
D
id
you put something metallic inside?” I questioned, persistent to know what really went wrong.

H
e didn’t answer
. His fists uncoiled, he stopped walking in circles like a madman, and his angry face mellowed down into a dumbfounded look. A couple of seconds passed by when he suddenly dashed towards the microwave oven to open its door. White smoke escaped from the enclosure, rising straight to my dad’s face. He coughed a little, as some of the smoke might’ve entered his nostrils. When the vapor cleared, he checked the plate inside the oven. His eyes widened, then, he slowly closed the door.

“
W
ell
, you’re right, genius,” he softly said as he faced me. “I guess I’m getting old. I forgot that the food was placed in an aluminum plate.”

I
just gave
him a smile to tell him that it’s alright.

“
N
ash fixed that oven
,” Aunt Susan surprisingly spoke, the first real sentence we’ve heard from her in days.

“
Y
es
, he did, dear,” my dad lovingly told her. He approached her and gave her a warm hug from behind, then he kissed the top of her head. She held his hand which was rested on her shoulder.

“
E
verything that Nash
fixed stayed fixed,” Aunt Susan longingly uttered. I didn’t know if she was talking to us or if she was just thinking aloud. “He’s very good with his hands.”

“
H
e is
, dear,” my dad once again agreed. “And he is a heroic and noble boy. A true man. A real man! Were it not for him, we would’ve lost Andrea too.”

“
I
just wish
...” Aunt Susan struggled to continue as tears threatened to fall from her eyes. “I just wish... I just wish there was a part of him that was left behind... something I could cherish and hold and love.... something that I could remember him by.”

M
y heart skipped a beat
.

W
hat was
Aunt Susan referring to?

W
hatever it was
, surely, that moment was the chance I’ve been waiting for to finally tell them about the child I was carrying.

“
L
ike a painting
or a greeting card or a letter?” my dad asked her, likewise confused by what she meant.

“
S
omething like that
,” she answered.

G
o Andrea
! Now or never!

“
A
ctually
...” I began to say, pausing as I tried to conjure enough bravery to tell them what I’ve always meant to reveal. “Actually... Nash left something more than just a piece of paper or paint on a canvass.”

A
unt Susan’s
eyes lit up like lightbulbs in the night. My dad looked at me, even more puzzled than before.

“
U
hm
...” I started to doubt whether or not I was making the right decision. “You see... uhm... well... uhm...”

A
unt Susan started gesturing
with her hands, egging me to speak whatever I had in mind.

“
W
ell
, get on with it,” my dad impatiently ordered. He never liked being left hanging.

“
U
hm
... I.... uhm....”

Y
ou’ll have
to tell them at some point, Andrea. Why not now? Right at this exact moment?

“
Y
ou see
...” I continued. “Well... dad? Mom?” I never called Aunt Susan
mom
, hence, she had that surprised look on his face... actually, it was more like a look of trepidation, as if she had a feeling that I was about to say something direly serious.

“
A
ndrea
... we don’t have all day,” my dad reminded me again.

I
took
a deep breath and decided to just blurt it out and get it over with.

“
I
’m pregnant
,” I told them.

A
s soon as
I said those words, however, I bowed my head as a great sense of shame overtook me. But before my eyes fell on the floor, I saw the expressions on their faces. Aunt Susan’s eyes widened even more and she was looking at me with her mouth open. My dad’s eyebrows met in the middle, his nose scrunched and his mouth formed a straight line... like he was trying his best to restrain his anger.

“
T
hat’s
... that’s... that’s very surprising, Andrea,” Aunt Susan responded. Somehow, I had a feeling that she didn’t have control over the words she spoke, that she just spilled the first words that came to her mind.

I
wasn’t looking
at them. But my dad’s silence said a lot about how he was feeling.

“
H
ow long has it been
?” Aunt Susan asked.

“
M
ore than a month
,” I answered, still looking at the floor. “Six weeks, to be exact.”

“
I
see
,” she replied. “But what does this have to do with Nash?”

I
didn’t answer
.

I
couldn’t
.

“
O
h
,” Aunt Susan uttered. She has connected the dots.

T
hen I heard
a chair crash on the floor as if it was pushed violently off its legs. I heard heavy footsteps marching towards the exit. I heard the loud sound of the door slamming as someone went out, walking away from our home, away from us... away from me.

I
opened
my eyes and looked up.

I
saw
Aunt Susan standing in front of me. She gave me a warm hug.

“
I
t’s okay
, dear,” she tenderly said as she gave my cheek a tepid kiss. “Your dad’s just upset. But it’ll be okay soon.”

“
H
ow soon
?” I asked worriedly. I feared for his health and his safety. He might be too mad that he might get himself in trouble out there. He might order one too many bottles to drink. He might get too drunk that he won’t be able to see the vehicles on the road. He might get...

“
I
don’t know
,” Aunt Susan answered, momentarily halting my thoughts. “But he will come to accept things, eventually. He has too. You’re his daughter... you’re his only child.”

I
rested
my head on her arm as I started to cry.

I
questioned
my decision to reveal my pregnancy at that time. Maybe it was too soon. It’s been just two days since we buried Nash. My dad has been worried sick about Aunt Susan. And I haven’t even reported back to school yet. My disclosure may have added more stress to my poor father, who has been dealing with a lot these days. He was the glue that held us together. He forced himself to be strong to carry us through the dark times we were experiencing.

“
H
ave
you gone to see a doctor?” Aunt Susan asked. I couldn’t see her face, but as she pressed her head on mine, I felt her lips curl into a smile. She was happy. How could she not be happy? I was carrying her son’s baby... her grandchild.

“
N
ot yet
,” I said.

“
W
ell
, dress up!” she exclaimed rather enthusiastically. “You’re late to start your checkup as it is, let’s not delay it any further.

T
he drive
to the clinic was surprisingly pleasant. Aunt Susan was actually humming a joyful tune, holding my hand and squeezing my fingers from time to time. It was a huge relief to see her like that, after almost two weeks of being emotionally distressed. The only bummer during our ride was the window that wouldn’t open... again. Nash fixed it before, but I punched it with my fist during the night of the Homecoming Dance when I discovered that I left my keys in the ignition. I regretted reacting that way.