Wings of Glass (16 page)

“JUST LIE DOWN,
Penny.” Trent handed me another glass of water.

I set the cup on the bedside table and turned away from the stench of smoke wafting off his sweatshirt every time he moved.

He pulled the quilt up, tucked it around my legs, and sat beside me on the bed. The mattress squealed and leaned under his weight. “I wish you’d let me take you to the hospital. ‘I don’t know nothing ’bout delivering no babies, Miss Scarlett.’” A fleck of tobacco clung to his chin stubble.

“Very funny,” I said glumly, picking the debris from his face. If I’d been reasonably confident these contractions were the real thing, I would have taken him up on the offer to drive me to the hospital. But the more time that passed, and the more water I drank, the calmer you and my contractions became.

Trent timed them against his watch. A few were five minutes
apart, but then there would be one that was eight minutes, then two, and so forth. A clinic nurse had mentioned that false labor felt just like the real thing, except real contractions would get more painful and closer together. I was becoming convinced it was a false alarm after all, but Trent wasn’t so sure.

When he put his cold hand on my round stomach, I jumped. “Sorry,” he said, taking it away. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. A set of fresh, catlike scratches ran over his knuckles and down his hand. I didn’t have to wonder who gave him those.

“Where were you tonight?” I asked. “You can’t just leave me here when I’m this far along without any way to contact you. What if it had been the real thing?”

The crease formed between his eyebrows. “I had to give Stu a ride home.”

“And it took you four hours?” When he stared hard at me, I averted my gaze to the winged statue.

“Come on, One Cent. I just stopped off for a few. You won’t let me smoke in the house, and you know I like a stogie when I drink. I’m getting ready to be a father—give me a break. Soon I’ll be stuck here all the time changing diapers. Let me live a little while I still can.”

The thought that he might really settle down after you came gave me hope. I patted the bed for him to lie beside me. I wasn’t crazy about him referring to settling down as being stuck, but back then I was more than willing to take what I could get.

He looked down at my hand with those bloodshot eyes of
his, and I could see his whole body sigh. “Sorry, babe. I just want to watch a little TV.”

Why did it always have to be about him? I wished that just for once he could put aside what he wanted and give me what I needed. I turned on my side, placing my back to him, and fluffed the pillow under my head. Another contraction came, and I curled into a ball.

“Penny, you okay?”

I held a finger up indicating I couldn’t answer right then. When the wave of pain passed, I kicked the mattress with my heel. “I wish this baby would either come on or leave me alone already.”

Tracing circles on my back, he said, “I’m sorry, darlin’. I can’t say I know what you’re going through, but it don’t look pleasant.”

“It’s more aggravating than anything.” I shifted in the bed trying to get comfortable. “I’m just so tired of being pregnant.” I looked down at the map of thin, blue veins sprawling across my bulging belly, then at the dark line splitting me in half from the navel down. “I feel fat. I have gas and heartburn all the time. I can’t see my stupid toes, and the little bugger’s always kicking me. It’s starting to really hurt.”

He chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

I moved away from his touch. “It’s not funny.” Staring at the yellowed wall, I wished he would go away, but then thinking of him doing just that made me want to bawl. I flipped back over to face him. He was looking down at me with that Cheshire grin of his.

Despite my trying to look mad, the corners of my mouth curled upward. “What?” I pulled the cover up over my belly. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His expression grew stern. “I’ll look at my wife any way I please.” Softly, he ran his index finger over my cheek and down my neck. “You’re just so beautiful, Penny. And you’re having my baby.
My
baby.”

I tucked in my lips and looked up at him. He was a few years older, a few pounds heavier, but he was still that swaggering cowboy I’d fallen in love with. I pulled back the cover, lifted my pajama top, and placed his cold, rough hand back on my stomach. You kicked so hard right at that moment. I gritted my teeth as Trent’s eyes filled with wonder.

“Did you feel that?” He sounded like a little boy.

“What do you think?” I said.

“I’ll bet that does hurt.”

“It does,” I agreed.

He sighed and lay beside me, with his arms bent behind his head. “You think we’ll be good parents?”

“I hope so.”

“I’m sure going to try,” he said.

You better,
I thought. “You will,” I said.

“I hope he has your laugh.”

I leaned on my elbow and rested my head in my hand, studying his profile. “I hope he looks like you.”

He turned his head and stared into my eyes for the longest time as if trying to read something there. Finally he said, “Penny, don’t ever leave me.”

A pang of longing squeezed my heart. “Where did that come from?”

“I know I can be a jerk sometimes, but you know I love you. And I love our baby. I don’t want little Manny coming from a broken home like I did. I want him to have his mama and daddy. Every child should have that.”

“They should,” I agreed.

“You know, I never told you, but I was jealous of what you had with your folks.” He looked up at the ceiling as if the water stain suddenly intrigued him.

“What do you mean?” I reached under his sweatshirt and twirled a tuft of chest hair.

“You had both your mom and your daddy. I know your father was tough and all, but at least he looked out for you. Mine did nothing but call me a worthless puke and tenderize my face. My mom was so busy shooting herself up with heroin, she didn’t even know she had a son half the time.”

He looked like he might cry for a minute, but then humor glinted in his eyes. “Man, do you remember your father’s face when I was talking to you that day you were pinning up laundry?”

I smiled. “Like it was yesterday. If looks could kill—”

“—I’d have been laying in the bottom of the ocean with a bullet in my head and a knife in my back.” He flipped over to his back again.

“Trent?” I laid my head on his chest. The familiar scent of his musky deodorant met me.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you do that to Norma?”

“She put her hands on me.”

“You didn’t have to punch her.”

“She’s on meth. She don’t need to be hanging around my house and family begging for money.”

“Is that all she wanted?”

“I ain’t going to let no one mess with what I got.”

“You could have just told her to leave, or called the poli—”

When he sat up, my head hit the mattress. He slid his legs over the side of the bed, then looked over his shoulder at me. “No one.”

Soft light from the moon streamed in through the bedroom window and across my face. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stared up at the blurry halo. I pushed myself up and looked around. Beside me lay a rumpled pillow where Trent should have been.

As I slipped out of bed, I glanced over at the alarm clock. Three in the morning. Mama used to say if God woke you up at three, it meant you were supposed to pray for someone. I always thought she was a little superstitious, but just in case, I sent up a prayer for whoever might need it, then made my way to the living room to see if your father had fallen asleep in front of the television again.

The TV was off and the couch sat empty. I walked to the kitchen, but he wasn’t there, either. Our house was small, so
it took only a minute to make my way through it. Finally, I pulled back the curtain and checked the driveway.

Empty.

Staring out the window, I couldn’t believe my eyes. How could he leave me there after what had just happened? How could he say he loved me but abandon me again in my condition? After a few minutes, I wiped my wet eyes across my pajama sleeve, but more tears just came to take their place.

I sat down on the carpet with my arms wrapped tight around my bent knees, feeling as sorry for myself as I ever had. Watching the shadows from the window move across the wall, I rocked myself back and forth, trying to keep from hyperventilating.

I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until the sound of a slamming car door woke me. I opened my eyes, confused to find myself on the living room floor. Outside, I could hear Trent coughing and mumbling obscenities like he sometimes did when he was in a foul mood and there was no one around to yell at.

Not wanting him to know I had been up, I hurried to the bedroom and crawled under the blankets. The front door opened and shut, then the refrigerator door. Footsteps sounded down the hallway and into the bathroom. A flush. The sink. More footsteps. Then, quietly, he tiptoed into our room and slowly pulled back the covers.

I pretended he woke me. “Trent?” I said faking grogginess.

He closed his eyes as though he were sound asleep.

“Where were you?” I asked.

He groaned like I’d just woken him.

“Where were you?” I repeated.

His eyes flashed open, and he gave me a foul look. “Watching TV. Where do you think?”

Blood rushed to my head as I sat up. “No, you weren’t. You just came in.”

He threw the blanket off his fully clothed legs. “I’m warning you, Penny.”

Enough was enough. He left me not once, but twice without a car that night, and then he had the audacity to lie about it? Manny, I saw red. “Where—were—you?”

He jumped out of bed and jabbed his finger in my direction. “Don’t start with me. I’ve had a rough night.”

I yanked the covers off me, turned on the bedside lamp, and got out of bed. “You’ve had a rough night?
You’ve
had a rough night?”

He stepped into a shadow. “I pay the bills around here. If I want to go out, I’ll go out. I don’t answer to you. I don’t answer to nobody. You hear?”

My temples pounded with rage. “You don’t pay the bills. I do. You don’t do a thing but drink away what little money you bring home and make messes for me to clean up. And I’ve had enough.” The temporary insanity that comes with anger gave me just enough amnesia to forget his fists. “I’m having your baby. I’m due any time now. You need to be in the house and in our bed.”

“Is that right?” His voice became a whisper. Before I could step back, he grabbed my wrist, so tight it felt like a
tourniquet. His fingernails dug deep into my flesh. I yelped and broke free. Courage left me as I backed against the wall.

He picked up a hand mirror from my dresser, and before I could react, whirled it at me. The handle just missed my head. Glass and plastic shattered against the wall. “You think you can control me? You’re just like my mother.”

The only other time he’d compared me to his mother was just before he broke my arm. I was sorry now that I hadn’t just let him be. All I could think of was that I needed to protect you at any cost. “What happened?” I asked, softer, trying to get him to calm down.

“Like you care,” he hissed.

I rubbed at the indents he’d left on my arm. “Baby, I care. Tell me what happened.”

“You don’t care about nothing except that baby and those stupid friends of yours.” He walked to my dresser and yanked up the statue Callie Mae had given me. He pointed it at me. The light from the hallway shone across his angry face. “They laugh at your stupid jokes and buy you a few presents so they think they own you.”

“Please, Trent,” I begged. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Please, what?” he asked, in a mocking tone. He glared at me, then looked down at the statue. “What’s this ugly thing supposed to be anyway? Some kind of human insect?”

I held my hand out to take it from him, but he pulled his arm back. Before I could lunge for it, he threw it at the head of the bed. I heard myself scream, then a crack. I thought
for sure it was broken. I hurried over to it, examining the stained-glass wings. Miraculously, they were intact, except for a few hairline fractures.

Holding it behind my back, I put my hand on his arm. “Just come to bed. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”