Delilah
My hands shake violently as I grasp onto the tiny white stick. I’ve seen these kinds of commercials before. The woman stares at the test. A minute passes, and then, she grins from ear to ear. Her husband joins her as they come together in a loving embrace. And the next thing you know, there’s a nursery painted in some non-gender-specific pastel color with a brand-new crib sitting in the middle of the room. Outside, the sun shines on the happy home, and the couple starts its “happily ever after” as a new family.
I look out the bathroom door to the rest of the empty apartment, and I know I won’t find anything close to that idyllic picture. For me, there will be no doting husband waiting anxiously by my side. The bedroom I share with Race can barely hold the queen-size bed and a dresser. There’s absolutely no room for a crib or a high chair, let alone the toys, the mounds of diapers, and other baby gear that piles up in my mind.
And there is no outdoor space for a child here. There isn’t even a space for a kid to play. Outside these doors is an open drug den and club bar where strippers regularly perform, and hookers cook dinner for the boys working the night shift.
This is not a place for a baby. It certainly isn’t a place for my baby. Or Race’s, for that matter, if it’s his.
If. No. No way. It’s definitely his. It has to be. He’s the only person I’ve been with in months, and he’s the only person I’ve let come inside of me without any extra protection. I thought the pill would protect me from this, but with all the changes going on in my life, I admit that I’ve missed a few days here and there. And there was that one week that I skipped altogether. Could it have been then?
I pull out the calendar on my phone as I desperately try to remember the last time I’ve had my period. I’ve been here for over three months now, but I slept with him that other night as well. I was always great at tracking my cycles so I could plan ahead, but the last mark was nearly four months ago. I can’t be that far along!
I gasp as I look at my stomach. It’s slightly paunchy, but it isn’t round or protruding. I’ve been eating like crap lately. It has to be that. I can’t be…
***
It’s a few hours later, and Ariel is taking me to my doctor’s appointment. She nearly blew my head off earlier when I texted her a picture of the positive tests I took – all eight of them. She insisted on us going to hers, a female doctor, and when I sheepishly told them when my last known period was, the doctor practically begged me to come in first thing so she could check the heartbeat and growth and get me on the right vitamins.
My heart dropped hearing the doctor’s over-the-phone instructions. I should have been more careful, or at least more observant. All this neglect, the occasional drinks with the boys at dinner, and the short bike rides with Race, they could have affected whatever’s inside of me.
The doctor does little to take away my anxiety. She lays me down on a cold exam table and adds some goopy substance to my stomach. Ariel leans closer to the machine as we wait for the sound the doctor tells us will sound like a drum in water. When she finally finds it, it reminds me more of an unstoppable freight train beating faster and faster with the rhythm of my own heart.
The doctor gives me an insane amount of instructions and warnings. There are foods I am not supposed to eat, vitamins I’m supposed to take, exercises I’m supposed to do, and classes I’m supposed to sign up for. Maybe guessing my situation, she avoids mentioning my husband or boyfriend and gives me a pamphlet for a single mom group with the rest of the stacks of informational flyers on baby proofing and labor and delivery policies. Ariel takes them all for me, stuffing them in my purse, as I struggle to find my feet again.
“Based on the scans, you’ve got about five months left,” the doctor says as she takes my hand in hers. “You’re well into your second trimester, so it’s important you take good care of yourself. Eat right, drink water, and try to keep everything low stress.” She eyes me as she adds, “If it gets to be too much, you have a little time – but not much.”
I don’t understand what she means by “little time” until I’ve forced Ariel to pull over the side of the highway so I can vomit in the field. I couldn’t do what the doctor was implying. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that my mom managed to raise me alone despite all the circumstances against her. I get that it’s the doctor’s job to tell me these things, to give me options, but this is… The thought of getting rid of my problem instead of facing it head on is unthinkable. No – I have to tell Race.
I spend the rest of the night in a dark haze. Ariel buzzes around me with her ideas for baby names and her optimistic thoughts on where we could put one of those bassinet things (which, she reassures me, will only take up a quarter of the space of a crib). There’s talk of if it would be better off being a boy or a girl, and what hospital she’s heard is best for giving birth.
The only thing she doesn’t ramble on about is just how I am going to break it to Race. I stare at the locked door, listening to the faint sounds outside. Whenever I hear boots treading on the stairs, my breath is sucked out of my lungs until it fades away.
Ariel leaves after dinner. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be around for what’s next. As she goes, she takes my hands in hers and says, with some mustered certainty, “It’s going to be okay, Del. You know what – it’s going to be better than okay! We’re gonna figure this out, and that baby is going to be the luckiest kid this side of the world. I promise you.” Her large, doll-like eyes well with tears. Maybe she needs to say it to make herself believe it, but there’s earnestness there too. And like that, I feel like a small, terrible weight has been lifted just slightly off of me.
But that weight doesn’t disappear forever. It comes back in full force a half-hour later when Race charges in. He’s covered in road dust and grime. His leather jacket reeks of cigarettes and who knows what else. And he has to rake his hands through his slick hair to look any bit presentable at the table I sit at. Stone-faced and silent, I try to acknowledge him. I muster a twitch in my lip, but I can't bear to look him in the eyes.
I vaguely hear him ask me, “What the hell is wrong with you? The guards said Ariel took you to the doctor’s today.” He pauses before adding, “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah.” My voice quivers slightly, “I’m fine. I had to…”
“Women things?” he asks with feigned disgust. I’d normally roll my eyes so hard at him for shying away from something perfectly natural (and something he gets the privilege of enjoying every single night and morning), but I’m just not into it.
I nod quickly as I gulp back the lump stuck in my throat. “Yes. I had an appointment with the OBGYN.”
Race takes a seat next to me, turning it so that it faces backward against the table. He leans closer to me and whispers, “Please tell me you can still screw.”
“I can still do all that. I – well, I don’t know if you’re going to want to screw me after I tell you what I need to tell you.”
I watch as his knuckles wrap around the metal of the chair frame. He studies my face before gesturing with his large, soot-stained hands to continue.
“It’s… I’m… Hold on.” I fly off the seat and walk to where my purse hangs. I pull out the only proof I’ve got – a black and gray picture of a human-like blob floating gently inside of me. I hold it close to my chest before pressing it down on the table before Race. I turn my back, ready for him to fly off the wall or go into a rage, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even make a sound.
After a few, horrible minutes’ pass, it’s me who has to make a move. “I found out today. Four months, Race. He’s due in June.”
“He?” Race’s voice cracks. He gently takes the picture from the tabletop and cradles it in his hands.
“I don’t know if it’s a he. I won’t know for another month or so. It’s still early, but it’s past the danger point now.”
“How did you not know? I thought you were on the pill?”
“I was. I swear to you. The last thing I want is to bring a baby into the world right now. It wasn’t ever on my radar. But with me living here and the stress of being literally hunted down, I missed a few days.” Defensively, I add, “And it’s not like you were careful either. Based on the baby’s size, we probably conceived the first night we were together, and you weren’t too eager to put on a condom then.”
“Jesus, Delilah. Why didn’t you get this checked out sooner?”
“Because not all women’s bodies and cycles are alike. I skip my cycle every few months. And the pills I’m on sometimes makes me really late or super early. And like I said, with all the shit that’s been going on, I didn’t notice it.”
“And what’s this shit about you not wanting to bring a baby into the world? Are you thinking...?”
“No!” I shout. “I mean, I have time if I wanted to make that choice, but I can’t… Not now that I’ve heard the heartbeat and have seen the pictures. But I meant that this is the last place in the world I would want to bring a baby home to.”
“My home. My home is the last place you want to bring our kid to?” He rises to his feet, unable to look at me. “What the hell is wrong with my place?”
“Nothing! But it’s no place to raise a kid, Race. Don’t you see that? You’ve got druggies and whores on the first floor, and a kingpin living above us. There’s no place for the kid to sleep, let alone for him to play. A child doesn’t deserve that. Our child doesn’t deserve that.”
“He’ll have brothers to raise him. And when I’m dead and gone, he’ll take over my role. I see nothing wrong with bringing up a kid in this land.”
“Are you serious? You want to give your child a life where they’re always on the run from the cops or some other club? Where their money comes from selling drugs and women to dirtbags? That’s not a life! It’s a prison sentence!”
“It’s freedom, Del! It’s the best goddamned family you can find. And it’s what I’ve worked my whole life towards. If it’s not good enough for you, then that’s your fucking problem. But the only one that’s on the run from anything is you.”
“It’s not good enough for me. It wasn’t good enough when I was a child, and it isn’t good enough for my baby.”
Race stares me down as if I’m about to explode on him. His nostrils flare slightly as his chest heaves. His balled-up hand taps on the table before he takes a step towards me. Inches from my face, he looks down on me as he gives me his final command: “Go.”
“I will,” I reply, unsure if it’s a threat or a promise. But as he turns towards the door, grabbing his jacket and helmet on his way out, I know that he’s serious. Unwilling or not, he’s giving me an out, and I’m not about to let this go.
After he’s stormed out, the door slamming behind him, I run back to the bedroom and I grab everything I see that’s in sight. I pack a bag with five days’ worth of clothes, my coat, and another pair of shoes. I throw in the prenatal vitamins the doctor gave me along with my phone and wallet.
I’m just about out the door myself when I think of the picture still sitting in the dining room. I’d love to have it. It’s my child’s first picture, but something in me knows that if Race is serious about me leaving, then he should have it. By tomorrow, I’ll be out of his territory and far away, if I can manage it. The last he will see of me or the baby is that gray and black print out photo.
Every man in the warehouse stares at me as I go, but no one tries to stop me, not even the guards Race has put on duty since I’ve moved in. The only sounds I hear are the bikes in the parking lot and the booming music already blasting for the party they’ll have tonight. Nico is the last Devils’ face I see before I make it out to the street.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking before I decide to stop. I walk until I can’t hear the music or see the choppers coming in from their routes. I walk until I’m past the familiar homes and my old neighborhood. I walk until I am certain I’m out of Bastard territory and where I can’t recognize the roads or the businesses that are closing up for the evening.
A few hours into my hike, I finally let myself rest, recognizing that caring for myself is the most important thing I can do for the being growing inside of me. I stop outside a diner similar to the one my mom works at. I sigh heavily as I look inside at the waitresses all the same age as her, each with the same, tired gait and talk. They swing large brown trays of food over their customer’s heads while taking orders with tiny pencils they otherwise keep tucked behind their ears.
“Miss? Are you okay?”
I spin backward on my heels to see a cop staring at me. I’m not big on cops. I know how crooked they can be and how a man in uniform isn’t necessarily the greatest to be around, especially when alone and somewhere new.
“Miss?” He cocks his head to the side and puts on a light smile. He probably sees a lot of girls like me out on the streets alone, looking for food.
“Yeah. I’m fine, officer. Thank you. I’m just deciding if I want to eat here or not.”
“The 50s Cafe? No, no.” He laughs. “No offense to them, but their food tastes like crap. If you’re looking for a place to go, there’s a better diner down the block. Best cheesecake there is in L.A. I promise you that.” He rubs his round belly jokingly.
I can’t help but smile. “That does sound good. Right around the block?”
“Here,” he offers, “I can walk you. It’s not too far, and I’m headed back to my car anyways.”
I nod and follow him around the corner. He takes the inside of the street, strolling slowly as he whistles to himself. I see his car just a few feet down from where we started, but he stops and turns towards me. “You wouldn’t happen to be this girl I’m looking for, would you?”
My heart drops to my stomach as the panic rises. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Because you sure do look like her. Delilah?”
I can’t get out Race’s name before the large man grabs hold of me and thrusts me into the back of the car. The doors lock behind me, and like that, I’m caged in. He gets into the driver’s side and pulls his seatbelt across his chest.
“Please. Please don’t bring me back. I’m just trying to get home to my mom. Race is the one who let me go!”
The cop eyes me in the rearview window as he begins to drive in the opposite direction of my walk. “Race? Who the hell is Race, lady?”
My throat goes dry as I ask, “You’re not with the Bad Devils?”
“Hell no!” he shouts. “Those cheap ass bastards may have every other detective on their side, but not me. I work for someone much better than them.”
“Who are you? Who are you bringing me to?”
“The Roadheads.”
“No. Why would they want me? I have nothing to do with them! I don’t even know anyone in their club! Please! Tell me what’s happening!”
He doesn’t speak the rest of the way, but he keeps one eye on me as he drives. His furry, thick eyebrow stays raised as if to suss out if I know more than I let on. But I’m about as dumbfounded as I sound. There’s zero reason why the Roadheads would want me. I’m not collateral. I’m not even bait!
The cop pulls up to a small, brick building on the corner of an empty street. Twenty or so bikes are lined up in a neat row against the sidewalk. The smell of tobacco chokes me as the cop leads me out of the car and into the open back door. We head down a flight of stairs into a basement. The walls are painted black, but light seeps in from an open room at the end of the floor.
“Pres!” the cop calls, holding tight to my arm. “Pres!”
“What? Who the hell is it?”
“Officer Brady, sir. I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”
I watch as a man’s shadow grows long against the light as he nears. The man stops and turns towards me, a flashlight pointed at my face.
“Delilah,” he says, and there’s something in that voice that I can’t exactly read. He lowers the flashlight and turns it, so now his face is illuminated. My stomach turns as I make out his unmistakable features.
“Dad?”