Chapter Three
Melissa
Rage takes over as I pull my clothes on. I thought no one could top the assholes I’ve been surrounded by the past few years, but this guy managed. The look on his face when he saw me in his bed was like a physical assault. Revulsion, that’s what I saw in his expression. Disgust and horror, like he woke up next to some deformed monster.
Well, fuck him. I don’t need another man around me who thinks I’m trash. The only reason I even agreed to join them last night was because his friends seemed so nice, and the months of little to no social interaction are beginning to weigh on me. I could feel the depression taking hold, and I thought maybe a night of fun and drinking would help.
Instead, I’m treated like a leper and doing the walk of shame. At least I only have to go next door.
Justus is dancing around the kitchen, singing about girls with big butts when I stalk by. He looks up at me with a wide smile.
“Good morning. How many pancakes can you eat? They’re chocolate chip.”
Shoving my feet into my shoes, I take a deep breath. No reason to take anything out on one of the two guys who have actually been kind to me. “No thanks. I need to get home.”
Tucker walks into the room and flops onto the couch. Justus glances at him before turning to me. “What did Jeremy do?”
“He just made it clear I needed to get out of his house before I infect him or something. Thanks for the drinks last night. It was fun. Nice meeting you both.”
All I want to do is get out of here and lick my re-opened wounds at home, but Tucker gets to his feet and lays a hand on my wrist. “Whatever that idiot said or did, it wasn’t about you.”
Yeah, right. They didn’t see the look on his face when he saw me in his bed. “It’s okay. I need to get home anyway.”
“His girlfriend died in July,” Justus says, joining us in the living room. “He’s struggling with it.”
“It’s still no excuse for how he treated you,” Tucker adds.
“But it explains a lot,” I reply. “Don’t worry about me, really. I’m good. I’ll see you later.”
This time neither of them stop me when I head for the door. Cool air blows across my face, drying the tears that have started leaking by the time I get home. At least I didn’t cry in front of him or his friends.
They said he recently lost his girlfriend. If there’s one thing I know and can relate to, it’s loss. I’ve had my heart torn out more than once, but I’ve never used it as an excuse to treat people like shit. If anything, it softened the way I interact with others.
I head straight for the shower to get the amazing scent of him off of me. When I woke, my face was buried in the sheets and the first thing I noticed was how wonderful they smelled. Now, it just makes me feel dirty.
My only plans for the day were to clean up the house and call Agnes, since I haven’t heard from her in a few days, but by the time I get out of the shower, all I can feel is the urge to paint throbbing through my veins.
I can’t forget the look on his face when he saw me in his bed and the need to capture what I felt at that moment is overwhelming. One glance into my studio and I know that isn’t where I need to be. I gather all my supplies and set up on my back deck.
Laughter from Justus and Tucker rings in the distance, but it doesn’t really register with me. I’m in the zone. The place I go when I’m hurt, upset, or anxious. The ability to retreat there has saved my sanity countless times.
The overcast day matches my mood perfectly. All the while I’m working, the feelings of rejection and shame seep away, leaving me in a contented exhaustion. I’m surprised to look up from my work and see the sky has turned a deep purple. As usual, I’ve been completely immersed in my art.
Stepping back, I look over the painting. It began as Jeremy’s face, but became twisted into a portrait of despair and anger. Anyone who might see this would recognize him right away, but I’m not sure they’d see the layers of his personality bleeding through. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. Art doesn’t care. It just shows the truth and damn the consequences.
A rumble of thunder sounds in the distance so I quickly move the canvas and all the supplies back into my studio. It feels good to flip off the light switch and leave him there, in the dark.
I’ve just finished scrubbing the paint from my hands and arms when my phone rings. I recognize Agnes’s number. “Melissa, is that you?” she asks before I can say hello, and I know right away something is wrong.
“It’s me. Are you okay?”
“Well, I think I may have broken my ankle, and I can’t get a hold of my kids. I know it’s late, but do you think you could run me to the Emergency Room?”
“Of course! Is it just your ankle? Did you hit your head?” I grab my purse and keys.
“No, just turned my ankle coming down the stairs and I can’t put any weight on it. It looks like a puffer fish.”
“Don’t try to stand on it,” I warn. “I’m on my way.”
“Just use your key, dear.”
If I ever meet Agnes’s family, they aren’t going to like me one bit. She’s seventy-five years old. She really shouldn’t be living alone, especially if she can’t even count on them to answer their phones in an emergency.
When I let myself in, she’s sitting at the bottom of her stairs. “I’m sorry to drag you out,” she begins, before I cut her off.
“Don’t be silly. You’re hurt.” I wince when I pull up her pant leg and get a glance at her ankle. “Yeah, you need the hospital. Do you have an ice pack in the freezer?”
“No, but I have a bag of frozen corn.”
I help her out to my car and she holds the frozen corn on her ankle until we get to the emergency room. It’s a small hospital, and there aren’t a lot of people waiting. We get taken back to a room pretty quickly, and they take Agnes to have an x-ray.
The doctor returns with the results and sits across from us. “Well, Ms. Foster, it isn’t broken, but it is severely sprained. We’re going to put an air cast on it and give you some pain meds, but we need to discuss an underlying issue. Your chart says you’ve been diagnosed with osteoporosis.”
“Yes, a few years ago,” she replies.
He refers to the chart again. “Are you taking your prescribed medications, along with the Vitamin D and calcium supplements?”
“I forget them from time to time,” she admits.
The doctor turns to me. “It’s very important your mother take her meds as prescribed. She was lucky not to break a bone this time, but if the osteoporosis goes untreated, she’s at a high risk for fractures.”
Agnes grins at me, waiting for me to correct him, but I make a decision in that moment. “I’ll be sure that she does.”
The doctor scribbles on his pad, then tears off a few sheets. “Here is a prescription for painkillers. She needs to be checked by her doctor in a week or so to make sure the ankle is healing properly.”
After making a few more notes on his chart, he leaves, and Agnes smiles at me. “I’d be happy to have a daughter like you.”
“Well, consider me adopted, because you’re staying with me, at least until your ankle heals.”
Agnes sits up and shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not imposing on you like that.”
“It’s not an imposition.”
“Still, I don’t want—”
“We’ll stop by your place to get you some clothes and your meds.”
Her lips purse, but a smile breaks through. “You’re stubborn as a winter itch.”
“Yep, it’s better to just give me my way.”
We’re laughing when the nurse enters and presents Agnes with a pair of crutches. She signs her paperwork, and we’re released.
“I’m going to leave a message on my son’s voicemail, in case he looks for me,” Agnes says, after we gather her things and head back to my place.
“Good idea. Give him my number and address if he wants it.” It doesn’t seem like he gives half a fuck, but someone in her family should know where she’s staying.
Agnes makes herself at home in my guest room, and I really enjoy having someone else in the house. Amos picks her up most days, and they spend their afternoons together, but it’s nice to have someone to eat dinner with in the evenings. Having some company to talk to seems to make the time fly by. We spend a lot of time sitting on my back deck, enjoying the scenery and getting to know one another. Before I know it, September is nearly over.
It occurs to me that my seventy-five-year-old temporary roommate has more of a social life than I do. I’ve needed this time on my own to get a grasp on myself after the last few years, but I need to start making an effort. A good place to start would probably be putting my work out there again.
I begin by emailing the owner of a local gallery, including pictures of my latest work. My name was pretty well known in the art world before I went away, so I’m hoping I wasn’t forgotten.
With that done, I head out to run some errands. I’ve been craving cheese lately for some reason, so I stop at the grocery store to get the ingredients to make a cheesy chicken and rice casserole.
A young girl sits outside the entrance, a large cardboard box beside her. As I’m walking past, a tiny head pops over the side. “No, Woody, get back down. I already told you,” the girl says, exasperated. The side of the box reads Free Puppies, but it looks like this curious one is the only one left.
“Hi,” the girl greets, when she sees me smiling at the pup.
“Hi, are you trying to find a new home for him?” I ask, reaching to pet the little guy. He practically attacks my hand, licking frantically, his tiny legs scratching against the side of the box as he tries to climb out.
Her face droops. “Yeah, Mom says I have to because our landlord won’t let us have another dog. Woody is my favorite.” She shrugs. “But nobody wants him because he’s hyper. Mom says he’s too high maintenance.”
Woody licks my knuckles and burrows under my palm, encouraging me to pet him some more. Two oil drop eyes look into mine, and I make a rash decision. “I’d love to take care of him.”
The girl’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yes, do you know if he’s had his shots?”
She produces a half sheet of paper and hands it to me. “Mom said to give these to whoever took a pup. It’s the name of the vet who gave them their shots and stuff.”
When I pick him up, he’s a ball of excitement, wiggling and trying to run on air. The little girl and I both laugh. “Do you think you could keep him here for just a few minutes while I’m in the store? I need to get him some food.”
“He likes Puppy Bites, the one with the cow on the bag.” She watches as I return him to the box. “Will you…are you going to change his name?”
My heart goes out to her. She’s obviously very attached to her little friend. Kneeling down, I try to reassure her. “No, I think he likes his name, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“I promise to take very good care of him. I just moved to town and I don’t have many friends yet. He’ll be my best friend.”
That puts a smile on her face.
“I’m going to go grab some groceries, and you can say goodbye, okay?”
“Okay.”
I try to get my shopping finished quickly, but I take a moment to stop by the pharmacy and pick up an acne cream. It’s embarrassing, and I have no idea why, but my face has been breaking out again. I haven’t had that issue since I was a teenager. Maybe it’s stress, although this is the less stressed I’ve been in years.
The pet department has everything I need for my new puppy, and I can’t resist grabbing a few extras. The toys are so cute. When I push my cart back through the entrance, the girl is waiting beside a taller version of herself.
“There she is, Mom! She’s taking Woody!”
I can hear Woody scratching away at the cardboard as we chat for a moment. The girl’s mother scoops Woody up, and they follow me to my car while I load the groceries. I grab the new fuzzy squirrel toy I bought him, and the little girl smiles as he takes it from me.
“He likes it!” she cries.
“See, baby, I told you. The nice woman will give him a good home.”
The girl nods. “He’s going to be her best friend.”
The mother gives me a grateful look, and they head back to her minivan, where a brood of other children wait.
“Well, buddy. Let’s go home,” I tell him.
When the girl explained to me no one wanted Woody because he’s hyper, I thought, he’s just a puppy, of course he’s excitable. He’ll calm down.
No.
This is no puppy. I’m convinced he’s part cheetah, part rabbit, with a bit of T-rex thrown in the mix. He darts back and forth through the house, then tries to jump up on everything with those short little legs. It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen, and Agnes and I get a lot of laughs from him. When he does wear out, it’s like someone flipped a switch. I swear he can practically fall asleep mid-air.
After dinner, he falls asleep on my bed while I try to read. The cheesy chicken and rice didn’t agree with my stomach, and it’s been turning for the last few minutes. A wave of nausea washes over me, and I rush to the bathroom. The feeling passes without a re-emergence of my dinner, but waxes and wanes a bit as I sit on the bathroom floor.
“Melissa, are you okay, hun?” Agnes peeks in the door I’ve left ajar.
“Yeah, you might want to stay back. I think I’ve caught a bug. My stomach is upset.”
She wets a washcloth and drapes it across the back of my neck. “This used to help me when I had morning sickness with my son.” Tilting her head, she considers her question before she asks, “Could you be pregnant?”
“No,” I laugh. “That’s not it.”
“I only asked because you were complaining about your skin breaking out, and that’s a sign. Hormones, you know.”
My stomach settles, and I stand up. “I haven’t missed a period.” Although my last two were very light and short, which is out of the ordinary for me.
Agnes nods. “I bled a bit with my daughter the first few months. You may want to take a test just in case.”
“Thanks, but I haven’t…” A sick feeling washes over me that has nothing to do with hormones. Three months. It’s been three months since he last…since I left True Life. I should’ve gotten a morning after pill. I meant to, but it slipped my mind with everything else I had to do to return to society.
Surely, life can’t be that cruel.
#
Life is cruel. Horrifically, sometimes almost comically cruel.
For the last couple of months while I’ve been trying to adjust, I’ve also been bemoaning the fact that I’m alone. More than once I’ve wished for the same thing everyone wants…a family. It’s like some demonic genie heard me and decided to grant my wish in the worst way possible. I’m a twenty-two-year-old ex-cult member who has just started to find my way again. The last thing I need is to be responsible for another life. Not to mention, it’s his.
Dillon’s.
The man who tormented me for so long is dead, but it seems he’s found a way to live on and screw up my new beginning from the grave. I don’t know what to do. My first impulse is to terminate the pregnancy, but I also know I’m not in any mental state to make that decision. If I do decide to go that route, it will have to be really soon.
Since I didn’t find out about the pregnancy until now, when I must be pretty far along, I don’t have much time to make that decision. All the horror of the conception aside, I want a family. Maybe I didn’t want a child now, while I’m young and on my own, but if I pass up this chance, I may regret it.
Agnes convinces me not to make a decision until I’ve been to the doctor.
Today is my appointment, and though she offered to come along, I know how hard it is for her to maneuver on the crutches. So, I’m here alone.
The doctor is very nice, and I feel a bit more at ease with him. He has a very calming smile.
He enters the room a few minutes after the nurse had me give a urine sample.
“Congratulations, Ms. Sanders. The test was positive.”
The little bit of hope I was holding onto that maybe the home test was a false reading fizzles. “I’ve still been having a period,” I tell him.
“Some bleeding in the first trimester isn’t uncommon. We’re going to do an ultrasound and see how far along you are.”
I lie back on the table while the nurse squirts clear jelly on my abdomen and the doctor presses the wand against it. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts it around, taking measurements. Finally, he says, “Everything looks good. I’m going to put you about twelve weeks along.”
Twelve weeks. That last night he visited me.
The doctor produces another smaller wand and the instant it touches my stomach, a pulsing sound fills the small space.
“Strong and healthy,” the doctor says, and the nurse smiles down at me.
I hear its heartbeat. Its tiny little heartbeat.
An emotion I don’t recognize overwhelms me, and tears fill my eyes. It’s real. There’s a tiny human, a tiny part of me, growing inside of me.
“Gender,” I croak. “Can you tell?”
“Not for another month or two. If you have no problems in the meantime, we’ll schedule your next ultrasound in eight weeks. You may be able to find out then.” He stands up and writes on the chart while the nurse wipes off my stomach and allows me to sit up. “We’ll get some blood drawn today, and you’ll need to get your pre-natal vitamins. They can be found at any pharmacy.”
His face turns serious as he asks, “Do you smoke, use any illegal drugs, or drink alcohol?”
“No drugs or smoking. I drink a few times per year.” I can feel the blood drain from my face. “I drank a few weeks ago. One night, but…it was a lot.”
His calm smile is reassuring. “It’s fine. But no more alcohol from this point forward.”
“Of course.”
The rest of the appointment passes in a haze. Any thoughts I had of termination fled the second I heard the heartbeat. No matter the circumstances, the life growing inside of me isn’t going to pay for the mistakes of its father.
Agnes is practically waiting at the door when I return. “Well?”
“The baby is fine. I’m twelve weeks along.”
“Mercy! You’re just like my sister. She didn’t show at all until she was nearly seven months. I was showing before I missed a period!”
Her exaggeration makes me laugh, but I’m exhausted. As if she’s reading my mind, she says, “Go take a nap. You look worn out.”
“I’m the one supposed to be taking care of you, remember?”
“Amos is picking me up. We’re going to the all you can eat pasta night. I’ll bring you back some spaghetti.”
Hugging her, I reply, “Sounds good. So does that nap.”
After hesitating a moment, she asks, “Who is the father, hun?”
“I’d…rather not say.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s that no-goodnik from next door isn’t it?”
I can understand why she’d think so. I told her a little about the night I spent there, but not everything, and she has no reason to think I haven’t been seeing him from the beginning.
“I really don’t want to talk about it. He won’t be in the picture. I can do this alone.”
Smiling, she hugs me again. “Yes, you can. But you aren’t alone.”