Fancy White Trash (27 page)

“Don't worry, Abby, there's plenty of time.” She turns to look at me.

I look out the window. “Mom!”

“What?” Her reflexes are bad. She hits the accelerator instead of the brakes. We come within millimeters of ramming the car in front of us. She realizes her mistake and jerks the wheel to the side. Faster than a blink, we're in the construction ditch. The Benz wheezes, then chokes. The engine dies. She turns the key and nothing happens.

“Oh, crap,” she says.

Chapter
25

I may have gotten the Rules wrong. There might be something more important than being safe. Driving down I-17 in Cody's car as he rehearses for a career in NASCAR certainly tests that theory. Because a sane person would point out that driving twenty or thirty miles over the speed limit is dangerous, but I don't have time to be cautious. Jackson's plane is scheduled to leave in two hours. It seems like plenty of time, but too much has gone wrong today to count on any good luck.

The Benz had to be towed. Dad came to get us, chuckling at the mess Mom had gotten us into now. Has no one thought of taking this woman's license away from her? Dad insisted Mom go to the emergency room to make sure the baby was okay. Since we'd hit speed bumps harder than we'd hit the ditch, I wasn't worried about her. Dad dropped me at home, where I'd immediately gone next door to beg Cody for a ride.

Of course, Cody came through. He printed out a map, so we'd know where to park and which direction I should run when we finally got to the Phoenix Sky Harbor, which is just an airport, although it sounds like some kind of interstellar refueling station.

Cody's cell phone rings, that annoying disco song he knows I hate. Both his hands are on the wheel and he needs his concentration, so I wrangle it out of his side pocket and say, “Hello?”

“Oh, Abby!” It's Mom, and she's crying. “Barbara said you were with Cody, and I really needed to get ahold of you. . . .”

“What happened?” I'm frantic because if something's wrong, how can we turn around when it's taken me so long to figure out what I want?

“It's a girl!” she sobs into the phone. “They did a sonogram in the ER, and the baby's a girl!”

Okay, this is not call-me-in-a-panic news, but I have to make allowances for hormones. “That's great,” I say.

“I know! I'm so happy!” She cries harder. I actually hear the snot build up.

“Can you put Dad on?”

“Hey, pumpkin,” he answers. “Your mom's agreed to marry me again! You know, as soon as both our divorces are final. Great news, isn't it?”

Oh, Jesus. I brace my feet on the glove compartment. “Yeah, I guess. What about the baby? It doesn't matter that she's not, you know, yours?”

He laughs into the phone. “Well, it's not totally impossible that she's not.”

So much more info than I needed right now. “Uh, great then. Congrats.” I flip the phone shut and hold it in my lap.

“Oh my God,” Cody says, clearly having heard it all. Really, there's nothing else to say. We're quiet for a long stretch of road until we hit the airport.

“Just go!” Cody drops me off at Departures. “I'll catch up after I park.”

Have I mentioned that Cody is the best friend in the universe?

My canvas tote bangs against my side as I run past the ticketing counters, toward the security area closest to his gate. In my mind, I see how this will play out. It'll be just like the time Leah from
Moments of Our Lives
had a psychic vision that Duke's plane to Washington, D.C., was going to crash and she had to rush to the airport to stop him.

I'll run up the down escalators toward the gate. Jackson, looking rugged in his backpacking gear, will have just heard his flight called. He'll rise from his seat, pulling the plane ticket out of his back pocket. He'll hand it to the stewardess, smiling his great smile at her. I'll run, but not fast enough.

“Jackson!” I'll yell, and although lots of people will turn to look at me,
he
won't. He'll walk through the door, onto the skyway, and disappear from my life forever.

Duke never did come back to the show. Hard to when your body's supposed to be scattered in tiny bits across the Atlantic.

Or maybe it'll be more like the
Veterans' Hospital
ending, when Malibu had to stop Paul from taking that ambassador's position in Europe.

“Jackson!” I'll yell, running in his direction. “Jackson, don't leave me!”

He'll turn. Do a double-take. Rip the ticket out of the flight attendant's hand and run toward me. We'll meet up under a display board.

“Abby! You came!” he'll say, covering my face in kisses.

“My darling, I couldn't let you go,” I'll say.

“I didn't want to go,” he'll reply. “I only left because I thought you wanted me to.”

“No, never!” We'll kiss, large and sloppy. “I can't live without you.”

“And I can't live without you!” More kissing.

The flight attendant will tap his shoulder. “Excuse me, sir. Your flight's about to leave. You really need to get on that plane.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he'll say. Then he'll rip his ticket in two and fling the pieces behind him. “I'm never going anywhere without you again.”

Cut to the bedroom scene, the candles, and the satin sheets. And we'll live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, reality is turning out way different. Yes, I'm running through the airport terminal like a crazy person. Yes, I'm yelling “Jackson!” because I can see him up ahead. But there's still an hour until his flight leaves and the line he's standing in is for the metal detector. The security guard watches me like this is the most interesting thing he's seen all day. In fact, a lot of people are watching, but I push them out of my mind. I have to focus here.

“Jackson!”

“Abby?” He looks surprised. Well, he should be surprised after the things I said to him. Or didn't say. He steps out of the line and walks toward me.
Walks
. I slow down.

“Jackson,” I pant, catching my breath. “I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He guides me over to an empty alcove by a door that says NO ADMITTANCE. He drops his oversized backpack between us on the ground and leans against the door. “What's up?”

He looks at me and I look at him. This is the moment. I have to choose. Stay safe, use the Rules, stick to the Plan. Or go for what I really want, who I really want, and find a way to make it work.

“I love you,” I say, watching him closely.

His back straightens. He kicks his backpack to the side. His hands grip my shoulders, and he pulls me closer to him. “You what?”

“I love you.”

“You're telling me
now
?”

Okay, I never thought about that part. That he might be mad at me for waiting too long. Maybe I've screwed things up past fixing.

“Um, yeah? Because, well, I kind of wanted to tell you in person. Not, like, in the airport, but you're leaving and I just figured it out.”

“Just figured it out?” His hands cup the back of my neck. “When?”

I look at my watch. “Couple hours?”

“And it took you this long to tell me?” He smiles and lowers his head. Our lips meet, his teasing and light, and I can finally breathe. It's going to be okay.

“I'm not too late?” I ask after a few minutes of spit swapping. “You're not mad?”

He wraps me in his arms and holds me close to him. “Your timing does kind of suck. You know I'm leaving the country, right?”

“I
was
running,” I remind him.

“But lucky for you, I'll be back in a few months.”

“You will?” I jump a little, rubbing our fronts together. “I thought you were going for good.”

“I was.” He smoothes down my hair. “But Mom got to me with all this talk of how much more help I'd be as a doctor or at least some kind of social worker. That, hey, there're needy kids right here in our own country, too. So I talked to the A.U. people. They've deferred my enrollment until spring term. I'll be home by Christmas.”

I'm so happy, all I can do is kiss him. Then something occurs to me.

“Hey, does Cody know this?”

“Of course. We had a big family powwow last night.”

That little . . .

Of course his leaving out certain critical facts did lead to this very nice moment. “He's sneaky,” is all I say.

Jackson squeezes me hard. “I can't believe you finally say you love me and we're at an airport. And I have to leave. When I get back, Abby, I expect you to be waiting for me. Here. You're the first thing I want to see when I get off the plane.”

I look at the big security sign a few feet away. “After your luggage?”

“Whatever. Just promise you'll be here for me.”

“What's in it for me?”

He laughs. “I'll show you.” And then he kisses me like there's nothing else in the world more important to him than getting as close to me as possible. It could be addictive, this kind of kiss. But I decide it's okay. Jackson won't let me down.

“Jackson?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is there something you want to tell me? About how you feel, maybe?”

“First, you tell me. What about your Rules?”

“What Rules?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “I have no idea what you're talking about. But I do have a quick question for you, just out of curiosity.”

“Go ahead.” He kisses down the side of my throat, making it kind of hard to remember what I was going to ask.

“Uh, you don't happen to know your blood type, do you?”

He pulls back enough to give me a strange look. “Sure, it's one of the reasons I'm in such a rush to get to Nicaragua. A lot of people were injured in that earthquake, and they need blood. I'm an O-negative.”

Which makes him a universal donor, and a statistically improbable father for Stephanie. Not that it matters to me anymore, but it
is
nice to know. “That's perfect!” I laugh, thinking how sometimes following your heart is way better than following Rules.

Jackson puts a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his. “I love you, Abby Savage. Promise you'll wait for me.”

It's an easy promise to make, because one thing I've learned from soap operas is that once you find True Love, you should never, ever let go.

So many generous and talented people helped make this book a reality. I'd like to extend special thanks to:

Michael Crumpton, my husband, who listens and listens and listens and never stops believing. . . .

Herman Geerling, my dad, who made a lot of sacrifices so I could have such a nice life. Thank you for teaching me that the difference between winning and losing is
this
much.

Alexandra Flinn and Joyce Sweeney, mentors and friends, without whom I'd never have gotten this far.

Laurie Calkhoven, who keeps me writing even when I don't want to.

Olimpia Reyes, who always puts others before herself. Thank you for easing my burdens.
T'amo
.

Hank and Pat Geerling for helping with the initial research and for your many and great kindnesses to my parents.

Debbie De Leon and Dr. Rollo De Leon, for your generosity and ability to answer all questions about babies.

George Nicholson, for not giving up. Thank you.

Joy Peskin, who is both brilliant and kind. Thank you for taking a chance.

Thank you to Joyce's Thursday night group, especially— Deborah Sharp, Heidi Boehringer, Kathy MacDonald, Kingsley Guy, Gale Payne, Stel Fine, Dorian Cirrone, Mel Taylor, Ellyn Laub, and Lucille Shulklapper. Thank you for sharing so much with me.

To my Florida SCBWI friends who have supported me every step of the way, especially—Linda Bernfeld, Adrienne Sylver, Danielle Joseph, Gaby Triana, Liz Trotta, Meaghan Sylver, Saundra Rubiera, Stacy Davids, Norma Davids, Steven dos Santos, Angela Padron, Ellen Slane, Pascale MacAuley, Susan Shamon, and Elaine Landau.

A heartfelt thank-you to the Viking staff who have been so generous with their time and talents, especially Regina Hayes, Kendra Levin, Nico Medina, Christian Fünfhausen, and Nancy Brennan. There aren't enough words to thank the people who make a dream come true!