Inside Out (14 page)

Twenty minutes after she hung up the phone with him, Rett barged into Tracey's house with a grocery bag in hand. He emptied the contents out onto the table in front of her and said, “I didn't know which one to get, so I got them all. You should have seen the cashier.” He looked at her as she stood paralyzed staring down at the little red, blue and white boxes. He stood there a minute longer, then came around the table to sit beside her. He took the pillow she was holding from her arms and replaced it with his body. For a long time, he held her and whispered into her ear that everything would be fine, no matter what happened. Tracey couldn't bear the support, the concern. She started a brand new style of wailing and he just held her tighter.

When she felt able to speak again, she asked, “Why are you so good to me?”

“Hell if I know,” he replied and stood, taking Tracey with him. He grabbed several of the tests and walked her to the bathroom. He took her in, gave a few encouraging words, then disappeared behind the door. Tracey took down her pants and sat down on the cold stool.

She picked up one cardboard box and read the back of it. It had a five percent chance of being wrong. She wondered if she was in that five percent.

She opened the test and took out the sealed plastic envelope and the instructions. She read and re-read them. They weren't that hard. She opened another and the instructions were pretty much the same. One just peed and held the little stick in the stream. She took two tests at once. She wiped and stood, pulling up her pants with her one free hand. She flushed. Tracey didn't look at the tests and put them in the dry sink without looking at them. She opened the door and Rett stepped in. She looked at him, not the sink. “What does the first one look like?”

“Two stripes in the window,” he said. Tracey looked at the test to see if it was true.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What's that mean? Is it positive?”

Tracey nodded.

“The other one's blue,” he said.

She looked at the other one. She didn't want there to be two lines. She didn't want one stick to turn blue. She didn't want to be pregnant, but she was.

With trembling hands she picked up each test put them back into their boxes and threw them in the trash. She started to wash her hands. She was at a loss for what to do, what to feel. Then the dreaded tears started to flow.

“Tracey.” He reached for her.

She jumped away from him and fell into the wall, banging her elbow. It hurt. She turned and rammed her thigh into the corner of the sink. That hurt, too.

Garrett ran a frustrated hand through his hair, but he stayed. He tried again to reach for her, to comfort her. Garrett Atkins. Prince Charming in shining armor on a white horse. Tracey was so angry all of a sudden that she couldn't think. She didn't even know why she was angry. And
that
made her
more
angry. She pushed him away from her and went into the bedroom. She crawled into the bed and rolled up into a ball. He followed her and sat next to her. He put his arm around her curved back and waited for her to open up. She lay there for what seemed like hours until she did open up and let Garrett take her into his arms. He stretched out alongside her. Tracey didn't remember falling asleep, but when she woke up he was in the kitchen cooking. She walked in and leaned against the refrigerator.

“How you feeling?” He placed some onions in the skillet. They gave a fragrant hiss as he pushed them around in the popping oil. He added peppers.

“I'm all right, I guess.” Tracey closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist, wondering how big it could get.

“You know, I had morning sickness,” Rett said.

“I heard.” He looked up at her quizzically. “Well I knew you were sick. I saw your roommate in class. I thought sympathetic pregnancy was a myth. Who knew?”

“I went to the doctor and he couldn't find anything wrong. Said I was the picture of health. He said I was acting just like a man who was about to have a baby. It was funny at the time. He asked me if it was Kim. I told him that it couldn't be…” His words trailed off and he seemed to have run out of them.

They held each other with their eyes. She began, “I'm sorry.”

“It's not just your fault. We both had our share in this.”

“That's true, but I took the responsibility of—I don't know how it happened. I mean, I was on the—”

“I know how it happened,” he answered, still holding her gaze. “Antibiotics. Antibiotics often render some forms of oral birth control ineffective.” Her eyes widened, and he held up his hands and argued, “I didn't think of it then. And to tell you the truth, I wouldn't have known it had I not just finished reviewing a case where the very same thing happened.”

Tracey looked away and gave this some thought. She didn't know how she could blame him. It was something she already should have thought of herself. She changed the subject. “How do you feel?”

“Well, oddly enough, I'm okay. I mean, I know other guys in my position would be upset, angry even, but I'm not. We just ended up in that one percent you never really think happens. This doesn't have to be a bad thing if we don't let it be.”

“I know,” she said, thinking of a doctor Monica had told her about.

“I've gotten extremely lucrative bids from a lot of firms. And we know you're taken care of.” Tracey got dizzy, and it didn't have a thing to do with the little growing thing inside of her. His thoughts strayed far from hers. “Well, you couldn't start working just yet.” And Tracey could see him counting months in his head. “It'll be due around the end of August, I'm thinking. You could still finish this year, take the summer off and start working when the baby is three or four months old. I'll definitely be able to afford real good childcare by then.” He turned to her as if looking for her accord.

Tracey couldn't give it. She could only stand there shaking against the nausea and guilt. She didn't know how she'd persisted in her cowardice for so long.

“You're not thinking about…Tracey, how could you? Could you? Oh, my God.” His voice seemed to wilt along with his body, his shoulders curving down. She still didn't say anything. He stepped back as if she repulsed him. He nearly tipped the pan. Tracey reached out to touch his arm, to make him understand. This time he did tip it. Long, tender wisps of onion, almost transparent, flew into the air with hot oil splattering all over. The pan hit the tile and rang out like a bell tone. Tracey stood there staring at it with her hand outstretched. She just watched the pan lie there, not broken, but battered. Battered.

Garrett moved as far away from her as possible, as if she had a disease. He moved into the living room without taking his eyes off her. He moved into his jacket, and then backed into the door. He grabbed his stomach as if he had just been stabbed in the intestines and walked out. Tracey saw him bend over the porch rail and empty the contents of his stomach, even though he hadn't eaten. She watched him swipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood straight, but in seconds his shoulders rounded and she watched as he shook there, alone. There was nothing for her to do, so she watched as he walked towards his car, as he opened the door, as he got in. She watched him leave her. Really leave her this time.

* * *

For three days, Tracey didn't leave her home. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she didn't do anything. She didn't even cry anymore. She sat in the darkness she made for herself: shades pulled, the curtains drawn, air stagnant from an unclean kitchen, and silence, silence, silence.

On the first day, she replayed the scene in her head. Only each time she saw it, it changed. It grew more and more elaborate. She saw him yelling and angry. She saw him telling her that she was going to have the baby no matter what. She saw an explosion, Garrett forcing her to change her mind the way he'd forced his way into her life from the very first. Tracey saw everything except him being broken by her. She cried whenever that particular scene tried to force its way through. Jesus, it had happened so fast.

On the second day, she held her stomach and imagined what her baby was like. She wondered if it was a boy or a girl. She wondered who it would look like. What would the baby's skin and hair be like? Would he or she be as neurotic as Tracey or as driven as Garrett?

Her phone rang off the hook. Everybody on earth left her messages. Everybody except her love, who had left her. Tracey wondered what her friends would think about her baby. Her body nearly cracked open at the thought of what her parents would do. But on that, she tried to let those things go and just hold on to herself.

And then, late on that second night, she heard the phone ring. For some unknown reason, for once, she answered it.

“Hello.” Her own voice was new to her.

“I'm begging you to have it.”

“No, Garrett.”

“I will take care of it.”

“No, Garrett.”

“You won't ever have to worry about it afterwards.”

“No, Garrett.”

“Please don't do this to me.” And that was the end. She hung up the phone and that was the end.

On the third day, Tracey prayed. She prayed over the sound of his voice and the pain she had manacled him with. She knew she couldn't terminate this pregnancy. Tracey was already attached to her—Tracey had begun to think of the baby as “her”—for more reasons than she could count.
She
was a symbol of something beautiful.
She
was something beautiful herself. Tracey prayed then, for the strength to bring her daughter into the world alone. She prayed for the strength to face everyone and everything she had to face for her. She prayed for a future.

She picked herself up then. She showered. She lit her house and cleaned. She opened her windows to brisk air on a sunny January day. Tracey had a plan. She felt alive and optimistic, ready to take on the world.

She heard keys rattling in her front door. Her heart jumped up into her throat because it could only be Garrett. Somehow she wanted it to be Garrett. She also wanted desperately for it
not
to be Garrett. So, when she opened the door, she tried to be relieved to see her mother. Then, the real anxiety set in.

“Tracey, you should have known I was coming.” Her words were quick and her neck curled. “You don't go for days without answering the phone or calling. You didn't even respond to my emails.”

Tracey was bawling before she got in the house. Her mother dropped all her belongings in a chair and rushed to her daughter's side. She fussed over Tracey, making it worse. She cooed at her that everything would be all right. Then—as was her way—she angrily demanded that Tracey tell her what was wrong. Tracey worked very hard to get the words out, but couldn't seem to. “Mama, I'm…I'm—”

“Pregnant!” That was so like her. God! That was so like her. There Tracey was struggling to tell her mother something that was so important and her mother had pre-empted her. Another moment stolen by Carolyn McAlpine.

“Couldn't you just let me say it? Could you not just let me get it out on my own?”

Her mother didn't answer that. Instead she jumped up and screeched, “I knew it. I knew it when you were home for Christmas.”

“How could you know?” Tracey argued. “I didn't even know.”

“Mothers can tell, Tracey. We can smell it.” Then, in what seemed like the same breath, she said, “I can't believe this. My baby is pregnant!” Then, “You can't possibly have a baby.”

Tracey licked her lips and dug her fingernails into her palms in order to hold her tongue.

“God, Tracey, what are you going to do? Who's the father and why haven't Daddy or I met him? And what about school? I suppose you can finish in May if you're not too far along. Just how pregnant are you? Yes, you can definitely finish school. You couldn't be more than three months. You're not really showing. Then again, I didn't show until I was six months pregnant with you. But you are wearing that big shirt.” Up went Tracey's shirt as her mother scrutinized her belly, touching it with cold fingers. Tracey snatched the shirt down. Her mother's eyes snapped to hers. Carolyn's hysteria was gone and her eyebrows drew close. Her mouth pursed. “So, what are you going to do about it? And are you going to explain to me what has happened?”

“I'm going to have the baby.”

She pursed her lips even tighter in a look that was equal parts disdain and something Tracey couldn't quite place. “So it's safe to assume that the father is around and supportive, whoever he is, since you haven't introduced us to anybody.”

“No, it's not safe to assume that.”

“What?” Mama took Tracey's hands in hers. A kind move, though her face was still accusing. “What are you talking about, Tracey?”

“Mama, he knows I'm pregnant. I told him. He—”

“He wanted you to get rid of it?”

Tracey didn't say that. Her mother did. She didn't confirm it, but she didn't deny it, either.

“I couldn't do it. He told me—” And that's when Tracey just couldn't go on. She had let her mother believe the lie, encouraged her even. Luckily, He was merciful with the innocent baby inside of her and He didn't strike her down.

In tears, Tracey was ready to take it all back and come clean. But right then, her mother took her in her arms as she had when Tracey was little. “It's okay, baby. We'll figure everything out together. We will, you'll see.”

Shock overcame her. Her mother hadn't scolded. She had yet to recommend a place where she could send Tracey for the next seven months to say she got married and the father of the baby died in a freak ballooning accident. She hadn't said a word about her soul. She hadn't pressed her for the man's name or how she'd met him, how long they'd been in a relationship.

She did none of the things Tracey expected her to do. For the life of her, Tracey didn't know why.

“Have you seen your doctor yet?”

“No,” she answered. “I just…just found out.”

Carolyn nodded and reached for her cell phone. “We have to get you an appointment right away. I'm trying to find Dr. Singh's number. She's the best person to deliver my grandbaby.” Ah. Tracey understood then. Ah.

Her mother kept scrolling but slipped in, “How are we going to tell Daddy?”

Tracey felt sick and tasted the tang of bile in her mouth.

Her mother had apparently found the number, because she was holding the phone to her ear. “I see you haven't thought about that. You do realize he's not going to respect your desire to keep this man a secret. He's going to want to know.”

Tracey started to speak but her mother held up a hand as she talked with the operator at Dr. Singh's office.

She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “And he'll find out. Even if you don't tell him, he'll make it his business to find out.”

God, Tracey hoped she had been careful enough for that not to happen, but knowing her father she could never be sure. My father had enough legal contacts
internationally
to ruin the life of a young attorney who didn't really
come
from anywhere. If Garrett had connections beyond those he'd garnered during school, maybe he would survive a Travis McAlpine onslaught. But it was unlikely. Daddy knew where too many bodies were buried.

“You know he will,” her mother reiterated.

Then she started to talk into the phone again. And for once, Tracey was happy,
ecstatic
, to have her mother organize her life and take care of her whether she deserved it or not.

* * *

Telling her father felt like someone digging into her heart and trying to rip it out. Tracey sat there in his office—a place where he wouldn't scream—looking at him across his desk with her mother standing with arms folded in the corner. She told him the same true but incomplete story she'd told her mother.

“Tracey?”

“Yeah, Daddy.”

“You have to tell me the whole truth at some point in time.”

“What do you mean, Daddy?”

“You know what I mean, but there are more important things we need to take care of right now.”

“Sir?”

“Well, first, you need to move home. Immediately.”

“Daddy, I've only got three more months of school.”

“That three months and fifty miles from us and Dr. Singh. Anything could happen.”

“Mama?” Tracey turned to her, but she said nothing. She only seemed to argue with him when it was something
she
wanted.

“How am I supposed to finish my degree? It's too late for me to try and take comps. It's either/or in this program.”

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you got pregnant. This is not a discussion. I'll call Alexander.”

“No!”

“I'll call him and arrange everything. You can finish your thesis but you don't have to do it there. You can do it remotely. You can go back and meet with him or do research as needed, but you're moving home.”

“I'll be fine at the house until school is over.”

“Maybe, but I didn't give you a choice in the matter. Obviously, you haven't been making the best choices for yourself, anyway.”

If he had hit her, she would have felt less assaulted.

He didn't care. “We'll talk about your final living arrangements again after you've had the baby.”

A shaking hand covered her mouth.

He went on. “If that means you work for my firm after graduation, then—”

“No.” Tracey didn't even remember opening her mouth to let out that word. But there it was.

“No?” He didn't yell, but his neck stiffened and his eyebrows clenched. The soft warning in his voice was enough to make her skin ice over in gooseflesh.

Finally, for once in her life, she spoke up for herself. “I can't accept that. This is my responsibility. You can't be expected to take care of it. I'm an adult and—”

“A responsible adult wouldn't have gotten herself pregnant by a man who lacks character and jumps ship. A responsible
unmarried
adult would have been trying to complete the master's program her parents paid for while living in a house her grandmother paid for.”

Her mouth dropped open. Her father had never talked to her that way before.

Tracey tried to stay calm. “Daddy, I can understand why you feel that way, but as you've pointed out, it's time I take care of myself.”

“Tracey, this is not a negotiation.”

“I wasn't negotiating.”

“Good, then we understand each other. I will not have my grandchild being raised with any less care and opportunity than you had.”

“But…”

He just looked at her. She didn't know what to say.

He leaned across the desk. His black eyes bored into hers. “By the time this baby comes, you will tell me who the father is.”

“There's no point in that.”

“You don't tell me what ‘point' there is in anything, girl.”

Tracey shook her head. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't do it.

Suddenly, her father's demeanor changed. “That's fine.”

“Huh?”

“I said that's fine, Tracey.” He pushed back in his chair.

“What does that mean?”

“It means what you think it means. You don't have to tell me. I'll find out.”

* * *

“Stop tensing up, Tracey,” Monica soothed. “Just rest your forehead against my hand and let me do all the work, okay?” Monica held Tracey's limp head in one hand. She grabbed the water gun with her other and began to rinse the lather from Tracey's hair. “Man, Tracey, you got a big watermelon head.”

“Thank you, Moni. Don't ever let it be said that you're not a sensitive woman. And can't you hurry up? The water's hot. You're ‘bout to burn my ears off.”

“Hush, girl. This won't take a minute. You're more tender-headed than Lena.”

“You should talk to my Auntie Colleen. You should've seen her trying to braid my hair when I was little. I cried so hard. That woman will snatch your lungs out through your scalp if you let her. Granted, no matter what she's doing to you, it will still come out looking good. You just have to be willing to suffer.”

“Why didn't you have your auntie do this, anyway?”

Tracey paused for a second, reveling in the feel of the cool water against her scalp. Sighing, she responded, “That wouldn't have required that I drive here, would it?”

“What is it with you and this need to run from every problem you have? Your parents already know. I've met them, and neither one of them seems like the bogeyman to me.”

“Do we need to go over this again? I'm going to be spending plenty of time at home soon enough.”

“Don't get so fussy about it—”

“Just don't start with me.”

Monica tapped her shoulder and Tracey sat up while she toweled her hair dry. “What makes you think I'm starting with you, Tracey?”

“You are always starting with me.”

“What exactly are you planning to do, girl? How are you planning to pull this off? Tracey, this is a small town. This is a small
state
. What makes you think you won't run into him when you're here? And you said his family doesn't live ten miles from yours. What makes you think you won't run into someone who knows him? Furthermore, there's graduation. You might see him—”

“I'm not going.”

“What?”

“I'm not going to graduation. I'll be big as a house by then. Seven months pregnant. Look, Monica, this will work, and if you care about me, you'll just support me.”

“I support you, baby girl, I'm just not as optimistic as you, obviously.”

“Our paths would never have crossed if it hadn't been for school. Our worlds don't connect.”

“Everybody's world connects. There's only one world, Tracey!” Moni was getting frustrated. Tracey had turned out to be more stubborn than Moni ever would have guessed.

“You haven't told Alex, have you?” Tracey looked like she'd swallowed an egg.

“Noooo,” Moni drawled. “I didn't have to tell him anything. Tracey, no matter how many jackets you wear, you're still showing.”

Tracey cursed. She had seen Alex twice for school and he hadn't said a word.

“And how do you think he found out it was Garrett?” Moni asked.

“What!” If Alex knew, then it wouldn't be long before her father knew.

“Alex told me he put two and two together after he'd heard some things about Garrett and saw him buying like a thousand home pregnancy tests one night.”

Tracey covered her face in embarrassment.

“Am I really this stupid?”

“You're not, but I swear you've got me puzzled about how you're managing this pregnancy.”

As usual, Tracey ignored her and went back to engaging in magical thinking.

“I just have to play it right, keep a low profile. I really don't have to leave the house as much as I did before. Rett will be gone come summer when I'm showing. Nobody but his roommates would put us together, and I think they're gone in the summer, too.”

“I think pregnancy is making your brain shrink,” Moni mumbled.

“What?” Tracey shrieked.

“Seriously, you aren't making any sense. But I'm just going to smile and nod and be there by your side no matter how crazy you get. And,
baby
, you have no idea how crazy you're about to get.”

* * *

Moni asked Tracey only once how she expected to take care of a baby alone. She immediately dropped the issue when Tracey began talking about her trust fund. The trust she got when she was eighteen, the one she got when she was twenty-one, the one she would get when she turned thirty. The job her father had promised her even though she would take it only as a last resort. And the inevitable sale of her grandmother's house, though it pained her to do it.

The only question Tracey didn't have an answer for—even a half-baked one—was what she was going to tell the child about her father.