Black Flag (Racing on the Edge) (62 page)

Our trip to Babies-R-Us
ended rather suddenly when we were asked to leave because Emma and Aiden
thought it was appropriate to try out a breast pump, on Aiden, because he
didn’t believe Jameson that men could produce milk. I didn’t feel the need to
ask where he heard that or if it was true. I had a feeling Spencer was somehow
involved in that theory. Just so we’re clear, you can’t test out breast pumps
in the store.

Later that evening,
Jameson and I were lying in my bed before he had to leave. As it was, we
wouldn’t see each other for another three weeks. With only three races
remaining, Jameson’s schedule was insane.

Looking over the
schedule with him, my response was, “Are you going to have time to sleep?” He
just laughed but I was serious.

We only had an hour
before he needed to leave for Olympia to meet Wes, but as I
laid
there, wrapped in the warm comfort of his arms, sex was the furthest thing from
my mind.

That’s a crock of shit
as I was
always
thinking about sex with him, but at that moment I was
trying not to. I wanted woo, and the romantic woo that left him holding me.

“I’ll be home soon
honey.” Jameson breathed kissing the top of my head and then tucking it nicely
under his chin. “And then
...
”

“Then we get married!”
I exclaimed with a beaming smile.

“Yes, then we get
married.
Finally
.”

“So after we get
married, then what?”

“What do you mean?” He
pulled back to look at me. “I have the awards ceremony in Vegas the following
weekend and then Christmas.”

“Well,” I spoke slowly.
“I know we can’t go on our honeymoon just yet, with me being on bed rest.”

“We can drive somewhere
and then after the baby is born we can go someplace.
Just
us.”
He winked.

“That sounds nice. When
does testing start for next season?”

I felt his body tense.
“Two weeks after Christmas. I got the Chili Bowl and then testing starts.”

That’s the shitty thing
about being a race car driver, you don’t get time off. And when you do, it’s
short lived.

Jameson left shortly
after that and of course it was a sad tearful goodbye. I wasn’t sure if the
tears were from him leaving or from him not taking Emma with him. Either way,
there were a lot of tears.

I was in a really crappy
mood by the second week without Jameson. It didn’t help matters that I wanted
sex, not this reciprocating motion shit either. I wanted a good hard press
forging. I wanted the kind of press forging that would leave me walking with a
limp. Excuse me for being so blunt but a pregnant woman can only take so much.

When I mentioned this
to Jameson, after being an incredible bitch to him one afternoon on the phone,
it led to a
very
descriptive tech support of what he’d do to me in
another seven weeks.

It didn’t help my
frustration, it just invigorated it. It became its own organism after that.

“What flavor is that
one?” Emma asked peering over my shoulder as I ate my ice cream, trying to feed
my organism. She was a demanding little bitch.
The organism
...
and Emma.

“Uh
...
Cheesecake Brownie,” I looked at the
front to be sure. “Yeah, Cheesecake Brownie,”

“Let me try it.” She
reached over the top of my arm to grab it.

“No,” I pushed Emma off
me. “This one is
mine
. Get your own.”

“But I want to try that
one.”

I kicked her drawing my
narcotic closer to my chest in a protective measure. “Get your own.”

“But I—”

“No!” I interjected
losing control. “I’m sick and tired of you acting like a goddamn child Emma!
Grow up!” I shouted and made my way back to my bedroom, leaving Van laughing at
Emma. I knew this had more to do with just ice cream but I was having a little
breakdown today. I wanted so badly to be with Jameson on his last race but no,
I was bedridden.

Fuck you Darrin, fuck
you!

I had this clown in my
room and I hated clowns. Any time I felt any anger about what Darrin had done
to us, I took my frustrations out on the clown. He now only had one arm, half a
torso, one leg and his foot was hanging on by a thread. I was convinced he’d be
destroyed by the time these three weeks were over.

Feeling slightly like
an ass for yelling at Emma, I was about to go find her when Charlie joined me.

“Hey kiddo, scoot
over.”

This was a new ritual
for us. Charlie and I would lie in my bed, watch reality TV and eat ice cream
for hours.

He
laid
down beside, fluffing a pillow behind his head before looking over at me as he
took the lid off his Brownie Batter ice cream. He reached for the new chub
attached to his mid-section. “I blame you for this.”

I rolled my eyes. “So
do Van and Emma,”

It was silent for a few
moments while we ate our Brownie Batter and Cheesecake Brownie until Charlie
sighed. “So it looks like the little monsters are mine.”

“Really, I mean, did
Andrea tell you?” I turned facing him grunting with the motion because the ice
cream was in fact taking up residence in some pretty inconvenient places, like
my hips.

“Yeah, at my last
appointment
...
when the doctors said
...
I didn’t have much time left.” His eyes
fell to the ice cream container. “She kind of blurted it out on the way home.”

I nodded as the reality
of losing my dad would soon hit home but like everything else, I tried to look
forward. Don’t be fooled though, I have a name for this, it’s called denial.

“Do the twins know?”

“Andrea said they’ve
known all along.”

“Well, shit
...
” was all I said.

It explained a lot as
to why the Lucifer twins acted the way they did. I was the same way growing up.
Well, I hardly think I was that annoying but I could have been to others.

“I can’t believe I’m related
to those assholes.” I rolled on my back with another grunt. It was as if I
thought the grunting helped me move easier. My hand reached down to my stomach
when I felt the baby moving. Maybe he was sea sick from all my movements?

The corner of Charlie’s
mouth twitched into a smile. “You’re really starting to show now.”

I glared. “Thanks dad.”
I set the ice aside. I needed to stop eating ice cream before I turned into the
Good Year blimp.

“Can I?” Charlie asked
motioning toward my flailing spaz who was currently flailing around.

“Yeah, go ahead.” I
tucked my hands behind my head.

“Have you guys thought
of any names yet?” His hand gently touched his grandson.

“We talked the other
night on the phone about names but we didn’t really decide on one.”

His eyes light up.
“Charlie is a good name,”

Before we could
continue; Lane, who flew out yesterday, came barreling into the room with Mr.
Jangles. “Whoa buddy, careful there.” I told him reaching for Mr. Jangles.
“You’ll throw your back out carrying him around like that.”

“What you feed him?” he
asked in his little chipmunk voice, face turning red. I loved how three year
olds still left out words. I think I’ll cry the day I have a conversation with
Lane and he pronounces words correctly and doesn’t leave any out.

“McDonalds.”

Lane, much like his
dad, was like a real live windup toy after a half pint of Brownie Batter ice
cream. I just hoped his batteries would die soon. I would not be telling Alley
about this either. She warned us before she left that he kind of goes crazy
when he has sugar but really, who doesn’t go crazy when they have sugar?
Spencer is a prime example, give him a snickers and it’s like watching Mr.
Jangles on cat nip. The only difference here would be that Spencer doesn’t
crawl around on his hands and knees. He saved that for when’s he’s drinking.

Hanging out with Lane
was fun although when I gave him a lollipop he
accidentally
stuck it in
my hair during his animated recollection of how he beat Jameson last week at
Wii Tennis. This just confirmed my theory that the incorrigible Lucifer twins
were already corrupting him. Specifically when he cackled like Christopher Lee
Ray at me for having to cut a piece of my hair just to get the goddamn thing
out.

Later that night,
without a moment’s rest from the Lucifer twins and their partner in crime,
Lane, Emma attacked me with wedding plans.

“Sway, we need to do
this.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “You do realize there are only
three weeks until your wedding, right?”

“Seriously?”

“Yes
...
seriously, now pick a goddamn dress
already!” She yelled throwing the magazine at me. “I can’t plan a wedding
without the dress.”

“I hate you.” I
muttered flipping through the ridiculous magazine. I finally settled on one and
I couldn’t tell you what it looked like because I really didn’t care. All I
wanted was to marry Jameson and it didn’t matter to me if we were naked while
doing it.

Now there’s an idea
...
Nah, not with this
belly. Besides, your dad will be there and
him
seeing
you naked is not an option.

Emma went on to explain
everything else she had planned for the wedding. I nodded picking at my nail
polish until she got to the twentieth activity.

“Hey asshole,” I
glared. “This isn’t a scavenger hunt. It’s a fucking wedding. What’s with all
the activities?”

This did nothing to
deter her at all, nor did she answer me. I was beginning to worry about the
lack of oxygen going to her brain—it was all coming out her mouth. Jameson was
right; she doesn’t breathe enough when speaking.

Two hours later I
turned toward her, “Are you finished or are we still having a conversation?”

This didn’t seem to
affect her either. I began to wonder if there was in fact something wrong with
her. I mean seriously, who has that much energy all the time? It just confirmed
my suspicions that she was secretly on some sort of
psychostimulant
drug.

I never felt bad about
drugging her on the way home from New Hampshire. You can’t blame us really, and
if you do, you’ve obviously never traveled with her.

On Friday, while
Jameson was now in Florida for the last race of the season, he called me after
qualifying was over. “Are you excited to see me in three days?”

“Yeah,” I responded
wryly, my attention focused on Blubber, Logan’s pet hamster who hadn’t moved from
his place on his wheel. He was like a big fat blob.

Logan was convinced I
needed parenting skills,
which I did
. But the fact that a six-year old
pointed this out left me somewhat bitter. So he left me in charge of his
hamster while he was at school.

“Geez
...
try to contain your excitement for me,”
Jameson replied. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

I could hear the
commotion around him and knew he was calling me from the track.

“I’m sorry. I’m hamster
sitting and it’s not looking too good. He hasn’t moved all day. And I’m sure he
should have shit by now.”

“Uh, that sounds like
he’s dead,” He replied with a laugh.

“Oh, well that’s just
fucking great. My first attempt at parenting and look what happens!” I wailed
reaching for my trusty box of Kleenex. “I can’t do this.”

“Just get another one
for him.” he suggested trying to reason with me. “Why are you babysitting a
hamster anyways?”

“I’m not so sure that
will work.” I ignored his babysitting question. “Wouldn’t he notice if I
replaced Blubber?”

“Doubt that.” He
snorted. “Last week he had his pants on backwards for the majority of the day
and didn’t notice. What makes you think he’d notice a new hamster?”

“It’s just that’s a
little more work than I wanted to put into this whole babysitting thing.” I
replied sardonically. “Do they stuff hamsters? Maybe if I had him stuffed,
Logan would never notice.”

“Yeah because having
him stuffed would clearly be less work than buying a new one.”

“Jerk.”

“So anyways,” he said,
changing subjects. “I’m really missing you.”

It was times like this
that I was reminded of what he meant to me. He had the weight of the world on
his shoulders right now while my problems were nowhere near the magnitude of
his but here he was, just listening. And here I was complaining about a dead
hamster but he was just listening.

I could sense the fear,
the pressure and the overwhelming anxiety in his voice. I decided the only
appropriate answer here would be sending a picture of the funbags.