Fat Girl (25 page)

I’m trying to protect you!
I want to scream. If he only knew the agonizing options that have plagued my mind. The lengths I’ve thought of going to because I love him.

But I say nothing, feeling so splintered that I can hardly look at Mick. Mainly because this is the first time he’s ever looked at me as if I were anything less than whole.

Without another word, he stalks away, and I let him go, watching him through a blur of rain and tears. When I hear his car door slam with a resounding finality, the sobs I held back erupt in a torrent. Crumpling, I drop to the cold, wet concrete, crying until there’s nothing left except a deep, hollow ache.

SIX DAYS PASS IN SLOW, dismal hours. My heart throbs. Mick has wiped himself out of my life completely. I don’t see him or hear from him.

Mama and Papa T aren’t blind. They’re asking questions because he hasn’t been around. Victor knows, but doesn’t say anything. He’s probably relieved that Mick is done with me. It hurts that Victor thinks we’re a mistake, but it hurts more to think he may be right.

I offer my foster parents evasions and put on a happy face. I play with the girls and pretend nothing’s wrong. By the time I leave for the library one afternoon, my cheeks are sore from my forced smiles.

When Molly’s not hounding me about her “boyfriend” suspicions, I sneak peeks at baby books and strum my stomach. Despite all intentions to remain detached as I decide what to do, I’ve fallen hard for this tiny being and wish I could share the wealth of emotions I’m experiencing with Mick.

I stock shelves and work the circulation desk, but any seconds of downtime are filled with snippets of the night Mick proposed.

I love you more than anything, Dee.

You’re my life. You’re my future.

Come to New York. I promise to always be there for you, baby.

I’ll make you happy.

Please say yes.

Mick’s words push past the barrier of my fears. All this time, I’ve been focused on how much I love him without crediting Mick for how much he loves me. He wouldn’t want my protection. He’d want to be there for me just as I promised to be there for him. I’m so used to going it alone, to handling my problems myself, that I haven’t learned how to lean on anyone else.

You hide out. That’s not trust or love.

He’s right. I owe him better than lies and secrets.

He’s hurt. That’s why he hasn’t come around, not because he doesn’t want me anymore. I’ll go to Mick tonight and confess everything. He’ll be shocked at first. Scared, too—that’s only natural. But then I imagine his arms going around me, saying it’s going to be all right. Telling me that we’ll figure this out together.

When I get home, the girls are already in bed. Papa T’s snoring on the couch in front of the TV after a long day, Mama T’s working the late shift, and Victor’s out. I freshen up, put on one of my prettier dresses—a gauzy cotton that Mick likes—and slip out through the kitchen. My flat sandals press silently into the grass as I trek across the backyard. If Malcolm Peters is home, I’ll make up an excuse as to why I’m there.

Our houses are spaced wide apart, and in the distance I see the glow of lights from inside. As I get closer, I hear music. Loud, as if there’s a party. But that can’t be right. Mick wouldn’t be throwing a party after what happened between us less than a week ago. Would he?

My knee-jerk reaction is to run, but movement on the deck catches my eye. Heart thudding, I urge myself forward, covered by the dark night and a huge oak tree that borders the properties.

Silhouetted under the faint quarter moon, two figures share a lounge chair. The girl’s back is to me. The gentle breeze stirs her long, straight hair, and her short skirt is hiked up her slim thighs to straddle the lap beneath her. Male hands grip her small, perfect butt as she moves back and forth against him. He’s shirtless and her arms are wound around his neck. They’re kissing and there’s just enough light for me to see that his eyes are closed and that desire, both familiar and rampant, fills his face.

Mick’s betrayal crashes into me. Without thought or care, it ruthlessly cracks my heart in two. How could he do this? He promised never to cheat. He promised to always be there.

I look up again, some sick, desperate part of me hoping that I’ve imagined the whole thing. But it’s real. And adding insult to injury, behind them through the patio doors stands Victor, laughing it up with one of his buddies as they clink beer bottles, celebrating Mick’s score. The double betrayal robs me of breath. I feel utterly broken. Beyond repair. Destroyed.

The threat of tears stings my eyes. But I won’t cry here. Or let them see me. If all I have left is my scrap of pride, then I intend to keep that. I turn and run back across the yard, mindless of the crisscross of my sandals cutting into my feet.

When I reach the back door, I slip back inside, unnoticed, and go straight to my room. I’ve been so stupid. Why did I think I could ever compete with girls like that? Hadn’t I learned that love never worked out for me? Hadn’t I learned that I wasn’t the keeping kind? I’d gotten caught up in a fairy tale of happily-ever-after. I should have known that no one does forever with me.

The cotton dress sticks to my clammy skin, and tears stream down my face. I grab my suitcase out of the closet. It’s the one that brought me here and the one that will take me away. I toss my clothes in without folding them and stuff the money I’ve saved into my bag. I consider taking along some pictures of the family, but reject the idea. Starting over means starting clean. And this time I’ll do it on my terms. I’ve always been sent somewhere; now I’ll chose where I’ll go.

I scribble a note to Mama and Papa T, thanking them for their kindness. I stick the engagement ring in an envelope and scrawl Mick’s name across the front. I don’t want my foster parents to find it and realize that I’ve been dating Mick behind their backs and lying to them. They’ll think badly enough of me for leaving this way. But I have to go. I can’t stay here.

An out-of-wedlock pregnancy would embarrass and offend my respectable foster parents and their strong family values. They would insist that Mick marry me. But I know that he doesn’t want me anymore, and being married to him for the sake of our baby would be a sham. Both of our sets of parents had shotgun weddings, and I have no desire to repeat their miserable lives.

Telling Mama and Papa T what I just saw isn’t an option either. Not without tearing apart their close-knit family. Mick and Victor belong. I don’t. Leaving is the best thing for everyone.

I look in on the girls. They’re sound asleep and I kiss their soft little cheeks. Papa T’s still snoring, his chest rising and falling in slumber. At the front door, I take one last look at the good man who has been my father for the past four years and then quietly close it behind me.

Inside my car, I’m shaking so badly I can hardly start the engine.

Finally, it turns over and I drive away into the night—my heart and soul ripping apart.

Another rejection. Another loss.

Because I’m not enough.

Not enough for my father or my mother.

And not enough for Mick.

TWO HOURS AFTER LEAVING DEE’s place, I’m just as frustrated as I was when I left.

I can’t, Mick. I can’t do this with you. Not again.

Fifteen years ago, Dee was the one who had doubts…she was the one who left. And yet she now acts as if
I
broke
her
heart. I wrack my brain for answers, but it’s like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle without all the pieces.

When the Welcome to Springvale sign comes into view, I gear down and my hands choke the wheel. Thoughts of Dee aren’t the only ones that torment me. If it weren’t for the Torreses, I’d never return. There’s too much pain and grief here.

I exit from the two-lane highway and hang a right at the second set of traffic lights; this route will take me into town. As much as things have changed over the years, much has stayed the same. Logan’s, the hardware store, is still on the corner. I worked there part-time as well as at Papa T’s garage. And there’s Frannie Mae’s Diner beside it. They serve the best burgers I’ve ever tasted. At the end of the block is The Barber Shop with an old-fashioned barber pole out front and Jimmy’s Five and Dime, which has managed to stay in business despite an influx of big box retailers in nearby towns.

Locals tend to stay loyal to their own. I have a street named in my honor and a double-patty burger at Frannie Mae’s called the Big Mick. There was a write-up about that burger while I was a rookie on the Miami Heat. It was years before I lived that down. Hell, Victor still razzes me about it.

It’s Sunday, just after noon, and the stores are closed. The center of town is dead quiet. When I reach the residential area a mile later, I see signs of life. Large yards littered with toys and bikes. I stop to greet a group of boys playing a game of ball hockey in the road. They crowd around my car, but I don’t mind. We shoot the breeze about the Bulls, and they complain about me quitting. Thirteen-year-olds can’t fathom that there’s more to life than money and fame. I didn’t come to terms with that until Papa T got sick.

We bump fists and I drive farther down the road, slowing as I drive past the light-blue house I grew up in. A nice couple with two little girls lives there now, and they’ve hung a tire swing from the huge oak tree out back I used to climb to escape Malcolm Peters.

The familiar icy anger creeps into my bones, and I resist the urge to punch something.
He’s not in your life anymore
, I remind myself. Not in any way that matters, at least. The town sheriff now resides up on the hill in a sprawling million-dollar estate and drives a Cadillac. Selling my soul to the devil was the price of freedom from my father.

I count to ten, cooling my head, and swing into the driveway next door, behind Victor’s sedan. Anger tucked away, I exit the car and walk across the fresh-cut lawn to the white house with the sloped gray roof and spindle porch railing that I still think of as my safe haven. I don’t bother to knock, knowing the door is always unlocked when someone’s home. The cop in Victor doesn’t like it, but Mama T tells him to leave his big city ways in Chicago.