Marker of Hope (8 page)

“Good news for me. Bad news for the rest of
the world.”

David parked the car on the curve. I stared
at my house from the car window. The demons hadn’t been able to
kill me, but I was sure Claire was about to finish the job for
them.

“Hey, you know what? I think we should hold
off telling my mom about me being pregnant for a few more days. At
least until we tell your parents. Or maybe…” I bit my thumbnail. “I
think if we tell them at the same time, we have a better chance of
surviving. Drawing up some sort of escape plan would be sensible,
too. What do you think?”

He rubbed a side of the steering wheel with
one finger as he considered my suggestion.

“I can see it now…” He squinted his eyes. “My
father would end up insulting your mother and you, and your
mother…”

“Oh, my mom wouldn’t stand for it,” I said.
“Someone would end up getting punched in the mouth, and I’m willing
to bet my mom would be the one throwing the punches.” I sighed.
“Okay. Bad idea. I guess there’s no easy way to do this.”

“I’m afraid not.” He pursed his lips. “It’s
show time.”

***

Claire was in bed lounging in her nightshirt,
munching on popcorn and reading a romance novel with a muscular,
sweaty guy on the cover.

“Hey.” She looked up from her book. “How’d
the drive go?”

“It went…a little…um… You know.” I
shrugged.

She looked me up and down. “Were you wearing
that shirt when you left?”

“What?” I glanced at the new shirt. “Oh,
this. No, I went over to Galilea’s house. She gave me an early
Christmas present. Insisted I wear it.”

“That was nice of her.” She stuffed a handful
of popcorn in her mouth. “Did you two make up?”

“Yes.” I tucked my sweaty hands in my back
pocket, and rocked on my heels. “Mom, can you come downstairs?”

“In a minute. Just let me finish reading one
more chapter.”

“A whole chapter? Will it take long? We have
company.”

“Who?” She smiled and cocked her brow. “Is it
Eros? That boy has a thing for you. It’s so obvious. He may be a
little old for you, though. Don’t you think?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, it’s…it’s…someone
else. Can you just please come downstairs—please? I really, really
need you to come downstairs.
Now
. Please.”

“Okay?” Claire gave me a peculiar look. “Let
me put some pants on, and I’ll be right down.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay.”

I lingered at the door. “Okay.”

“Yes, okay.
Okay
?” She set her book on
the nightstand. “You’re acting so weird.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, defensively. “So
you’re coming down now?” I asked again, and she frowned at me.
“Yes, you are. Right. Okay.” I nodded. “Great. I’ll be
downstairs…waiting for you. So… Yeah.”

I closed the door to Claire’s room and
hurried down the stairs to the living room. David was sitting on
the couch with his elbows resting on his knees.

“She’ll be down in a minute.” I took a deep
breath as I sat next to him. I looked up at the stairs with
apprehension. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“I’m nervous, too.”

“I said scared.”

“And just think—we’ll have to do this again
tomorrow with my parents.”

I grunted, and he put an arm around me. I
leaned into him.

“The funny thing is,” he said, “I’m looking
forward to it—to telling my parents, and having the world know
you’re mine forever.” He pecked my lips. “All mine.” He pecked them
again, over and over.

I’d barely felt the tension leaving my
shoulders, when, abruptly, David pulled away from me and stood
up.

“Good evening, Mrs. Martin,” David sounded
serene, but his face was glowing in a palette of red hues.

“Evening, David. I wasn’t expecting to see
you in my living room,” Claire glanced at me, “making out with my
daughter on my couch.”

“We weren’t making out,” I said.

“Whatever.” Claire sat on an armchair, and
David took his seat on the couch next to me. “So how’ve you been,
David? You haven’t been locked away in your room for over a month,
heartbroken over Isis, have you?”

“Mom!” I widened my eyes.

“Because she,” Claire bobbed her head at me,
“only came out of her room yesterday. And I have to be honest—I’m
not too excited about seeing you two together again.”

“I see,” David said. “Well, I understand you
must be concerned Isis may get hurt a second time, but I assure you
it won’t happen. She wasn’t the only one who was heartbroken.”

“
I
messed things up between David and
me,” I told Claire. “I didn’t tell you before.”

“Yes, well, it’s not like you tell me much of
anything these days,” Claire said, which was the same thing Galilea
was upset at me for. “So why did you want me to come down here—to
applaud and cheer?”

“No,” David said. “I wanted to speak to you
because,” David paused to take a breath, “I’m here to ask for—”

“For my permission to,” Claire made air
quotes with her fingers, “court Isis? If it were up to me, I’d say
no—not a chance. But clearly, she’s already made her choice.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. But no, Mrs.
Martin, I don’t want your permission to date Isis. I’m here to ask
for her hand in marriage.”

Claire blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I want to marry your daughter, ma’am. I’m
asking for your consent to do so.”

Claire glanced between David and me. She knit
her brow, and then focused her attention on me, her head cocked to
the right.

“Are you pregnant?” she asked, and David
opened his mouth to answer. “No.” She raised her index finger at
him. “I am not talking to you, young man.”

David nodded and sat hushed beside me.

“Answer me, Isis.” Claire seethed. “Are. You.
Pregnant?”

I lowered my head, looking up at her through
my eyelashes. I nodded.

Silence—hysterical, reverberating, and
furious silence—and a stare that could melt a steel wall met my
confession. Endless seconds passed.

“I’m sorry,” I said when I could no longer
sustain the weight of her stare. “I know how disappointed you
are.”

“Do you?” She curled her fist and slammed it
on the chair’s arm. “Goddamn it, Isis! I gave you everything
necessary to prevent this. How many times did I warn you?” She
paused. I didn’t answer. “
How many?
” she screamed, and I
jumped.

“Please don’t yell at her,” David said.

Claire eyed David. “You would be wise to
refrain from telling me how to talk to my daughter right now.”

I tugged at David’s hand and shook my head,
warning him not to say another word. David pressed his lips
together, glanced at Claire, and turned away from her in clear
aggravation. Claire stood from the chair, pacing the living room
with a hand on her hip. I found out early in life it was better to
let her have a few silent minutes to herself. When she was ready,
she would speak.

“You two,” she rubbed her forehead with both
hands, “are much too young to understand the responsibilities that
come with a child. And marriage?” She forced out a laugh. “No.
Mmm-mmm. You’re not even old enough to drink.” She paced some more.
“So the logical solution is to fix this.”

“Fix what?” I said. “There’s no fixing it,
Mom. It’s done.”

“But it can be undone,” Claire said.

“Are you suggestion we terminate the
pregnancy?” David asked.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent
at such a young age, David. You don’t understand how your life will
change, how complicated…” Her eyes darted around the room, looking
at nothing. “Isis should have an abortion.”

I gasped and stood from the couch, my mouth
half open.

“Absolutely not,” David said sternly.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” My eyes
stung. “Why would you say something so—so awful?”

“You’re just kids!” Claire threw her hands in
the air. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

“Like me, you mean?” I sniffed, my entire
body shaking. “Like I was a mistake, Mom?”

“Honey, no… That came out wrong. I didn’t
mean—”

“Is that what you were going to do with
me—throw me away? Discard me like a piece of trash because I was an
inconvenience, a setback in your plans?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then why would you ask
her
to do it?”
David’s voice was loud. Claire stiffened. “This baby is as much a
piece of Isis as it is of you. Now, you can dislike me—or hate
me—as much you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that the baby
is a piece of me too,” he told her, “and I will be damned if I let
you or anyone else take either of them away from me.”

Claire covered her face with her hands. She
turned and gave us her back. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. A
minute or two passed before she turned to face us. She wiped her
cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I apologize for raising my voice at you,”
David said to Claire. “But I won’t apologize for my words.”

“You don’t have to,” Claire said. “They were
the right words to make me snap out of my own mother’s shoes. When
I told her I was pregnant with Isis, she was dreadful to me. But
I’m not my mother. I don’t want to be like her.” She sniffed.
“Please promise me one thing,” she told David. “Don’t you ever,
ever
break my little girl’s heart again.”

“I won’t,” David said. “I swear it.”

“And the same goes for you,” she said to me.
“He’s a keeper, Isis. Be good to him.”

I nodded.

“Come ‘ere.” Claire held out her arms to me.
I walked to her, tears cascading down both our cheeks. She wiped my
face and hugged me.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said.

“No,
I’m
sorry.” Claire sniffled. “I
don’t know what came over me. When I get this crazy, it’s only
because I love you with every fiber of my being.” She broke our
embrace and looked into my eyes. “And Isis, I’m thankful for every
moment you’ve been mine.” She looked at David. “And I don’t hate
you, David,” she said. “All I ask is you make her happy.”

“I intend to,” David said.

I returned to David’s side, and we sat on the
couch. Claire headed for the liquor cabinet.

“Have you been to see a doctor already?” she
asked, walking across the room with a bottle of wine and a glass in
her hand.

“Yes,” I said. “Just this afternoon.”

“My family has a private doctor.” David
pulled out the sonogram print from his shirt pocket. “Isis and the
baby will be well taken care of. You don’t have to worry.”

“Do you want to see it—the baby?” I
asked.

Claire nodded, and David handed her the
black-and-white image.

She smiled a tender sort of smile and ran her
finger over the image.

“Wow.” Claire sniffled again. “I’m going to
be a grandma.” After another bout of tears trailed down her cheeks,
she handed the image back to David. She poured herself a glass of
wine and chugged it, then poured another. At the rate she was
going, she was going to end up plastered on the floor.

“Mom, there’s one more thing,” I said,
watching her gulp down the second glass of wine. “I don’t know how
to say this…”

“Please,” she poured a third time, “don’t
apologize anymore.”

“Okay,” I said. “But can I apologize on
behalf of the tree that killed your car?”

CHAPTER 10

The following morning, the insurance company
deemed the car a total loss. They couldn’t understand how a tree
could’ve fallen on it. When the police report was taken and I was
questioned, I told them I’d stepped out of the car because I felt
sick and had avoided being crushed by mere seconds. People went to
jail for that sort of thing—lying to the police. Did that make me a
felon?

“This was an act of God,” Claire said,
sitting in the backseat of David’s car.

Nope. It was an act of David’s.

“You wouldn’t have lived had you been inside
the car. I can’t believe a tree just…it dropped right on it. I
mean, what are the chances of something like that happening?”

“Trees do fall, Mrs. Martin,” David said.
“All the time, I’m sure.”

“I guess they do. But on my car? Did you see
how the roof was flat as a board?”

David and I nodded.

“Isis, there’s no doubt your dad—Hector—is
looking out for you. God rest his soul.” She sighed. “He loved you
so much.”

I can’t breathe.

I felt like I was asphyxiating in a pit
filled with dark murky waters of remorse. I lowered the window. No
wonder demons were after me. They probably wanted to take me to
hell for lying over and over again to my mother.

“Do you feel sick?” David slowed the car as
we passed the fields of sorghum on the way to town. “I can pull
over.”

“No. Keep going. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Claire asked. “Maybe your blood
sugar is low. With all the commotion you’ve gone through today—my
conniption,
your
near death—and being pregnant, you could
faint.”

“Mom, I’m fine.”

“Should I stop to get you a drink?” David
asked.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Claire said.
“Juice. She needs juice.”

“I don’t need juice,” I said.

“Orange?” David asked Claire, ignoring me
like the speed limit sign.

“Yes. It’s what I always drank when I was
pregnant and felt faint,” Claire said.

“I’m not faint,” I told her.

“You know, it doesn’t help that she hardly
eats,” Claire continued. “She’s so pale. Look at her, David.”

“I eat.”
Sort of
.

“I noticed it yesterday—the paleness, I
mean.” David nodded. “And she’s too thin.”

“Ugh!” Claire huffed. “Don’t even get me
started. She’s swimming in her clothes.”

“No, I’m not,” I mumbled.

“I’ll have our doctor draw her up a
well-balanced diet.” He looked at me. “You need to eat better—not
just for you, but for the baby.”