Things I’ll Never Say (16 page)

“Here, Cam,” said Mr. Blakely, helping his wife into a chair.

Brynn looked away, channel-surfing the TV. She settled on a movie where everybody spoke French. Without subtitles. She clutched a blue teddy bear to her chest. Where had that come from? Did the hospital give them to all the new mothers? Why wasn't she holding her baby instead of a dumb bear?

“I wish I could truly nurse him.” Mrs. Blakely sighed. “Oh, look at my big boy. Is he hungry? Yes, he is.”

Jake clenched his fists.
Not your boy! Mine.

Brynn grimaced.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

“Yeah.” She shifted the bear. “My boobs hurt. They're giving me something to dry up the milk, but it hasn't kicked in yet.”

“Oh.” Jake hadn't considered that Brynn would produce milk whether she kept the baby or not.

Mrs. Blakely looked up, beaming. “Did Brynn tell you we've picked a name?”

So had Jake. Andrew Robert, after Granddaddy Campbell. Drew for short.

“Aidan Alexander,” said Mrs. Blakely. “When he's older, he might prefer Alex.”

Aidan? What kind of name was Aidan? Or Alex? His name was Drew.

Back in his grandparents' house, Jake gazed around the kitchen. Eating was the last thing on his mind. Without looking, he plopped a spoonful of each dish until his paper plate buckled. Lunch in hand, he elbowed open the porch door.

“And there's Camden quarterback, junior Jake Campbell, going back for a pass. Back, back,” drawled a sportscaster.

The male Campbells clustered in a corner of the porch, watching a video of the Jefferson County game. Jake caught a glimpse of Chad leaning over Granddaddy's shoulder. No! No Chad. No football. Not today. He spied an Adirondack chair as far from the porch as possible, almost behind the garage, and headed for it.

“Got enough Jell-O salad there, dude?” Sylvie flopped, uninvited, into a neighboring Adirondack and sipped a canned Diet Coke. She smelled like cigarettes.

Jake looked down. Besides the two slices of ham and the yam casserole, there were at least five different mutations of Jell-O mounded on his plate.

“I like Jell-O.” He forked up a big hunk of something pink and pecan studded to prove it.

Sylvie took a long pull on her soda. “Where've you been lately? I never see you outside of school anymore.”

Jake swallowed. “Y'know. Homework. Physical therapy. Stuff.” Another mouthful, lime Jell-O with chopped apples.

“Oh, yeah, your knee,” Sylvie said. “Sorry. How's it doing?”

“Okay.” Good. He could talk about his knee.

“So I guess you aren't playing baseball, are you?”

Duh, Sylvie. Jake resisted throwing a Jell-O-sticky marshmallow at her.

“No,” he said. “I'm keeping stats.” And wishing every day he was out on the field and not in the dugout with a clipboard.

“So, you see much of Brynn?” Jake shot her a sideways glance. What did she know?

“No,” he said, choosing his words. “She's busy with school. Besides, it's two hours to Decatur. Two hours back. That's a lot of gas money.”

Sylvie rested her soda can on the arm of her chair. “You two break up?”

“Kind of.” Change the subject! Change the subject! “We're taking a break.” Yeah, a permanent break.

“Really?” Sylvie perked up at the whiff of possible gossip. “Why?”

God, how nosy could she get? Even for a cousin.

“Difference of opinions,” Jake said. “What's new with you?” He knew several topics that Sylvie might not care to discuss. For instance, the pictures of her having a
very
good time on spring break that Brad had texted everyone who hadn't gone to Panama City. “How was spring break?”

Sylvie gave him a dirty look.

“Well, I'm done,” she said. “Going to Brad's?” She finished off her drink but held on to the can. Experience told Jake she would use it as a portable ashtray in her car.

“No.” Jake stood. End of Conversation. “Have fun at the lake.” Ouch. His knee wouldn't straighten. That happened when he sat in one position too long. He limped toward the garbage cans lining the driveway.

On New Year's Eve, Jake's leg had still been messed up, so he and Brynn had spent the night at his house, watching movies, making out a little.

Wow, those freshman fifteen pounds looked good on Brynn. It had all gone to her boobs.

That was when he Found Out.

“Just when were you planning to tell me?” he demanded.

Brynn gave him an exasperated look. “Eventually. I mean, it really doesn't have anything to do with you. Remember last summer when I had the flu? Well, I was so busy barfing, I forgot my pill. The end. I'll take care of this.”

“What do you mean?” This was
his
baby. At least he was pretty sure it was.

“Before you ask, yes, it's yours. I haven't slept with anyone else.”

“Really?”

“When? Between school and two jobs, I'm not exactly Campus Party Queen.” Brynn clutched a throw pillow to her stomach. “You think I want to lose my scholarship and wind up back in that double-wide with Mom and my lazy-ass stepfather?” She squeezed the pillow.

“You didn't answer my question. What do you mean ‘take care of this'?”

Brynn slammed the pillow to the couch. “I'm having the baby.” Before Jake could feel sad or glad or anything else, she added, “I'm putting it up for adoption.”

As Jake sat in Granddaddy's backyard on Easter afternoon, his family swirling around him, that night seemed an eternity ago. Jake checked his cell phone. Had he been there only half an hour? It was too soon to leave. An hour. An hour would be the right amount of time to stay.

What was he going to do for another half hour?

Out of nowhere, Gran appeared.

“You're not leaving, are you?” she said. “You just got here.”

“No, ma'am. Just getting rid of my plate.”

“No seconds?” Gran raised her eyebrows. “Eat up or you're taking it home with you.” She gave him a playful swat, as if he were seven instead of seventeen. “Boy, you grow a foot every time I see you.”

You saw me Wednesday, Grandma.

Grandma crossed her arms and gave him a long look. “Changing all the time, boy.”

She had gotten that right. He looked like the same old Jake: a pretty good athlete. Make that a past athlete. A good friend. A good son. But inside he was different.

He was a father.

Open adoption, they called it. When the other options fizzled out, the social worker had told him about this one. A birth parent could arrange to see the child, and the adoptive parents would keep in touch with pictures and letters.

Yesterday, Jake had driven to Atlanta to see his son. A two-and-a-half-hour drive, plus another forty-five minutes looping through fancy neighborhoods, looking for the Atlanta Botanical Gardens.

When he found it, a mechanical ticket gate blocked his way.
PARKING $2.00 PER HOUR
, shouted the sign. Two dollars an hour just to park? He hadn't counted on that. He had just enough money for a burger and gas back home. He punched the gate button, and a time-stamped ticket shot into his hand. He'd stay longer than a few hours next time.

Jake cruised the parking lot, searching for the Blakelys' black Range Rover. Like there weren't a zillion of those. He spotted them, Trey and Camille (“call me Cam”) Blakely in their khakis and polos, next to a Range Rover, waving. Didn't they own a pair of jeans or a T-shirt? Did everybody in Atlanta dress this way? Suddenly, his own best jeans and Camden Tigers T-shirt felt all wrong, too young, too sloppy, too country. He waved in return, then steered the truck to the far corner of the lot. Away from the Range Rovers.

By the time he walked back to the Blakelys, they had unpacked a stroller the size of a small car.

“Hello, Jake,” said Cam. Her voice said private schools and out-of-state college. She cradled the baby in her arms, a bundle of blankets and a hat. Or did you call that thing a bonnet? “Look who's here, Aidie,” she cooed.

Aidie?
Jake's stomach clenched.
Aidie?

The baby was dead asleep, sucking away at a pacifier. Between the bonnet and the pacifier, Jake couldn't see his face. Maybe he'd wake up and Jake could see what he looked like.
Who
he looked like
.

Trey and Cam talked their way across the parking lot. A lot of this and that and nothing. Jake said yes and no and nodded and wondered how he had wound up here on a Saturday morning with these people who had his baby.

They stopped at a ticket window.
ADMISSION AGES 12 AND UP — $18.95.

“We're Garden members.” Trey pulled a members' pass and an American Express from a thick stack of credit cards. “I'll pay for our guest.”

Jake wanted to argue that he had money. It felt wrong to pay to see his own son, but worse having it paid for him.

“Forget it.” Trey waved off Jake's crumpled bills.

But Jake couldn't forget. The whole day seemed weird and off center. They plodded the garden paths, past tulips and azaleas and apple trees, their blossoms as pink as cotton candy. Still talking, saying nothing. Waiting, waiting.

At last, Aidan stirred in his monster stroller, spit out the pacifier, and wailed. Cam hefted the baby to her shoulder. “Lunchtime for Aidie. Jake, would you like to give him his bottle?” She sounded as if she were offering Jake a slice of pie.

“I've never fed a baby,” he said. Or even held one.

“Nothing to it,” said Trey. “He won't break.”

Jake wasn't so sure. He sat on a bench as Trey showed him how to support the head, tilt the bottle just so. Jake watched the baby, sucking away, eyes closed.
Open your eyes, Drew. C'mon, li'l dude, look at me. Your dad.

Trey circled the bench, snapping pictures with his cell-phone camera.

“Uh-oh, somebody's gone sleepy-bye again.” Cam swooped Aidan/Drew away from Jake, burped him, and settled him back in the stroller.

This wasn't the way Jake had imagined the day. He'd thought Drew would be awake, and they would . . . He wasn't sure
what
he had thought they would do. Drew was too young to do more than eat, sleep, and cry. If only he would open his eyes. If only he would look at Jake.

“Brynn said you play football,” Trey said. “What position?”

“Quarterback,” Jake answered. “You play?”

“Me?” Trey sounded amused. “No. Tennis is my game.”

Tennis. Jake's friends played football in the fall, baseball in the spring. He did not know one guy who played tennis.

Until now.

“You plan to play college ball?” Trey asked.

“No.” Apparently Brynn had left that part out. “I got hurt. Blew out my knee.”

“That's too bad.” Trey said. “What happened? If you don't mind my asking,” he added.

“It's okay.” It wasn't okay, but what else could he say? “I got clipped in district finals. Tore my ACL in the last quarter. We lost.”

“Are you all right now?” asked Cam. “How thoughtless of us to drag you around all day with an injured leg.”

“No, I'm okay. Really.” Why was he trying to make these people feel better about
his
leg?

Trey checked his phone. “We've been here a good while. You've probably had enough walking for today.”

“Yeah, probably.” His leg did feel a little twingy, which wasn't good.

“You have a long drive home,” Cam added. She was making it easy for Jake to leave. Did they feel as weird as Jake did about this whole thing?

Cam and Trey talked and talked all the way back to their car. They placed Aidan into his car seat as if he were a piece of Grandma Campbell's china. They folded up the massive stroller and stowed it in the trunk. Only when they slammed the door shut did Jake notice the window decal.
YALE LAW SCHOOL ALUMNI.

Plus one of those damned “Baby on Board” signs.

Jake said his good-byes in a fog. The next thing he knew he was on I-20, headed east, a Braves game on the truck radio.

Yale Law School Alumni
thrummed in his head. Nothing else. Just that. Rich people went to Yale. Smart people. People who were members of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. Played tennis.

The Georgia countryside rolled past him in a straight, dull blur.
Yale Law School Alumni.
Jake's head hurt.

The Braves lost just as he turned off the Camden exit.

“Jake?” Gran jiggled his elbow. “You asleep on your feet? I said go get you some dessert. I made that orange pound cake you like.”

As if he were on autopilot, Jake's feet took him back to the kitchen. He helped himself to a slice of the cake. Back outside, he dropped to the porch steps. He was tired of avoiding so many people and thoughts. Behind him, the TV blared away.

Oh, great. They were still watching the Jefferson County game. Worst night of Jake's life.

The game had been so close. Time out. The coaches called a huddle. One coach told him to run the ball, the other to pass. Then time was up. Jake went back on the field not knowing what to do. In the split second he tried to decide, a Jefferson lineman flattened him.
Twong.
His right knee. He tried to stand. Blinding pain. He crumpled to the turf.

Surgery and weeks of therapy.
You'll never play ball again
, said the doctors. A strange, empty time without sports. What did people do who didn't play on a team? Then Brynn told him her news. Maybe that was what he was supposed to be. A father.

But now he wasn't going to be a father, either. Not the way he imagined. He could see Drew — no,
Aidan
— whenever he wanted.

“Anytime,” Trey had said. “Just give a week's notice so we can plan.”

Yale Law School Alumni.
As it turned out, Trey and Cam were both Yale Law School alumni. If Brynn had tried, she could not have found a more different set of parents for Drew.