“Haters,” Franklin said and looked at Mrs. Crinkle while shaking his head. “Gotta put my blockers on.” He took the pair of shades from atop his head and slid them over his eyes before looking over at Greg. “I left my Haters Repellant Spray at home, so these blockers'll have to do.”
Greg laughed and slapped hands with Franklin. “That was a good one, boy. I like that.”
Not long after Greg and Franklin finished off their lunches, they moved into the den and chatted while Mrs. Crinkle cleaned up the kitchen.
When Mr. Crinkle came home, he dropped his shopping bag on the counter and acknowledged Franklin, then gave Greg a manly hug.
“Always good to see you, son.” Mr. Crinkle nodded in the direction of the door. “That your bike out there?”
“Yes, sir. The black and chrome one.”
“That's a nice bike,” he said. “Both of them are pretty good models, actually. When I used to ride, I had a Harley. Black and red Harley. Called her Fire.” Stroking his salt-and-pepper beard, Mr. Crinkle told them about his days as a biker.
Greg clung to his father's every word as though he was hearing these stories for the first time. “Tell him about the time you rode cross-country, Dad.”
Franklin's eyebrows lifted high. “You rode cross-country, Mr. Crinkle?”
“Rode almost to California once,” Mr. Crinkle said, and there was a faraway look in his eyes. “Me and Brunoâyou remember Bruno, don't you, Greg?”
“Yes, sir,” Greg said, nodding.
Bruno was a good friend of the family, and he kept riding his bike until diabetes took one of his legs. He died of kidney failure just before Greg's thirteenth birthday.
“Me and Bruno made it all the way to Vegas. Then my bike broke down in the desert. Got ahold of some bad oil and it locked my engine. Felt like my whole world had crashed,” he said, still stroking his beard. “Know how bad it hurt to make it this close to our destination,” he said and pinched the air, “and fail at the very end?” He shook his head back and forth. Even though he was sitting in the den area with his son and Franklin, he might as well have been transported back into time, all those many years ago, and been standing right beside his bike in the dusty desert where it had broken down. “Bruno's bike only had one seat, so we were stuck down there in Vegas for a whole month, until we came up with the money to catch a train back.”
“That sucks,” Franklin said and sucked his teeth. “Did y'all ever try to make the trip again?”
“We planned to, but . . .” The sparkle in his dad's eyes seemed to dim, and he looked down at his weathered hands and twirled his fingers. “But then I met my wife, and we had Neil. Then we had Aleigha, and I . . . I kept wanting to ride, but like your mama said, it was too dangerous. And I didn't just have myself to worry about. I had to live for my wife and my children. So I left well enough alone.”
Mrs. Crinkle peeked her head into the room. “Darling, your plate is ready.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. I'm coming.”
He slapped his hands against his thighs and pushed up out of the chair. Greg noticed that every time he saw his father, it seemed to be more and more of a struggle for him to move around with much ease.
“You okay, Dad?” Greg asked, stepping forward with his hand outstretched.
Mr. Crinkle waved his son's hand away. “I'm fine, I'm fine.” But when he stood to his full height, his back popped and he winced.
Franklin cleared his throat. “Mr. Crinkle, you know, it's never too late to start riding again. Maybe now that your kids are grown and you're retired, you'll start again.”
Mr. Crinkle looked at Greg, then at Franklin. “I don't think so. I'll leave that up to the youngsters.”
“But, Dad, if that's where your heart is, you owe it to yourself,” Greg insisted. “Look at Mr. Bruno. He kept riding 'til he couldn't ride anymore. He didn't give up.”
“Who said I gave up?” Mr. Crinkle stood there for a few seconds, and he seemed reflective for a moment. He cleared his throat. “One night, me and your mama got in a bad argument. So I jumped on my bike and took off riding.”
Greg tuned into what his dad was saying. He'd heard his dad's motorcycle stories countless times, but he'd never heard this one.
“While I was riding, it started to rain pretty heavily. Something in me told me I should head back, but I was too angry, so I kept on riding. Then I hit a slick spot in the road and had a wipeout.” He winced like the thought hurt him, then wiped his hand in the air like he was wiping rain off his memories. “Whole life flashed before my eyes, and in a matter of seconds, I saw my young bride become a widow and saw my kids grow up without a daddy. That scared me. It wasn't worth it.” He looked from Greg to Franklin, then back to Greg. “God was giving me a warning, and I took heed to it. I put the bike up, and I ain't never rode again.”
Greg couldn't argue with that. Now he understood why his parents had been so against him getting a bike. He wanted to apologize to his father for misjudging him for all those years. Here he was thinking that his father had punked out for a woman, when in all actuality, he was being obedient to God.
Mrs. Crinkle peeked her head in the room again. “I made sweet potato pie. You boys come get you a piece.”
Franklin checked his watch. “As much as I'm lovin' this family reunion right about now, we need to head back before it gets dark.”
Mrs. Crinkle pouted. “I sure wished you could stay a bit longer, but I understand. I don't want you to be on the road at night. It's already dangerous enough. Let me wrap you up a piece of pie.”
She hurried into the kitchen, then returned moments later with two huge hunks of pie wrapped in Saran Wrap. She squeezed Greg and kissed him on the cheek. After releasing him from her embrace, she said to Franklin, “You know you're just like a son to me. So don't be a stranger. You don't only have to come when Greg comes with you.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Franklin said and stepped into her embrace.
Franklin and Greg took turns using the bathroom, and Mr. Crinkle walked them out. He admired both bikes and told them to be safe. They suited up and took off to the gas station up the street, where they refilled their tanks and made the journey back to Alpharetta.
Back at home, Greg found Shania in the bathroom, mopping, and the strong acidic stench of vomit burned his nose.
“You all right? What happened?” He turned away. Something about seeing throw up made him want to upchuck the contents of his stomach.
“I'm fine,” she assured him. “I made some herb baked chicken. I guess it was too greasy for my stomach.”
“You sure I don't need to take you to the doctor?” The smell of pine mixed with bleach filled the air.
“I'm sure.” She finished mopping and flushed the bucket of water down the toilet before returning the mop and bucket to the supply closet.
“Guess you won't be able to eat any of this, huh?” he asked, holding up the hunk of sweet potato pie.
She glanced at the pie and started smiling. “Somebody must've been to Macon.”
“Sure did,” he said and disappeared for a moment to set the pie on the kitchen counter.
When he returned to the bathroom, Shania asked, “And how are your parents doing?”
“They're fine. Dad's worrying me a little. Seems like every time I see him, he's slowing down more and more. And Mama just about had a heart attack when she saw my bike.”
“I bet so.” Shania chuckled, but her smile didn't reach her eyes. It didn't seem like she was feeling too good. He rubbed her lower back in small comforting circles. “You sure you okay? You want to lay down for a bit?”
“Yeah, I'm just . . . so tired. Where's Mother Washington? I thought you were picking her up this morning?”
“No,” he said. “The doctors kept her because they wanted to run a few tests on her. I'll have to call over there a little later and see if I can talk to her.”
He watched her as she brushed her teeth and gargled. Her face appeared fuller to him, and this wasn't the first time he had seen her look a little wheezy. He tried to remember how long it had been since she'd had her last period. “Is your period on?”
She dabbed her mouth with a face towel and looked at him through the mirror. He could tell that the thought hadn't occurred to her.
Then she whispered, “It never came.”
Was she serious?
Twelve
Convinced that her brain would explode if she had one more random thought about having a baby, but annoyed that she couldn't shut her brain off for even five minutes to get some shut-eye, Shania yanked two pillows off the bed and made a fort on the front room sofa. She flipped through the channels, stopping at all the black-and-white movies, hoping their dullness would lull her to sleep, but sleep continued to elude her.
Sometime that night, Greg must've reached for her and realized she was gone, because he came stomping through the house, yelling out her name as though an intruder had broken in and stolen her.
“Greg, I'm right here.”
He rushed into the living room, wearing nothing but a pair of silk night pants, and he rubbed one sleep-crusted eye with his fist. “What's wrong? What's going on? You sick again?” He yawned while he talked.
“I couldn't sleep. And I didn't want to wake you with all my shifting. Go back to bed, honey.”
“I can't.” He yawned again. “I need to hold you.”
She smiled. Even in his half-sleep state, he was a total sweetheart. Though she didn't want to, she turned off the TV and held on to his hand as he led her back to bed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and within seconds, he was snoring softly in her ear. She counted everything from sheep to baby booties, and finally, around six-ish that morning, she drifted off to sleepâonly to be awakened an hour and a half later by her alarm clock. Had she not needed to finish the finger foods for the induction ceremony the next day, she would've unplugged the clock and drifted off back to sleep. Instead, she forced herself out of bed and into the bathroom, where she tried to vomit as quietly as possible so Greg wouldn't wake up worried. It didn't work.
Every passing second felt like a minute and each minute felt like an hour waiting for Greg to get back from the drugstore with a pregnancy test. But she didn't need to see the results to confirm what she already knew to be true. With the frustration of finishing everything for the wedding and with Greg's job loss, she had blamed her missed period on stress.
While she waited for him to return, her empty stomach began to feel ravenous. She slipped on her bedroom shoes, went to the kitchen, and fixed herself a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, buttery grits, and raisin toast. At least that was the planâ¦until she smelled the aroma of the bacon. The smell that once made her mouth water now made her queasy. Back to praying to the porcelain god she went.
Shania hated being sick. She hated the nasty taste that had developed in her mouth even more. Certain that she couldn't handle feeling nauseated and fatigued for the next nine months, a part of her hoped that she had caught some twenty-four-hour bug instead.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror and shrieked. Little red veins decorated the whites of her eyes, and she had bags underneath. She shook her head as she turned on the faucet and used her hand as a cup while she sipped, rinsed, and spit.
She turned off the faucet and dried her hands and mouth on a hand towel. With her stomach still feeling unsettled, she decided not to eat the breakfast she had prepared. She instead opted for some saltine crackers and orange juice. For some reason, when the citrusy drink hit the back of her throat, she felt less like throwing up.
She stood at the kitchen island, munching on one crunchy, salty cracker after another, thinking about how much her life would change with a baby. She had figured that she and Greg would have children someday, but the thought of that “someday” possibly being now made her heart flutter.
Was it too soon to have a baby? What about the timing? If she was pregnant, Greg
definitely
wouldn't want to go to Jamaica now. He'd want to save every penny for the baby. Furthermore, what kind of example was she setting for her sister? She and Greg hadn't even celebrated their first wedding anniversary, and there was a possibility that she might be with child already?
If Cheyenne found out she had allowed herself to get pregnant so early in her marriage, she'd probably assume that it gave her the right to do the same. And what would Greg's parents think about the situation? Would they think she moved too fast? Oh God, oh God, what had she done?
Then she remembered a conversation she'd had with Mother Washington. The older woman had said, “You're married now. Anytime married folks wanna start havin' babies is fine. Don't let people try to convince you to wait, if that's not what you and your husband wanna do. That's between you and him. Keep folks out your business. What happens in your house needs to stay right there, in your house. Marriage is what you make it. It takes work and commitment, especially after you start havin' babies. Forget about the fairy tale, because when the fairy tale ends, real life begins.”
Shania felt like her fairy tale had ended days ago. Yet and still, she pondered the words of wisdom and stuffed another cracker in her mouth. She swallowed hard when she saw Greg come through the door, carrying a plastic bag and wearing anxiety in the creases of his forehead. As he walked toward her, he removed the pregnancy test from the bag and held it in the air.
“Here you go,” he said as he placed the test on the counter in front of her.
Shania stared at the test in utter disbelief. She had to ask herself if this was really happening. A few months ago, she was a virgin. In a few short minutes, her entire world could change.
Trying to get rid of some of her nervous energy, she twisted the sleeve of crackers and put the remaining crackers back in the box. She pressed her hands against the edge of the island and sighed.
“Don't be nervous.” Greg placed his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “No matter what, we'll be all right.”
With that vote of confidence, Shania picked up the test and read the instructions. When she felt comfortable, she went into the bathroom, peed on the stick, and waited.
Unable to take the stress, she left the stick on the back of the toilet and returned to her plate in the kitchen, hoping that she could hold down a few eggs to stop the vicious growling in her stomach. She carried her plate into the bedroom and noticed that Greg had his head bowed and his eyes closed. He must've been in prayer. Was he praying that she was or wasn't pregnant? Probably wasn't. What man would pray that he had a baby on the way when he had just lost his blanket of security?
Once again, she sighed and called herself a fool for not being more careful. She hadn't been taking her pills the way she should've, and she knew it too. She should've made him use condoms, or she should've at least made him pull out. Christ, what was she thinking?
Greg turned his attention to Shania and checked his watch. “You think it's ready?”
Shania stuffed a forkful of eggs in her mouth and nodded, then followed him into the bathroom. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes so she wouldn't have to see what she already knew to be true. In her mind, as long as she didn't see it, it wasn't real yet. However, curiosity got the best of her, and she peeked from behind one palm and watched Greg's shaky hand pick up the stick and almost drop it.
“What does it say?” she whispered.
“Look.”
She pulled her hands from her eyes and Greg turned the stick around so she could see it. The word
pregnant
filled her vision, and her stomach fluttered. They stood there in silence.
She looked up at Greg and confirmed, “We're pregnant.”
She couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth. Nothing could describe how she felt. A mixture of fearâno, more like terrorâand a hint of excitement surged through her body. Next came the long list of questions swirling around in her mind:
Am I really ready? Will I be a good mother? What's Greg thinking? Why is he not smiling? What will my family think? How will this affect my career? What can I eat? Why is he not smiling?
Shania felt dizzy and took a seat on top of the closed toilet lid.
Greg worked his jaw while he rubbed the back of his neck. “We're having a baby.” He sounded surprised and confused, but he still wasn't smiling. “But I . . . I thought you were on the pill?”
With her hands dangling between her thighs, she looked up with teary eyes and said, “I'm sorry. My schedule has been busy and I forgot to take them a couple of times.” She felt out of control. It was the same feeling she got whenever she jumped off a diving board, but just before she hit the water. And why, in God's name, was he still not smiling?
He got down on one knee and kissed her left hand. The feel of his soft lips sent a tingle up her spine.
“If you had told me that, I could've used some extra protection.” He looked away from her.
She pushed her face against her knees and let the hot tears that she had dammed since yesterday squeeze from beneath her eyelids. “I'm sorry,” she whispered repeatedly. “I messed up and I'm sorry.”
“Babe, babe,” he said, and lifted her head out her lap. He grabbed the hand towel and wiped the tears from her face. “Why're you crying like that? Those aren't happy tears.”
“Because you're not happy,” she sobbed, and wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. “You haven't smiled not once.”
“I am happy, Shania,” he said, and held her chin while he placed kisses against her lips. “I am happyâbabe, I swear I am. But this is a bit of a shocker for me, just like it is for you. But don't ever for once believe that I'm not happy about being a father. We might not have planned it, but it is what it is.” He turned his lips inward and made a slight popping sound when he turned them back out. “I love you, and I'm happy that you're having my baby.”
She tried to muster a smile for him, but her lips refused to cooperate. He leaned closer to her, put his lips against her cheekbone, and sung in a low, deep voice the lyrics to “U & I” by Jodeci.
His horrible singing brought a smile to her lips. “Honey, please, God blessed you with a few talents, but singing is not one of them. Leave that to Jodeci.”
He pulled her up and stood with her, wrapping his arms around her. Despite her plea, he continued to sing. He poked his lips out. “You're not going to sing with me?”
Not wanting to ruin the joy in the moment, she sung off-key with him.
Greg grabbed her hairbrush, stood on the toilet, and sang at the top of his lungs.
Shania nearly collapsed on the floor in laughter. He might've been joking, but he was semi-serious, because that large vein was protruding from the side of his neck.
“Are you laughing at my singing?” he asked his wife.
She grabbed her side, trying to hold the giggles in. “How could I not? You sound like a dying cat.”
He attacked her with tickling fingers, tickling her under her chin, under her arms, and along her sides. He tickled her until he brought her to her knees and made her plead for mercy. Then, he removed his fingers and placed his cheek against her belly. She held his head in place and stroked his hair.
“I love you, Shania. And even though I can't feel him, I love him already too.”
A smile touched her lips. “And how do you know it's a him?”
She felt him smile against her flat belly. “Because I feel it in my spirit. And I promise you and him right now, on this very day, to be the absolute best husband and father I can be. To take care of you and my son to the absolute best of my ability and to let no harm come to either of you. That's my solemn vow, and I mean it, baby. All jokes aside.”
She nodded and whispered, “I believe you.” And she did. Wholeheartedly.
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After getting a same-day appointment due to a cancellation, the doctor confirmed that Shania was indeed three weeks pregnant. Greg wasn't sure if he could remain standing on his own two feet. He felt happy; there was no doubt about that. Just the same, he was frightened out of his mind.
One could purchase as many pregnancy and parenting books as money could buy, but this baby still wouldn't come with a manual. However, he understood that babies were gifts from God, and even if he felt like the timing wasn't quite right, he knew that if God brought them to this, God would bring them through thisâor at least he hoped He would.