On His Turf (27 page)

“Oh honey,” he answers, picking my hand back up. “When do you have to be at work by?”

“I have to be there in an hour,” I respond, feeling more than a little stunned.

“There’s a drugstore on the corner. We’ve got time,” he says, tugging me towards the front door.

Matty offers to run out and get it but I can’t in good conscience let him go when I know he’s still hurting. I switch my heels for flip flops and race to the corner and I’m back in less than ten minutes with a handful of different tests. Matty makes me pee into a big cup which is weird but he says it’s the best way to try out multiple tests. How he knows this I don’t know but I’m too distracted to ask him. I’m lucky that Shane only lives about a fifteen minute walk from my work or else we wouldn’t even be doing this right now.

I take the cup from the bathroom to the kitchen which is just gross on so many levels. Matty’s already opened all of the sticks and as he hands me each one I dip them and line them up on the counter and wait. Only seconds pass before they all start changing color: two lines, a plus sign, two more lines, a pink cross…over and over each one is the same.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I moan, covering my mouth with my hand.

“Congratulations mommy,” Matty says but he sounds as stunned as I feel.

“That’s not really helping,” I swallow.

“You need to talk to him.”

“No, I need to get to work so they don’t fire my ass,” I say, grabbing all the tests and tossing them into the under-sink trash. Matty makes a strangled noise and drops to his knees to dig them out.

“Why not make a poster for him when he gets home that says, ‘hi, I’m knocked up’?”

“Shit, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” I say, squatting down to help but he waves me off.

“Go to work, honey. I got this.”

I kiss the top of his head, slide my heels back on and race for the door while praying to God that I make it on time because if the last few minutes are any indication this is a job that I’m really going to need to hang on to.

***

I’m literally shaking in my seat as I sit across the conference table from Donovan and the Editor-in-Chief whose name is Walter.

“Ms. Dahl, I think you know why I called you in today to speak with us,” Donovan says and his formal address only ratchets up my anxiety even more.

“I know,” I say softly, dropping my hands into my lap. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for what’s coming next. We are still in the throes of a recession and I’ve taken too much time off to help Matty when in their eyes my focus should be on my job. Truthfully, I’m not at all surprised that I’m here right now.

“We need you to go to Venezuela,” Walter says, smiling at me and leaning back in his chair. His large body is stuffed into an ill-fitting pinstriped suit and the collar of his white dress shirt is so tight that his neck fat bulges over the top.

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Donovan replies, “you were right all along. Your little ‘hunch’ about the Petroleo Energy Corporation and the potential for political scandal proved reliable. The researchers unearthed a source - a security guard that was fired from the company - but apparently you are already one step ahead. The guard says that you emailed him and left him messages last month and so now he will only talk to you,” he explains.

“My source?” I repeat and my head is spinning from the direction this conversation has taken. I did leave messages with a security guard that I thought could help but I never heard anything back so I thought that it was a dead lead.

“We want to run a feature series on Texas oil, foreign investment and corruption,” Walter interrupts. “It will bring some ire to be sure but we think we have enough to run it as an expose. But to do that we will need a verifiable source which means that you will need to vet this security guard’s story face to face.”

“You did it, Carmelina,” Donovan smiles across the table at me.

“My story,” I say a little shakily and he laughs.

“This is the investigative break that you’ve been waiting for and you are exactly the right person for the job. This is your baby,” he encourages and at the word baby I involuntarily cringe. He must misread my body language because he gives me a strange look. “That is, unless you don’t want it?”

I puff out the breath I’m holding while thinking of just how loaded his words are. I sit up a little straighter and turn to look into Walter’s watery eyes.

“I only have one question,” I say and he nods for me to continue. “When do I leave?”

Chapter 24

On the drive home I have to pull the car over to the side of the road to expel this morning’s cup of coffee and cold toast. When I climb back into the car I pull down the rearview mirror to inspect myself and while I’m wiping the smudged mascara from under my eyes I wonder if I look different. Other than the dull and constant ache of nausea that seems to have come on full force I don’t feel any different. But with a baby inside of me and Venezuela on the table things are changing so drastically that I know I need advice from someone who’s been there before. I turn the car around and head in the direction of my mom’s place on the east side. Sure, she hasn’t exactly been a nurturing force in my life but she has experience with a surprise pregnancy and she’s probably the one person who will give it to me raw. That and I haven’t had a chance to confront her yet about what happened with Matty or to find out exactly who she’s unleashed on me.

As I pull down the familiar street and park at the curb of the rundown house of my childhood I have to do a double-take when I see that the windows are all boarded up and the door is sealed over with tape.

I scramble out of the car and race up to the porch to read the orange placard on the door. It reads ‘warning, unlawful to occupy’ and references a section of the county code. There’s a phone number on the bottom that I quickly enter into my cell before turning on my heel. I’m so focused on getting back to my car that I almost miss the yard but when I see the gaping hole in the grass where my willow tree used to be my breath catches in my throat. The tree - my tree - is nowhere in sight. I know that it’s probably the just start of the house being bull-dozed to the ground but seeing it uprooted like that does something to me that I can’t quite explain. I laugh humorlessly to myself, figuring that the state of the house must have something to do with Shane. I stomp back to the car and tear away from the curb as fast as I can on a mission to have words with the one man I’m about ready to strangle.

“You’re home early,” Shane says, looking up at me from his spot on the sofa as I slam the door.

“My meeting went short,” I say, struggling to keep my anger in check.

“Matt packed up and left this morning. It was weird, I told him he didn’t have to rush but he tore out of here like a bat out of hell. I guess we should break out the champagne and celebrate.”

“I wouldn’t pop the cork yet,
baby
,” I say sarcastically. “I drove over to the east side today,” I add and he averts his eyes.

“Why don’t you take a seat so we can talk about this?” He speaks slowly like he’s coaxing forth a wild animal but my glare only intensifies.

“Why is my mother’s house boarded up, Shane?”

“Sit down,” he says firmly and I clench my hands into fists.

“I’ll sit down when I damn well feel like it. I’ll repeat, why is it that my mom’s house been condemned and I know nothing about it?”

He gets to his feet and comes toward me. “I was going to wait until Matt left to tell you because I know how much stress you have been under but I made a few calls to the city. The place was unlivable and it turns out that the landlord had been planning on selling to a developer anyway. Apparently he’s been trying to evict your mom for years for non-payment of rent but she’s been protected by some bizarre squatter’s rights,” he explains.

“But I’ve been paying her rent!” I shout. “That’s half the reason I went up on that goddamn stage!” I’m pacing back and forth across the living room and he has to step in front of me to stop me.

“Whatever you’ve been giving her hasn’t been going towards rent, babe. I think that’s what this thing with Matt was about.”

“Shane,” I say, my patience having run out. “Where is my mother?”

“New Oaks Rehabilitation Center just outside of Seguin,” he states calmly.

“You sent my mother to rehab without my permission!” I scream.

“I had her permission so I didn’t need yours,” he shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like she had a lot of other viable options.”

“And you don’t think that’s kind of high-handed?” I argue but the look on his face tells me he doesn’t. “I can’t afford even the cheapest rehab program,” I say, rubbing my forehead in frustration.

“I can,” he responds and I lose it.

“It’s not your problem to pay for!”

“If it concerns you then it is my problem. I also managed to get the names of the men she owes money to and I’ve put a friend from the police force on it so you and Matt will both be safe.”

“And you didn’t think it was important to consult me on any of this?” I shake my head in disbelief.

“You’ve had a lot on your plate the past few weeks. I’m only trying to ease the burden,” he explains. “And this way it will be easier to keep track of your mom when we are on the road,” he says, clearing his throat.

“When we are on the road?” I repeat his words, thoroughly confused.

“I have a lot of away games coming up and the team is in for cup finals. I want you with me.”

“I can’t go on the road with you - I have a job, remember?” I say, exasperated.

“You’re a writer. Can’t you do that anywhere?” he argues.

“No, I work at a paper, in a regular building with regular hours sitting at a regular crappy old desk,” I speak slowly, enunciating every word so he won’t miss my meaning.

“Wow…really sounds like you love it,” he responds sarcastically.

“I’m working my way up!” I shout. “In fact, the paper is going to let me do my story after all,” I answer and his face softens.

“That’s great, babe.”

“It actually is great. They are sending me to Venezuela in a week to track down a lead.”

“No,” he says and his voice is so resolute that I have to take a step back.

“No?”

“No. You are not traveling alone to a dangerous country to follow some lead. You are coming with me on the road,” he says as he takes a big step in my direction and grabs my hand.

“I won’t be alone. Donovan is also going.”

“Then fuck no. Let someone else go.”

“But it’s my story!” I yell.

“And it still would be.”

“I tracked down the source in Venezuela and he said that he would only talk to me,” I hedge.

“I’m sure this source can be otherwise persuaded. Someone can bring along a suitcase full of cash and I’ll bet that he’ll sing to whoever is around,” he snaps, letting go of my hand and storming over to the kitchen.

“This is getting to be a little too much Shane. I think we need to talk about it,” I follow him to the kitchen while speaking to his back. “Me moving in, my mother in rehab, you thinking that you can control every aspect of my life.”

“I’m sorry if I don’t think that you going to a third-world country with your sleazy boss that wants to fuck you is a good idea!” he roars, whirling around to face me.

“What does Donovan have to do with this?” I scream back and he laughs harshly.

“Why don’t you tell me? Maybe you want to fuck him!”

“You are an asshole, Shane Mitchell!” I scream, picking up an empty glass from the counter and throwing it at his head. He ducks just in time and it hits the stainless steel refrigerator before shattering over the floor.

“You’re throwing things now? Is that some kind of Latin thing?” he snorts, bending down to pick up the fragments of glass.

“Maybe it is,” I shout back. “But I guess a rich, stuck-up, spoon-fed, white-boy like you wouldn’t know anything about it!”

“I guess not,” he mutters, pulling out the under-sink garbage to dump the broken pieces in.

“I knew this would happen,” I mutter to myself. “I can’t believe that I ever thought this could work. We are obviously from two very different worlds,” I say, letting my shoulders slump forward. “And the last thing I want to do is to get in the way of your dreams so please don’t try to stand in the way of mine,” I whisper in a tired sounding voice.

When he doesn’t answer right away I lean forward to see what he is doing. He is squatting down and staring intently into the garbage can. He reaches in and fishes something out. I gasp out loud when he holds up one of the pregnancy tests from this morning and I realize that Matty must have missed it when he cleaned up. I watch as Shane’s brows fold in and his face turns from pale white to purple.

“Is this what I think it is?” he stands up and holds it out for me to see.

“I didn’t know,” I stutter. “I mean, I only found out this morning.”

He launches the test across the room and I hear the click of plastic as it bounces across the floor. “What the fuck, Carmelina!” his voice thunders off the walls and I start to shrink into myself. “You’re fucking pregnant?” He fists his hands into his hair as he paces length of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and he stops pacing.

“How?”

“Do you want me to draw you a diagram?” I answer in a shaky voice.

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“I am but nothing is one hundred percent,” I falter.

He starts pacing again and he’s mumbling incoherently to himself. I don’t know what reaction I expected but it definitely wasn’t this. But then again this isn’t exactly how I planned on telling him. I approach him cautiously and grab a hold of one of his biceps so that he will look at me.

“This isn’t something I planned for either,” I say gently and his head whips up.

“Isn’t it?” he smirks at me and the accusation cuts straight to the core.

“Screw you, Shane.”

That he would even suggest that I could do something like that makes me think that we don’t have the kind of love I thought we did. In fact, I’m not even sure if what we have is love at all.

“Carmelina…” he starts to speak but I silence him when I crack my palm across his cheek. His hand comes up to touch his face where I’ve struck him and his jaw clenches.