Shake Down the Stars (12 page)

“Heat lamps?” I ask.

“Wait until you see what he's done with the backyard, Piper.”

It appears Spencer's compulsive shopping has led to the greater good of the backyard. There are two large heat lamps and new patio furniture on the deck; the barbecue has been cleaned and the entire yard replanted with native plants and flowers.

“Nice.”

“Yeah. I've been working around the house more.” He points out various plants and tells me that the patio furniture is made entirely from bamboo and organic fabrics.

“You've done a good job. It's nice.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“I do.”

We sit at the table and smile warmly at each other. “It's really good to see you, P,” he says finally. “I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too, Spencer.”

We eat and drink coffee and fall into our natural rhythm of conversation. I catch him up on my sister's antics and he tells me about the book he's been working on and that he's been writing regularly.

Eventually, he gazes out at the yard, then looks at me rather sheepishly. I decide to help him along. “You said in your message you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah. I actually have some news.” He digs his hands into his hair in that way he does when the last thing he wants to do is talk.

“What is it?”

“Tisa wanted us to tell you together—have you over for dinner one night—but I thought it would be better if I told you first. I was going to ask you to coffee, but now that you're here, I guess I should go on and tell you.” He sighs and pushes himself back into his chair and crosses his leg; he then decides to uncross his leg and fold his hands into his lap. Squirming, I believe it's called.

“What is it?”

He clears his throat and gazes out across the lawn.

“Spencer.”

“Tisa's pregnant.”

I knock over my mug of coffee and watch as it splatters across the deck. I feel as if I've been pushed under water and I'm forced to gasp for air. In fact, I do. I inhale as deeply as I can, while making a loud throaty sound.

“Shit,” Spencer says, shooting up from his chair. “Are you okay?”

“Does it look like I'm okay?” I gasp.

“I'll get some paper towels.”

“Fuck the paper towels.
Pregnant?
”

He starts to leave. “I'll be right back.”

“No,” I command. “Stay.” I bend over and continue trying to catch my breath. “Pregnant, Spencer? You're kidding, right?”

I glance up as he lowers his head.

“You've only been dating for a minute.”

“It's been since September; that's almost four months.”

“That's exactly my point. You hardly know her, and you're making a baby with her? Haven't you heard of using protection? What are you? Teenagers?”

“But I'm happy about it, P. We're both very excited. We think it's still too early to tell people, but Mom and Dad know, and I thought it was important that you heard the news from me first.”

I take a deep breath just as my lungs constrict again. I move my gaze back to the ground.
Pregnant.

“I think I'm going to be sick.”

“P, I want your support.”

“How far along is she?”

“Two months.”

“Great. So basically you started fucking her the first night you went out.”

“Hey, I'm sorry you're upset, but let's not get ugly.”

“Fuck you.”

I throw my head all the way back and stare into the sky. “You said you weren't sleeping with her.”

“It was an accident. The first time we did it, I mean. So I wasn't lying necessarily.”

“You're a bastard. A lying bastard.”

“P.”

“I thought I was coming here so that we could get back together.”

“Back together?”

“Your message said you missed me, and you couldn't stop thinking about me.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“You haven't known her six months! How can you two be doing this? It's so foolish!”

“We love each other. Sometimes you just know.”

“You don't know shit, Spencer. You don't know shit! She's fucking three years old!”

“Will you lower your voice?”

“No!”

“She's a great girl, Piper. We're going to have a baby. Can you be happy for me?”

“No, I can't. I hate you.” I'm on my feet, pacing the parameters of the deck. Not only does he not want me back—fucking Tisa is fucking having Spencer's baby. They're having a baby. He's making a family with her.

“What about Hailey?” I say.

“What about her?”

“What do you mean
what about her
?
How can you forget her like this! You're betraying her!”

“What? How am I betraying her?”

“You're having another baby, that's how.”

“Piper, you're making absolutely no sense. I'll always love my little girl; you know that.” He steps closer and tries to touch my arm, but I won't let him. “P, this doesn't have to be bad news. I'm proof that we can move forward in our lives. Nothing is stopping you from meeting someone, too, you know. You can meet someone and have a family.”

“But I don't want to meet anyone! I don't want any more children!”

“Don't say that.”

“But I don't.” I feel my lungs tightening again and begin patting my hand against my chest as if this will somehow help my heart rate slow down. “I don't want any more children,” I say to myself. “I don't. I want Hailey back. I want Hailey.” I drop my head into my chest and whisper fervently, “I want Hailey back. I want my baby.” Hugging myself, I whisper again and again as if reciting an incantation: “I want my baby, I want my baby back.” I can't make myself stop. A part of me thinks if I say it enough, she might just appear. “I want my baby. I want Hailey. I want Hailey back.”

When I feel Spencer's arms around me, I bury my face into his chest and burst into tears. He runs his hand over my hair and rocks me while I sob. We stand together until eventually my tears turn to an occasional hiccup. “I miss her so much.”

“I know, baby. I do, too.” He kisses me near my temple and holds me tighter at the waist. I snuggle my face against his sweatshirt and close my eyes. I know everything there is to know about Spencer. Except for this separation, we've never spent more than two days apart. I've seen him at his happiest, Hailey's birth, and at his lowest, her death.
How in the world can he leave me?

“Everything is going to be okay, Piper. A baby is a good thing. Can you be happy for us? Please?”

“No. I can't. I can't.” I pull away.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He leans down so that he can meet my gaze. “I'll always love you, P. You and Hailey have a special place right here.” He points to his heart.

I know the gesture is meant to be kind, but right now it's nothing more than trite and beneath him. Its underlying message: He's locked Hailey and me away in the recesses of his heart so that he can make room for Tisa and his new baby.

His new baby
.

“I should go.”

“No, I can't let you leave like this. Stay, finish your cake.”

“No, thank you. I really should leave.”

“You're going to be okay, P.”

I bite down on my lower lip to keep from crying. “No, I'm not.” I open the patio door and walk through the kitchen and into the hallway. I pause when I reach the den.

Tisa sits on the couch with her back turned as she types on her laptop.

I hear Spencer coming from behind. “Babe?”

I turn but immediately feel myself blush when I realize he's talking to Tisa. “Piper's leaving. We should say good-bye.”

She looks over her shoulder and sees me in the hall. “Leaving? Already?” The laptop rises on her knees, and I catch the sight of baby cribs on the screen. The floor shifts from under my feet, and again my lungs collapse and my windpipe shuts down.

I inhale through my nose. “I have to go.”

She rises from the couch. “No, stay. I was hoping we could all talk. Did you tell her our news, babe?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “P, stay and talk. You'll feel better if you do.”

I'm near frantic by now and rush toward the front door. “That's okay,” I call out.

I open the door and run to my car. I tell myself not to look back as I hear them call after me. I start the engine and peel out of the driveway. It's not until I have some distance between us that I glimpse them in the rearview mirror, standing on the porch hand in hand.

•   •   •

“M
iss Nelson?”

I'm currently floating past the Cat's Eye Nebula, as red as a rose. I just can't figure out how it's possible that I'm hearing Gladys's voice right now. How did she manage to find me in outer space? Shouldn't she be running things back at the school?

“Miss Nelson.”

I feel someone's hand on my shoulder and watch as the beautiful nebula begins to expand.

“Miss Nelson.”

Another shake.

“Miss Nelson, we need you to wake up now.”

Gladys's voice is right next to my ear, so close it strikes me that the nebula may not be real after all.

I feel my slumped-over body sitting on a chair, the left side of my face pressed into wood. I probably wasn't floating through space either.

I open my eyes and stare directly into Gladys's gold belt, loud and gaudy and with some kind of bird at the buckle. I roll my eyes upward and catch sight of a plastic Santa pinned to her blouse, followed by her stubbly chin and sad, disappointed mouth. “Miss Nelson, we need you to wake up.”

I slowly sit up, even as the room shifts under my feet. I wait as the blur of faces staring at me comes into focus. My students eye me with their mouths agape. Some whisper; others giggle. The clock on the wall lets me know it's only first period.

Gladys clamps her hand down on my shoulder. “Everyone, get back to work. Miss Nelson isn't feeling very well today. Mr. Young will watch you until the end of the period. Miss Nelson?”

She gives my shoulder a tight squeeze, and I rise like a student who knows she's in deep shit. I feel spittle on the side of my mouth and wipe. I try to fix my hair, which is a lopsided mess, but give up. “Sorry,” I mumble to the group of students on my right. Theresa cuts her eyes at me. I look to the other side of the room and offer another apology. “I'm not feeling very well,” I explain. “Sick all night. Probably shouldn't have come in today.”

Theresa says, “It's okay, Miss Nelson.”

Tranica adds with a laugh, “Yeah, Miss Nelson. We all know what it's like to have a hangover!”

Several students burst into laughter; some high-five one another.

“Enough!” Gladys snaps. She uses her walkie-talkie to call Mr. Young, the vice principal, who arrives in no time.

Gladys doesn't say a word as we trudge down the hallway and only keeps her arm linked in mine, much like a nurse helping a patient.

We're halfway down the hall when I feel my stomach surge. “Gladys?” I whimper.

She studies my face closely. “Miss Nelson, you're not about to be sick, are you?”

My head swirls along with everything around me. When my stomach takes another dive and I feel the bile coming, I clasp my hand over my mouth and nod.

Gladys turns up her nose in disgust. Not waiting until she dismisses me, I run for the girls' bathroom. I have to push a student aside as I rush toward a stall. I make it on time at least, and I remain bowed over the toilet until my stomach is empty.

I avoid looking in the mirror while washing my hands and rinsing out my mouth. What's the point? I can tell how awful I look from Gladys's reproachful glare.

She's gone when I reach the hall. I take my time walking to her office and try to piece together what happened. I remember the scotch I opened last night. Since hearing about Spencer and the nitwit, even I'll admit I've been drinking more heavily. I remember rushing to work this morning and the grammar exercises I passed out at the start of class while I breathed through my hangover. “Work on this. Keep quiet,” I had told them. But that's it. I have no idea how long I was asleep before Gladys came to wake me.

My things are already in her office. She motions to the seat on the opposite side of the desk. I've never been called to the principal's office and can't seem to meet her gaze. I don't need to see her face to feel her rebuke, though. Gone, the sweet smile and airy voice, the offer of candy and a pat on the back.

When I get the courage to look up, she stares back with the same severity that's known to get a stone-cold gangbanger to give up his gun. No wonder the kids respond to her as they do.

“I understand your loss, Miss Nelson. I understand that you've had your world turned upside down and that you have experienced the kind of loss no one should have to suffer. But we cannot accept this kind of behavior. I prefer to return every cent of that money you and Mr. Randolph gave the school than to have one of my teachers showing up here drunk out of her mind.”

I start to speak.

“Don't you dare try to deny it—and falling asleep during class? Your behavior is completely reprehensible.”

“I'm sorry,” I mutter.

“Are you? Do you know the effect you're having on your students? Poor Alexandra Clark came in here, thinking you'd passed out. She thought you were dying! She came running in here, begging me to dial 9-1-1. Miss Nelson, you know what our kids see in their homes. We can't let them see that kind of dysfunction here at school. I won't have it. As you know, many of our kids have experienced their own share of loss, too, and they need role models, not teachers showing up here and behaving like you did today. School should be their haven.”