The Sweet By and By (27 page)

One pure breath. Then another. She faced the ground, struggling to think of good things—Max, Roscoe, her shop—until the murk in her soul began to recede. Sounds clarified. Her soul no longer stood on the edge of the park, watching from a distance, but was back in the oval, with Dustin next to her.

People weren't staring, only passing by. Looking down, Jade dabbed the tea spot on her jeans and picked up her cup from the grass.

While her hands still shook from the residue of fear, her pulse returned to its normal rhythm.

“Jade, are you okay?”

“Fine, yeah.” Blinking, she focused on his face, the square of his chin and the blue concern in his eyes.

“I should've called. I'm sorry, Jade. I jumped in the truck and drove here. I didn't mean to upset you.”

She walked to the trash bin and tossed her cup. “Dustin.” She whirled to face him. “You're here. Let's just move on to why.”

“Yeah, well.” He slipped his fingers into his pockets. “I wanted to talk to you about the annulment.”

The music from the merry-go-round lured Jade. Walking backward toward the ride, facing Dustin, she addressed him. “Like, ‘Sorry it didn't get done'?” She wanted away from this moment, the panic, and the source of it all. Dustin.

“Are you going to keep throwing daggers?”

“Until they equal the size of the spear you chucked at me the night you walked out without a backward glance or good night.”

“If I'd looked at you, I'd never have been able to leave the room.”

“Then you should've looked at me.”

“I told myself you'd be fine and that the scholarship was the first door to many great opportunities in my life. If I turned it down, I'd be stuck, working at the plant like my dad, farming on the side. When I proposed, I thought wrestling was over for me.”

“You thought I'd be fine? What gave you that idea? I was ready to fly with you, Dust. Get out of Prairie City. I loved you.” She gripped her hands into fists, pressing them into her chest. “I gave you my heart, my soul, and my virtue, and you sold me for a scholarship.”

The merry-go-round whirled under an array of candy-colored lights, the molded horses gliding up and down without riders to the tinny music.

“Didn't seem like it at the time, Jade.” Dustin stopped at the gate. “I couldn't sleep, so I went to Coach and told him everything. He started talking about the legalities and taxes of being married, even thought we could face criminal charges for forging our parents' signatures. Stu could get in trouble. Suddenly, my wild idea felt foolish and stupid. My rock turned into my ball and chain.”

“If you'd fought for us, no one would've known the signatures were forged but our parents.”

“Coach rattled off stats about failed teen marriages while hyping the fun and benefits of college, and how I needed an education and I was doing my parents proud. I thought I'd take you with me, live in married housing, but to get the scholarship, I had to live in the dorms.”

“Semantics, Dustin. We could've worked those things out. It was you and me, and we could've done anything if we'd stuck to our love and our pledge.” The fire of her words burned away the residue of her panic. Words she'd stored for thirteen years glided to the tip of her tongue—the argument against him she'd made while walking across her college campus, while shopping in downtown Chattanooga, when her mind drifted during a marketing meeting, in the cab of her truck, driving from estate sale to estate sale.

But Dustin's pale blue eyes reflected regret and doused Jade's fire.

“When the attorney contacted me about the annulment, everything surfaced. I had to see if the feelings I felt were still real. Jade-o, maybe we're still married for a reason.”

“Hey, Jade, you and your friend want to hop on?” Mr. Hannity leaned over the red sleigh as the ride circled. He watched them with a smile, disappearing around the corner.

“Dustin, we're still married because your parents didn't file the annulment. That's the reason. The
only
reason.”

“I know, I know. But is this serendipity? Dad went to a lawyer for help and found out we could've been criminally charged for forging the signatures. So they freaked and backed off, intending to do it later, when I was eighteen. Truth is, Dad always felt bad about what happened, and while he never admitted it, he wanted to ignore the annulment, hoping we'd find our way back to each other.”

“I need you to sign the papers, Dustin.”

Mr. Hannity circled around again, this time sitting on a horse, backward, his hat over his eyes.

Dustin watched the ride, resting against the fence, his hands in his jacket pockets, his legs stretched long and crossed at the ankles. “I think we could've made it.”

“Do you hear yourself, Dustin? We didn't make it. Unless five months is forever.” Jade fiddled with the gate latch, opening, closing, swinging the gate to and fro.

“Jade, I signed the papers.” He looked at her. “The lawyer said we should hear from the judge in a few days.”

“Thank you.” Her heart softened, and it seemed the merry-go-round lights brightened.
He's moving on.

Mr. Hannity rode by, standing on the chocolate steed, balancing on one foot. Jade smiled at him.

“Is it true, Jade?” Dustin stood away from the gate.

“Is what true?”

“I thought you'd tell me, but—” He put his palm against the ends of her hair lifted by the breeze. “Were you pregnant?”

“Did you see me pregnant? I was in school every day.” Almost. “Even avoiding me, you'd have found out sooner or later.” Jade zipped up her jacket, flipping the collar up around her ears.

“Rachel told me a few years ago that you were.”

And he's just now asking?
“Rachel should write soap operas.” Jade jammed her hands in her jacket pockets and pulled out a naked, dirt-dotted peppermint.

“Maybe so, but that doesn't answer my question. Were you pregnant?”

“Dustin. Go home. Move on. Be glad we took a different path than the one we started on. How's that for serendipity?”

She strolled away from the merry-go-round, the sound of rattling bones in her ears.

Twenty-three

Women's Awareness Clinic, Des Moines, December 1996

Staring at the ceiling tiles, Jade counted. Twenty down the length of the small room, twelve across the width. When she finished, she began again.

Counting took her mind off the cold, steely room and occupied her thoughts. The pain had been almost unbearable at first. She writhed when the doctor began the process, almost rolling off the table.

The doctor apologized and backed away. “We'll wait a bit longer,” he said, setting a long tubelike instrument on the stainless steel cart and leaving her exposed with her feet in the stirrups.

That thing was . . . inside her? The thing that would end . . . this ordeal? Jade closed her eyes, swallowing the taste of grief burning her throat. She wanted this day, this moment, to be over. This saga of her life to be over. Whatever pain she had to endure.

“Sorry for the delay.” The nurse's touch was warm on Jade's arm, and their eyes met. She didn't want to be in the room any more than Jade did.

“I'll stay with you,” she said, more to the room than to Jade.

“Thank you.” Tears rolled from her eyes to her ears.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” the nurse asked.

Jade wiped her face with the sleeve of her gown. “What choice do I have?”

Mama's exhortation on the drive to the clinic was reasoned and well-spoken, convincing Jade she was doing the right thing. Really, did she want to carry the child of a man who didn't love or want her?

“I don't want to be responsible for ruining his chance for college. I don't want to sling hash at a truck stop, nor be tired and old by the time I'm twenty,” she told the nurse, echoing her mother's words.

The nurse patted her hand. “The doctor will be right with you.”

She tried not to, but Jade wondered what Dustin was doing on this fine December Saturday. Hanging out carefree with his buddies? Going on a date with Kendall? Walking into his mama's warm kitchen, draping his arm over her shoulder, and stealing a fresh-baked cookie?

“How are we doing?” The doctor sat at the end of the table and reached for his instrument.

The nurse squeezed Jade's shoulder.

With her eyes shut, Jade winced as the whir of the vacuum filled her vacant thoughts. The doctor tugged and jostled her insides until the distinct slurp of suction sounded. The baby. A sensation of “too late” circled her heart like a hungry wolf. What had she just done?

God, I'm sorry.

He repeated the routine, again and again, with Jade locked down, refusing air and light to her soul. Bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down with her last ounce of determination. It was too late for regret.

The doctor wheeled backward and the nurse moved away from Jade, reaching for a tray, hurrying out of the room without a word, blood dripping on the white tile floor.

Oh God, I'm so sorry.

Talk to me, Mama. Say it's okay, it's going to be all right.

Jade struggled for a sense of self, a sense of the everyday, of the girl she was six months ago before this nightmare began. But Jade felt vacant and hollow, sad. Unanchored thoughts and fears climbed through her ribs and choked her heart.

“Ooo, Jade-o, did I tell you Gig got the band booked in Chicago?” Mama smiled as she ran her fingers through her hair. “That man knows how to work a deal. We're leaving in a few days, picking up some other bookings along the way, but Gig thinks this might be their big break.”

So what about Gig and his big chance? She'd just killed her baby. Dustin's baby. He'd hate her for sure if he knew. Outside her window, barren and brown December fields flashed past. Along the horizon, a row of houses flashed red and green Christmas lights.

Mama zipped past a cross street, and Jade caught a familiar flash of blue at the stop sign. She twisted against her seatbelt to see out the back window.
Dustin?

“Mama, turn around.”

“It wasn't him.”

“Yes, it was. Turn around.”

“And do what? Say what?” Mama gunned the gas a bit harder. “As I was saying, we'll be back on the twentieth, I promise.” Mama's promises were hollow and meaningless. Like Dustin's.

“Whatever.” Jade collapsed against the cold door. Christmas was for children. For babies. She slammed her fist against her temple.
Forget about it, Jade. It's over.

“Let's do Christmas up big this year, what do you think? My first one with Gig. Lots of presents and tinsel. Money's tight, but oh well, it's only money, and it is Christmas.”

The woman rattled on as if nothing unusual had happened today, as if she'd taken Jade for a root canal. Which would've been a thousand times more pleasant. Mama hummed and tapped out the beat of a song that only played in her head.

“What's up for you next week, Jade-o? Anything fun in school? Tests? School holiday program?”

“They counted body parts, Mama.” Jade buckled forward, enduring a sharp cramp. The numbness was starting to wear off.

“Don't go there, Jade. Your mind will play tricks on you. Let it go, let it go.”

“I heard them, Mama, on the other side of the partition. The nurses couldn't find one of the baby's legs.”

“What is the point of this?”

“So they sent the doctor to check me again. With the vacuum thing—”

“Jade, it's over. What is the point of rehashing how it happened?”

The rest of the ride home was silent. Even the radio playing in Mama's head went dead. When she parked in the barn, she mashed the emergency brake and cut the engine.

“Not a word to Granny. She's old school and will have a coronary if she finds out.” Mama touched Jade's chin. “Don't sulk, or she'll ask questions. This is no big deal. You'll get over it. Having a kid now is not right for you. In a few days, you'll be your old self, running around with Rachel and the gang like nothing ever happened. This ordeal will be done.”

“Like nothing ever happened?” Jade's body was awakening from a numbed sleep, questioning, wondering.
Who had invaded?
“Something did happen, Mama, whether you want to admit it or not. For the rest of my life, I'll know. I was pregnant with Dustin's baby.”

“I'm simply trying to remind you, life is a journey, it moves on and—”

“Is that how you felt after your abortion?” Jade arched forward, sensing the pad the clinic gave her fill with blood. “Did you just go on like nothing ever happened?”

“No, no, I guess you're right.” Mama stared quietly through the windshield at the battered wall of the barn. “It wasn't easy. I thought about it . . . for many years.”

“Who was the father? The lieutenant you met in San Francisco?” Another cramp rippled through her abdomen. Good. She deserved pain and punishment.

“Jade, why do you want to know?” Mama ran her hands around the steering wheel. “It's not important.”

“It is to me.” She needed a friend standing next to her on this desolate island.

“No, it wasn't Andrew.”

“Then who?”

“I don't know . . . there were several men about that time, and—”

“Never mind.” Jade jerked on her door handle and stepped out of the truck.

Roscoe stood in the closet with Jade as she searched the top shelf, his one eye following her as if he wanted to help.

“It's in here somewhere, Roscoe.” She knocked sweaters, handbags, shoe-boxes, and photo albums with no pictures inside to the floor.

Then the UT throw blanket slithered to the floor, exposing a flowery box with a white card taped on top.
The Dustin years.

Carrying the box to her bed, Jade lifted the lid. It seemed incredible now that she'd kept such a box of horrors. Inside was a mixture of photographs and letters, doodled napkins, his varsity football letter, and various silly souvenirs like ticket stubs and fair passes. The claddagh ring.