Escalation Clause (11 page)

“Mama Taylor,” she put her hand on Brandis’ mother’s arm. “Let him go. I’m in love with your son. I guess you may as well know it now.”

“Oh, my honey,” his mother put her other arm around Maureen’s shoulders, but kept her grip on Brandis’ ear. “I know you are.”

“Mom,” he gasped. “Can you let go of me, please? I can’t feel my ear anymore.”

“Babies,” his mother let go, then grabbed them both and held them close. “I love you both so much. Please, don’t be stupid. Don’t do anything you will regret. Now go.” She pushed them away. Brandis glanced at his father who sat with a PBR can in hand, staring at the late-season Tigers game on the television. “Anthony!” she spit out.

Brandis grabbed Mo’s hand, threaded his fingers in hers. His father rose to his full six-foot-six height, beckoned them closer. Mo ran into the circle of his arms dragging Brandis with her. He kissed her hair, then his son’s and then sat, the audience of approval over.

Brandis smiled at Maureen. Suddenly, his life had meaning. All of it. The track practices, the summer jobs and finally the Air Force. It all coalesced in her deep blue eyes for him. Flawless. Just like he had planned for her weekend with him. But, first, he had to say something. “Mom, Dad,” he held her hand in a death grip.

They turned to him, his father from the Tigers game, his mother from the stacks of house furnishing catalogues she constantly perused.

“I um, want you both to know that I love Maureen.” He put her hand to his lips. She smiled at him. And nothing seemed more perfect at that moment. “I want to marry her. Someday.”

“Son,” his mother said, staring at them. “I can’t imagine a better daughter-in-law. Now go, have fun. Do…whatever.” She waved them away. “But, no grandbabies, please. Not yet.”

Brandis yanked her out the front door before they could make any more commentary, tucked her into the passenger seat of his Camaro.

Maureen stared at the indicator, her mind refusing to take on board the meaning of the little plus sign. She leaned forward in the small dorm bathroom, resting her head on the sink. Then looked at the damn thing again. No change.
Shit. Perfect, just perfect
. Her heart pounded and saliva gathered in her mouth, indicating yet another bout of puking. Her roommates moved around in the suite outside the door, giggling, arguing. “Mo!” one of them yelled, “you’re gonna be late for class.”

“Uh, yeah,” she choked out. She stood, staring at herself in the mirror, counting backward to that one moment, the night of the broken condom. Jesus. A tear slipped down her face. What now? She gripped the edge of the sink. When the phone rang, she assumed it would be Brandis. She’d warned him this might be the case. They’d spent the last three years meeting when they could, sometimes in the middle, each making the halfway trip between Michigan and Colorado. And her love for him had only strengthened. But now…this little wrinkle had her doubting everything.

“Hey, Mo,” her roommate banged on the door. “It’s for you. Your brother.”

She shuddered.
How the hell did he know already? Calm down,
she argued with herself,
you don’t know he does. Probably something else.
But the nausea rose again, making her gulp. “Mo!” the girl eased the door open and peeked in, holding the wireless handset in one hand.

She took the phone, put her palm over the mouthpiece. “Sorry,” she mumbled to her friend.

“It’s okay,” the girl leaned in the doorway. “I love talking to that man, you know.”

Mo rolled her eyes, shooed the girl out and took a deep breath. “Hi,” she ventured, hoping she didn’t sound as flattened as she felt.

“Hey honey, um, not sure how to say this but…it’s Dad.”

Her scalp tingled. She had not said more than five words a year to the man since she’d moved out that summer she and Brandis had found each other. He paid her tuition on time, and put some money in her bank account to cushion what she made at her on-campus job. That was the extent of their communication. She put a hand over her eyes. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

She sputtered, nearly choked on her spit. “Oh, wow. What happened?”

“Heart attack. Dead before he hit the floor, the old bastard.”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out, unable to stop herself, then burst into tears.

Mo sat, numb and trying like hell not to throw up all the way through the meeting with the funeral home people. Jack handled everything, but she wanted to be there for him. Not that he was speaking to her of course. She pressed a tissue to her lips as the scary looking guy behind the desk rattled off the various costs and whatever else you needed to know to do with dead people. By the time they were back in his car she was more than a little pissed off at how effectively he had ignored her.

“Don’t,” he ground out when she put her hand on his arm before they left the funeral home parking lot.

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and let him stew in his silence all the way home. He drove up to the modest home they grew up in, but kept the engine running, his hands holding the steering wheel in a death grip. She started to get out.

“Hang on,” he said, teeth still grinding together. “He’s on his way here, so you know. I called him. I told him…everything.”

“Oh, okay. Well, whatever,” she resumed the door opening process, too tired and sick to be mad at him.

He kept talking. “You guys are good together. I know that now. And what you decide to do about this latest turn of events is, as you will no doubt tell me, none of my business, but….”

She turned and stared at her brother. He’d grown more in the last few years. His shoulders were broader, and he looked like a million bucks in his suit, like an actual man. But she still saw the gangly boy who’d been her best friend for so many years as they shielded each other from the semi-neglect of an alcoholic mother and workaholic father. She could hear his voice, cajoling her to come out and climb trees, ride bikes, anything to get her out of the house. Then later, when he’d read her books before she’d drift to sleep, his was the last voice she heard most every night. She put her hand back on his arm and he didn’t growl or flinch away. “Be smart,” he said. “I’ll support whatever you need me to.” He turned to her, his blue eyes bright. “I hated that fucker, more than you did, believe it or not. But now…,” he gulped. She wrapped her arms around him, held him close, grateful she could be a comfort to him for a change.

“I know,” she soothed. “It’s gonna be a lot of shit to get through. But if anybody can handle it, it’s you.” She kissed his rough cheek and sat back, suddenly dizzy and needing air. “Sorry I dumped all my stupidity on you now. Damn,” She gripped her knees. “I’m such a cliché. Pregnant at twenty-one. Shit.” She sniffled. Her chest ached but she climbed out of the car and stumbled into the house to the bathroom before hearing Jack’s answer.

The dry heaves brought on another bout of tears, leaving her in a heap on the floor of her childhood bathroom. Jack came in, picked her up and put her in her bed. “Shh…” he soothed, just like he used to. “It’s okay. It will all be fine. Sleep some. Brandis will be here after midnight.” She nodded, let him pull the quilt up over her shoulders, and did just that.

When she woke it was full dark. Confused, not remembering where she was, she sat too fast and dizziness made her groan. It all crashed in on her then—her father’s death, Brandis far away, and her, knocked up. She decided to get up, do some research and take care of at least that last part quickly. She swung her feet to the floor slowly, sick of throwing up and unwilling to bring that on again.

“Mo?” Brandis’ soft voice brought tears to her eyes. His touch, when he pulled her up and into his arms made her sob with relief. “Baby,” he kissed her cheek, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the itchy wool of his uniform jacket. “Shh…,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

She let him hold her up. “I…I…I can’t.”

“I won’t let you.” He said tilting her chin up so he could meet her lips with his.

“But,” she protested, “how do you know what I’m talking about?”

He sighed, and tightened his grip on her. “I just know.” He dropped to his knees, holding both her hands. “Marry me.”

She nodded and he slipped a small diamond ring onto her finger. “My grandmother’s,” he said, standing and cradling her close. “I was going to do this anyway, after I graduated next month. But, listen,” he sat and pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled into him, finally relaxing for the first time in months. He stroked her hair. “I got stationed in Germany.”

She looked up at him. The moonlight lit the dark smooth brown of his skin. She kissed him. “I go where you go, especially now.” He nodded, put his hand on her flat stomach.

“You’ll finish school though. You can do that on base, I checked. Okay?”

She nodded, no longer even caring, just as long as he never let her go again.

Later, the three of them sat on the back patio, the men sipping beer and her, ice water. She had made dinner but had been unable to choke any of it down. She’d told Brandis not to say anything to Jack about his proposal and her acceptance yet and had tucked the ring into her purse for the time being. They didn’t need to add to his stress level. She sat with her feet in Brandis’ lap and dozed, suddenly lethargic, listening to the men talk about what happened next now that both her parents were dead.

Her half-waking dreams were a jumble of her, Brandis, a baby—no, two babies—Jack, his eyes sad, and a strange keening sound of unhappiness she somehow knew was her own. Not over her father—over something else. She shuddered in her sleep then forced herself awake and away from the nightmare. The one where she stood, holding the hands of a little boy and little girl, but without him, her soul mate. She smiled at Brandis as he resumed rubbing her feet shoving away the fear and sorrow she’d started to feel while asleep. All would be well now, just like he said. They would be together forever.

Chapter Eight

Present Day

Sara gasped, sat straight up, blinking in the pitch-black bedroom. In tune, as only the mother of an infant can be, to every small noise in the house, she assumed the baby had cried out. She waited and heard nothing. Then she put her hand down to touch Jack’s sleeping form, and found empty sheets. Again.