Falling Up (11 page)

“Well, I've been kind of stressed over Natalie lately. She's been so depressed the past couple of months, and I'm not sure how to help her.” I realize I can't go any further with that problem, so I change the subject. “And then there's Matthew.

“What about Matthew?” Now Dad looks very interested, and I wonder if this isn't what's been getting at him all along.

So I launch into the whole story of Matthews grandparents, the Ivy League school, how his mom is so furious at him for caving, how they've been arguing a lot, and how I'm not very happy with his choice either. And I'm not even finished explaining the whole thing when Dad cuts me off.

“So you're upset because Matthew will be going away to school? Leaving you behind, so to speak?”

“No, not exactly. Of course, I'll miss him and everything, but I guess I'm more upset that he's not following his dream. “

“His dream?”

“Art. He loves art and design, Dad, and he's very gifted too. I was hoping he'd go to a really good design school that would help him to—”

“And that's all that's bugging you?”

Now I'm feeling pretty exasperated. “Isn't that enough? How much stress do you think I need anyway?”

“Well, I…”

And then I remember something else. “Oh, yeah, there's another thing, but you might not want to hear about—”

“No, Kim. Go ahead, I'm your Dad. I want to hear about everything.”

“The truth is, I've been pretty worried about you too. I mean, you're not exactly yourself these days. I understand that it's hard for you, losing Mom, but I lost her too, you know. And you've been so closed up, and I
know you're sad and hurting. But it's upsetting to know that there's nothing I can do about it, no way I can help you.” I hold up my hands in pure frustration. “There, is that enough stress for you?”

He nods slowly. “That's a lot of stress, Kim. In fact, it's enough stress to make someone do something that's out of character. It might cause a person to make choices she might ve otherwise reconsidered.”

“What are you saying, Dad?”

“I'm just saying it's possible that all this stress has put you in a tough spot. And you may be dealing with something that's overwhelming to you, something you don't feel comfortable discussing with, well, me. And I realize that your mom's not here, and maybe you would've been more comfortable talking to her about some things. But Km, I'm all you have right now. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

Okay, I'm looking at my dad like he's got three heads. I mean, what on earth is he trying to say? And why does he seem like such a complete stranger, not to mention a total doofus?

“I have absolutely no idea what you're getting at, Dad,” I finally tell him. “But if you have something to say, could you just get it out into the open? You're really starting to freak me.”

“The home pregnancy test,” he mutters.

I feel myself jerking to attention now, as if I'm somehow guilty of something—other than being a good friend. Crud, why didn't I remember to throw it out in
the trash can outside? I know how Dad goes around emptying wastebaskets on Saturdays. He obviously saw it and jumped to conclusions. Why are parents so obtuse?

Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.” He studies me closely, as if he really believes I'm the one who used it. And while I can understand this mistake, it really irks me too.

“Well, it wasn't mine.”

He looks unconvinced. “Really?”

“Really, Dad! That's perfectly ridiculous. I cannot believe you would think that I am or that I would or that I could—” I stop blabbering and just shake my head in complete disgust.

“Kim, it looked like the test had been used.

“Of course, it had been used. That's what it was for. But I was not the one who used it.”

I see…

“Dad!”

“Come on, honey. You can tell me what's going on. I'm your dad. I love you.”

The problem is I can NOT tell him. Not yet anyway. I promised Natalie I wouldn't tell a soul.

“So what was the result of the test?”

Now I'm just plain mad. “It was positive, Dad. Are you happy now? Positive in meaning that a baby is due sometime around New Year's. Is that what you wanted to know?”

But then I see his expression, and I know that I've
totally crushed him. He looks like he's about to have a heart attack or stroke or maybe just break down in tears. Why am I so cruel?

“I'm so sorry, Dad,” I say quickly. “Let me explain.” I pull out a kitchen stool for him. “Just sit down and take a deep breath. I'll tell you what's up.”

He still looks worried, but at least he sits down and appears to be breathing.

“Look,” I tell him in a calm voice, “this is the truth. The test really wasn't for me. And the person who used the test swore me to secrecy. I can't tell you who it is. But…” I consider another option. “I'll bet you could guess.”

Suddenly he looks hopeful. “It's really not you, Kimmy?”

I firmly shake my head. “No way, Dad. It is most definitely not me. I promise you.”

Relief washes across his face. And I can tell he's wondering who really used that test. “Well, I know it can't possibly be Natalie. That girl is so firm in her convictions, and I've even heard her talking about it numerous times. And as a dad, I must admit it is reassuring to hear. Your mother was always very impressed with that too.”

“Right…” I try to keep my expression blank.

Dad looks slightly perplexed, and I know he can't begin to guess who used the kit. “Maybe it's not important that I know who it was, Km. As long as I know it's not you.”

“That's fine with me.”

“And while we're having this little talk, I need to tell you how sorry I am for having been so detached lately” He shakes his head. “I just don't quite know how to function yet. Every little thing seems so difficult. I feel like I'm climbing a mountain sometimes, but the top is nowhere in sight.”

“I know it takes time to get over this, Dad.”

He kind of smiles. “Well, that surprise in your wastebasket really threw me for a loop last night. Maybe it's a bit like electroshock therapy, because I actually feel better now. I cannot begin to tell you how relieved I am that you're not the one who used that test. I'm not sure what I would've done if you had actually been pregnant. A man can only take so much.”

“You and me both.” Then I laugh. “But I do feel sorry for the girl who did take it. She's really devastated.”

“Her parents probably are too.”

Or they will be, I'm thinking. At least her mom. That is, if Natalie ever tells her—not that she has a choice exactly Still, it won't be easy.

Monday, June 3

It's about nine o'clock in the morning when I wake up to the sound of the phone ringing. I consider letting it go to the machine. This is my official first day of summer vacation, and I really had planned to sleep in. But thinking it could be Matthew, since he told me he'd call today, I decide to go for it.

“Kim?” says a vaguely familiar woman's voice.

“Who is this?”

“It's Grandma, dear. Is your father there?” She sounds urgent and slightly breathless.

“No. He's at work. Is something wrong, Grandma?”

“Well, I, uh, I don't know for sure.

“What do you mean?” Now, I don't know my grandma all that well, other than she's dad's mother and she lives in Florida and is what Dad calls “eccentric” and what my
mom used to call a “real character.” Consequently her dramatic vagueness doesn't seem all that strange.

“Your Uncle Garth said your father called yesterday. I was out playing bingo, having a rather good game if I do say so. But Garth seemed concerned. He said the phone call was important, some kind of an emergency, I believe.”

“Emergency?”

“Yes. But then you probably know how Garth can be. Sometimes he runs off like a chicken with his head cut off, so he might not have gotten his facts straight.”

I can almost imagine this since I've heard that my Uncle Garth is somewhat eccentric too. “Yes, I suppose that's possible.”

“Say, did you get my card, Kim?”

I force my sleepy mind to think and finally remember the card she sent right after Mom died. I know it was meant to be a sympathy card, but it was actually a get-well card. Although I suppose they work pretty much the same. “Yes,” I tell her. “Thank you very much.”

“We would ve come for the funeral, but like I said in the card, I was having foot surgery that very same day. And my toes have been giving me such trouble. I just couldn't put it off. I know that Patricia would understand. Besides that, there's Garth, and well, he doesn't like to travel by plane much. But believe you me, you and Allen were both in our thoughts and our prayers. You must know that, I'm sure.”

“Yes, I know, Grandma.” But now I don't know what
to say. I'm not even sure why she called. “Uh, maybe you should try calling Dad at work.” Then I give her the number.

“Garth thinks you ought to come out here to visit us,” Grandma tells me before she hangs up. “He thinks you'd enjoy the gators.”

“Alligators?”

“Oh, yes. We have dozens of them, coming right onto our property. They're as friendly as can be.”

“Friendly?”

“Goodness, yes. Sometimes I throw kitchen scraps out to them, and they just gobble them up. Leftover fried chicken is the best. Why, I've even named a few.”

“Fried chickens?”

She laughs. “No, darling, the gators. I've got Gloria and Bill Gator, named after the famous gospel singers. And then there's Mr. Farley; I named him after the postman.”

“I hope you're careful, Grandma. I've heard alligators can be quite a problem.” I don't mention that I've also heard that it's illegal to feed them in some areas, since I suspect she probably knows this.

“Oh, I respect them and they respect me.”

“That's good.”

“But I do think Garth is right.”

“About?”‘

“About you coming out here to visit us, Kim. You haven't been out here since you were a wee little thing, and I'll bet you don't even remember that.”

“I remember some,” I tell her.

“Well, its high time you came again.”

I kind of laugh now. “Okay, Grandma, I'll think about that.” Then we say good-bye. and I wonder why on earth I'd ever want to go out to Florida where my grandmother feeds kitchen scraps to the local alligators in her own backyard. I can just imagine her in her bright-colored muumuu and bedroom slippers. Good grief.

I'm barely out of the shower when the phone rings again. Running to get it, thinking this must be Matthew this time, I am surprised to hear Nat's voice on the other end. I'm usually the one who calls her these days.

“I've made a decision,” she tells me in a flat-sounding but determined voice.

“Yeah?” I'm not sure what exactly she's referring to, but I'm guessing she wants to tell Ben, or maybe her mom, about what's going on with her. And if you ask me, it's about time.

“And I need your help, Kim.”

“Okay,” I tell her. “What's up?”

“I can't do this alone.” Now her voice cracks slightly, and I think she's starting to cry.

“I'm here for you, Nat. Just tell me what you need me to do. I want to help you through this.”

She sniffs and then continues. “Can you give me a ride today?”

“Sure,” I say, knowing this means I'll have to cancel on Matthew. “Just tell me when and where.”

“We need to leave here by one. I'll fill you in on the rest of the details later, okay?”

“Okay. I'll be ready at one.”

Now I'm curious as to where were going. Is she going to make an appearance at Ben's house? What if his parents are there? Or maybe she has it all figured out so they'll be at work. And as uncomfortable as it sounds, I guess this is the sort of news that should be communicated in person—face-to-face. Poor Nat. I pray for her to be brave as I get dressed.

I do a few chores around the house, and when Matthew doesn't call me by noon, I call him and leave a message saying that I won't be able to do anything with him until later, if at all. Not that he seems to care much, since he hasn't bothered to call me yet.

Finally, Nat and I are driving down our street, and I ask her where it is we're going.

“Downtown,” she tells me with a wooden expression.

Now this throws me, and I wonder if this means she's going to tell her mom first. But I don't question this. I can tell she's having a hard time already. She doesn't need me to make it any worse.

When we are downtown, I start to turn in the direction of where her mom works, but Nat tells me to take a right instead. Without questioning this, I obey

“Just three more blocks,” she says. “On the left side.”

As we get closer, I realize where it is we're going.

“Nat?” I say in a slightly high-pitched voice. “Are we going to Haven?”

Now everyone knows that (despite their slick ads about women's health, birth control, and whatnot) Haven Women's Clinic deals mainly in abortions—I've heard that they perform them right up into the third trimester. In fact, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Natalie s church has protested here in the past.

“They do pregnancy tests,” she says, almost as if she's rehearsed this line.

“But you already know you're pregnant.”

“Yes, but remember you said I should have a checkup.”

“With your family doctor.”

“Well, I can't take that risk. My mom might find out.”

“But you're okay taking the risk of being seen walking into this place?”

She doesn't answer. And I have to ask myself, am I okay being seen walking into this place? Despite the vacant parking spots on the street, I notice a sign for “additional parking” and decide to park in back.

“Natalie,” I try again as I turn off the engine. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

“I'm having a checkup.” She climbs out and slams the door. “Just chill, Kim. This is hard enough without you making it any worse.”

And so I keep my mouth shut, but I'm glad to be wearing my dark glasses as we walk through the back parking lot and enter through a back door that I suspect
has been situated there just for people like us. I cannot believe that Natalie really wanted to come here. And I cannot imagine what her mom or people at her church would think if they knew.