For Keeps (14 page)

“Ma’am?”

“
Mom
.” I poke her spine with my finger. Once . . . twice. . . . I’m about to do it a third time, when she finally decides to pop up. By the look of her face, you’d think she’s just finished running a marathon. Her cheeks are bright red and her forehead is shiny with sweat.

Officer Eyebrows glowers at her. Then, suddenly, those two furry black caterpillars shoot straight to the top of his forehead. His mouth forms an “O” of surprise. “
Katie?
Katie
Gardner
?”

“Uh-huh,” my mom says weakly.

“Katie Gardner, holy shit! . . . I never knew you were a Katharine. . . .” He’s grinning now, whipping off the Ray-Bans. “It’s me, Sully! . . . From high school!”

For a second my mom pretends to be confused, unable to place him, which is downright hilarious because even I know who he is.

Sully.

Aka Tom Sullivan.

Aka Paul Tucci’s BFF, the one person decent enough to break the news to my mother about the infamous Arizona girlfriend, because Paul Tucci, aka Spineless Wanker, didn’t have the guts.

“Sully,” he repeats. “
You
know . . .”

Now my mom is nodding, trying to smile but not quite pulling it off. “Sully! Of course! . . . How
are
you?”

He gives his spiel. He’s still living in North Haven. Blah, blah, blah. He’s a cop. Blah, blah, blah. He married Annabeth Reese, from high school. They have two boys. Blah, blah, blah. . . .

“Katie Gardner,” he says now, shaking his head. “
Damn. . . .
How long has it been? Fifteen years? I don’t think I’ve seen you since . . .” He pauses for a minute. “Since you were . . . well . . .”

“With child?” I blurt, surprising myself.

The eyebrows shift to me.

I shrug. “I’m . . .
you
know . . .”

My mom makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but it’s not her reaction I’m trying to gauge. It’s Sully’s.

“No kidding.” He is looking at me, squinting. “Uh-huh. You look just like your dad.” To my mom, he says, “She looks just like Tooch.”

My mother lets out a squeak, like a mouse.

“You think?” I say.

Sully nods. “Spitting image.”

For a moment, in my semi-emboldened state, I forget that I’m talking to the cop who pulled me over. All I want is information. And I don’t care if my mom is wigging out beside me either. I need to know.

“So,” I say, “do you see him much?”

“Tooch? . . . Shit, I haven’t seen Tooch since high school. . . . After he moved, he just . . . I don’t know . . . dropped off the face of the earth. . . .” Sully hesitates, glances at my mom. “You heard from him?” His expression is sincere, not mocking. He really wants to know.

My mom shrugs, licks her lips. “Actually, he’s in town. I . . . saw him yesterday. . . .” She looks like she’s debating saying more, but doesn’t.

Sully’s mouth is hanging slightly open. “Are you guys . . . ?”

My mom laugh-snorts. “No.”

“Right.” He laughs too, like he sees her point. The prospect of a Tooch-Katie rekindling is simply too crazy to contemplate. “So . . . what? You’re not still single, are you? . . . I mean, no
way
are you still single. . . .”

My cheeks burn, hearing this. They burn for my mom, at what Sully is implying. As if she would waste sixteen years of her life pining over her asshole high-school boyfriend.

“Actually,”
I say loudly, “she’s in a very serious relationship. His name is Jonathan, and he’s a
very
talented musician.”

I don’t look at my mom. I keep my eyes directly on Sully, whose “Oh, yeah?” sounds seriously lame.

“
Very
talented,” I repeat.

I am lying, but who knows, Jonathan may actually
be
a very talented musician. I’ve never bothered asking him to show me his instrument collection, let alone to play me anything. . . .

Anyway, the point is, nobody calls my mom pathetic. Nobody. I don’t care who you are. Or how shiny your badge is.

Sixteen

MEETING OFFICER SULLY
is just what I needed to get my courage up. This is what I realize, as soon as I drive off—not with a ticket, but with a stern warning not to roll through any more stop signs. The logic is twisted, but somehow, facing Sully has given me the guts to face my father. I mean
really
face him—not like yesterday, when I barely said two words in his presence.

I need to do it now. Before I lose my nerve.

“What?”
my mom says when I tell her. I don’t mention Paul’s name. She is still in recovery mode after seeing Sully, and I don’t want to send her over the edge. All I say is we’re driving to the hospital.

“Why?”

“I want to stop by the gift shop to pick up some flowers. For Big Nick. . . . And, you know . . . see how he’s feeling.”

Silence from the passenger’s seat.

“Come on,” I say. “It’s what you
do
. When someone’s in the hospital, you bring flowers. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh-huh,” she says.

“I’m not saying you have to come with me. You can wait in the car if you want.”

“OK.”

“OK you’ll come, or OK you’ll wait in the car?”

“I’ll wait in the car,” she says. Then, quietly, “I just can’t deal with seeing Paul’s mother again.”

“His
mother
? Why?”

I can understand her not wanting to deal with Paul, but Mrs. Tucci? I actually thought she handled herself pretty well yesterday, all things considered. Sure, she was shocked to find out Paul had a kid, but come on, who wouldn’t be?

“Please.” My mom snorts. “Did you not see the way she was looking at me the whole time? . . . She hates me, Josie. She always has.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t
hate
you.”

“Yes, she does. She
never
thought I was good enough for Paul. And now . . . the golden boy and the high-school tramp have a baby? . . . It’s like her worst nightmare—”

“She
hugged
me,” I say defensively.

“Well, of course she hugged you. You saved her husband’s life.”

“That was the
first
hug, before she found out. She hugged me
again
, after. And the only reason she didn’t stick around to talk was that nurse came and got her. . . .”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh? Her husband almost
died
. And then, she finds out her son has been keeping this gigantic secret for, like, years. . . .”

“Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not
defending
her. I’m just saying—”

“Josie!” She grabs the dashboard. “Jesus!” Another squirrel has just crossed our path, interrupting our moment. Which I don’t mind in the least. Because my mother is really starting to get on my nerves.

“Excuse me,” I say to the curly-haired nurse who is sitting at the nurses station, reading
Us
magazine
.

I’m glad I decided on sunflowers instead of tulips; sunflowers are stronger. Manlier. . . .

“Excuse me?” I say again.

Big Nick isn’t critical anymore; he’s stable, which is why I’m in a different wing from yesterday. The recovery wing. Not, apparently, a wing that prides itself on customer service. . . .

“Excuse me,”
I say, for yet a third time.

“What,”
the nurse says, not looking up from her magazine.

“I’m looking for Nico Tucci’s room.”

“Who? ”

“Nico Tucci?”

Now she looks up, not so much at me, but at the clock over my head. “Only ten minutes left in visiting hour.”

“That’s OK. I just wanted to drop off—”

“Relation?”

“Excuse me?”

“
Re-la-tion
,” she says, like I’m the village idiot. “How are you
re-la-ted
to the patient? It’s relatives only.”

“Oh. . . . I didn’t know. I—”

“Granddaughter,” comes a deep voice behind me.

I whip around and there is Patrick, the pilot brother, holding a tray of coffees in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“He’s her grandfather, Gwen,” he says, leaning in and winking at the nurse. “Stop being such a bitch. Here”—he plops the bag on the desk in front of her—“I brought you a cruller.”

She smiles at him. Incredibly. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

He laughs. “Couldn’t do that if I tried, sweetheart.”

I feel a hand grab my elbow and now here we are, me and Uncle Pat, gliding down the hall together toward a bank of elevators.

“Don’t mind Gwen,” he says low. “Her bark is worse than her bite. Anyway, she’s just jealous because you’re prettier than she is. You got your old man’s looks.” He winks at me, presses the Up arrow. “Pete’s the brain. I’m the jock. But Paulie? Paulie hit the jackpot. . . .”

My eyelid is twitching. I can’t think of a thing to say. Not a single word.

“Hey,” Patrick says gently, as we step onto the elevator. “You OK?”

I nod.

He looks at me, and the words pour out of his mouth. “I feel responsible, in a way. . . . Pete and I both do. . . . When Paul first told us Katie was pregnant, we were away at college . . . living it up, you know, not exactly at the height of maturity. . . . Paulie was really torn up about it, though. He wanted to do the right thing. Tell the parents, propose, whatever it took. When Katie decided not to keep the baby and they had that huge fight and broke up, right before our folks moved to Arizona, Pete and I told him,
Listen, man, maybe this is for the best
.
You’ve got college to think about . . . your whole future ahead of you . . .
”

He keeps talking, but all I can hear are those same six words, over and over again.
Decided not to keep the baby. Decided not to keep the baby.

My mind is spinning. As the elevator dings and the doors open, Patrick turns to me and I don’t even wait to hear what he’s going to say next. I just shove the flowers into his chest. “I have to go.”

“But—”

I stumble blindly out of the elevator and down the hall, walking as fast as I can, to the nearest exit sign.

“Josie! Wait!”

But I don’t wait. I walk faster and faster, until I’m running. Through the hall, down the stairs, out the door, across the parking lot to the car where my mother is waiting.

“That was fast,” she says, when I open the door.

I stare at her. I stare and I stare.

“Why did you break up?”

She frowns for a moment, then says, “What?”

“You and Paul Tucci. Before he moved away. You had a fight and you broke up. Why?”

“Oh, Josie. That was a long time ago—”

“I know exactly how long ago it was. You were pregnant with me. Why did you break up?”

“Josie, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Patrick told me,” I cut her off. “So don’t even think about lying.
Why did you break up?
I want to hear you say it.”

“I don’t know.” She’s looking down at her lap now, shaking her head. “We had a fight. I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” I snap. “Tell me.”

“Josie, how I felt then has nothing to do with how I—”

“You’re stalling. Tell me. Tell me why you broke up. Tell me.”

“I’m trying to!”

“No, you’re not!”

“
I wanted to have an abortion! OK? Is that what you wanted to hear? I was sixteen years old and I didn’t want to be pregnant! Paul wanted to keep the baby and I didn’t and that’s why we broke up!”

Her yelling makes me jump, but I don’t back down.

“He thought you were getting an abortion. He
moved
, thinking you were getting an abortion. . . . And then—what—you just
changed your mind
? You changed your mind and you didn’t think he deserved to
know
? That’s why I never heard from him, isn’t it? Because you never told him. You never even told him he had a kid, and he was the one who wanted to keep it. He wanted the baby and you didn’t.
He
wanted me.”

The expression on her face is horrifying, but I don’t care.

“No,” she is saying, shaking her head. “No. . . . Josie, listen to me. You are my
life
.”

But I am not listening. I am opening the car door, and I am slamming it in her face. I am sprinting across the parking lot, sprinting as fast as I can because I need to get away from her.

I need to get to school.

I need Liv.

It’s twelve thirty—the middle of fifth period—by the time the PVTA bus drops me off. Now I am standing outside AP English, trying to flag down Liv without Mrs. Montrose noticing.

Finally I do, and Liv gets a bathroom pass.

In the hall, I don’t have to say a word. She takes one look at my face and she knows. “Something happened.”

I nod.

“Tucci-related?”

I nod again.

“Tell me.”

I can feel my eyes filling with tears and my chin quivering slightly. I know that if I open my mouth I’ll start bawling hysterically in the middle of the junior corridor, which is the last thing I want to do.

“OK,” Liv says gently, getting it. “OK.” She tells me that the bell is about to ring for lunch. She tells me it’s burgers and tater tots and if we’re first in line, Lynette the lunch lady will give us extra. “Grease,” Liv says, “is good for the soul.”

I nod, making a little whimpering sound.

She slings an arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hall. “Whenever you’re ready,” she says, “just tell me who needs a slap upside the head, and I will do the honors.”

Somehow I make it through the rest of the day. I didn’t think I’d be able to focus on school, but it is actually a good distraction. Equations, not abortions.
Mansfield Park
, not mothers who wish you were never born. Then, as I am walking to the girls’ locker room to get dressed for practice, I spot Riggs entering the guys’ locker room, and I get mad all over again.

Liv is at her locker, pulling socks over her shin guards.

“I’m not going to practice,” I say low, even though it’s so loud in here right now, no one would hear us anyway. Music is blasting and Jamie and Schuyler are showing off the stripper moves they learned at some pole-dancing class at their gym.

Liv looks at me, eyebrows raised.

“I just can’t deal right now,” I mumble. “Tell Coach I’m sick or something. I need to get out of here.”

“So,” she says out of the side of her mouth, “let’s get out of here.”

“We?”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“What do you mean you’ll
take
me—”

“I had my driver’s test this morning, so . . .”

“
What?
You never told me you were—”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, Josie, I did. You’ve just been a
lit-tle
self-involved lately. But I forgive you . . . because I passed.”

“You did?”

Liv crooks her finger for me to come closer, then reaches into her gym bag, pulls out a key ring, and grins. “You’re looking at a licensed driver.”

“Oh my God, Liv!”

“I know! I have Dodd’s car!”

“He gave you the Beamer?”

“Yeah. Just for the day. . . . Come on.”

“But—”

“No
buts
, Josie. We’re going.”

She yanks my hand and I follow. No one even notices us leave.

Five minutes later, here we are, gunning it out of the parking lot. If you’re going to blow off soccer practice, it’s a good idea to have Little Miss Honor Society by your side, instead of, say, Chuck Bikofsky, who’s been smoking pot since the third grade.

I know Coach will be pissed when we don’t show up, but I feel strangely calm about what we’re doing. Liv is a good driver. Confident. . . . Then I remember why we’re leaving—everything Matt said, and Patrick said, and my mother said—and I feel sick. The farther we drive, the deeper the pit in my stomach. I have to do something to get rid of this feeling or I’m going to barf.

I tell Liv to pull over.

“Now?”

“Now.”

“OK,” she says and steers the car up over a curb, onto a patch of grass next to some woods. She cuts the engine and turns to me and I tell her. When I get to the real punch line of the story—the abortion part—something in her face changes and she looks away.

“I mean do you see the freaking
irony
here, Liv? . . . The one person who wanted to keep me doesn’t get to, and the one who gets stuck raising me . . . well, she never wanted me in the first place.”

“It’s not that simple,” Liv says to the window.

“You’re a mind reader now?” I say.

“No. I just know.”

“How?”

“When I thought I was pregnant . . . I
wasn’t
, I know, but if I
had been
. . . Josie, there’s no question in my mind what I would have done, and I wouldn’t have been able to tell my best friend.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I would have had to make up some story about miscarrying or falling down the stairs or something. I couldn’t have told you the truth.”

I stare at her. “Of course you could have told me the truth.”

“No, I couldn’t. Look how you feel about Kate, almost doing the same thing.”

“What? You think I would have judged you because of my
mom
? You think I would have tried to talk you out it?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“I wouldn’t have!”

“Josie, what your mom went through . . . the decision she had to make . . . you don’t know—you
can’t
know unless you’ve been there.”

“I think I know my own mother.”

“Listen to me. It’s not like that. And it’s not about her wanting you or not wanting you. There
was
no you. You were just a clump of cells.”

Thanks, Liv.

You would think that this point would be enough, but no; she is just getting warmed up.

“When you can see your whole life stretched out ahead of you and then one morning you wake up and you think you’re pregnant and you can’t see that life anymore, it’s . . . I can’t explain the feeling. . . . But Kate had to face that, Josie—
really
face it, not just hypothetically. And she had to face it without a crystal ball telling her what would happen if she made one choice over the other. And maybe the pressure she was getting from Paul didn’t help; maybe it made everything worse.”