WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (31 page)

7

Ten in the morning coffee run. Charlotte's mom said not to drink any caffeine, but there's no chance in hell that's happening. Charlotte shakes her head with a smile.

Even though having life growing within her terrifies her, it also feels empowering. She created life, and she will care for that life to the best of her ability. She might not give up coffee, but she will add more vegetables and fruit.

Pulling out her laptop, Charlotte plugs it into the Starbucks wall and opens it up. Studying is hard when she feels nauseous all the time, but the coffee helps her stomach settle, and she can't just quit her classes in the middle of a semester.

The dull hum of voices and blenders keeps Charlotte focused on her work until a woman walks in and almost immediately stumbles over, falling to her hands and knees next to Charlotte's table.

She has red hair up in a high ponytail and skin as pale as ivory. Her green eyes flick up, her mouth in an 'O' of surprise.

“Sorry about that! I'm so clumsy–oh, hey Charlotte!”

Poppy has never been one of Charlotte's friends, but Charlotte is too kindhearted to ignore her. It's not as if Poppy is rude; she's not serious enough to be a positive force in Charlotte's life.

“Hey! Long time no see!” Charlotte flips her hair behind her shoulder and leans over to help the hapless girl up.

“Yeah! Hey, we should catch up! I'll go grab a coffee, I'll be right back!”

Before Charlotte can turn her down, Poppy dashes off with a stupid smile that grates on Charlotte's nerves. She sighs and saves her notes before shutting her computer, her leg jumping impatiently as the blender mixes together Poppy's frozen coffee.

The couple at the table next to Charlotte get up and leave as Poppy comes back. “So! What's new? How's the lawyer life treating you?”

“Oh, you know,” Charlotte says, her voice lazy. “Lots of classes, lots of stress.”
Even more now that she's pregnant, at that.
“How about you? Still waitressing?”

Poppy takes a sip of her coffee and nods. “Yep! You know, it's not too bad most of the time.” Charlotte notices that Poppy has a glow to her, something Charlotte can't put her finger on.

“Hey, you look good. Did you get your hair done? Or, wait, I know! You met a boy!”

The blood drains from Poppy's face and her eyes go wide. She shakes her head. “No, no! I didn't. I guess I've just had a lot going on in my life.” Poppy suddenly realizes how bad of an idea it was to come talk to Charlotte. Her stomach twists and she knows she's going to be sick.

“Oh, you suddenly don't look so great. Are you okay?”

“Yeah just...” Poppy covers her mouth and gags, standing up. “Just suddenly sick!” She runs toward the bathroom as fast as her small legs will let her, Charlotte watching her the whole way. Her eyes narrow as the faint sound of her retching carries out into the cafe. She knows exactly what that is.

Turning back around, her shoulders stiffen and raise as she grows more agitated. Her heart is beating at her chest. Poppy comes back out and takes her frozen coffee, turning toward the door. “I need to-” she starts, but Charlotte cuts her off.

“So, what's up with that? Morning sickness?”

The words knock the air right out of Poppy. She has to sit back down, clutching the back of the chair to keep her from falling out of it. She didn't expect to tell anyone else for a while yet. “Yeah. It really sucks.”

Charlotte nods, sipping at her still warm coffee. “Do you know who the dad is?” She raises her eyebrows, trying to look innocent in asking. Something in her, some instinct, tells her she knows who the father is.

Poppy nods, but doesn't say anything. She opens her mouth a few times to speak, but no words come out, until finally she blurts out all at once: “Max is the father!”

Charlotte nods and forces the corners of her lips to smile. “Well, I hope you two will be happy!” This solidifies her own plan for the little one growing inside of her. There's no way in hell someone as toxic and irresponsible as Max will raise the precious life growing within Charlotte.

Poppy slumps forward in relief, shaking her head. “I was so scared...” She says, her voice weak and shaking. “I was so scared that you would hate me.”

Charlotte stands up now, gathering her laptop and putting it gently into her bag. Her every movement is deliberate. Poppy shouldn't suffer for Max's sins. “Now, why would I hate you for getting pregnant? I'm pregnant, too.” She stops and sniffs back a tear of indignation before smiling wider. “You'll be a great mother. Good luck.”

With that, Charlotte pushes past a group of people coming into the cafe and leaves Poppy to her thoughts. When she's calmed down, Poppy leaves too. She throws away her coffee, even though she barely drank it, and heads to the park to mull things over. It's her day off, so she can do what she wants, and right now she needs to be away from those pregnancy tests back at her apartment.

Max left her with hope in her heart, but now she's faltering. Could Max really be a good father to her baby? She has her doubts, and they're well founded.

And the way that Charlotte stormed off... could Max be the father of her baby as well? Poppy shakes her head and leans against an old Oak tree, a squirrel skittering above her. No, that's ridiculous. Charlotte would have said something.

A small chime comes from Poppy's pocket. She takes her phone out and thumbs it awake. A text from her mother, asking for Poppy to call. A knot forms in her stomach and her throat goes dry.

Now or never, Poppy.

Swiping her mother's name, the phone rings three times before an old, cracking voice comes on the line. “Poppy?”

“Hey, Mom. How are you doing?”

“You know, good as I'll ever be. How's your new apartment?”

Poppy grimaces. “It's bigger than the old one. I hope you'll come up and see it soon.”

“Maybe, maybe. Hey, I was wondering if you could wire me down some money. I'm a couple hundred short again.”

“Again?” Poppy whispers, anger bubbling in her veins. “How much of that did you waste on liquor, Mom?”

The voice on the other end grunts. “Don't chastise me.”

Sighing, Poppy slumps over. “Mom, listen, I can't lend you money anymore.”

“What?! Why not?”

“Mom, I'm pregnant. I have a lot of expenses now. Diapers, and I have to see a doctor tomorrow.”

Poppy's mother sighs and sniffles. “I can't believe my own daughter would be this selfish, after everything I've done for her. Have I really been such a terrible mother?”

Anger and guilt swirl in her stomach. Her mother has always tried to use her like this; she even stole money from her, when she had been saving up to go to college. That's why she moved out in the first place.

“Mom, please,” Poppy begs.

“No, don't worry about it. I'll figure it out all by myself, as usual. Thanks for nothing.”

There's a click, and then the line goes silent. Poppy's head drops into her chest, her eyes shut so tightly that they hurt. She wants to scream, or at least to drink! But her only coping mechanism is now totally off limits for her.

Poppy wishes she could call her dad, but he's in Europe touring with a client and rarely has his cell phone on. He's always been gone, leaving her with her mom, but Poppy doesn't hold that against him. However bad her mother treated Poppy, she always treated her husband ten times worse.

Taking in a deep breath, Poppy holds it, and then slowly lets it out through her mouth. Across the field a dog fetches a ball and barks so loudly that Poppy's already painful head throbs.

She looks around. There's nothing really for her to do, but she doesn't want to go home. She sets out on the sidewalk, heading towards the road. As her foot hits the pavement, though, she bursts into tears so suddenly that she gasps, clasping her hands to her mouth.

Why does my life have to be so messed up?!

Denying herself the urge to fall over and cry until the tears won't come any more, she presses on–walking fast so that she can feel a burn in her legs that distracts her. Soon, her tears dry and she slows down, looking through the windows of the shops on First Street.

This is where Poppy first met Max. Her mom was taking her shoe shopping, but insisting every pair that Poppy liked was too expensive or too flashy. They were on their way to the Goodwill when Poppy turned around to watch a dog pass by and suddenly felt herself slam against something.

“Oof!”

The voice was a boy's. Back then he had blonde hair, but his eyes were the same beautiful green color. He was nursing the spot where the back of his head hit a metal trash can.

Instead of apologizing, Poppy stood and watched him, terrified of being yelled at. Just as Poppy's mom turned around, Max stood up and laughed. “Sorry for being in your way! Were you looking at my dog?”

Relieved, Poppy's lips tugged into a tight smile. “Yeah, he was cute!”

“Thanks! You should come over some time and play with him!”

Poppy's heart starts thumping against her chest as she remembers the way he leaned in and whispered his name to her before her mom pulled her away, never to see him again... until the first day of school.

At that moment, that very first moment, she knew she loved him. There were other boys who caught her attention during high school, but no one held it as long as Max did. He stood up for her when people mocked her clothing, and even took her to prom, even though it hurt Charlotte. He paid for her dress and the flowers and their dinner, always looking after her, dancing with her as often as he danced with Charlotte. He laughed when she stepped on his toes, and drove her home instead of heading to Charlotte's house for an after party.

Max has always been her knight in shining armor. Now, though, he's a distraction, almost a burden.

On the corner of First and Washington Street, Poppy looks up from the broken sidewalk slabs and notices, maybe for the first time, a short white building with blacked out glass. There's the remnants of red paint and some litter around the building, unusual for the city that prides itself on its upkeep.

It's a family planning clinic. Poppy's stomach flips and lodges itself firmly in her throat. She could end all this pain now, just by walking into that clinic. No more worry. No more stress. She can probably go to a club tonight and drink the pain away.

The light changes and her legs carry her to the building, but her mind is blank. She's going through the steps on autopilot. She doesn't regain control until she steps into the building, greeted by a chubby black woman at the receptionist's desk.

“Yes, dear? Do you have an apointment?”

Poppy gulps down her fear and walks over to the woman, admiring her beautiful black eyes for a moment. She leans in and whispers, “I'd like to schedule an abortion.”

8

Max is snoozing on Poppy's beaten old couch when he hears the door slam. He jolts up, jumping over the side of the couch before making it look like he was tidying up.

Poppy stops when she sees him rifling through her mail. “Were you napping?”

Max rubs the back of his head and grins. “Yeah, I was. Sorry.”

“That's fine. You don't need to tidy up for me.” She chuckles, though it's obvious from the dark look on her face that she isn't in a laughing mood. “You don't need to pretend, either.”

Max lets the letters in his hands fall back onto the small table and leans back, stretching his spine. “So where were you? You said you were only going out for a second.”

“I went out to get a coffee. Sorry if I worried you.”

“I was too busy dreaming to be worried. Plus, I know you can take care of yourself.”

Poppy frowns, but Max doesn't catch the look. If only he knew how wrong he was. If it weren't for his damned face and their past, she'd tell him to take a hike.

There's so much she has to tell him, but she doesn't want to tell him any of it. Not about her mom, nor Charlotte, nor the clinic. Thinking about them makes her throbbing head spin. Placing a protective arm over her stomach, she uses her other hand to rub her temple. “I think I'm going to go lay down.”

His thick eyebrows stitch together with worry. “Are you okay? Do you need me to get you anything?”

Guilt runs through her, but she just shakes her head. “No, I just want to lay down.” He doesn't listen to her, though, and follows her into her bedroom. Max watches her climb up into her tall bed and pull her blanket over herself.

“Are you sure?”

“Max, please!” She snaps. Turning her back to him, she tries to shut her eyes but his presence in the room distracts her. She'll say anything to get him away from her. “I saw Charlotte while I was out.” She regrets the words the second they leave her lips.

Max freezes, his shoulders stiff. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” She sets her purse down. “She's pregnant, Max.”

Max feels the whole world shake around him, a sudden wave of fear threatening to conquer him. His knees give out and he collapses, doubled over, with a gurgle. Poppy turns to look at him, examining him, his behavior confirming her fears. “Is it yours?”

He's rocking back and forth. “Probably.”

“Probably?! Jesus, Max, don't you think you could keep it in your pants? What was I, sloppy seconds?”

Max winces. “Poppy, I'm sorry!”

Poppy slides off of the bed and stomps up to him, nudging him with her foot until he stands up. “You're sorry? Get the fuck out of my apartment! You're not welcome here anymore!”

“Wait-” The panic on his face only makes Poppy angrier.

“No!” She pushes him out of her bedroom, slamming the door shut. “Get out!”

Max stares at the door for a second, clutching his chest. He thought it was scary enough to be the father of one child–now he might have two on the way?

Then again, maybe Charlotte dumped him because he had some other man. Max grabs his keys and leaves Poppy's apartment, heading towards Charlotte's house. He needs answers.

Mr. Spencer is outside pulling weeds in his rose bed when he sees Max's Lamborghini pull up in the street. He sighs, wiping his dirt covered hands on his sweat pants and throwing his straw hat onto the ground.

“You need to leave!” He says, pointing to Max as he gets out of his car. The boy looks terrified and stressed, a look Mr. Spencer has never seen on his face before. He's too angry to look for an explanation.

Max stands a good foot taller than the Indian man. Mr. Spencer always has had an issue with Max, and since he and Charlotte broke up it's been even worse. It's hard to believe that Max once convinced his own father to help Mr. Spencer pay for a trip to India after his business fell to pieces during the recession.

“I need to talk to Charlotte.” Max's voice is deep and gruff. He sounds angry, even dangerous. Mr. Spencer's hesitation tells him he won't be stopped; he pushes past the shorter man and up the long driveway.

On the porch, Charlotte's dog Fifi starts yapping away at him. She's been trained to stay within 15 feet of the house so she watches him, her buggy Chihuahua eyes glaring a warning to him.

“Fifi, shut up!” Charlotte's voice calls from inside the house. She comes out, wearing a white sun dress and flip flops, holding gardening clippers in one hand and an iced tea in the other. Her hair is braided down her back, the loose twists falling out and sticking to her. When she sees Max at her door, she stops dead in her tracks. “Oh.”

Mr. Spencer is stomping up the driveway now. “Go home, Max! Leave my daughter alone, you've done enough damage!”

Max turns and puffs out his chest. “I need to talk to her! I need to figure this out!” So her parents knew before he did. Why does Charlotte always have to push him away?

“Max, please,” Charlotte says, her voice strained. “I don't want anything to do with you. Please just go away and leave my family alone.”

Moving onto the steps, Max shoos Fifi away as she growls at him. “No. You told Poppy you were pregnant. We need to talk about this.”

Charlotte looks at Max's face, his manly jaw clenched tight and his eyes red and watery. Then she looks at her father, who is unsure what to do. Her shoulders slump and she sets the clippers down on the porch, against the house. “It's okay, Daddy. Come on, Max, let me get you some iced tea.”

“I don't need something to drink.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Max, let me be hospitable.” Walking through the parlor and into the kitchen, Max notices that the rooms are full of boxes and suit cases. Charlotte stands on her toes to get to the glasses in her cupboard and then pulls a big jug of iced tea from the stainless steel fridge. “Poppy says she's pregnant, too. She says that the baby is yours.”

Max sits down at the counter and lightly presses his hands against his eyes. “Yeah, it probably is. I mean, she says I'm her first.”

“Seriously?” Charlotte hands the glass of amber liquid to him. Max takes a sip, nodding. “What are you going to do?”

Max thinks for a second. “I don't know. Should you and I get married? I mean, I'd prefer to be with you–”

“God, Max, no!” Charlotte says, slamming her glass down. Her long nose is scrunched up, her eyes shut as she shakes her head. “I'm not interested!”

“Why not? We're going to be having a baby, aren't we?!” Max hates how he feels, the way his heart is pounding against his chest and torturing him. “I want to be the father! I want to play a role in its life!”

“You're so clueless. I don't need someone as irresponsible as you anywhere near my child, and Poppy needs your help!”

“But, I love you, Charlotte!”

Charlotte's face goes bright red, her mouth open as if she wants to say something but no words are coming to her. She turns around and pours herself another glass of tea. “Look. I have everything I could ever need, Max. Poppy doesn't. You need to help her.”

There's a constricting feeling around Max's throat, like a noose tightening.
Why can't Charlotte just realize they were meant to be together?

“Max, I don't love you. I might have once, but when you cheated on me, that feeling died. We're done. Completely done. I'm sorry.” Charlotte says, pressing a hand against his shoulder. He looks at her petite hand, the small fingers shaking a bit against him.

“I know you don't mean that.”

The mask of compassion on Charlotte's face breaks, and is replaced with an angry snarl. “No, Max, I do mean it! You need to leave now.” When he doesn't move right away, she kicks his chair. “Now! Before I call my dad in!”

Max stands up and finishes off his iced tea before walking out of Charlotte's house, throwing a nasty glare to Mr. Spencer before he gets back into his car.

When Max left, Poppy spent a good portion of her night napping. She wakes up half past eight and turns on the TV while she eats dinner. The nausea hasn't been too bad the past few days, so she's been keeping food down better.

She thinks for a moment about the thing growing inside of her, and whether or not she will let it go to term. Poppy realizes she doesn't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet. She holds her hand against her stomach, watching it for any movement even though she's not nearly far enough along for that yet. Something inside of her says that the being within her is a girl.

For some reason that thought terrifies her. Boys are so much easier to raise. There are fewer fears–less chance of rape, less chance of having to deal with an unexpected pregnancy. She hopes that the baby inside of her is a boy, but she can't shake the feeling that it's a girl.

The show on TV is about a woman who abused her daughter and now wants rights to visit her grandchildren. Poppy wonders if her mom will try to pull off a stunt like that. She wasn't always a bad parent; some days, she was even fun.

Still, growing up in such an environment makes Poppy scared to raise a child of her own. The thought of being just as bad a mother as her own almost makes Poppy too sick to eat.

She only gets into her third bite before she hears someone pounding at her door. At first she's scared, until she hears him shout.

“Poppy!” The voice wails. “Poppy, please let me in! I'm sorry!”

Max pounds against her door harder now. She really doesn't want to answer the door, but if she lets this go on any longer, her neighbors will complain. She sets her food down on the table and moves to the door.

“Go away, Max!”

“Let me be a good dad! I can prove it to you, I can be great! I'll pay for everything, and I'll spend time with the baby! Just please don't shut me out!”

He's sobbing against her door. She wants to let him in, but at the same time she knows how bad an idea that is. “No, Max. Go away, or I'll call the police.”

Save for a few sniffles, Max is quiet. Then he says, “Fine. I'll leave. Text me tomorrow or something.”

He shuffles off, choking on a few sobs as he goes. Poppy knows she isn't going to text him tomorrow.

Max is just outside of Poppy's apartment building when his phone chimes with a text message. Elated with the thought that she might be asking him back up, he fumbles with his phone, dropping it on the ground and almost cracking the screen in the process. “Shit,” he mumbles, making sure it still works. He thumbs the phone on, but instead of a message from Poppy, there's one from Charlotte's dad.

“Leave my daughter alone. Don't come back or we'll get a restraining order.”

Short, succinct, and like a bullet in Max's mouth. He slumps against his car, trying to contain his tears and failing miserably. His phone chimes again, another message from Mr. Spencer.

“Charlotte is coming with me to India until she has her baby. Do not try to contact us.”

Max grabs at his chest, hyperventilating as he reads the text. India? A whole ocean away? She really is keeping him from his child!

He tries to breathe deeply but fails miserably, his breaths only becoming more shallow.
What am I going to do? Can I sue them to keep them in the country? Can I get a court order? Maybe my dad can help!

Thinking about telling his dad about this only makes the pain in Max's chest worse. He looks at his phone again, then up at the light in Poppy's window, flickering with the picture on her TV screen. He dials her number and prays that she'll answer the phone.

She doesn't the first time. Or the second time. The third time's the charm though, because she finally picks up.

“Max! Stop calling me!”

“Poppy, please listen to me! I'm so sorry for how I've treated you, and for acting like you're less important to me than Charlotte. You're giving birth to my child, too, and hopefully you don't despise me yet. Please, let me do this. I know that, with your help, I can be a good father.”

There's a sigh from the other end. “Are you alright?”

Max sniffles, wiping his nose with his arm. “Charlotte's going to India to get away from me. One of my kids is slipping away from me and I don't know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

Max considers this question, more fat tears falling from his eyes. Poppy waits patiently for him to answer. “I really want to be able to help you out. I can't guarantee more than that, but I have money. I can make sure that you get the best doctors, anything.”

Poppy opens the window and looks down at the boy she's loved for so many years. His face is red and splotchy as he looks up at her, his mouth open with a sob.

“I just want to be left alone tonight, okay? You can come back tomorrow. We can work this out.”

The worry and utter pain on Max's face lifts, his hand pressing against his chest. “Thank you, Poppy. You've always been such a good friend.”

Looking down at Max, Poppy doesn't feel like a good friend.
I should tell him about the abortion, but it will just break his heart more. I can't do that to him yet. The secretary said I have a few weeks before I need to decide.

He waves up at her with a weak smile before getting back into his car. Poppy can just barely see him through the windshield, but she watches him lay his head on the wheel for a few moments before the cabin light goes dark.